沃尔特虽然尊敬卡特尔船长，但却不由得由于这位聪明人不在而暗暗高兴；他衷心希望，在他的困难妥善解决之前，他的大智大慧不要用来处理它们。
“如果你把诺尔③的一个浮标给他看，”卡特尔船长用同样的声调说道，“请他谈谈他对它的看法的话，沃尔，那么他会说出一个跟浮标毫无关系的看法，就像你舅舅的钮扣跟浮标毫无关系一样。世界上没有一个人——至少是没有一个靠•两•条腿走路的人——能比得上他。没有能比得上他的！”
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①即如议会胜了，他赔六份；如他胜了，他得一份。
②惠特比（Whitby）：英格兰北约克郡的一个城镇，濒临北海，地处埃斯克（Esk）河口港湾东侧。
③诺尔（theNore）：英格兰肯特郡泰晤士河口湾一段沙滩。
“他姓什么，卡特尔船长？”沃尔特问道，他决定对船长的朋友发生兴趣。
“他姓邦斯贝，”船长说道，“可是我的天主！其实，像他那样头脑的人，你管他姓什么都可以！”
船长没有进一步阐明最后一句赞语的确切含意，沃尔特也没有对它寻根究底。因为当他有声有色地（就他和他的处境来说，这是很自然的）重新叙述他的主要困难时，他立刻发现船长又重新陷入先前那深思远虑的状态中。虽然他从浓密的眉毛下一动不动地凝视着他，可是他显然并没有看见他，也没有听见他说话，而是沉浸在思考之中。
实际上，卡特尔船长正在拟订宏伟的计划；他根本没有搁浅，而是很快就进入水的最深处，而且无法探找到他要穿透的底层。船长逐渐地完全看清了事情的原委：这里存在着一些误会，毫无疑问，这很可能是沃尔特而不是他所产生的误会。如果真有什么西印度群岛计划将讨诸实施的话，那么它也跟年轻、性急的沃尔特所设想的大不相同；它只能是使他飞黄腾达的一种新安排。船长心里想，“或者如果在他们之间（他是指在沃尔特与董贝先生之间）有点什么小小的疙瘩的话，那么只消双方的老朋友适时地说上一句话，那就可以完全解开，大家就会重新和好如初，就像把两条钩住的船调理顺当一样。”卡特尔船长从这些考虑中得出的想法是，由于他已经有幸认识董贝先生，在他们借钱的那个上午，曾经在布赖顿和他在一起很愉快地消度了半个小时；再说他们既然都是上流社会的人，而且相互了解，愿意把事情处理得和顺得当，那样就会很容易解决这样一类小小的困难，弄清事实真相；因此，他应尽的朋友之谊就是：现在什么话也不对沃尔特说，而是直接走到董贝先生的公馆，对仆人说，“老弟，劳驾您通报一下，卡特尔船长到这里来了。”然后在极为信任的气氛中会见董贝先生——钩住他的钮扣孔——，交谈一切，把事情处理得完善妥贴，然后得意扬扬地离开！
当这些想法出现在船长心中，逐渐成形的时候，他的脸色开朗起来，就像阴云密布的早晨退让给阳光灿烂的中午一样。他的眉毛原先极为不祥地紧皱着，现在不再直直地竖立，而是舒展开来，安祥平静；他的眼睛原先在紧张的思想活动过程中几乎已经闭上了，现在则随意地张开；他的微笑最初只出现在三小点——嘴的右角和两只眼角——，现在逐渐扩展到整个脸庞，向上波送到前额，掀起了那顶上了光的帽子；这帽子原先仿佛跟卡特尔船长一样搁了浅，现在则又跟他一样，愉快地漂浮起来了。
船长终于不再咬指甲，说：“现在，沃尔特，我的孩子，你帮我穿上衣服吧！”船长指的是他的外衣和背心。
沃尔特想不出，船长系领带为什么会那么用心，他把垂下的两端拧成像辫子一样的东西，然后穿进一个大金戒指中，戒指上刻着一幅图画，画中有一座坟墓、一条洁净的铁栏杆和一株树，它是纪念某个死去的朋友的。沃尔特也想不出船长为什么把衬衫领子使劲往上拉，拉到下面的爱尔兰亚麻布衬衫所许可的最大限度，这样一来他看上去就有了一副完好的遮眼罩来装饰自己了。沃尔特也想不出，船长为什么脱下鞋子，换上那双世上无双的短靴，那是他在不寻常的场合才穿的。船长终于穿着完毕，自己完全感到称心满意；他从墙钉上取下一面修脸用的镜子，从头到脚把自己打量了一番，然后拿起他那根多节的手杖说，他已经准备好了。
当他们走上街道的时候，船长的步态比往常显得更加踌躇满志，但沃尔特以为那是由于短靴的作用，对它并不注意。他们没走多远，遇到一位卖花的女人，船长突然停下脚步，仿佛心血来潮，闪出一个巧妙主意似的；他把她篮子里最大的一束花买下来，那是一个极为光彩夺目、芳香四溢的花束，形状像扇子，周围约有两英尺半，全都由最鲜艳的花朵组成。
卡特尔船长准备了这份打算送给董贝先生的礼品之后，跟沃尔特继续向前走去，直到他们到达仪器制造商门前，两人才都停下脚步。
“您就进去吗？”沃尔特问道。
“是的，”船长答道。他觉得在采取下一步行动之前必须首先把沃尔特打发走，他打算进行的拜访最好推迟到当天晚一些时候。
“您不会忘记什么吗？”沃尔特问道。
“不会，”船长回答。
“我马上就去溜达，”沃尔特说道，“我不妨碍您了，卡特尔船长。”
“好好地多逛一逛，我的孩子！”般长在他身后大声喊道。
