trust. he lived in a sweet bachelor apartment-furnished, on the fifth floor, above the wood and charcoal merchant's, and the dress-maker's, and the chair-maker's, and the maker of tubs—where I knew him, too, and where, with his cognac and tobacco, he had twelve sleeps a-day and one fit, until he had a fit too much and ascended to the skies. Ha, ha, ha! What does it matter how I took possession of the papers in his iron box? Perhaps he confided it to my hands for you, perhaps it was locked and my curiosity was piqued, perhaps I suppressed it. Ha, ha, ha! What does it matter, so that I have it safe? We are not particular here; hey, Flintwinch? We are not particular here; is it not so, madame ?" Retiring before him with vicious counter-jerks of his own elbows, Mr. Flintwinch had got back "You were often enough between us, werp ! Ah, but he was a brave boy to drink! when he would have had me produce it and I│Ah, but he was a brave boy to smoke! Ah, but would not, to have contradicted me if I had said, with his consent. I say, when I suppressed that paper, I made no effort to destroy it, but kept it by me, here in this house, many years. The rest of the Gilbert property being left to Arthur's father, I could at any time, without unsettling more than the two sums, have made a pretense of finding it. But, besides that I must have supported such pretense by a direct falsehood (a great responsibility), I have seen no new reason, in all the time I have been tried here, to bring it to light. It was a rewarding of sin; the wrong result of a delusion. I did what I was appointed to do, and I have undergone, within these four walls, what I was appointed to undergo. When the paper was at last destroyed-as I thought-in my presence, she had long been dead, and her patron, Fred-into his corner, where he now stood with his erick Dorrit, had long been deservedly ruined and imbecile. He had no daughter. I had found the niece before then; and what I did for her was better for her, far, than the money of which she would have had no good." She added, after a moment, as though she addressed the watch: "She herself was innocent, and I might not have forgotten to relinquish it to her at my death;" and sat looking at it. "Shall I recall something to you, worthy madame?" said Rigaud. "The little paper was in this house on the night when our friend the prisoner-jail-comrade of my soul-came home from foreign countries. Shall I recall yet something more to you? The little singing-bird that never was fledged, was long kept in a cage by a guardian of your appointing, well enough | known to our old intriguer here. Shall we coax our old intriguer to tell us when he saw him last?" 66 "I'll tell you!" cried Affery, unstopping her mouth. "I dreamed it, first of all my dreams. Jeremiah, if you come a-nigh me now, I'll scream to be heard at St. Paul's! The person as this man has spoken of, was Jeremiah's own twin brother; and he was here in the dead of the night, on the night when Arthur come home, and Jeremiah with his own hands give him this paper, along with I don't know what more, and he took it away in an iron box.-Help! der! hands in his pockets, taking breath, and returning Mrs. Clennam's stare. "Ha, ha, ha! But what's this?" cried Rigaud. "It appears as if you don't know one the other. Permit me, Madame Clennam who suppresses, to present Monsieur Flintwinch who intrigues." Mr. Flintwinch, unpocketing one of his hands to scrape his jaw, advanced a step or so in that attitude, still returning Mrs. Clennam's look, and thus addressed her: "Now, I know what you mean by opening your eyes so wide at me, but you needn't take the trouble, because I don't care for it. I've been telling you for how many years that you're one of the most opiniated and obstinate of women. That's what you are. You call yourself humble and sinful, but you are the most Bumptious of your sex. That's what you are. I have told you, over and over again when we have had a tiff, that you wanted to make every thing go down before you, but I wouldn't go down before you that you wanted to swallow up every body alive, but I wouldn't be swallowed up alive. Why didn't you destroy the paper when you first laid hands upon it? I advised you to; but no, it's not your way to take advice. You must keep it, forsooth. Perhaps you may carry it out at some other time, forsooth. As if I didn't know better than that! I think I see your pride carMur-rying it out, with a chance of being suspected of having kept it by you. But that's the way you cheat yourself. Just as you cheat yourself into making out that you didn't do all this business, because you were a rigorous woman, all slight, and spite, and power, and