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subjects began to lay heavy on the Captain's mind. Walter's ship was still
unheard of. No news came of old Sol Gills. Florence did not even know of the
old man's disappearance, and Captain Cuttle had not the heart to tell her.
Indeed the Captain, as his own hopes of the generous, handsome,
gallant-hearted youth, whom he had loved, according to his rough manner,
from a child, began to fade, and faded more and more from day to day, shrunk
with instinctive pain from the thought of exchanging a word with Florence.
If he had had good news to carry to her, the honest Captain would have
braved the newly decorated house and splendid furniture - though these,
connected with the lady he had seen at church, were awful to him - and made
his way into her presence. With a dark horizon gathering around their common
hopes, however, that darkened every hour, the Captain almost felt as if he
were a new misfortune and affliction to her; and was scarcely less afraid of
a visit from Florence, than from Mrs MacStinger herself.
It was a chill dark autumn evening, and Captain Cuttle had ordered a
fire to be kindled in the little back parlour, now more than ever like the
cabin of a ship. The rain fell fast, and the wind blew hard; and straying
out on the house-top by that stormy bedroom of his old friend, to take an
observation of the weather, the Captain's heart died within him, when he saw
how wild and desolate it was. Not that he associated the weather of that
time with poor Walter's destiny, or doubted that if Providence had doomed
him to be lost and shipwrecked, it was over, long ago; but that beneath an
outward influence, quite distinct from the subject-matter of his thoughts,
the Captain's spirits sank, and his hopes turned pale, as those of wiser men
had often done before him, and will often do again.
Captain Cuttle, addressing his face to the sharp wind and slanting
rain, looked up at the heavy scud that was flying fast over the wilderness
of house-tops, and looked for something cheery there in vain. The prospect
near at hand was no better. In sundry tea-chests and other rough boxes at
his feet, the pigeons of Rob the Grinder were cooing like so many dismal
breezes getting up. A crazy weathercock of a midshipman, with a telescope at
his eye, once visible from the street, but long bricked out, creaked and
complained upon his rusty pivot as the shrill blast spun him round and
round, and sported with him cruelly. Upon the Captain's coarse blue vest the
cold raindrops started like steel beads; and he could hardly maintain
himself aslant against the stiff Nor'-Wester that came pressing against him,
importunate to topple him over the parapet, and throw him on the pavement
below. If there were any Hope alive that evening, the Captain thought, as he
held his hat on, it certainly kept house, and wasn't out of doors; so the
Captain, shaking his head in a despondent manner, went in to look for it.
Captain Cuttle descended slowly to the little back parlour, and, seated
in his accustomed chair, looked for it in the fire; but it was not there,
though the fire was bright. He took out his tobacco-box and pipe, and
composing himself to smoke, looked for it in the red glow from the bowl, and
in the wreaths of vapour that curled upward from his lips; but there was not
so much as an atom of the rust of Hope's anchor in either. He tried a glass
of grog; but melancholy truth was at the bottom of that well, and he
couldn't finish it. He made a turn or two in the shop, and looked for Hope
among the instruments; but they obstinately worked out reckonings for the
missing ship, in spite of any opposition he could offer, that ended at the
bottom of the lone sea.
The wind still rushing, and the rain still pattering, against the
closed shutters, the Captain brought to before the wooden Midshipman upon
the counter, and thought, as he dried the little officer's uniform with his
sleeve, how many years the Midshipman had seen, during which few changes -
hardly any - had transpired among his ship's company; how the changes had
come all together, one day, as it might be; and of what a sweeping kind they
web Here was the little society of the back parlour broken up, and scattered
far and wide. Here was no audience for Lovely Peg, even if there had been
anybody to sing it, which there was not; for the Captain was as morally
certain that nobody but he could execute that ballad, he was that he had not
the spirit, under existing circumstances, to attempt it. There was no bright
face of 'Wal'r' In the house; - here the Captain transferred his sleeve for
a moment from the Midshipman's uniform to his own cheek; - the familiar wig
and buttons of Sol Gills were a vision of the past; Richard Whittington was
knocked on the head; and every plan and project in connexion with the
Midshipman, lay drifting, without mast or rudder, on the waste of waters.
As the Captain, with a dejected face, stood revolving these thoughts,
and polishing the Midshipman, partly in the tenderness of old acquaintance,
and partly in the absence of his mind, a knocking at the shop-door
communicated a frightful start to the frame of Rob the Grinder, seated on
the counter, whose large eyes had been intently fixed on the Captain's face,
and who had been debating within himself, for the five hundredth time,
whether the Captain could have done a murder, that he had such an evil
conscience, and was always running away.
'What's that?' said Captain Cuttle, softly.
'Somebody's knuckles, Captain,' answered Rob the Grinder.
The Captain, with an abashed and guilty air, immediately walked on
tiptoe to the little parlour and locked himself in. Rob, opening the door,
would have parleyed with the visitor on the threshold if the visitor had
come in female guise; but the figure being of the male sex, and Rob's orders
only applying to women, Rob held the door open and allowed it to enter:
which it did very quickly, glad to get out of the driving rain.
'A job for Burgess and Co. at any rate,' said the visitor, looking over
his shoulder compassionately at his own legs, which were very wet and
covered with splashes. 'Oh, how-de-do, Mr Gills?'
The salutation was addressed to the Captain, now emerging from the back
parlour with a most transparent and utterly futile affectation of coming out
by accidence.
'Thankee,' the gentleman went on to say in the same breath; 'I'm very
well indeed, myself, I'm much obliged to you. My name is Toots, - Mister
Toots.'
The Captain remembered to have seen this young gentleman at the
wedding, and made him a bow. Mr Toots replied with a chuckle; and being
embarrassed, as he generally was, breathed hard, shook hands with the
Captain for a long time, and then falling on Rob the Grinder, in the absence
of any other resource, shook hands with him in a most affectionate and
cordial manner.
'I say! I should like to speak a word to you, Mr Gills, if you please,'
said Toots at length, with surprising presence of mind. 'I say! Miss D.O.M.
you know!'
The Captain, with responsive gravity and mystery, immediately waved his
hook towards the little parlour, whither Mr Toots followed him.
'Oh! I beg your pardon though,' said Mr Toots, looking up In the
Captain's face as he sat down in a chair by the fire, which the Captain
placed for him; 'you don't happen to know the Chicken at all; do you, Mr
Gills?'
'The Chicken?' said the Captain.
'The Game Chicken,' said Mr Toots.
The Captain shaking his head, Mr Toots explained that the man alluded
to was the celebrated public character who had covered himself and his
country with glory in his contest with the Nobby Shropshire One; but this
piece of information did not appear to enlighten the Captain very much.
'Because he's outside: that's all,' said Mr Toots. 'But it's of no
consequence; he won't get very wet, perhaps.'
'I can pass the word for him in a moment,' said the Captain.
'Well, if you would have the goodness to let him sit in the shop with
your young man,' chuckled Mr Toots, 'I should be glad; because, you know,
he's easily offended, and the damp's rather bad for his stamina. I'll call
him in, Mr Gills.'
With that, Mr Toots repairing to the shop-door, sent a peculiar whistle
into the night, which produced a stoical gentleman in a shaggy white
great-coat and a flat-brimmed hat, with very short hair, a broken nose, and
a considerable tract of bare and sterile country behind each ear.
'Sit down, Chicken,' said Mr Toots.
The compliant Chicken spat out some small pieces of straw on which he
was regaling himself, and took in a fresh supply from a reserve he carried
in his hand.
'There ain't no drain of nothing short handy, is there?' said the
Chicken, generally. 'This here sluicing night is hard lines to a man as
lives on his condition.
Captain Cuttle proffered a glass of rum, which the Chicken, throwing
back his head, emptied into himself, as into a cask, after proposing the
brief sentiment, 'Towards us!' Mr Toots and the Captain returning then to
the parlour, and taking their seats before the fire, Mr Toots began:
'Mr Gills - '
'Awast!' said the Captain. 'My name's Cuttle.'
Mr Toots looked greatly disconcerted, while the Captain proceeded
gravely.
'Cap'en Cuttle is my name, and England is my nation, this here is my
dwelling-place, and blessed be creation - Job,' said the Captain, as an
index to his authority.
'Oh! I couldn't see Mr Gills, could I?' said Mr Toots; 'because - '
'If you could see Sol Gills, young gen'l'm'n,' said the Captain,
impressively, and laying his heavy hand on Mr Toots's knee, 'old Sol, mind
you - with your own eyes - as you sit there - you'd be welcomer to me, than
a wind astern, to a ship becalmed. But you can't see Sol Gills. And why
can't you see Sol Gills?' said the Captain, apprised by the face of Mr Toots
that he was making a profound impression on that gentleman's mind. 'Because
he's inwisible.'
Mr Toots in his agitation was going to reply that it was of no
consequence at all. But he corrected himself, and said, 'Lor bless me!'
'That there man,' said the Captain, 'has left me in charge here by a
piece of writing, but though he was a'most as good as my sworn brother, I
know no more where he's gone, or why he's gone; if so be to seek his nevy,
or if so be along of being not quite settled in his mind; than you do. One
morning at daybreak, he went over the side,' said the Captain, 'without a
splash, without a ripple I have looked for that man high and low, and never
set eyes, nor ears, nor nothing else, upon him from that hour.'
'But, good Gracious, Miss Dombey don't know - ' Mr Toots began.
'Why, I ask you, as a feeling heart,' said the Captain, dropping his
voice, 'why should she know? why should she be made to know, until such time
as there wam't any help for it? She took to old Sol Gills, did that sweet
creetur, with a kindness, with a affability, with a - what's the good of
saying so? you know her.'
