36

"I'm in Dombey's House, Mr. Clark," returned the boy.

"Look'ye here, then," said Mr. Clark. Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clark's hand, the boy approached towards Florence, wondering, as well he might, what he had to do with her. But she, who had heard what passed, and who, besides the relief of so suddenly considering her. self safe and at her journey's end, felt re-assured beyond all measure by his lively youthful face and manner, ran eagerly up to him, leaving one of the slipshod shoes upon the ground, and caught his hand in both of hers.

"I am lost, if you please!" said Florence. "Lost!" cried the boy.

"Yes, I was lost this morning, a long way from here and I have had my clothes taken away, since and I am not dressed in my own now-and my name is Florence Dombey, my lit tle brother's only sister—and, oh dear, dear, take care of me, if you please!" sobbed Florence, giving full vent to the childish feelings she had so long suppressed, and bursting into tears. At the same time her miserable bonnet falling off, her hair came tumbling down about her face: moving to speechless admiration, and commiseration, young Walter, nephew of Solomon Gills, Ships' Instrument-maker in general.

"Have we far to go?" asked Florence at last, lifting her eyes to her companion's face.

"Ah! By the bye," said Walter, stopping, "let me see; where are we? Oh! I know. But the offices are shut up now, Miss Dombey. There's nobody there. Mr. Dombey has gone home long I suppose we must go home too? or, stay. ago. Suppose I take you to my uncle's, where I live -and go to your house in a it's very near here coach to tell them you are safe, and bring you "Don't back some clothes. Won't that be best?" "I think so," answered Florence. you? What do you think?"

As they stood deliberating in the street, a man passed them, who glanced quickly at Walter as he went by, as if he recognized him; but seeming to correct that first impression, he passed on without stopping.

66

Why, I think it's Mr. Carker," said Walter. "Carker in our House. Not Carker our manager, Miss Dombey-the other Carker; the junior Halloa! Mr. Carker!"

"Is that Walter Gay?" said the other, stop"I couldn't believe it, with ping and returning. such a strange companion."

As he stood near a lamp, listening with surprise to Walter's hurried explanation, he presented a remarkable contrast to the two youthful figures Mr. Clark stood rapt in amazement: observing arm-in-arm before him. He was not old, but his under his breath, I never saw such a start on this hair was white; his body was bent, or bowed as wharf before. Walter picked up the shoe, and if by the weight of some great trouble; and there put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story were deep lines in his worn and melancholy face. He The fire of his eyes, the expression of his feamight have fitted Cinderella's slipper on. hung the rabbit-skin over his left arm; gave the tures, the very voice in which he spoke, were all right to Florence; and felt, not to say like Rich- subdued and quenched, as if the spirit within him ard Whittington-that is a tame comparison-but lay in ashes. He was respectably, though very like Saint George of England, with the dragon plainly dressed, in black; but his clothes, moulded to the general character of his figure, seemed to lying dead before him. shrink and abase themselves upon him, and o join in the sorrowful solicitation which the whole man from head to foot expressed, to be left unnoticed, and alone in his humility.

"Don't cry, Miss Dombey," said Walter, in a "What a wonderful transport of enthusiasm. thing for me that I am here. You are as safe now as if you were guarded by a whole boat's crew of picked men from a man-of-war. Oh don't cry."

"I won't cry any more,' am only crying for joy."

46

And yet his interest in youth and hopefulness was not extinguished with the other embers of his ," said Florence. "I soul, for he watched the boy's earnest countenance as he spoke with unusual sympathy, though with an inexplicable show of trouble and compassion, which escaped into his looks, however hard he strove to hold it prisoner. When Walter, in conclusion, put to him the question he had put to Florence, he still stood glancing at him with the same expression, as if he read some fate upon his face, mournfully at variance with its present brightness.

Crying for joy!" thought Walter, "and I'm the cause of it! Come along, Miss Dombey. There's the other shoe off now! Take mine, Miss Dombey."

"No, no, no," said Florence, checking him in the act of impetuously pulling off his own. "These do better. These do very well."