unforgivingness, "What!" cried Rigaud, rallying him as he but because you were a servant and a minister, poked and jerked him back with his elbows. and were appointed to do it. Who are you, that "Assault a lady with such a genius for dream- you should be appointed to do it? That may ing? Ha, ha, ha! Why, she'll be a fortune to be your religion, but it's my gammon. And, to you as an exhibition. All that she dreams comes tell you all the truth while I am about it," said true. Ha, ha, ha! You're so like him, Little Mr. Flintwinch, crossing his arms and becoming Flintwinch. So like him, as I knew him (when the express image of irascible doggedness, "I I first spoke English for him to the host) in the have been rasped-rasped these forty years—by Cabaret of the Three Billiard Tables, in the lit-your taking such high ground even with me, tle street of the high roofs, by the wharf at Ant- who knows better; the effect of it being coolly Save me from Jere-mi-ah!" to put me on low ground. I admire you very much; you are a woman of strong head and great talent; but the strongest head and the greatest talent can't rasp a man for forty years without making him sore. So I don't care for your present eyes. Now I am coming to the paper, and mark what I say. You put it away somewhere, and you keep your own counsel where. You're an active woman at that time, and if you want to get that paper, you can get | it. But, mark! There comes a time when you are struck into what you are now, and then if you want to get that paper, you can't get it. So it lies, long years, in its hiding-place. At last, when we are expecting Arthur home every day, and when any day may bring him home, and it's impossible to say what rummaging he may make about the house, I recommend you five thousand times, if you can't get at it, to let me get at it, that it may be put in the fire. But no-no one but you knows where it is, and that's power; and, call yourself whatever humble names you will, I call you a female Lucifer in appetite for power! On a Sunday night Arthur comes home. He has not been in this room ten minutes when he speaks of his father's watch. You know very well that the Do Not Forget, at the time when his father sent that watch to you, could only mean, the rest of the story being then all dead and over, Do Not Forget the suppression. Make restitution! Arthur's ways have frightened you a bit, and the paper shall be burned after all. So, before that jumping jade and Jezabel," Mr. Flintwinch grinned at his wife, "has got you into bed, you at last tell me where you have put the paper, among the old ledgers in the cellars, where Arthur himself went prowling the very next morning. But it's not to be burned on a Sunday night. No; you are strict, you are; we must wait over twelve o'clock, and get into Monday. Now, all this is a swallowing of me up alive, that rasps me; so, feeling a little out of temper, and not being as strict as yourself, I take a look at the document before twelve o'clock, to refresh my memory as to its appearance fold up one of the many yellow old papers in the cellars like it-and afterward, when we have got into Monday morning, and I have, by the light of your lamp, to walk from you, lying on that bed, to this grate, make a little exchange like the conjuror, and burn accordingly. My brother Ephraim, the lunatic keeper (I wish he had had himself to keep in a strait waistcoat), had had many jobs since the close of the long job he got from you, but had not done well. His wife died (not that that was much; mine might have died instead, and welcome), he speculated unsuccessfully in lunatics, he got into difficulty about over-roasting a patient to bring him to reason, and he got into debt. He was going out of the way, on what he had been able to scrape up, and a trifle from me. He was here that early Monday morning, waiting for the tide; in short, he was going to Antwerp, where (I am afraid you'll be shocked at my saying, And be damned to him!) he made the acquaintance of this gentleman. He had come a long way, and, I thought then, was only sleepy; but, I suppose now, was drunk. When Arthur's mother had been under the care of him and his wife, she had been always writing, incessantly writing-mostly letters of confession to you, and prayers for forgiveness. My brother had handed, from time to time, lots of these sheets to me. I thought I might as well keep them to myself, as have them swallowed up alive too; so I kept them in a box, looking them over when I felt in the humor. Convinced that it was advisable to get the paper out of the place, with Arthur coming about it, I put it into this same box, and I locked the whole up with two locks, and I trusted it