'I should hope so,' chuckled Mr Toots, with a conscious blush that
suffused his whole countenance.
'And you come here from her?' said the Captain.
'I should think so,' chuckled Mr Toots.
'Then all I need observe, is,' said the Captain, 'that you know a
angel, and are chartered a angel.'
Mr Toots instantly seized the Captain's hand, and requested the favour
of his friendship.
'Upon my word and honour,' said Mr Toots, earnestly, 'I should be very
much obliged to you if you'd improve my acquaintance I should like to know
you, Captain, very much. I really am In want of a friend, I am. Little
Dombey was my friend at old Blimber's, and would have been now, if he'd have
lived. The Chicken,' said Mr Toots, in a forlorn whisper, 'is very well -
admirable in his way - the sharpest man perhaps in the world; there's not a
move he isn't up to, everybody says so - but I don't know - he's not
everything. So she is an angel, Captain. If there is an angel anywhere, it's
Miss Dombey. That's what I've always said. Really though, you know,' said Mr
Toots, 'I should be very much obliged to you if you'd cultivate my
acquaintance.'
Captain Cuttle received this proposal in a polite manner, but still
without committing himself to its acceptance; merely observing, 'Ay, ay, my
lad. We shall see, we shall see;' and reminding Mr Toots of his immediate
mission, by inquiring to what he was indebted for the honour of that visit.
'Why the fact is,' replied Mr Toots, 'that it's the young woman I come
from. Not Miss Dombey - Susan, you know.
The Captain nodded his head once, with a grave expression of face
indicative of his regarding that young woman with serious respect.
'And I'll tell you how it happens,' said Mr Toots. 'You know, I go and
call sometimes, on Miss Dombey. I don't go there on purpose, you know, but I
happen to be in the neighbourhood very often; and when I find myself there,
why - why I call.'
'Nat'rally,' observed the Captain.
'Yes,' said Mr Toots. 'I called this afternoon. Upon my word and
honour, I don't think it's possible to form an idea of the angel Miss Dombey
was this afternoon.'
The Captain answered with a jerk of his head, implying that it might
not be easy to some people, but was quite so to him.
'As I was coming out,' said Mr Toots, 'the young woman, in the most
unexpected manner, took me into the pantry.
The Captain seemed, for the moment, to object to this proceeding; and
leaning back in his chair, looked at Mr Toots with a distrustful, if not
threatening visage.
'Where she brought out,' said Mr Toots, 'this newspaper. She told me
that she had kept it from Miss Dombey all day, on account of something that
was in it, about somebody that she and Dombey used to know; and then she
read the passage to me. Very well. Then she said - wait a minute; what was
it she said, though!'
Mr Toots, endeavouring to concentrate his mental powers on this
question, unintentionally fixed the Captain's eye, and was so much
discomposed by its stern expression, that his difficulty in resuming the
thread of his subject was enhanced to a painful extent.
'Oh!' said Mr Toots after long consideration. 'Oh, ah! Yes! She said
that she hoped there was a bare possibility that it mightn't be true; and
that as she couldn't very well come out herself, without surprising Miss
Dombey, would I go down to Mr Solomon Gills the Instrument-maker's in this
street, who was the party's Uncle, and ask whether he believed it was true,
or had heard anything else in the City. She said, if he couldn't speak to
me, no doubt Captain Cuttle could. By the bye!' said Mr Toots, as the
discovery flashed upon him, 'you, you know!'
The Captain glanced at the newspaper in Mr Toots's hand, and breathed
short and hurriedly.
'Well, pursued Mr Toots, 'the reason why I'm rather late is, because I
went up as far as Finchley first, to get some uncommonly fine chickweed that
grows there, for Miss Dombey's bird. But I came on here, directly
afterwards. You've seen the paper, I suppose?'
The Captain, who had become cautious of reading the news, lest he
should find himself advertised at full length by Mrs MacStinger, shook his
head.
'Shall I read the passage to you?' inquired Mr Toots.
The Captain making a sign in the affirmative, Mr Toots read as follows,
from the Shipping Intelligence:
'"Southampton. The barque Defiance, Henry James, Commander, arrived in
this port to-day, with a cargo of sugar, coffee, and rum, reports that being
becalmed on the sixth day of her passage home from Jamaica, in" - in such
and such a latitude, you know,' said Mr Toots, after making a feeble dash at
the figures, and tumbling over them.
'Ay!' cried the Captain, striking his clenched hand on the table.
'Heave ahead, my lad!'
' - latitude,' repeated Mr Toots, with a startled glance at the
Captain, 'and longitude so-and-so, - "the look-out observed, half an hour
before sunset, some fragments of a wreck, drifting at about the distance of
a mile. The weather being clear, and the barque making no way, a boat was
hoisted out, with orders to inspect the same, when they were found to
consist of sundry large spars, and a part of the main rigging of an English
brig, of about five hundred tons burden, together with a portion of the stem
on which the words and letters 'Son and H-' were yet plainly legible. No
vestige of any dead body was to be seen upon the floating fragments. Log of
the Defiance states, that a breeze springing up in the night, the wreck was
seen no more. There can be no doubt that all surmises as to the fate of the
missing vessel, the Son and Heir, port of London, bound for Barbados, are
now set at rest for ever; that she broke up in the last hurricane; and that
every soul on board perished."'
Captain Cuttle, like all mankind, little knew how much hope had
survived within him under discouragement, until he felt its death-shock.
During the reading of the paragraph, and for a minute or two afterwards, he
sat with his gaze fixed on the modest Mr Toots, like a man entranced; then,
suddenly rising, and putting on his glazed hat, which, in his visitor's
honour, he had laid upon the table, the Captain turned his back, and bent
his head down on the little chimneypiece.
'Oh' upon my word and honour,' cried Mr Toots, whose tender heart was
moved by the Captain's unexpected distress, 'this is a most wretched sort of
affair this world is! Somebody's always dying, or going and doing something
uncomfortable in it. I'm sure I never should have looked forward so much, to
coming into my property, if I had known this. I never saw such a world. It's
a great deal worse than Blimber's.'
Captain Cuttle, without altering his position, signed to Mr Toots not
to mind him; and presently turned round, with his glazed hat thrust back
upon his ears, and his hand composing and smoothing his brown face.
'Wal'r, my dear lad,' said the Captain, 'farewell! Wal'r my child, my
boy, and man, I loved you! He warn't my flesh and blood,' said the Captain,
looking at the fire - 'I ain't got none - but something of what a father
feels when he loses a son, I feel in losing Wal'r. For why?' said the
Captain. 'Because it ain't one loss, but a round dozen. Where's that there
young school-boy with the rosy face and curly hair, that used to be as merry
in this here parlour, come round every week, as a piece of music? Gone down
with Wal'r. Where's that there fresh lad, that nothing couldn't tire nor put
out, and that sparkled up and blushed so, when we joked him about Heart's
Delight, that he was beautiful to look at? Gone down with Wal'r. Where's
that there man's spirit, all afire, that wouldn't see the old man hove down
for a minute, and cared nothing for itself? Gone down with Wal'r. It ain't
one Wal'r. There was a dozen Wal'rs that I know'd and loved, all holding
round his neck when he went down, and they're a-holding round mine now!'
Mr Toots sat silent: folding and refolding the newspaper as small as
possible upon his knee.
'And Sol Gills,' said the Captain, gazing at the fire, 'poor nevyless
old Sol, where are you got to! you was left in charge of me; his last words
was, "Take care of my Uncle!" What came over you, Sol, when you went and
gave the go-bye to Ned Cuttle; and what am I to put In my accounts that he's
a looking down upon, respecting you! Sol Gills, Sol Gills!' said the
Captain, shaking his head slowly, 'catch sight of that there newspaper, away
from home, with no one as know'd Wal'r by, to say a word; and broadside to
you broach, and down you pitch, head foremost!'
Drawing a heavy sigh, the Captain turned to Mr Toots, and roused
himself to a sustained consciousness of that gentleman's presence.
'My lad,' said the Captain, 'you must tell the young woman honestly
that this here fatal news is too correct. They don't romance, you see, on
such pints. It's entered on the ship's log, and that's the truest book as a
man can write. To-morrow morning,' said the Captain, 'I'll step out and make
inquiries; but they'll lead to no good. They can't do it. If you'll give me
a look-in in the forenoon, you shall know what I have heerd; but tell the
young woman from Cap'en Cuttle, that it's over. Over!' And the Captain,
hooking off his glazed hat, pulled his handkerchief out of the crown, wiped
his grizzled head despairingly, and tossed the handkerchief in again, with
the indifference of deep dejection.
'Oh! I assure you,' said Mr Toots, 'really I am dreadfully sorry. Upon
my word I am, though I wasn't acquainted with the party. Do you think Miss
Dombey will be very much affected, Captain Gills - I mean Mr Cuttle?'
'Why, Lord love you,' returned the Captain, with something of
compassion for Mr Toots's innocence. When she warn't no higher than that,
they were as fond of one another as two young doves.'
'Were they though!' said Mr Toots, with a considerably lengthened face.
'They were made for one another,' said the Captain, mournfully; 'but
what signifies that now!'
'Upon my word and honour,' cried Mr Toots, blurting out his words
through a singular combination of awkward chuckles and emotion, 'I'm even
more sorry than I was before. You know, Captain Gills, I - I positively
adore Miss Dombey; - I - I am perfectly sore with loving her;' the burst
with which this confession forced itself out of the unhappy Mr Toots,
bespoke the vehemence of his feelings; 'but what would be the good of my
regarding her in this manner, if I wasn't truly sorry for her feeling pain,
whatever was the cause of it. Mine ain't a selfish affection, you know,'
said Mr Toots, in the confidence engendered by his having been a witness of
the Captain's tenderness. 'It's the sort of thing with me, Captain Gills,
that if I could be run over - or - or trampled upon - or - or thrown off a
very high place -or anything of that sort - for Miss Dombey's sake, it would
be the most delightful thing that could happen to me.