沃尔特挥挥手，表示同意，接着就继续向前走去。
他没有特定的地方要去；但他想到田野里去走走，他在那里可以考虑考虑将来未知的生活，可以在树下一边休息一边安静地思索。他觉得汉姆普斯特德①附近的风光最美，而通向那里最好的道路是从董贝先生公馆旁边经过的。
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①汉姆普斯特德（Hampstead）：伦敦郊区地方。
当沃尔特从董贝先生的公馆旁边走过，向上望一眼，看到它那愁眉不展的正面的时候，它跟往常一样庄严、阴暗。所有的窗帘都已垂下，但上面的窗子是敞开着的，凉爽的微风吹拂着窗帘来回飘动，这是整座房屋外部唯一带有生气的迹象。沃尔特轻轻地走过，当他又走过几家人家的时候，他心里觉得高兴。
自从几年前发生了迷路的女孩子的事情以后，他经常对这房屋感到兴趣，这时他正是怀着这样的兴趣往回看，特别是望着上面一层的窗子。当他正这样看着的时候，一辆轻便四轮马车来到门前，一位举止庄重、穿着黑衣服、挂着一条沉甸甸的表链子的先生下了马车，走进屋里去。沃尔特后来回忆起这位先生和他的马车，他毫无疑问那人是位医生，于是心中纳闷起来，究竟是谁病了呢？可是他没有得出答案。他无精打采地想着其他事情，又走了一段距离。
不过他仍然想到这座房屋对他意味着什么，因为沃尔特总是爱以这样的希望来使自己高兴，那就是：也许总有那么一天，那位女孩子（她是他的老朋友，从那时以来，总是那样感谢他，那样高兴看到他）会使她弟弟关心他，使他的命运好转。但是在这时候他更喜欢想到的是，她仍继续记得他，而不是他可能得到什么世俗的利益；可是另一个更为清醒的想法在他耳边低声说道，如果那时候他还活着的话，那么他将在海外漂泊，被她遗忘；她则已经成婚，富有，高傲，幸福。世事沧桑，在完全改变了的情况下，她没有什么理由要比对一个她曾经有过的玩具更多地记得他；不会的，那时在她的记忆中，他可能还不如玩具呢。
可是沃尔特把那位流落在喧闹的街上、被他找到的那位漂亮的女孩子理想化了，把她与她在那天夜里天真的感谢以及在感谢中所表现出的纯朴、真诚等同化了，所以他认为，把她想成今后会变得高傲，这是对她的侮辱，他为此而感到羞愧。另一方面，他的沉思默想又是那么荒诞无稽，在他看来，如果想像到她已成长为一个女人，如果不是把她想成她跟善良的布朗太太在一起时那样一位纯朴、温柔、可爱的小人儿，而是想成另外一位什么人的话，那么这也同样是对她的侮辱。总之，沃尔特觉得由他本人来评断弗洛伦斯的是非长短，确实是会很不近情理的；他最好是把她的形象作为宝贵的、难以达到的、永不改变的、模糊不清的一种什么东西保存在心中；它具有使他快乐，像一只天使的手一样制止他进行任何卑劣勾当的力量，这一点却不是模糊不清的。
沃尔特那天在田野里游逛得很久，他听着鸟儿的啾鸣、礼拜天的钟声、城市中比平日减弱了的喧嚣声，同时呼吸着芳香的空气，有时举目眺望那朦胧不清的地平线，因为他的航程与目的地就在地平线的那一方；然后他又环顾四周英国的青草和故乡的风景。可是他几乎没有一次明确地想到他即将远离；他似乎一小时又一小时，一分钟又一分钟地把这思想搁置一旁，不去理会，尽管他始终在继续不断地想着它。
沃尔特已经把田野抛在后面，正怀着同样恍惚的心情，拖着沉重的脚步往回家的路途上行走，这时候他听到一个男人喊叫了一声，接着一个女人的声音响亮地喊着他的名字。他惊奇地转过身去，看到一辆朝着相反方向跑去的出租轿式马车在不远的地方停了下来；马车夫从座位上转过头来看他，向他挥鞭示意；车里一位年轻的女人从窗子里探出身来，精力充沛地向他打招呼。他跑到马车跟前，看到这位年轻女人就是尼珀姑娘；她万分焦急不安，几乎都要发狂了。
“斯塔格斯花园，沃尔特先生！”尼珀姑娘说，“劳驾您，帮个忙吧！”
“什么？”沃尔特喊道，“出了什么事了？”
“啊，沃尔特先生！斯塔格斯花园，劳驾您！”苏珊说。
“您瞧！”马车夫以一种兴高采烈与灰心绝望交织的神情，向沃尔特恳求道，“这位姑娘已经反反复复地说了老半天，她想要去的地方路走不通，我正想把车子转过身来找条出路呢。
乘坐过我马车的客人可多啦，可我从没见过像她这样的乘客。”
“您想到斯塔格斯花园去吗，苏珊？”沃尔特问道。
“对啦！她想到那里去。它在哪里？”马车夫抬高嗓门，粗声大气地说道。
“我不知道它在哪里！”苏珊疯狂似地大声说道，“沃尔特先生，我亲自到过那里一次，是带着弗洛伊小姐和我们可怜的、可爱的保罗少爷一起去的，就在您在城里找到弗洛伊小姐的那一天，因为在回来的路上我们把她丢了，理查兹大嫂和我，还有一条疯牛，还有理查兹大嫂的大儿子，虽然后来我去过那里，可是我却记不得它在哪里了，我想它已经塌陷到地底下去了。啊，沃尔特先生，别抛弃我不管，斯塔格斯花园，劳驾您！弗洛伊小姐最亲爱的宝贝——我们大家最亲爱的宝贝——、非常非常温顺的小保罗少爷啊！啊沃尔特先生！”
“慈善的上帝！”沃尔特喊道，“他病得很重吗？”“可爱的花朵儿！”苏珊绞扭着手哭道：“他一时想起想要看看他从前的奶妈，我就是来领她到他床边去
Chapter 16
What the Waves were always saying
Paul had never risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but watching it and watching everything about him with observing eyes.
When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night. Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look, reflecting the hosts of stars - and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea.
As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-coloured ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day. His only trouble was, the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it - to stem it with his childish hands - or choke its way with sand - and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out! But a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled.
When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself - pictured! he saw - the high church towers rising up into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew. Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. Paul always answered for himself, 'I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you! Tell Papa so!'
By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again - the child could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments - of that rushing river. 'Why, will it never stop, Floy?' he would sometimes ask her. 'It is bearing me away, I think!'
But Floy could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest.
'You are always watching me, Floy, let me watch you, now!' They would prop him up with cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he would recline the while she lay beside him: bending forward oftentimes to kiss her, and whispering to those who were near that she was tired, and how she had sat up so many nights beside him.
Thus, the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually decline; and again the golden water would be dancing on the wall.