Why, to be sure," said Walter, glancing at her foot, "mine are a mile too large. What am I thinking about! You never could walk in mine! Come along, Miss Dombey. Let me see the villain who will dare molest you now."

"What do you advise, Mr. Carker ?" said Wal"You always give me good advice, ter, smiling, you know, when you do speak to me. often, though."

again.

That's not

"I think your own idea is the best," he answerSo Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking very happy; and they went armed: looking from Florence to Walter, and back in arm along the streets, perfectly indifferent to any astonishinent that their appearance might or did excite by the way.

It was growing dark and foggy, and beginning to rain too; but they cared nothing for this: being both wholly absorbed in the late adventures of Florence, which she related with the innocent good faith and confidence of her years, while Walter listened as if, far from the mud and grease of Thames-street, they were rambling alone anong the broad leaves and tall trees of some desert isl and in the tropics- -as he very likely fancied, for

the time they were.

"Mr. Carker," said Walter, brightening with "Come! Here's a chance a generous thought for you. Go you to Mr. Dombey's, and be the It may do you some messenger of good news. good, Sir. I'll remain at hoine. You shall go." "I!" returned the other.

"Yes. Why not, Mr. Carker ?" said the boy. He merely shook him by the hand in answer; he seemed in a manner ashamed and afraid even to do that; and bidding him good night, and advising him to make haste, turned away.

"Come, Miss Dombey," said Walter, looking

CHAPTER VII.

A BIRD S EYE GLIMPSE OF MISS TOX'S DWELLING-PLACE; ALSO OF THE STATE OF MISS TOX'S AFFECTIONS.

that he might have the satisfaction of saying they were his neighbours.

MISS Tox inhabited a dark little house that had been squeezed, at some remote period of English History, into a fashionable neighbourhood at the The dingy tenement inhabited by Miss Tox was west end of the town, where it stood in the shade her own; having been devised and bequeathed to like a poor relation of the great street round the her by the deceased owner of the fishy eye in the corner, coldly looked down upon by mighty man- locket, of whom a miniature portrait, with a powsions. It was not exactly in a court, and it was dered head and a pigtail, balanced the kettlenot exactly in a yard; but it was in the dullest of holder on opposite sides of the parlour fire-place. No-Thoroughfares, rendered anxious and haggard The greater part of the furniture was of the pow by distant double knocks. The name of this re- dered-head and pigtail period: comprising a platetirement, where grass grew between the chinks in warmer, always languishing and sprawling its four the stone pavement, was Princess's Place; and in attenuated bow-legs in somebody's way; and an Princess's Place was Princess's Chapel, with a obsolete harpsichord, illuminated round the ma tinkling bell, where sometimes as many as five-ker's name with a painted garland of sweet peas. and-twenty people attended service on a Sunday. The Princess's Arms was also there, and much resorted to by splendid footmen. A sedan chair was kept inside the railing before the Princess's Arms, but it had never come out within the me. mory of man; and on fine mornings, the top of every rail (there were eight-and-forty, as Miss Tox had often counted) was decorated with a pewterpot.

Although Major Bagstock had arrived at what is called in polite literature the grand meridian of life, and was proceeding on his journey down-hill with hardly any throat, and a very rigid pair of jaw-bones, and long-flapped elephantine ears, and his eyes and complexion in the state of artificial excitement already mentioned, he was mightily proud of awakening an interest in Miss Tox, and tickled his vanity with the fiction that she was a splendid woman who had her eye on him. This he had several times hinted at the club: in con.

Bagstock, old Joey Bagstock, old J. Bagstock, old Josh. Bagstock, or so forth, was the perpetual theme: it being, as it were, the Major's stronghold and donjon-keep of light-humour, to be on the most familiar terms with his own name.

There was another private house besides Miss Tox's in Princess's Place: not to mention an immense pair of gates, with an immense pair of lion-nexion with little jocularities, of which old Joe headed knockers on them, which were never opened by any chance, and which were supposed to constitute a disused entrance to somebody's stables. Indeed, there was a smack of stabling in the air of Princess's Place; and Miss Tox's bedroom (which was at the back) commanded a vista of Mews, where hostlers, at whatever sort of work engaged, were continually accompanying themselves with effervescent noises; and where the most domestic and confidential garments of coachmen and their wives and families, usually hung, like Macbeth's banners, on the outward walls.