All this, Mr Toots said in a suppressed voice, to prevent its reaching
the jealous ears of the Chicken, who objected to the softer emotions; which
effort of restraint, coupled with the intensity of his feelings, made him
red to the tips of his ears, and caused him to present such an affecting
spectacle of disinterested love to the eyes of Captain Cuttle, that the good
Captain patted him consolingly on the back, and bade him cheer up.
'Thankee, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, 'it's kind of you, in the
midst of your own troubles, to say so. I'm very much obliged to you. As I
said before, I really want a friend, and should be glad to have your
acquaintance. Although I am very well off,' said Mr Toots, with energy, 'you
can't think what a miserable Beast I am. The hollow crowd, you know, when
they see me with the Chicken, and characters of distinction like that,
suppose me to be happy; but I'm wretched. I suffer for Miss Dombey, Captain
Gills. I can't get through my meals; I have no pleasure in my tailor; I
often cry when I'm alone. I assure you it'll be a satisfaction to me to come
back to-morrow, or to come back fifty times.'
Mr Toots, with these words, shook the Captain's hand; and disguising
such traces of his agitation as could be disguised on so short a notice,
before the Chicken's penetrating glance, rejoined that eminent gentleman in
the shop. The Chicken, who was apt to be jealous of his ascendancy, eyed
Captain Cuttle with anything but favour as he took leave of Mr Toots, but
followed his patron without being otherwise demonstrative of his ill-will:
leaving the Captain oppressed with sorrow; and Rob the Grinder elevated with
joy, on account of having had the honour of staring for nearly half an hour
at the conqueror of the Nobby Shropshire One.
Long after Rob was fast asleep in his bed under the counter, the
Captain sat looking at the fire; and long after there was no fire to look
at, the Captain sat gazing on the rusty bars, with unavailing thoughts of
Walter and old Sol crowding through his mind. Retirement to the stormy
chamber at the top of the house brought no rest with it; and the Captain
rose up in the morning, sorrowful and unrefreshed.
As soon as the City offices were opened, the Captain issued forth to
the counting-house of Dombey and Son. But there was no opening of the
Midshipman's windows that morning. Rob the Grinder, by the Captain's orders,
left the shutters closed, and the house was as a house of death.
It chanced that Mr Carker was entering the office, as Captain Cuttle
arrived at the door. Receiving the Manager's benison gravely and silently,
Captain Cuttle made bold to accompany him into his own room.
'Well, Captain Cuttle,' said Mr Carker, taking up his usual position
before the fireplace, and keeping on his hat, 'this is a bad business.'
'You have received the news as was in print yesterday, Sir?' said the
Captain.
'Yes,' said Mr Carker, 'we have received it! It was accurately stated.
The underwriters suffer a considerable loss. We are very sorry. No help!
Such is life!'
Mr Carker pared his nails delicately with a penknife, and smiled at the
Captain, who was standing by the door looking at him.
'I excessively regret poor Gay,' said Carker, 'and the crew. I
understand there were some of our very best men among 'em. It always happens
so. Many men with families too. A comfort to reflect that poor Gay had no
family, Captain Cuttle!'
The Captain stood rubbing his chin, and looking at the Manager. The
Manager glanced at the unopened letters lying on his desk, and took up the
newspaper.
'Is there anything I can do for you, Captain Cuttle?' he asked looking
off it, with a smiling and expressive glance at the door.
'I wish you could set my mind at rest, Sir, on something it's uneasy
about,' returned the Captain.
'Ay!' exclaimed the Manager, 'what's that? Come, Captain Cuttle, I must
trouble you to be quick, if you please. I am much engaged.'
'Lookee here, Sir,' said the Captain, advancing a step. 'Afore my
friend Wal'r went on this here disastrous voyage -
'Come, come, Captain Cuttle,' interposed the smiling Manager, 'don't
talk about disastrous voyages in that way. We have nothing to do with
disastrous voyages here, my good fellow. You must have begun very early on
your day's allowance, Captain, if you don't remember that there are hazards
in all voyages, whether by sea or land. You are not made uneasy by the
supposition that young what's-his-name was lost in bad weather that was got
up against him in these offices - are you? Fie, Captain! Sleep, and
soda-water, are the best cures for such uneasiness as that.
'My lad,' returned the Captain, slowly - 'you are a'most a lad to me,
and so I don't ask your pardon for that slip of a word, - if you find any
pleasure in this here sport, you ain't the gentleman I took you for. And if
you ain't the gentleman I took you for, may be my mind has call to be
uneasy. Now this is what it is, Mr Carker. - Afore that poor lad went away,
according to orders, he told me that he warn't a going away for his own
good, or for promotion, he know'd. It was my belief that he was wrong, and I
told him so, and I come here, your head governor being absent, to ask a
question or two of you in a civil way, for my own satisfaction. Them
questions you answered - free. Now it'll ease my mind to know, when all is
over, as it is, and when what can't be cured must be endoored - for which,
as a scholar, you'll overhaul the book it's in, and thereof make a note - to
know once more, in a word, that I warn't mistaken; that I warn't back'ard in
my duty when I didn't tell the old man what Wal'r told me; and that the wind
was truly in his sail, when he highsted of it for Barbados Harbour. Mr
Carker,' said the Captain, in the goodness of his nature, 'when I was here
last, we was very pleasant together. If I ain't been altogether so pleasant
myself this morning, on account of this poor lad, and if I have chafed again
any observation of yours that I might have fended off, my name is Ed'ard
Cuttle, and I ask your pardon.'
'Captain Cuttle,' returned the Manager, with all possible politeness,
'I must ask you to do me a favour.'
'And what is it, Sir?' inquired the Captain.
'To have the goodness to walk off, if you please,' rejoined the
Manager, stretching forth his arm, 'and to carry your jargon somewhere
else.'
Every knob in the Captain's face turned white with astonishment and
indignation; even the red rim on his forehead faded, like a rainbow among
the gathering clouds.
'I tell you what, Captain Cuttle,' said the Manager, shaking his
forefinger at him, and showing him all his teeth, but still amiably smiling,
'I was much too lenient with you when you came here before. You belong to an
artful and audacious set of people. In my desire to save young
what's-his-name from being kicked out of this place, neck and crop, my good
Captain, I tolerated you; but for once, and only once. Now, go, my friend!'
The Captain was absolutely rooted to the ground, and speechless -
'Go,' said the good-humoured Manager, gathering up his skirts, and
standing astride upon the hearth-rug, 'like a sensible fellow, and let us
have no turning out, or any such violent measures. If Mr Dombey were here,
Captain, you might be obliged to leave in a more ignominious manner,
possibly. I merely say, Go!'
The Captain, laying his ponderous hand upon his chest, to assist
himself in fetching a deep breath, looked at Mr Carker from head to foot,
and looked round the little room, as if he did not clearly understand where
he was, or in what company.
'You are deep, Captain Cuttle,' pursued Carker, with the easy and
vivacious frankness of a man of the world who knew the world too well to be
ruffled by any discovery of misdoing, when it did not immediately concern
himself, 'but you are not quite out of soundings, either - neither you nor
your absent friend, Captain. What have you done with your absent friend,
hey?'
Again the Captain laid his hand upon his chest. After drawing another
deep breath, he conjured himself to 'stand by!' But In a whisper.
'You hatch nice little plots, and hold nice little councils, and make
nice little appointments, and receive nice little visitors, too, Captain,
hey?' said Carker, bending his brows upon him, without showing his teeth any
the less: 'but it's a bold measure to come here afterwards. Not like your
discretion! You conspirators, and hiders, and runners-away, should know
better than that. Will you oblige me by going?'
'My lad,' gasped the Captain, in a choked and trembling voice, and with
a curious action going on in the ponderous fist; 'there's a many words I
could wish to say to you, but I don't rightly know where they're stowed just
at present. My young friend, Wal'r, was drownded only last night, according
to my reckoning, and it puts me out, you see. But you and me will come
alongside o'one another again, my lad,' said the Captain, holding up his
hook, if we live.'
'It will be anything but shrewd in you, my good fellow, if we do,'
returned the Manager, with the same frankness; 'for you may rely, I give you
fair warning, upon my detecting and exposing you. I don't pretend to be a
more moral man than my neighbours, my good Captain; but the confidence of
this House, or of any member of this House, is not to be abused and
undermined while I have eyes and ears. Good day!' said Mr Carker, nodding
his head.
Captain Cuttle, looking at him steadily (Mr Carker looked full as
steadily at the Captain), went out of the office and left him standing
astride before the fire, as calm and pleasant as if there were no more spots
upon his soul than on his pure white linen, and his smooth sleek skin.
The Captain glanced, in passing through the outer counting-house, at
the desk where he knew poor Walter had been used to sit, now occupied by
another young boy, with a face almost as fresh and hopeful as his on the day
when they tapped the famous last bottle but one of the old Madeira, in the
little back parlour. The nation of ideas, thus awakened, did the Captain a
great deal of good; it softened him in the very height of his anger, and
brought the tears into his eyes.
Arrived at the wooden Midshipman's again, and sitting down in a corner
of the dark shop, the Captain's indignation, strong as it was, could make no
head against his grief. Passion seemed not only to do wrong and violence to
the memory of the dead, but to be infected by death, and to droop and
decline beside it. All the living knaves and liars in the world, were
nothing to the honesty and truth of one dead friend.