He was visited by as many as three grave doctors - they used to assemble downstairs, and come up together - and the room was so quiet, and Paul was so observant of them (though he never asked of anybody what they said), that he even knew the difference in the sound of their watches. But his interest centred in Sir Parker Peps, who always took his seat on the side of the bed. For Paul had heard them say long ago, that that gentleman had been with his Mama when she clasped Florence in her arms, and died. And he could not forget it, now. He liked him for it. He was not afraid.
The people round him changed as unaccountably as on that first night at Doctor Blimber's - except Florence; Florence never changed - and what had been Sir Parker Peps, was now his father, sitting with his head upon his hand. Old Mrs Pipchin dozing in an easy chair, often changed to Miss Tox, or his aunt; and Paul was quite content to shut his eyes again, and see what happened next, without emotion. But this figure with its head upon its hand returned so often, and remained so long, and sat so still and solemn, never speaking, never being spoken to, and rarely lifting up its face, that Paul began to wonder languidly, if it were real; and in the night-time saw it sitting there, with fear.
'Floy!' he said. 'What is that?'
'Where, dearest?'
'There! at the bottom of the bed.'
'There's nothing there, except Papa!'
The figure lifted up its head, and rose, and coming to the bedside, said:
'My own boy! Don't you know me?'
Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was this his father? But the face so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them, and draw it towards him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door.
Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart, but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.
'Don't be sorry for me, dear Papa! Indeed I am quite happy!'
His father coming and bending down to him - which he did quickly, and without first pausing by the bedside - Paul held him round the neck, and repeated those words to him several times, and very earnestly; and Paul never saw him in his room again at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, 'Don't be sorry for me! Indeed I am quite happy!' This was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
How many times the golden water danced upon the wall; how many nights the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him; Paul never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now, to the gentle boy.
One night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the drawing-room downstairs, and thought she must have loved sweet Florence better than his father did, to have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying - for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. The train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother? for he could not remember whether they had told him, yes or no, the river running very fast, and confusing his mind.
'Floy, did I ever see Mama?'
'No, darling, why?'
'Did I ever see any kind face, like Mama's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?'
He asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him.
'Oh yes, dear!'
'Whose, Floy?'
'Your old nurse's. Often.'
'And where is my old nurse?' said Paul. 'Is she dead too? Floy, are we all dead, except you?'
There was a hurry in the room, for an instant - longer, perhaps; but it seemed no more - then all was still again; and Florence, with her face quite colourless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her arm trembled very much.
'Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please!'
'She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow.'
'Thank you, Floy!'
Paul closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. When he awoke, the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and He lay a little, looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains rustling in the air, and waving to and fro: then he said, 'Floy, is it tomorrow? Is she come?'
Someone seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. Paul thought he heard her telling him when he had closed his eyes again, that she would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. She kept her word - perhaps she had never been away - but the next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul woke - woke mind and body - and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There was no grey mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names.
'And who is this? Is this my old nurse?' said the child, regarding with a radiant smile, a figure coming in.
Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her lips and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it. No other woman would have so forgotten everybody there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity.
'Floy! this is a kind good face!' said Paul. 'I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse! Stay here.'
His senses were all quickened, and he heard a name he knew.
'Who was that, who said "Walter"?' he asked, looking round. 'Someone said Walter. Is he here? I should like to see him very much.'
Nobody replied directly; but his father soon said to Susan, 'Call him back, then: let him come up!' Alter a short pause of expectation, during which he looked with smiling interest and wonder, on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten Floy, Walter was brought into the room. His open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always made him a favourite with Paul; and when Paul saw him' he stretched Out his hand, and said 'Good-bye!'
'Good-bye, my child!' said Mrs Pipchin, hurrying to his bed's head. 'Not good-bye?'
For an instant, Paul looked at her with the wistful face with which he had so often gazed upon her in his corner by the fire. 'Yes,' he said placidly, 'good-bye! Walter dear, good-bye!' - turning his head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. 'Where is Papa?'
He felt his father's breath upon his cheek, before the words had parted from his lips.
'Remember Walter, dear Papa,' he whispered, looking in his face. 'Remember Walter. I was fond of Walter!' The feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried 'good-bye!' to Walter once again.
'Now lay me down,' he said, 'and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see you!'