to my brother to take away and keep, till I should write about it. I did write about it, and never got an answer. I did'nt know what to make of it till this gentleman favored us with his first visit. Of course, I began to suspect how it was then; and I don't want his word for it now to understand how he gets his knowledge from my papers, and your paper, and my brother's cognac and tobacco talk (I wish he'd had to gag himself). Now, I have only one thing more to say, you hammerheaded woman, and that is, that I haven't altogether made up my mind whether I might, or might not, have ever given you any trouble about the codicil. I think not; and that I should have been quite satisfied with knowing I had got the better of you, and that I held the power over you. In the present state of circumstances, I have no more explanation to give you till this time to-morrow night. So you may as well," said Mr. Flintwinch, terminating his oration with a screw, "keep your eyes open at somebody else, for it's no use keeping 'em open at me." She slowly withdrew them when he had ceased, and dropped her forehead on her hand. Her other hand pressed hard upon the table, and again the curious stir was observable in her, as if she were going to rise. "This box can never bring, elsewhere, the price it will bring here. This knowledge can never be of the same profit to you, sold to any other person, as sold to me. But, I have not the present means of raising the sum you have demanded. I have not prospered. What will you take now, and what at another time, and how am I to be assured of your silence ?" "My angel," replied Rigaud, "I have said what I will take, and time presses. Before coming here, I placed copies of the most important of these papers in another hand. Put off the time till the Marshalsea gate shall be shut for the night, and it will be too late to treat. The prisoner will have read them." She put her two hands to her head again, uttered a loud exclamation, and started to her feet. She staggered for a moment, as if she would have fallen; then stood firm. "Say what you mean. Say what you mean. man!" Before her ghostly figure, so long unused to | Affery was the first to move, and she, wringing its erect attitude, and so stiffened in it, Rigaud fell back and dropped his voice. It was, to all the three, as if a dead woman had risen. her hands, pursued her mistress. Next, Jeremiah Flintwinch, slowly backing to the door, with one hand in a pocket, and the other rubbing his chin, twisted himself out in his reticent way, speechlessly. Rigaud, left alone, composed himself upon the window-seat of the open window, in the old Marseilles Jail attitude. He laid his cigarettes and fire-box ready to his hand, and fell to smoking. "Whoof! Almost as dull as the infernal old jail. Warmer, but almost as dismal. Wait till she comes back? Yes, certainly; but where is she gone, and how long will she be gone? No matter! Rigaud Lagnier Blandois, my amiable "Miss Dorrit," answered Rigaud, "the little niece of Monsieur Frederick, whom I have known across the water, is attached to the prisoner. Miss Dorrit, little niece of Monsieur Frederick, watches at this moment over the prisoner, who is ill. For her, I with my own hands left a packet at the prison, on my way here, with a letter of instructions for his sake' -she will do any thing for his sake-to keep it without breaking the seal, in case of its being reclaimed before the hour of shutting up to-night -if it should not be reclaimed before the ring-subject, you will get your money. You will ening of the prison bell, to give it to him; and it incloses a second copy for herself, which he must give to her. What! I don't trust myself among you, now we have got so far, without giving my secret a second life. And as to its not bringing me elsewhere the price it will bring here, say then, madame, have you limited and settled the price the little niece will give-for his sake-to hush it up? Once more I say, time presses. The packet not reclaimed before the ringing of the bell to-night, you can not buy. I sell, then, to the little girl!" Once more the stir and struggle in her, and she ran to a closet, tore the door open, took down a hood or shawl, and wrapped it over her head. Affery, who had watched her in terror, darted to her in the middle of the room, caught hold of her dress, and went on her knees to her. "Don't, don't, don't! What are you doing? Where are you going? You're a fearful woman, but I don't bear you no ill-will. I can do poor Arthur no good now, that I see; and you needn't be afraid of me. I'll keep your secret. Don't go out, you'll fall dead in the street. Only promise me, that, if it's the poor thing that's