The only thing the honest Captain made out clearly, in this state of
mind, besides the loss of Walter, was, that with him almost the whole world
of Captain Cuttle had been drowned. If he reproached himself sometimes, and
keenly too, for having ever connived at Walter's innocent deceit, he thought
at least as often of the Mr Carker whom no sea could ever render up; and the
Mr Dombey, whom he now began to perceive was as far beyond human recall; and
the 'Heart's Delight,' with whom he must never foregather again; and the
Lovely Peg, that teak-built and trim ballad, that had gone ashore upon a
rock, and split into mere planks and beams of rhyme. The Captain sat in the
dark shop, thinking of these things, to the entire exclusion of his own
injury; and looking with as sad an eye upon the ground, as if in
contemplation of their actual fragments, as they floated past
But the Captain was not unmindful, for all that, of such decent and
rest observances in memory of poor Walter, as he felt within his power.
Rousing himself, and rousing Rob the Grinder (who in the unnatural twilight
was fast asleep), the Captain sallied forth with his attendant at his heels,
and the door-key in his pocket, and repairing to one of those convenient
slop-selling establishments of which there is abundant choice at the eastern
end of London, purchased on the spot two suits of mourning - one for Rob the
Grinder, which was immensely too small, and one for himself, which was
immensely too large. He also provided Rob with a species of hat, greatly to
be admired for its symmetry and usefulness, as well as for a happy blending
of the mariner with the coal-heaver; which is usually termed a sou'wester;
and which was something of a novelty in connexion with the instrument
business. In their several garments, which the vendor declared to be such a
miracle in point of fit as nothing but a rare combination of fortuitous
circumstances ever brought about, and the fashion of which was unparalleled
within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, the Captain and Grinder
immediately arrayed themselves: presenting a spectacle fraught with wonder
to all who beheld it.
In this altered form, the Captain received Mr Toots. 'I'm took aback,
my lad, at present,' said the Captain, 'and will only confirm that there ill
news. Tell the young woman to break it gentle to the young lady, and for
neither of 'em never to think of me no more - 'special, mind you, that is -
though I will think of them, when night comes on a hurricane and seas is
mountains rowling, for which overhaul your Doctor Watts, brother, and when
found make a note on."
The Captain reserved, until some fitter time, the consideration of Mr
Toots's offer of friendship, and thus dismissed him. Captain Cuttle's
spirits were so low, in truth, that he half determined, that day, to take no
further precautions against surprise from Mrs MacStinger, but to abandon
himself recklessly to chance, and be indifferent to what might happen. As
evening came on, he fell into a better frame of mind, however; and spoke
much of Walter to Rob the Grinder, whose attention and fidelity he likewise
incidentally commended. Rob did not blush to hear the Captain earnest in his
praises, but sat staring at him, and affecting to snivel with sympathy, and
making a feint of being virtuous, and treasuring up every word he said (like
a young spy as he was) with very promising deceit.
When Rob had turned in, and was fast asleep, the Captain trimmed the
candle, put on his spectacles - he had felt it appropriate to take to
spectacles on entering into the Instrument Trade, though his eyes were like
a hawk's - and opened the prayer-book at the Burial Service. And reading
softly to himself, in the little back parlour, and stopping now and then to
wipe his eyes, the Captain, In a true and simple spirit, committed Walter's
body to the deep.
Contrasts
Turn we our eyes upon two homes; not lying side by side, but wide
apart, though both within easy range and reach of the great city of London.
The first is situated in the green and wooded country near Norwood. It
is not a mansion; it is of no pretensions as to size; but it is beautifully
arranged, and tastefully kept. The lawn, the soft, smooth slope, the
flower-garden, the clumps of trees where graceful forms of ash and willow
are not wanting, the conservatory, the rustic verandah with sweet-smelling
creeping plants entwined about the pillars, the simple exterior of the
house, the well-ordered offices, though all upon the diminutive scale proper
to a mere cottage, bespeak an amount of elegant comfort within, that might
serve for a palace. This indication is not without warrant; for, within, it
is a house of refinement and luxury. Rich colours, excellently blended, meet
the eye at every turn; in the furniture - its proportions admirably devised
to suit the shapes and sizes of the small rooms; on the walls; upon the
floors; tingeing and subduing the light that comes in through the odd glass
doors and windows here and there. There are a few choice prints and pictures
too; in quaint nooks and recesses there is no want of books; and there are
games of skill and chance set forth on tables - fantastic chessmen, dice,
backgammon, cards, and billiards.
And yet amidst this opulence of comfort, there is something in the
general air that is not well. Is it that the carpets and the cushions are
too soft and noiseless, so that those who move or repose among them seem to
act by stealth? Is it that the prints and pictures do not commemorate great
thoughts or deeds, or render nature in the Poetry of landscape, hall, or
hut, but are of one voluptuous cast - mere shows of form and colour - and no
more? Is it that the books have all their gold outside, and that the titles
of the greater part qualify them to be companions of the prints and
pictures? Is it that the completeness and the beauty of the place are here
and there belied by an affectation of humility, in some unimportant and
inexpensive regard, which is as false as the face of the too truly painted
portrait hanging yonder, or its original at breakfast in his easy chair
below it? Or is it that, with the daily breath of that original and master
of all here, there issues forth some subtle portion of himself, which gives
a vague expression of himself to everything about him?
It is Mr Carker the Manager who sits in the easy chair. A gaudy parrot
in a burnished cage upon the table tears at the wires with her beak, and
goes walking, upside down, in its dome-top, shaking her house and
screeching; but Mr Carker is indifferent to the bird, and looks with a
musing smile at a picture on the opposite wall.
'A most extraordinary accidental likeness, certainly,' says he.
Perhaps it is a Juno; perhaps a Potiphar's Wife'; perhaps some scornful
Nymph - according as the Picture Dealers found the market, when they
christened it. It is the figure of a woman, supremely handsome, who, turning
away, but with her face addressed to the spectator, flashes her proud glance
upon him.
It is like Edith.
With a passing gesture of his hand at the picture - what! a menace? No;
yet something like it. A wave as of triumph? No; yet more like that. An
insolent salute wafted from his lips? No; yet like that too - he resumes his
breakfast, and calls to the chafing and imprisoned bird, who coming down
into a pendant gilded hoop within the cage, like a great wedding-ring,
swings in it, for his delight.
The second home is on the other side of London, near to where the busy
great north road of bygone days is silent and almost deserted, except by
wayfarers who toil along on foot. It is a poor small house, barely and
sparely furnished, but very clean; and there is even an attempt to decorate
it, shown in the homely flowers trained about the porch and in the narrow
garden. The neighbourhood in which it stands has as little of the country to
recommend'it, as it has of the town. It is neither of the town nor country.
The former, like the giant in his travelling boots, has made a stride and
passed it, and has set his brick-and-mortar heel a long way in advance; but
the intermediate space between the giant's feet, as yet, is only blighted
country, and not town; and, here, among a few tall chimneys belching smoke
all day and night, and among the brick-fields and the lanes where turf is
cut, and where the fences tumble down, and where the dusty nettles grow, and
where a scrap or two of hedge may yet be seen, and where the bird-catcher
still comes occasionally, though he swears every time to come no more - this
second home is to be found.'
She who inhabits it, is she who left the first in her devotion to an
outcast brother. She withdrew from that home its redeeming spirit, and from
its master's breast his solitary angel: but though his liking for her is
gone, after this ungrateful slight as he considers it; and though he
abandons her altogether in return, an old idea of her is not quite forgotten
even by him. Let her flower-garden, in which he never sets his foot, but
which is yet maintained, among all his costly alterations, as if she had
quitted it but yesterday, bear witness!
Harriet Carker has changed since then, and on her beauty there has
fallen a heavier shade than Time of his unassisted self can cast, all-potent
as he is - the shadow of anxiety and sorrow, and the daily struggle of a
poor existence. But it is beauty still; and still a gentle, quiet, and
retiring beauty that must be sought out, for it cannot vaunt itself; if it
could, it would be what it is, no more.
Yes. This slight, small, patient figure, neatly dressed in homely
stuffs, and indicating nothing but the dull, household virtues, that have so
little in common with the received idea of heroism and greatness, unless,
indeed, any ray of them should shine through the lives of the great ones of
the earth, when it becomes a constellation and is tracked in Heaven
straightway - this slight, small, patient figure, leaning on the man still
young but worn and grey, is she, his sister, who, of all the world, went
over to him in his shame and put her hand in his, and with a sweet composure
and determination, led him hopefully upon his barren way.
'It is early, John,' she said. 'Why do you go so early?'
'Not many minutes earlier than usual, Harriet. If I have the time to
spare, I should like, I think - it's a fancy - to walk once by the house
where I took leave of him.'
'I wish I had ever seen or known him, John.'
'It is better as it is, my dear, remembering his fate.'
'But I could not regret it more, though I had known him. Is not your
sorrow mine? And if I had, perhaps you would feel that I was a better
companion to you in speaking about him, than I may seem now.
'My dearest sister! Is there anything within the range of rejoicing or
regret, in which I am not sure of your companionship?'
'I hope you think not, John, for surely there is nothing!'
'How could you be better to me, or nearer to me then, than you are in
this, or anything?' said her brother. 'I feel that you did know him,
Harriet, and that you shared my feelings towards him.'
She drew the hand which had been resting on his shoulder, round his
neck, and answered, with some hesitation:
'No, not quite.'
'True, true!' he said; 'you think I might have done him no harm if I
had allowed myself to know him better?'
'Think! I know it.'