At this other retired house in Princess's Place, tenanted by a retired butler who had married a housekeeper, apartments were let Furnished, to a single gentleman: to wit a wooden-featured, bluefaced, Major, with his eyes starting out of his head, in whom Miss Tox recognised, as she hersalf expressed it, "something so truly military;" and between whom and herself, an occasional interchange of newspapers and pamphlets, and such Platonic dalliance, was effected through the medium of a dark servant of the Major's, whom Miss Tox was quite content to classify as a "native," without connecting him with any geographical idea whatever.

"Joey B., Sir," the Major would say, with a flourish of his walking-stick, "is worth a dozen of you. If you had a few more of the Bagstock breed among you, Sir, you'd be none the worse for it. Old Joe, Sir, needn't look far for a wife even now, if he was on the look-out; but he's hard-hearted, Sir, is Joe-he's tough, Sir, tough, and de-vilish sly!" After such a declaration, wheezing sounds would be heard; and the Major's blue would deepen into purple, while his eyes strained and started convulsively.

Notwithstanding his very liberal laudation of himself, however, the Major was selfish. It may be doubted whether there ever was a more entirely selfish person at heart; or at stomach is perhaps a better expression, seeing that he was more decidedly endowed with that latter organ than with the former. He had no idea of being overlooked or slighted by anybody; least of all, had he the remotest comprehension of being overlooked and slighted by Miss Tox.

soon after her discovery of the Toodle family. She continued to forget him up to the time of the christening. She went on forgetting him with compound interest after that. Something or some. body had superseded him as a source of interest.

Perhaps there never was a smaller entry and And yet, Miss Tox, as it appeared, forgot him staircase, than the entry and staircase of Miss-gradually forgot him. She began to forget him Tox's house. Perhaps, taken altogether, from top to bottom, it was the most inconvenient little house in England, and the crookedest; but then, Miss Tox said, what a situation! There was very lit. tle daylight to be got there in the winter: no sun at the best of times: air was out of the question, and traffic was walled out. Still Miss Tox said, think of the situation! So said the blue-faced Major, whose eyes were starting out of his head: who gloried in Princess's Place: and who delighted to turn the conversation at his club, whenever he could, to something connected with some of the great people in the great street round the corner,

"Good morning, Ma'am," said the Major, meet ing Miss Tox in Princess's Place, some weeks af ter the changes chronicled in the last chapter.

"Good morning, Sir," said Miss Tox; very coldly.

"Joe Bagstock, Ma'am," observed the Major, with his usual gallantry, "has not had the happiness of bowing to you at your window, for a con

siderable period. Joe has been hardly used, Ma'am.

His sun has been behind a cloud."

Miss Tox inclined her head; but very coldy indeed.

"Joe's luminary has been out of town, Ma'am, perhaps," enquired the Major.

"I? out of town? oh no, I have not been out of town," said Miss Tox. "I have been much engaged lately. My time is nearly all devoted to some very intimate friends. I am afraid I have none to spare, even now. Good morning, Sir!" As Miss Tox, with her most fascinating step and carriage, disappeared from Princess's Place, the Major stood looking after her with a bluer face than ever: muttering and growling some not at all complimentary remarks.

66

Why, damme, Sir,' said the Major, rolling his lobster eyes round and round Princess's Place, and apostrophizing its fragrant air, "six months ago, the woman loved the ground Josh. Bagstock walked on. What's the meaning of it?"

The Major decided, after some consideration, that it meant man-traps; that it meant plotting and snaring; that Miss Tox was digging pitfalls. "But you won't catch Joe, Ma'am," said the Major. "He's tough, Ma'am, tough, is J. B. Tough, and de-vilish sly!" over which reflection he chuckled for the rest of the day.

Day after day, two, three, four times a week, this Baby reappeared. The Major continued to stare and whistle. To all other intents and purposes he was alone in Princess's Place. Miss Tox had ceased to mind what he did. He might have been black as well as blue, and it would have been of no consequence to her.