kept here, secretly, you'll let me take charge of her and be her nurse. Only promise me that, and never be afraid of me." Mrs. Clennam stood still for an instant, at the height of her rapid haste, saying, in stern amazement, "Kept here? She has been dead a score of years and more. Ask Flintwinch-ask him. They can both tell you that she died when Arthur went abroad." "So much the worse," said Affery, with a shiver, “for she haunts the house, then. Who else rustles about it, making signals by dropping dust so softly? Who else comes and goes, and marks the walls with long crooked touches, when we are all abed? Who else holds the doors sometimes? But don't go out-don't go out! Mistress, you'll die in the street!" Her mistress only disengaged her dress from the beseeching hands, said to Rigaud "Wait here till I come back!" and ran out of the room. They saw her, from the window, run wildly through the court-yard and out at the gateway. For a few moments they stood motionless. rich yourself. You have lived a gentleman; you will die a gentleman. You triumph, my little boy; but it is your character to triumph. Whoof!" In the hour of his triumph, his mustache went up and his nose came down, as he ogled a great beam over his head with particular satisfaction. CHAPTER LXVII.-CLOSED. THE sun had set, and the streets were dim in the dusty twilight, when the figure so long unused to them hurried on its way. In the immediate neighborhood of the old house it attracted little attention, for there were only a few straggling people to notice it; but ascending from the river, by the crooked ways that led to London Bridge, and passing into the main road, it became surrounded by astonishment. Resolute and wild of look, rapid of foot and yet weak and uncertain, conspicuously dressed in its black garments and with its hurried head covering, gaunt and of an unearthly paleness, it pressed forward, taking no more heed of the throng than a sleep-walker. More remarkable by being so removed from the crowd it was among than if it had been lifted on a pedestal to be seen, the figure attracted all eyes. Saunterers pricked up their attention to observe it; busy people, crossing it, slackened their pace and turned their heads; companions pausing and standing aside, whispered one another to look at this spectral woman who was coming by; and the sweep of the figure as it passed seemed to create a vortex, drawing the most idle and most curious after it. Made giddy by the turbulent irruption of this multitude of staring faces into her cell of years, by the confusing sensation of being in the air and the yet more confusing sensation of being afoot, by the unexpected changes in half-remembered objects, and the want of likeness between the controllable pictures her imagination had often drawn of the life from which she was secluded, and the overwhelming rush of the reality, she held her way, as if she were environed by distracting thoughts rather than by external humanity and observation. But having crossed the bridge, and gone some distance straight onward, she remembered that she must ask for a direction; and it was only then, when she stopped and turned to look about her for a hopeful place of inquiry, that she found herself surrounded by an eager glare of faces. "Why are you encircling me?" she asked, trembling. None of those who were nearest answered; but, from the outer ring, there arose a shrill cry of "'Cause you're mad!" "I am as sane as any one here. I want to find the Marshalsea prison." The shrill outer circle again retorted, "Then that 'ud show you was mad if nothing else did, 'cause it's right opposite!" A short, mild, quiet-looking young man, made his way through to her, as a whooping ensued on this reply, and said: "Was it the Marshalsea you wanted? I'm going on duty there. Come across with me." She laid her hand upon his arm, and he took her over the way; the crowd, rather injured by the near prospect of losing her, pressing before and behind and on either side, and recommending an adjournment to Bedlam. After a mo mentary whirl in the outer court-yard, the prison-door opened, and shut upon them. In the lodge, which seemed by contrast with the outer noise a place of refuge and peace, a yellow lamp was already striving with the prison shadows. "Why, John!" said the turnkey, who had admitted them. "What is it ?" "Nothing, father; only this lady not knowing her way, and living badgered by the boys. Who did you want, ma'am?" "Miss Dorrit. Is she here?" The young man became more interested. "Yes, she is here. What might your name be? "Mrs. Clennam." "Read them." Little Dorrit took the packet from the still outstretched hand, and broke the seal. Mrs. Clennam