'Designedly, Heaven knows I would not,' he replied, shaking his head
unheard of. No news came of old Sol Gills. Florence did not even know of the
old man's disappearance, and Captain Cuttle had not the heart to tell her.
Indeed the Captain, as his own hopes of the generous, handsome,
gallant-hearted youth, whom he had loved, according to his rough manner,
from a child, began to fade, and faded more and more from day to day, shrunk
with instinctive pain from the thought of exchanging a word with Florence.
If he had had good news to carry to her, the honest Captain would have
braved the newly decorated house and splendid furniture - though these,
connected with the lady he had seen at church, were awful to him - and made
his way into her presence. With a dark horizon gathering around their common
hopes, however, that darkened every hour, the Captain almost felt as if he
were a new misfortune and affliction to her; and was scarcely less afraid of
a visit from Florence, than from Mrs MacStinger herself.
It was a chill dark autumn evening, and Captain Cuttle had ordered a
fire to be kindled in the little back parlour, now more than ever like the
cabin of a ship. The rain fell fast, and the wind blew hard; and straying
out on the house-top by that stormy bedroom of his old friend, to take an
observation of the weather, the Captain's heart died within him, when he saw
how wild and desolate it was. Not that he associated the weather of that
time with poor Walter's destiny, or doubted that if Providence had doomed
him to be lost and shipwrecked, it was over, long ago; but that beneath an
outward influence, quite distinct from the subject-matter of his thoughts,
the Captain's spirits sank, and his hopes turned pale, as those of wiser men
had often done before him, and will often do again.
Captain Cuttle, addressing his face to the sharp wind and slanting
rain, looked up at the heavy scud that was flying fast over the wilderness
of house-tops, and looked for something cheery there in vain. The prospect
near at hand was no better. In sundry tea-chests and other rough boxes at
his feet, the pigeons of Rob the Grinder were cooing like so many dismal
breezes getting up. A crazy weathercock of a midshipman, with a telescope at
his eye, once visible from the street, but long bricked out, creaked and
complained upon his rusty pivot as the shrill blast spun him round and
round, and sported with him cruelly. Upon the Captain's coarse blue vest the
cold raindrops started like steel beads; and he could hardly maintain
himself aslant against the stiff Nor'-Wester that came pressing against him,
importunate to topple him over the parapet, and throw him on the pavement
below. If there were any Hope alive that evening, the Captain thought, as he
held his hat on, it certainly kept house, and wasn't out of doors; so the
Captain, shaking his head in a despondent manner, went in to look for it.
Captain Cuttle descended slowly to the little back parlour, and, seated
in his accustomed chair, looked for it in the fire; but it was not there,
though the fire was bright. He took out his tobacco-box and pipe, and
composing himself to smoke, looked for it in the red glow from the bowl, and
in the wreaths of vapour that curled upward from his lips; but there was not
so much as an atom of the rust of Hope's anchor in either. He tried a glass
of grog; but melancholy truth was at the bottom of that well, and he
couldn't finish it. He made a turn or two in the shop, and looked for Hope
among the instruments; but they obstinately worked out reckonings for the
missing ship, in spite of any opposition he could offer, that ended at the
bottom of the lone sea.
The wind still rushing, and the rain still pattering, against the
closed shutters, the Captain brought to before the wooden Midshipman upon
the counter, and thought, as he dried the little officer's uniform with his
sleeve, how many years the Midshipman had seen, during which few changes -
hardly any - had transpired among his ship's company; how the changes had
come all together, one day, as it might be; and of what a sweeping kind they
web Here was the little society of the back parlour broken up, and scattered
far and wide. Here was no audience for Lovely Peg, even if there had been
anybody to sing it, which there was not; for the Captain was as morally
certain that nobody but he could execute that ballad, he was that he had not
the spirit, under existing circumstances, to attempt it. There was no bright
face of 'Wal'r' In the house; - here the Captain transferred his sleeve for
a moment from the Midshipman's uniform to his own cheek; - the familiar wig
and buttons of Sol Gills were a vision of the past; Richard Whittington was
knocked on the head; and every plan and project in connexion with the
Midshipman, lay drifting, without mast or rudder, on the waste of waters.
As the Captain, with a dejected face, stood revolving these thoughts,
and polishing the Midshipman, partly in the tenderness of old acquaintance,
and partly in the absence of his mind, a knocking at the shop-door
communicated a frightful start to the frame of Rob the Grinder, seated on
the counter, whose large eyes had been intently fixed on the Captain's face,
and who had been debating within himself, for the five hundredth time,
whether the Captain could have done a murder, that he had such an evil
conscience, and was always running away.
'What's that?' said Captain Cuttle, softly.
'Somebody's knuckles, Captain,' answered Rob the Grinder.
The Captain, with an abashed and guilty air, immediately walked on
tiptoe to the little parlour and locked himself in. Rob, opening the door,
would have parleyed with the visitor on the threshold if the visitor had
come in female guise; but the figure being of the male sex, and Rob's orders
only applying to women, Rob held the door open and allowed it to enter:
which it did very quickly, glad to get out of the driving rain.
'A job for Burgess and Co. at any rate,' said the visitor, looking over
his shoulder compassionately at his own legs, which were very wet and
covered with splashes. 'Oh, how-de-do, Mr Gills?'
The salutation was addressed to the Captain, now emerging from the back
parlour with a most transparent and utterly futile affectation of coming out
by accidence.
'Thankee,' the gentleman went on to say in the same breath; 'I'm very
well indeed, myself, I'm much obliged to you. My name is Toots, - Mister
Toots.'
The Captain remembered to have seen this young gentleman at the
wedding, and made him a bow. Mr Toots replied with a chuckle; and being
embarrassed, as he generally was, breathed hard, shook hands with the
Captain for a long time, and then falling on Rob the Grinder, in the absence
of any other resource, shook hands with him in a most affectionate and
cordial manner.
'I say! I should like to speak a word to you, Mr Gills, if you please,'
said Toots at length, with surprising presence of mind. 'I say! Miss D.O.M.
you know!'
The Captain, with responsive gravity and mystery, immediately waved his
hook towards the little parlour, whither Mr Toots followed him.
'Oh! I beg your pardon though,' said Mr Toots, looking up In the
Captain's face as he sat down in a chair by the fire, which the Captain
placed for him; 'you don't happen to know the Chicken at all; do you, Mr
Gills?'
'The Chicken?' said the Captain.
'The Game Chicken,' said Mr Toots.
The Captain shaking his head, Mr Toots explained that the man alluded
to was the celebrated public character who had covered himself and his
country with glory in his contest with the Nobby Shropshire One; but this
piece of information did not appear to enlighten the Captain very much.
'Because he's outside: that's all,' said Mr Toots. 'But it's of no
consequence; he won't get very wet, perhaps.'
'I can pass the word for him in a moment,' said the Captain.
'Well, if you would have the goodness to let him sit in the shop with
your young man,' chuckled Mr Toots, 'I should be glad; because, you know,
he's easily offended, and the damp's rather bad for his stamina. I'll call
him in, Mr Gills.'
With that, Mr Toots repairing to the shop-door, sent a peculiar whistle
into the night, which produced a stoical gentleman in a shaggy white
great-coat and a flat-brimmed hat, with very short hair, a broken nose, and
a considerable tract of bare and sterile country behind each ear.
'Sit down, Chicken,' said Mr Toots.
The compliant Chicken spat out some small pieces of straw on which he
was regaling himself, and took in a fresh supply from a reserve he carried
in his hand.
'There ain't no drain of nothing short handy, is there?' said the
Chicken, generally. 'This here sluicing night is hard lines to a man as
lives on his condition.
Captain Cuttle proffered a glass of rum, which the Chicken, throwing
back his head, emptied into himself, as into a cask, after proposing the
brief sentiment, 'Towards us!' Mr Toots and the Captain returning then to
the parlour, and taking their seats before the fire, Mr Toots began:
'Mr Gills - '
'Awast!' said the Captain. 'My name's Cuttle.'
Mr Toots looked greatly disconcerted, while the Captain proceeded
gravely.
'Cap'en Cuttle is my name, and England is my nation, this here is my
dwelling-place, and blessed be creation - Job,' said the Captain, as an
index to his authority.
'Oh! I couldn't see Mr Gills, could I?' said Mr Toots; 'because - '
'If you could see Sol Gills, young gen'l'm'n,' said the Captain,
impressively, and laying his heavy hand on Mr Toots's knee, 'old Sol, mind
you - with your own eyes - as you sit there - you'd be welcomer to me, than
a wind astern, to a ship becalmed. But you can't see Sol Gills. And why
can't you see Sol Gills?' said the Captain, apprised by the face of Mr Toots
that he was making a profound impression on that gentleman's mind. 'Because
he's inwisible.'
Mr Toots in his agitation was going to reply that it was of no
consequence at all. But he corrected himself, and said, 'Lor bless me!'
'That there man,' said the Captain, 'has left me in charge here by a
piece of writing, but though he was a'most as good as my sworn brother, I
know no more where he's gone, or why he's gone; if so be to seek his nevy,
or if so be along of being not quite settled in his mind; than you do. One
morning at daybreak, he went over the side,' said the Captain, 'without a
splash, without a ripple I have looked for that man high and low, and never
set eyes, nor ears, nor nothing else, upon him from that hour.'
'But, good Gracious, Miss Dombey don't know - ' Mr Toots began.
'Why, I ask you, as a feeling heart,' said the Captain, dropping his
voice, 'why should she know? why should she be made to know, until such time
as there wam't any help for it? She took to old Sol Gills, did that sweet
creetur, with a kindness, with a affability, with a - what's the good of
saying so? you know her.'
