Would she ever forget it? Was she glad to know it? And a lively delight was in his eyes as he spoke to her.

Once, for a last look, he turned and gazed upon the faces thus addressed to him, surprised to see how shining and how bright, and numerous they were, and how they were all piled and heaped up, as faces are at crowded theatres. They swam before him as he looked, like faces in an agitated glass; and next moment he was in the dark coach outside, holding close to Florence. From that time, whenever he thought of Doctor Blimber's, it came back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed to be a real place again, but always a dream, full of eyes.

This was not quite the last of Doctor Blimber's, however. There was something else. There was Mr. Toots. Who, unexpectedly letting down one of the coach-windows, and look. ing in, said, with a most egregious chuckle, "Is Dombey there?" and immediately put it up again, without waiting for on answer. Nor was this quite the last of Mr. Toots, even; For before the coachman could drive off, he as suddenly let down the other window, and looking in with a precisely similar chuckle, said in a precisely similar tone of voice, "Is Dombey there?" and disappeared precisely as before.

How Florence laughed! Paul often remembered it, and laughed himself whenever he did so.

But there was much, soon afterwards-next day, and after that which Paul could only recollect confusedly. As, why they stayed at Mrs. Pipchin's days and nights, instead of going home; why he lay in bed, with Florence sitting by his side; whether that had been his father in the room, or only a tall shadow on the wall; whether he had heard his doctor say, of some one, that if they had removed him before the occasion on which he had built up fancies, strong in proportion to his own weakness, it was very possible he might have pined away.

He could not even remember whether he had often said to Florence, "Oh Floy, take me home, and never leave me !" but he thought he had. He fancied sometimes he had heard himself repeating, "Take me home, Floy! take me home!"

But he could remember, when he got home, and was carried up the well-remembered stairs, that there had been the rumbling of a coach for many hours together, while he lay upon the seat, with Florence still beside him, and old Mrs. Pipchin sitting opposite. He remembered his old bed too, when they laid him down in it: his aunt, Miss Tox, and Susan: but there was something else, and recent too, that still perplexed him.

"I want to speak to Florence, if you please," he said Florence by herself, for a moment!"

She bent down over him, and the others stood away.

To

"Floy, my pet, wasn't that papa in the hall, when they brought me from the coach ?"

"Yes, dear."

"He didn't cry, and go into his room, Floy, did he, when he saw me coming in ?"

Florence shook her head, and pressed her lips against his cheek.

"I'm very glad he didn't cry," said little Paul. "I thought

he did. Don't tell them that I asked."

CHAPTER XV.

Amazing Artfulness of Captain Cuttle, and a new Pursuit for Walter Gay.

ALTER could not, for several days, decide what to do in the Barbados business; and even cherished some faint hope that Mr. Dombey might not have meant what he had said, or that he might change his mind, and tell him he was not to go. But as nothing occurred to give this idea (which was sufficiently improbable in itself) any touch of confirmation, and as time was slipping by, and he had none to lose, he felt that he must act, without hesitating any longer.

Walter's chief difficulty was, how to break the change in his affairs to Uncle Sol, to whom he was sensible it would be a ter rible blow. He had the greater difficulty in dashing Uncle Sol's spirits with such an astounding piece of intelligence, because they had lately recovered very much, and the old man had become so cheerful, that the little back parlour was itself again. Uncle Sol had paid the first appointed portion of the debt to Mr. Dombey, and was hopeful of working his way through the rest; and to cast him down afresh, when he had sprung up so manfully from his troubles, was a very distressing necessity.

Yet it would never do to run away from him. He must know of it beforehand; and how to tell him was the point. As to the question of going or not going, Walter did not consider that he nad any power of choice in the matter. Mr. Dombey had truly told him that he was young, and that his uncle's circumstances

205

were not good; and Mr. Dombey had plainly expressed, in the glance with which he had accompanied that reininder, that if he declined to go he might stay at home if he chose, but not in hie counting-house. His uncle and he lay under a great obligation to Mr. Dombey, which was of Walter's own soliciting. He might have begun in secret to despair of ever winning that gen tlenian's favour, and might have thought that he was now and then disposed to put a slight upon him, which was hardly just. But what would have been duty without that, was still duty with it-or Walter thought so-and duty must be done.

When Mr. Dombey had looked at him, and told him he was young, and that his uncle's circumstances were not good, there had been an expression of disdain in his face; a contemptuous and disparaging assumption that he would be quite content to live idly on a reduced old man, which stung the boy's generous soul. Determined to assure Mr. Dombey, in so far as it was possible to give him the assurance without expressing it in words that indeed he mistook his nature, Walter had been anxious to show even more cheerfulness and activity after the West-Indian interview than he had shown before: if that were possible, in one of his quick and zealous disposition. He was too young and inexperienced to think, that possibly this very quality in him was not agreeable to Mr. Dombey, and that it was no stepping-stone to his good opinion to be elastic and hopeful of pleasing under the shadow of his powerful displeasure, whether But it may have been-it may have it were right or wrong. been-that the great man thought himself defied in this new exposition of an honest spirit, and purposed to bring it down.