then gave her the inner packet that was addressed to herself, and held the other. The shadow of the wall and of the prison-buildings, which made the room sombre at noon, made it too dark to read there, with the dusk deepening apace, save in the window. In the window, where a little of the bright summer-evening sky could shine upon her, Little Dorrit stood and read. After a broken exclamation or so of wonder and of terror, she read in silence. When she had finished, she looked round, and her old "Mr. Clennam's mother?" asked the young mistress bowed herself before her. man. She pressed her lips together, and hesitated. "Yes. She had better be told it is his mother." "You see," said the young man, "the Marshal's family living in the country at present, the Marshal has given Miss Dorrit one of the rooms in his house, to use when she likes. Don't you think you had better come up there, and let me bring Miss Dorrit ?" She signified her assent, and he unlocked a door, and conducted her up a side stair-case into a dwelling-house above. He showed her into a darkening room, and left her. The room looked down into the darkening prison-yard, with its inmates strolling here and there, leaning out of windows, communing as much apart as they could with friends who were going away, and generally wearing out their imprisonment as they best might, that summer evening. The air was heavy and hot; the closeness of the place oppressive; and from without there arose a rush of free sounds, like the jarring memory of such things in a headache and heartache. She stood at the window, bewildered, looking down into this prison as it were out of her own different prison, when a soft word or two of surprise made her start, and Little Dorrit stood before her. "Is it possible, Mrs. Clennam, that you are so happily recovered as-" Little Dorrit stopped, for there was neither happiness nor health in the face that turned to her. "This is not recovery; it is not strength; I don't know what it is." With an agitated wave of her hand she put all that aside. "You have had a packet left with you which you were to give to Arthur, if it was not reclaimed before this place closed to-night ?" "Yes." "I reclaim it." Little Dorrit took it from her bosom, and gave it into her hand, which remained stretched out after receiving it. "Have you any idea of its contents?" Frightened by her being there, with that new power of movement in her, which, as she had said herself, was not strength, and which was unreal to look upon, as though a picture or a statue had been animated, Little Dorrit answered, "No." "You know, now, what I have done." "I think so. I am afraid so; though my mind is so hurried, and so sorry, and has so much to pity, that it has not been able to follow all I have read," said Little Dorrit, tremulously. "I will restore to you what I have withheld from you. Forgive me. Can you forgive me?" "I can, and Heaven knows I do! Do not kiss my dress and kneel to me; you are too old to kneel to me; I forgive you freely, without that." "I have more to ask yet." "Not in that posture," said Little Dorrit. "It is unnatural to see your gray hair lower than mine. Pray rise; let me help you." With that she raised her up, and stood rather shrinking from her, but looking at her earnestly. "The great petition that I make to you (there is another which grows out of it), the great supplication that I address to your merciful and gentle heart, is, that you will not disclose this to Arthur until I am dead. If you think, when you have had time for consideration, that it can do him any good to know it while I am yet alive, then tell him. But, you will not think that; and, in such case, will you promise me to spare me until I am dead?" "I am so sorry, and what I have read has so confused my thoughts," returned Little Dorrit, "that I can scarcely give you a steady answer. If I should be quite sure that to be acquainted with it will do Mr. Clennam no good-" "I know you are attached to him, and will make him the first consideration. It is right that he should be the first consideration; I ask that. But, having regarded him, and still finding that you may spare me for the little time I shall remain on earth, will you do it ?" "I will." "God bless you!" She stood in the shadow so that she was only a vailed form to Little Dorrit in the light; but the sound of her voice, in saying those three grateful words, was at once fervent and broken. Broken by emotion as unfamiliar to her frozen eyes as action to her frozen limbs. "You will wonder, perhaps," she said, in a stronger tone, "that I can better bear to be known to you whom I have wronged than to the son of my enemy who wronged me-for she |