'I should hope so,' chuckled Mr Toots, with a conscious blush that
suffused his whole countenance.
'And you come here from her?' said the Captain.
'I should think so,' chuckled Mr Toots.
'Then all I need observe, is,' said the Captain, 'that you know a
angel, and are chartered a angel.'
Mr Toots instantly seized the Captain's hand, and requested the favour
of his friendship.
'Upon my word and honour,' said Mr Toots, earnestly, 'I should be very
much obliged to you if you'd improve my acquaintance I should like to know
you, Captain, very much. I really am In want of a friend, I am. Little
Dombey was my friend at old Blimber's, and would have been now, if he'd have
lived. The Chicken,' said Mr Toots, in a forlorn whisper, 'is very well -
admirable in his way - the sharpest man perhaps in the world; there's not a
move he isn't up to, everybody says so - but I don't know - he's not
everything. So she is an angel, Captain. If there is an angel anywhere, it's
Miss Dombey. That's what I've always said. Really though, you know,' said Mr
Toots, 'I should be very much obliged to you if you'd cultivate my
acquaintance.'
Captain Cuttle received this proposal in a polite manner, but still
without committing himself to its acceptance; merely observing, 'Ay, ay, my
lad. We shall see, we shall see;' and reminding Mr Toots of his immediate
mission, by inquiring to what he was indebted for the honour of that visit.
'Why the fact is,' replied Mr Toots, 'that it's the young woman I come
from. Not Miss Dombey - Susan, you know.
The Captain nodded his head once, with a grave expression of face
indicative of his regarding that young woman with serious respect.
'And I'll tell you how it happens,' said Mr Toots. 'You know, I go and
call sometimes, on Miss Dombey. I don't go there on purpose, you know, but I
happen to be in the neighbourhood very often; and when I find myself there,
why - why I call.'
'Nat'rally,' observed the Captain.
'Yes,' said Mr Toots. 'I called this afternoon. Upon my word and
honour, I don't think it's possible to form an idea of the angel Miss Dombey
was this afternoon.'
The Captain answered with a jerk of his head, implying that it might
not be easy to some people, but was quite so to him.
'As I was coming out,' said Mr Toots, 'the young woman, in the most
unexpected manner, took me into the pantry.
The Captain seemed, for the moment, to object to this proceeding; and
leaning back in his chair, looked at Mr Toots with a distrustful, if not
threatening visage.
'Where she brought out,' said Mr Toots, 'this newspaper. She told me
that she had kept it from Miss Dombey all day, on account of something that
was in it, about somebody that she and Dombey used to know; and then she
read the passage to me. Very well. Then she said - wait a minute; what was
it she said, though!'
Mr Toots, endeavouring to concentrate his mental powers on this
question, unintentionally fixed the Captain's eye, and was so much
discomposed by its stern expression, that his difficulty in resuming the
thread of his subject was enhanced to a painful extent.
'Oh!' said Mr Toots after long consideration. 'Oh, ah! Yes! She said
that she hoped there was a bare possibility that it mightn't be true; and
that as she couldn't very well come out herself, without surprising Miss
Dombey, would I go down to Mr Solomon Gills the Instrument-maker's in this
street, who was the party's Uncle, and ask whether he believed it was true,
or had heard anything else in the City. She said, if he couldn't speak to
me, no doubt Captain Cuttle could. By the bye!' said Mr Toots, as the
discovery flashed upon him, 'you, you know!'
The Captain glanced at the newspaper in Mr Toots's hand, and breathed
short and hurriedly.
'Well, pursued Mr Toots, 'the reason why I'm rather late is, because I
went up as far as Finchley first, to get some uncommonly fine chickweed that
grows there, for Miss Dombey's bird. But I came on here, directly
afterwards. You've seen the paper, I suppose?'
The Captain, who had become cautious of reading the news, lest he
should find himself advertised at full length by Mrs MacStinger, shook his
head.
'Shall I read the passage to you?' inquired Mr Toots.
The Captain making a sign in the affirmative, Mr Toots read as follows,
from the Shipping Intelligence:
'"Southampton. The barque Defiance, Henry James, Commander, arrived in
this port to-day, with a cargo of sugar, coffee, and rum, reports that being
becalmed on the sixth day of her passage home from Jamaica, in" - in such
and such a latitude, you know,' said Mr Toots, after making a feeble dash at
the figures, and tumbling over them.
'Ay!' cried the Captain, striking his clenched hand on the table.
'Heave ahead, my lad!'
' - latitude,' repeated Mr Toots, with a startled glance at the
Captain, 'and longitude so-and-so, - "the look-out observed, half an hour
before sunset, some fragments of a wreck, drifting at about the distance of
a mile. The weather being clear, and the barque making no way, a boat was
hoisted out, with orders to inspect the same, when they were found to
consist of sundry large spars, and a part of the main rigging of an English
brig, of about five hundred tons burden, together with a portion of the stem
on which the words and letters 'Son and H-' were yet plainly legible. No
vestige of any dead body was to be seen upon the floating fragments. Log of
the Defiance states, that a breeze springing up in the night, the wreck was
seen no more. There can be no doubt that all surmises as to the fate of the
missing vessel, the Son and Heir, port of London, bound for Barbados, are
now set at rest for ever; that she broke up in the last hurricane; and that
every soul on board perished."'
Captain Cuttle, like all mankind, little knew how much hope had
survived within him under discouragement, until he felt its death-shock.
During the reading of the paragraph, and for a minute or two afterwards, he
sat with his gaze fixed on the modest Mr Toots, like a man entranced; then,
suddenly rising, and putting on his glazed hat, which, in his visitor's
honour, he had laid upon the table, the Captain turned his back, and bent
his head down on the little chimneypiece.
'Oh' upon my word and honour,' cried Mr Toots, whose tender heart was
moved by the Captain's unexpected distress, 'this is a most wretched sort of
affair this world is! Somebody's always dying, or going and doing something
uncomfortable in it. I'm sure I never should have looked forward so much, to
coming into my property, if I had known this. I never saw such a world. It's
a great deal worse than Blimber's.'
Captain Cuttle, without altering his position, signed to Mr Toots not
to mind him; and presently turned round, with his glazed hat thrust back
upon his ears, and his hand composing and smoothing his brown face.
'Wal'r, my dear lad,' said the Captain, 'farewell! Wal'r my child, my
boy, and man, I loved you! He warn't my flesh and blood,' said the Captain,
looking at the fire - 'I ain't got none - but something of what a father
feels when he loses a son, I feel in losing Wal'r. For why?' said the
Captain. 'Because it ain't one loss, but a round dozen. Where's that there
young school-boy with the rosy face and curly hair, that used to be as merry
in this here parlour, come round every week, as a piece of music? Gone down
with Wal'r. Where's that there fresh lad, that nothing couldn't tire nor put
out, and that sparkled up and blushed so, when we joked him about Heart's
Delight, that he was beautiful to look at? Gone down with Wal'r. Where's
that there man's spirit, all afire, that wouldn't see the old man hove down
for a minute, and cared nothing for itself? Gone down with Wal'r. It ain't
one Wal'r. There was a dozen Wal'rs that I know'd and loved, all holding
round his neck when he went down, and they're a-holding round mine now!'
Mr Toots sat silent: folding and refolding the newspaper as small as
possible upon his knee.
'And Sol Gills,' said the Captain, gazing at the fire, 'poor nevyless
old Sol, where are you got to! you was left in charge of me; his last words
was, "Take care of my Uncle!" What came over you, Sol, when you went and
gave the go-bye to Ned Cuttle; and what am I to put In my accounts that he's
a looking down upon, respecting you! Sol Gills, Sol Gills!' said the
Captain, shaking his head slowly, 'catch sight of that there newspaper, away
from home, with no one as know'd Wal'r by, to say a word; and broadside to
you broach, and down you pitch, head foremost!'
Drawing a heavy sigh, the Captain turned to Mr Toots, and roused
himself to a sustained consciousness of that gentleman's presence.
'My lad,' said the Captain, 'you must tell the young woman honestly
that this here fatal news is too correct. They don't romance, you see, on
such pints. It's entered on the ship's log, and that's the truest book as a
man can write. To-morrow morning,' said the Captain, 'I'll step out and make
inquiries; but they'll lead to no good. They can't do it. If you'll give me
a look-in in the forenoon, you shall know what I have heerd; but tell the
young woman from Cap'en Cuttle, that it's over. Over!' And the Captain,
hooking off his glazed hat, pulled his handkerchief out of the crown, wiped
his grizzled head despairingly, and tossed the handkerchief in again, with
the indifference of deep dejection.
'Oh! I assure you,' said Mr Toots, 'really I am dreadfully sorry. Upon
my word I am, though I wasn't acquainted with the party. Do you think Miss
Dombey will be very much affected, Captain Gills - I mean Mr Cuttle?'
'Why, Lord love you,' returned the Captain, with something of
compassion for Mr Toots's innocence. When she warn't no higher than that,
they were as fond of one another as two young doves.'
'Were they though!' said Mr Toots, with a considerably lengthened face.
'They were made for one another,' said the Captain, mournfully; 'but
what signifies that now!'
'Upon my word and honour,' cried Mr Toots, blurting out his words
through a singular combination of awkward chuckles and emotion, 'I'm even
more sorry than I was before. You know, Captain Gills, I - I positively
adore Miss Dombey; - I - I am perfectly sore with loving her;' the burst
with which this confession forced itself out of the unhappy Mr Toots,
bespoke the vehemence of his feelings; 'but what would be the good of my
regarding her in this manner, if I wasn't truly sorry for her feeling pain,
whatever was the cause of it. Mine ain't a selfish affection, you know,'
said Mr Toots, in the confidence engendered by his having been a witness of
the Captain's tenderness. 'It's the sort of thing with me, Captain Gills,
that if I could be run over - or - or trampled upon - or - or thrown off a
very high place -or anything of that sort - for Miss Dombey's sake, it would
be the most delightful thing that could happen to me.