"Wel! at last and at least, Uncle Sol must be told," thought Walter with a sigh. And as Walter was apprehensive that his voice might perhaps quaver a little, and that his countenance might not be quite as hopeful as he could wish it to be, if he told the old man himself, and saw the first effects of his communication on his wrinkled face, he resolved to avail himself of the services of that powerful mediator, Captain Cuttle. Sunday coming round, he set off, therefore, after breakfast, once more to beat up Captain Cuttle's quarters.

It was not unpleasant to remember, on the way thither, that Mrs. MacStinger resorted to a great distance every Sunday morning, to attend the ministry of the Reverend Melchisedech Howler, who, having been one day discharged from the West India Docks on a false suspicion (got up expressly against him by the general enemy) of screwing gimlets into puncheons, and applying his lips to the orifice, had annour.ced the destruction

of the world for that day two years, at ten in the morning, and opened a front parlour for the reception of ladies and gentle men of the Ranting persuasion, upon whom, on the first occa sion of their assemblage, the admonitions of the Reverend Melchisedech had produced so powerful an effect, that, in their rapturous performance of a sacred jig, which closed the service. the whole flock broke through into a kitchen below, and dis abled a mangle belonging to one of the fold.

This the captain, in a moment of uncommon conviviality, had confided to Walter and his uncle, between the repetitions of lovely Peg, on the night when Brogley the broker was paid out. The captain himself was punctual in his attendance at a church in his own neighbourhood, which hoisted the union jack every Sunday morning; and where he was good enough-the lawful beadle being infirm-to keep an eye upon the boys, over whom he exercised great power, in virtue of his mysterious hook. Knowing the regularity of the captain's habits, Walter made all the haste he could, that he might anticipate his going out; and he made such good speed, that he had the pleasure, on turning into Brig Place, to behold the broad blue coat and waistcoat hanging out of the captain's open window, to air in the sun.

It appeared incredible that the coat and waistcoat could be seen by mortal eyes without the captain; but he certainly was not in them, otherwise his legs-the houses in Brig Place not being lofty-would have obstructed the street door, which was perfectly clear. Quite wondering at this discovery, Walter gave a single knock.

"Stinger," he distinctly heard the captain say, up in his room, as if that were no business of his. knocks. Therefore Walter gave two

"Cuttle," he heard the captain say upon that; and immediately afterwards the captain, in his clean shirt and braces, with his neckerchief hanging loosely round his throat like a coil of rope, and his glazed hat on, appeared at the window, leaning out over the broad blue coat and waistcoat.

"Wal'r!" cried the captain, looking down upon him in

anazement.

"Ay, ay, Captain Cuttle," returned Walter, "only me." "What's the matter, my lad?" inquired the captain, with great concern, "Gills an't been and sprung nothing again?" "No, no," said Walter. "My uncle's all right, Captain

Cuttle "

The captain expressed his gratification, and said he would come down below and open the door, which he did.

Though you're early, Wal'r," said the captain, eyeing him doubtfully, when they got up-stairs.

"Why, the fact is, Captain Cuttle," said Walter, sitting down, "I was afraid you would have gone out, and I want to benefit by your friendly counsel."

"So you shall," said the captain; "what'll you take?"

"I want to take your opinion, Captain Cuttle," returned Walter, smiling. "That's the only thing for me."

"Come on then," said the captain. "With a will, my lad!" Walter related to him what had happened; and the difficulty in which he felt respecting his uncle, and the relief it would be to him if Captain Cuttle, in his kindness, would help him to smooth it away; Captain Cuttle's infinite consternation and astonishment at the prospect unfolded to him, gradually swallow ing that gentleman up, until it left his face quite vacant, and the suit of blue, the glazed hat, and the hook, apparently without

an owner.

"You see, Captain Cuttle," pursued Walter, "for myself, I am young, as Mr. Dombey said, and not to be considered. I am to fight my way through the world, I know; but there are two points I was thinking, as I came along, that I should be very particular about, in respect to my uncle. I don't mean to say that I deserve to be the pride and delight of his life-you believe me, I know-but I am. Now, don't you think I am?"

The captain seemed to make an endeavour to rise from the depths of his astonishment, and get back to his face; but the effort being ineffectual, the glazed hat merely nodded with a mute unutterable meaning.

"If I live and have my health," said Walter, "and I am not afraid of that, still, when I leave England I can hardly hope to see my uncle again. He is old, Captain Cuttle; and besides, his life is a life of custom-"

"Steady, Wal'r! Of a want of custom ?" said the captain, cddenly reappearing.

"Too true," returned Walter, shaking his head; "but I meant a life of habit, Captain Cuttle-that sort of custom. And if (as you very truly said, I am sure) he would have died the sooner for the loss of the stock, and all those objects to which he has been accustomed for so many years, don't you think he might die a little sooner for the loss of—”

we must

"Of his nevy," interposed the captain. "Right!" "Well then," said Walter, trying to speak gaily, do our best to make him believe that the separation is but a temporary one, after all; but as kaow better, or dread that I