The perseverance with which she walked out of Princess's Place to fetch this baby and its nurse, and walked back with them, and walked home with them again, and continually mounted guard over them; and the perseverance with which she nursed it herself, and fed it, and played with it, and froze its young blood with airs upon the harpsichord; was extraordinary. At about this same period too, she was seized with a passion for looking at a certain bracelet; also with a passion for looking at the moon, of which she would take long observations from her chamber window. But whatever she looked at; sun, moon, stars, or bracelets; she looked no more at the Major. And the Major whistled, and stared, and wondered, and dodged about his room, and could make nothing of it.

"You'll quite win my brother Paul's heart, and that's the truth, my dear," said Mrs. Chick, one day. Miss Tox turned pale.

"He grows more like Paul every day," said Mrs. Chick.

Miss Tox returned no other reply than by taking the little Paul in her arms, and making his cockade perfectly flat and limp with her caresses.

"His mother, my dear," said Miss Tox, "whose acquaintance I was to have made through you, does he at all resemble her?"

"Not at all," returned Louisa.

"She was-she was pretty, I believe?" faltered Miss Tox.

แ

But still, when that day and many other days were gone and past, it seemed that Miss Tox took no heed whatever of the Major, and thought nothing at all about him. She had been wont, once upon a time, to look out at one of her little dark windows by accident, and blushingly return the Major's greeting; but now, she never gave the Major a chance, and cared nothing at all whether he looked over the way or not. Other changes had come to pass too. The Major, standing in the shade of his own apartment, could make out that an air of greater smartness had recently come over Miss Tox's house; that a new cage with gilded wires had been provided for the ancient little canary bird; that divers ornaments, cut out of coloured card-boards and paper, seemed to decorate the chimney-piece and tables; that a plant or two had suddenly sprung up in the windows; that Miss Tox occasionally practised on the harpsi chord, whose garland of sweet peas was always displayed ostentatiously, crowned with the Copen-well poor Fanny meant!" hagen and Bird Waltzes in a Music Book of Miss Tox's own copying.

Over and above all this, Miss Tox had long been dressed with uncommon care and elegance in slight mourning. But this helped the Major out of his difficulty; and he determined within himself that she had come into a small legacy, and grown proud.

It was on the very next day after he had cased his mind by arriving at this decision, that the Major, sitting at his breakfast, saw an apparition so tremendous and wonderful in Miss Tox's little drawing-room, that he remained for some time rooted to his chair; then, rushing into the next room, returned with a double-barrelled opera-glass, through which he surveyed it intently for some minutes.

"It's a Baby, Sir," said the Major, shutting up the glass again," for fifty thousand pound!"

The Major couldn't forget it. He could do nothing but whistle, and stare to that extent, that his eyes, compared with what they now became, had been in former times quite cavernous and sunken.

Why, poor dear Fanny was interesting," said Mrs. Chick, after some judicial consideration, "Certainly interesting. She had not that air of commanding superiority which one would some. how expect, almost as a matter of course, to find in my brother's wife; nor had she that strength and vigour of mind which such a man requires." Miss Tox heaved a deep sigh.

"But she was pleasing" said Mrs. Chick: "extremely so. And she meant:-oh, dear, how

"You Angel!" cried Miss Tox to little Paul "You Picture of your own Papa!"

If the Major could have known how many hopes and ventures, what a multitude of plans and speculations, rested on that baby head; and could have seen them hovering, in all their heteroge neous confusion and disorder, round the puckered cap of the unconscious little Paul; he might have stared indeed. Then would he have recognised, among the crowd, some few ambitious motes and beams belonging to Miss Tox; then would he perhaps have understood the nature of that lady's faltering investment in the Dombey Firm.

If the child himself could have awakened in the night, and seen, gathered about his cradle-cur. tains, faint reflections of the dreams that other people had of him, they might have scared him, with good reason. But he slumbered on, alike unconscious of the kind intentions of Miss Tux, the wonder of the Major, the early sorrows of his sister, and the sterner visions of his father; and innocent that any spot of earth contained a Dom bey or a Son.