All this, Mr Toots said in a suppressed voice, to prevent its reaching
the jealous ears of the Chicken, who objected to the softer emotions; which
effort of restraint, coupled with the intensity of his feelings, made him
red to the tips of his ears, and caused him to present such an affecting
spectacle of disinterested love to the eyes of Captain Cuttle, that the good
Captain patted him consolingly on the back, and bade him cheer up.
'Thankee, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, 'it's kind of you, in the
midst of your own troubles, to say so. I'm very much obliged to you. As I
said before, I really want a friend, and should be glad to have your
acquaintance. Although I am very well off,' said Mr Toots, with energy, 'you
can't think what a miserable Beast I am. The hollow crowd, you know, when
they see me with the Chicken, and characters of distinction like that,
suppose me to be happy; but I'm wretched. I suffer for Miss Dombey, Captain
Gills. I can't get through my meals; I have no pleasure in my tailor; I
often cry when I'm alone. I assure you it'll be a satisfaction to me to come
back to-morrow, or to come back fifty times.'
Mr Toots, with these words, shook the Captain's hand; and disguising
such traces of his agitation as could be disguised on so short a notice,
before the Chicken's penetrating glance, rejoined that eminent gentleman in
the shop. The Chicken, who was apt to be jealous of his ascendancy, eyed
Captain Cuttle with anything but favour as he took leave of Mr Toots, but
followed his patron without being otherwise demonstrative of his ill-will:
leaving the Captain oppressed with sorrow; and Rob the Grinder elevated with
joy, on account of having had the honour of staring for nearly half an hour
at the conqueror of the Nobby Shropshire One.
Long after Rob was fast asleep in his bed under the counter, the
Captain sat looking at the fire; and long after there was no fire to look
at, the Captain sat gazing on the rusty bars, with unavailing thoughts of
Walter and old Sol crowding through his mind. Retirement to the stormy
chamber at the top of the house brought no rest with it; and the Captain
rose up in the morning, sorrowful and unrefreshed.
As soon as the City offices were opened, the Captain issued forth to
the counting-house of Dombey and Son. But there was no opening of the
Midshipman's windows that morning. Rob the Grinder, by the Captain's orders,
left the shutters closed, and the house was as a house of death.
It chanced that Mr Carker was entering the office, as Captain Cuttle
arrived at the door. Receiving the Manager's benison gravely and silently,
Captain Cuttle made bold to accompany him into his own room.
'Well, Captain Cuttle,' said Mr Carker, taking up his usual position
before the fireplace, and keeping on his hat, 'this is a bad business.'
'You have received the news as was in print yesterday, Sir?' said the
Captain.
'Yes,' said Mr Carker, 'we have received it! It was accurately stated.
The underwriters suffer a considerable loss. We are very sorry. No help!
Such is life!'
Mr Carker pared his nails delicately with a penknife, and smiled at the
Captain, who was standing by the door looking at him.
'I excessively regret poor Gay,' said Carker, 'and the crew. I
understand there were some of our very best men among 'em. It always happens
so. Many men with families too. A comfort to reflect that poor Gay had no
family, Captain Cuttle!'
The Captain stood rubbing his chin, and looking at the Manager. The
Manager glanced at the unopened letters lying on his desk, and took up the
newspaper.
'Is there anything I can do for you, Captain Cuttle?' he asked looking
off it, with a smiling and expressive glance at the door.
'I wish you could set my mind at rest, Sir, on something it's uneasy
about,' returned the Captain.
'Ay!' exclaimed the Manager, 'what's that? Come, Captain Cuttle, I must
trouble you to be quick, if you please. I am much engaged.'
'Lookee here, Sir,' said the Captain, advancing a step. 'Afore my
friend Wal'r went on this here disastrous voyage -
'Come, come, Captain Cuttle,' interposed the smiling Manager, 'don't
talk about disastrous voyages in that way. We have nothing to do with
disastrous voyages here, my good fellow. You must have begun very early on
your day's allowance, Captain, if you don't remember that there are hazards
in all voyages, whether by sea or land. You are not made uneasy by the
supposition that young what's-his-name was lost in bad weather that was got
up against him in these offices - are you? Fie, Captain! Sleep, and
soda-water, are the best cures for such uneasiness as that.
'My lad,' returned the Captain, slowly - 'you are a'most a lad to me,
and so I don't ask your pardon for that slip of a word, - if you find any
pleasure in this here sport, you ain't the gentleman I took you for. And if
you ain't the gentleman I took you for, may be my mind has call to be
uneasy. Now this is what it is, Mr Carker. - Afore that poor lad went away,
according to orders, he told me that he warn't a going away for his own
good, or for promotion, he know'd. It was my belief that he was wrong, and I
told him so, and I come here, your head governor being absent, to ask a
question or two of you in a civil way, for my own satisfaction. Them
questions you answered - free. Now it'll ease my mind to know, when all is
over, as it is, and when what can't be cured must be endoored - for which,
as a scholar, you'll overhaul the book it's in, and thereof make a note - to
know once more, in a word, that I warn't mistaken; that I warn't back'ard in
my duty when I didn't tell the old man what Wal'r told me; and that the wind
was truly in his sail, when he highsted of it for Barbados Harbour. Mr
Carker,' said the Captain, in the goodness of his nature, 'when I was here
last, we was very pleasant together. If I ain't been altogether so pleasant
myself this morning, on account of this poor lad, and if I have chafed again
any observation of yours that I might have fended off, my name is Ed'ard
Cuttle, and I ask your pardon.'
'Captain Cuttle,' returned the Manager, with all possible politeness,
'I must ask you to do me a favour.'
'And what is it, Sir?' inquired the Captain.
'To have the goodness to walk off, if you please,' rejoined the
Manager, stretching forth his arm, 'and to carry your jargon somewhere
else.'
Every knob in the Captain's face turned white with astonishment and
indignation; even the red rim on his forehead faded, like a rainbow among
the gathering clouds.
'I tell you what, Captain Cuttle,' said the Manager, shaking his
forefinger at him, and showing him all his teeth, but still amiably smiling,
'I was much too lenient with you when you came here before. You belong to an
artful and audacious set of people. In my desire to save young
what's-his-name from being kicked out of this place, neck and crop, my good
Captain, I tolerated you; but for once, and only once. Now, go, my friend!'
The Captain was absolutely rooted to the ground, and speechless -
'Go,' said the good-humoured Manager, gathering up his skirts, and
standing astride upon the hearth-rug, 'like a sensible fellow, and let us
have no turning out, or any such violent measures. If Mr Dombey were here,
Captain, you might be obliged to leave in a more ignominious manner,
possibly. I merely say, Go!'
The Captain, laying his ponderous hand upon his chest, to assist
himself in fetching a deep breath, looked at Mr Carker from head to foot,
and looked round the little room, as if he did not clearly understand where
he was, or in what company.
'You are deep, Captain Cuttle,' pursued Carker, with the easy and
vivacious frankness of a man of the world who knew the world too well to be
ruffled by any discovery of misdoing, when it did not immediately concern
himself, 'but you are not quite out of soundings, either - neither you nor
your absent friend, Captain. What have you done with your absent friend,
hey?'
Again the Captain laid his hand upon his chest. After drawing another
deep breath, he conjured himself to 'stand by!' But In a whisper.
'You hatch nice little plots, and hold nice little councils, and make
nice little appointments, and receive nice little visitors, too, Captain,
hey?' said Carker, bending his brows upon him, without showing his teeth any
the less: 'but it's a bold measure to come here afterwards. Not like your
discretion! You conspirators, and hiders, and runners-away, should know
better than that. Will you oblige me by going?'
'My lad,' gasped the Captain, in a choked and trembling voice, and with
a curious action going on in the ponderous fist; 'there's a many words I
could wish to say to you, but I don't rightly know where they're stowed just
at present. My young friend, Wal'r, was drownded only last night, according
to my reckoning, and it puts me out, you see. But you and me will come
alongside o'one another again, my lad,' said the Captain, holding up his
hook, if we live.'
'It will be anything but shrewd in you, my good fellow, if we do,'
returned the Manager, with the same frankness; 'for you may rely, I give you
fair warning, upon my detecting and exposing you. I don't pretend to be a
more moral man than my neighbours, my good Captain; but the confidence of
this House, or of any member of this House, is not to be abused and
undermined while I have eyes and ears. Good day!' said Mr Carker, nodding
his head.
Captain Cuttle, looking at him steadily (Mr Carker looked full as
steadily at the Captain), went out of the office and left him standing
astride before the fire, as calm and pleasant as if there were no more spots
upon his soul than on his pure white linen, and his smooth sleek skin.
The Captain glanced, in passing through the outer counting-house, at
the desk where he knew poor Walter had been used to sit, now occupied by
another young boy, with a face almost as fresh and hopeful as his on the day
when they tapped the famous last bottle but one of the old Madeira, in the
little back parlour. The nation of ideas, thus awakened, did the Captain a
great deal of good; it softened him in the very height of his anger, and
brought the tears into his eyes.
Arrived at the wooden Midshipman's again, and sitting down in a corner
of the dark shop, the Captain's indignation, strong as it was, could make no
head against his grief. Passion seemed not only to do wrong and violence to
the memory of the dead, but to be infected by death, and to droop and
decline beside it. All the living knaves and liars in the world, were
nothing to the honesty and truth of one dead friend.
The only thing the honest Captain made out clearly, in this state of
mind, besides the loss of Walter, was, that with him almost the whole world
of Captain Cuttle had been drowned. If he reproached himself sometimes, and
keenly too, for having ever connived at Walter's innocent deceit, he thought
at least as often of the Mr Carker whom no sea could ever render up; and the
Mr Dombey, whom he now began to perceive was as far beyond human recall; and
the 'Heart's Delight,' with whom he must never foregather again; and the
Lovely Peg, that teak-built and trim ballad, that had gone ashore upon a
rock, and split into mere planks and beams of rhyme. The Captain sat in the
dark shop, thinking of these things, to the entire exclusion of his own
injury; and looking with as sad an eye upon the ground, as if in
contemplation of their actual fragments, as they floated past
But the Captain was not unmindful, for all that, of such decent and
rest observances in memory of poor Walter, as he felt within his power.
Rousing himself, and rousing Rob the Grinder (who in the unnatural twilight
was fast asleep), the Captain sallied forth with his attendant at his heels,
and the door-key in his pocket, and repairing to one of those convenient
slop-selling establishments of which there is abundant choice at the eastern
end of London, purchased on the spot two suits of mourning - one for Rob the
Grinder, which was immensely too small, and one for himself, which was
immensely too large. He also provided Rob with a species of hat, greatly to
be admired for its symmetry and usefulness, as well as for a happy blending
of the mariner with the coal-heaver; which is usually termed a sou'wester;
and which was something of a novelty in connexion with the instrument
business. In their several garments, which the vendor declared to be such a
miracle in point of fit as nothing but a rare combination of fortuitous
circumstances ever brought about, and the fashion of which was unparalleled
within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, the Captain and Grinder
immediately arrayed themselves: presenting a spectacle fraught with wonder
to all who beheld it.
In this altered form, the Captain received Mr Toots. 'I'm took aback,
my lad, at present,' said the Captain, 'and will only confirm that there ill
news. Tell the young woman to break it gentle to the young lady, and for
neither of 'em never to think of me no more - 'special, mind you, that is -
though I will think of them, when night comes on a hurricane and seas is
mountains rowling, for which overhaul your Doctor Watts, brother, and when
found make a note on."
The Captain reserved, until some fitter time, the consideration of Mr
Toots's offer of friendship, and thus dismissed him. Captain Cuttle's
spirits were so low, in truth, that he half determined, that day, to take no
further precautions against surprise from Mrs MacStinger, but to abandon
himself recklessly to chance, and be indifferent to what might happen. As
evening came on, he fell into a better frame of mind, however; and spoke
much of Walter to Rob the Grinder, whose attention and fidelity he likewise
incidentally commended. Rob did not blush to hear the Captain earnest in his
praises, but sat staring at him, and affecting to snivel with sympathy, and
making a feint of being virtuous, and treasuring up every word he said (like
a young spy as he was) with very promising deceit.
When Rob had turned in, and was fast asleep, the Captain trimmed the
candle, put on his spectacles - he had felt it appropriate to take to
spectacles on entering into the Instrument Trade, though his eyes were like
a hawk's - and opened the prayer-book at the Burial Service. And reading
softly to himself, in the little back parlour, and stopping now and then to
wipe his eyes, the Captain, In a true and simple spirit, committed Walter's
body to the deep.
Contrasts
Turn we our eyes upon two homes; not lying side by side, but wide
apart, though both within easy range and reach of the great city of London.
The first is situated in the green and wooded country near Norwood. It
is not a mansion; it is of no pretensions as to size; but it is beautifully
arranged, and tastefully kept. The lawn, the soft, smooth slope, the
flower-garden, the clumps of trees where graceful forms of ash and willow
are not wanting, the conservatory, the rustic verandah with sweet-smelling
creeping plants entwined about the pillars, the simple exterior of the
house, the well-ordered offices, though all upon the diminutive scale proper
to a mere cottage, bespeak an amount of elegant comfort within, that might
serve for a palace. This indication is not without warrant; for, within, it
is a house of refinement and luxury. Rich colours, excellently blended, meet
the eye at every turn; in the furniture - its proportions admirably devised
to suit the shapes and sizes of the small rooms; on the walls; upon the
floors; tingeing and subduing the light that comes in through the odd glass
doors and windows here and there. There are a few choice prints and pictures
too; in quaint nooks and recesses there is no want of books; and there are
games of skill and chance set forth on tables - fantastic chessmen, dice,
backgammon, cards, and billiards.
And yet amidst this opulence of comfort, there is something in the
general air that is not well. Is it that the carpets and the cushions are
too soft and noiseless, so that those who move or repose among them seem to
act by stealth? Is it that the prints and pictures do not commemorate great
thoughts or deeds, or render nature in the Poetry of landscape, hall, or
hut, but are of one voluptuous cast - mere shows of form and colour - and no
more? Is it that the books have all their gold outside, and that the titles
of the greater part qualify them to be companions of the prints and
pictures? Is it that the completeness and the beauty of the place are here
and there belied by an affectation of humility, in some unimportant and
inexpensive regard, which is as false as the face of the too truly painted
portrait hanging yonder, or its original at breakfast in his easy chair
below it? Or is it that, with the daily breath of that original and master
of all here, there issues forth some subtle portion of himself, which gives
a vague expression of himself to everything about him?
It is Mr Carker the Manager who sits in the easy chair. A gaudy parrot
in a burnished cage upon the table tears at the wires with her beak, and
goes walking, upside down, in its dome-top, shaking her house and
screeching; but Mr Carker is indifferent to the bird, and looks with a
musing smile at a picture on the opposite wall.
'A most extraordinary accidental likeness, certainly,' says he.
Perhaps it is a Juno; perhaps a Potiphar's Wife'; perhaps some scornful
Nymph - according as the Picture Dealers found the market, when they
christened it. It is the figure of a woman, supremely handsome, who, turning
away, but with her face addressed to the spectator, flashes her proud glance
upon him.
It is like Edith.
With a passing gesture of his hand at the picture - what! a menace? No;
yet something like it. A wave as of triumph? No; yet more like that. An
insolent salute wafted from his lips? No; yet like that too - he resumes his
breakfast, and calls to the chafing and imprisoned bird, who coming down
into a pendant gilded hoop within the cage, like a great wedding-ring,
swings in it, for his delight.
The second home is on the other side of London, near to where the busy
great north road of bygone days is silent and almost deserted, except by
wayfarers who toil along on foot. It is a poor small house, barely and
sparely furnished, but very clean; and there is even an attempt to decorate
it, shown in the homely flowers trained about the porch and in the narrow
garden. The neighbourhood in which it stands has as little of the country to
recommend'it, as it has of the town. It is neither of the town nor country.
The former, like the giant in his travelling boots, has made a stride and
passed it, and has set his brick-and-mortar heel a long way in advance; but
the intermediate space between the giant's feet, as yet, is only blighted
country, and not town; and, here, among a few tall chimneys belching smoke
all day and night, and among the brick-fields and the lanes where turf is
cut, and where the fences tumble down, and where the dusty nettles grow, and
where a scrap or two of hedge may yet be seen, and where the bird-catcher
still comes occasionally, though he swears every time to come no more - this
second home is to be found.'
She who inhabits it, is she who left the first in her devotion to an
outcast brother. She withdrew from that home its redeeming spirit, and from
its master's breast his solitary angel: but though his liking for her is
gone, after this ungrateful slight as he considers it; and though he
abandons her altogether in return, an old idea of her is not quite forgotten
even by him. Let her flower-garden, in which he never sets his foot, but
which is yet maintained, among all his costly alterations, as if she had
quitted it but yesterday, bear witness!
Harriet Carker has changed since then, and on her beauty there has
fallen a heavier shade than Time of his unassisted self can cast, all-potent
as he is - the shadow of anxiety and sorrow, and the daily struggle of a
poor existence. But it is beauty still; and still a gentle, quiet, and
retiring beauty that must be sought out, for it cannot vaunt itself; if it
could, it would be what it is, no more.
Yes. This slight, small, patient figure, neatly dressed in homely
stuffs, and indicating nothing but the dull, household virtues, that have so
little in common with the received idea of heroism and greatness, unless,
indeed, any ray of them should shine through the lives of the great ones of
the earth, when it becomes a constellation and is tracked in Heaven
straightway - this slight, small, patient figure, leaning on the man still
young but worn and grey, is she, his sister, who, of all the world, went
over to him in his shame and put her hand in his, and with a sweet composure
and determination, led him hopefully upon his barren way.
'It is early, John,' she said. 'Why do you go so early?'
'Not many minutes earlier than usual, Harriet. If I have the time to
spare, I should like, I think - it's a fancy - to walk once by the house
where I took leave of him.'
'I wish I had ever seen or known him, John.'
'It is better as it is, my dear, remembering his fate.'
'But I could not regret it more, though I had known him. Is not your
sorrow mine? And if I had, perhaps you would feel that I was a better
companion to you in speaking about him, than I may seem now.
'My dearest sister! Is there anything within the range of rejoicing or
regret, in which I am not sure of your companionship?'
'I hope you think not, John, for surely there is nothing!'
'How could you be better to me, or nearer to me then, than you are in
this, or anything?' said her brother. 'I feel that you did know him,
Harriet, and that you shared my feelings towards him.'
She drew the hand which had been resting on his shoulder, round his
neck, and answered, with some hesitation:
'No, not quite.'
'True, true!' he said; 'you think I might have done him no harm if I
had allowed myself to know him better?'
'Think! I know it.'
'Designedly, Heaven knows I would not,' he replied, shaking his head