him, bless him!" mumbled the old woman, holding up her skinny hand, and grinning frightfully at her daughter. "You "It's of no use attempting to stay me, Edith!" said Mrs. Skewton, angrily anticipating an objection from her. know nothing about it. I won't be dissuaded. an excellent woman, and a good mother." I am sure this is "Yes, my Lady, yes," chattered the old woman, holding out her avaricious hand. "Thankee, my Lady. Lord bless you, my Lady. Sixpence more, my pretty Lady, as a good mother yourself." "And treated undutifully enough, too, my good old creature, sometimes, I assure you," said Mrs. Skewton, whimpering. "There! Shake hands with me. You're a very good old creature-full of what's his name- -and all that. You're all affection and et cetera, an't you? "Oh, yes, my Lady!" יי? "Yes, I am sure you are; and so's that gentlemanly creature Grangeby. I must really shake hands with you again. And now you can go, you know; and, I hope," addressing the daughter, "that you'll show more gratitude, and natural what's its name, and all the rest of it—but I never did remember names—for there hever was a better mother than the good old creature's been to you. Come, Edith !" As the ruin of Cleopatra tottered off whimpering, and wiping its eyes with a gingerly remembrance of rouge in their neighborhood, the old woman hobbled another way, mumbling and counting her money. Not one word more, nor one other gesture, had been exchanged between Edith and the younger woman, but neither had removed her eyes from the other for a moment. They had remained confronted until now, when Edith, as awakening from a dream, passed slowly on. "You're a handsome woman," muttered her shadow, looking after her; "but good looks won't save us. And you're a proud woman; but pride won't save us. We had need know each other when we meet again!" CHAPTER XLI. New Voices on the Waves. ALL is going on as it was wont. The waves are hoarse with repetition of their mystery; the dust lies piled upon the shore; the sea-birds soar and hover; the winds and clouds go forth upon their trackless flight; the white arms beckon, in the moonlight, to the invisible country far away. With a tender melancholy pleasure, Florence finds herself again on the old ground so sadly trodden, yet so happily, and thinks of him in the quiet place, where he and she have many and many a time conversed together, with the water welling up about his couch. And now, as she sits pensive there, she hears in the wild low murmur of the sea, his little story told again, his very words repeated; and finds that all her life, and hopes, and griefs, since-in the solitary house, and in the pageant it has changed to-have a portion in the burden of the marvellous song. And gentle Mr. Toots, who wanders at a distance, looking wistfully towards the figure that he dotes upon, and has followed there, but cannot in his delicacy disturb at such a time, likewise hears the requiem of little Dombey on the waters, rising and falling in the lulls of their eternal madrigal in praise of Florence. Yes! and he faintly understands, poor Mr. Toots, that they are saying something of a time when he was sensible of being brighter and not addle-brained; and the tears rising in his eyes when he fears that he is dull and stupid now, and good for little but to be laughed at, diminish his satisfaction in their soothing reminder that he is relieved from present responsibility to the Chicken, by the absence of that game head of poultry in the country, training (at Toots's cost) for his great mill with the Larkey Boy. But Mr. Toots takes courage, when they whisper a kind thought to him; and by slow degrees and with many indecisive stoppages on the way, approaches Florence. Stammering and blushing, Mr. Toots affects amazement when he comes near her, and says (having followed close on the carriage in which she travelled, every inch of the way from London, loving even to be choked by the dust of its wheels) that he never was so surprised in all his life. "And you've brought Diogenes too, Miss Dombey!" says Mr. Toots, thrilled through and through by the touch of the small hand so pleasantly and frankly given him. No doubt Diogenes is there, and no doubt Mr. Toots has reason to observe him, for he comes straightway at Mr. Toots's legs, and tumbles over himself in the desperation with which he makes at him, like a very dog of Montargis. But he is checked by his sweet mistress. "Down, Di, down. Don't you remember who first made us friends, Di? For shame!" Oh! Well may Di lay his loving cheek against her hand, and run off, and run back, and run round her, barking, and run headlong at anybody coming by, to show his devotion. Mr. Toots would run headlong at anybody, too. A military gentleman goes past, and Mr. Toots would like nothing better than to run at him, full tilt. "Diogenes is quite in his native air, isn't he, Miss Dombey ?" says Mr. Toots. Florence assents, with a grateful smile. "Miss Dombey," says Mr. Toots, "beg your pardon, but if you would like to walk to Blimber's, I-I'm going there." Florence put her arm in that of Mr. Toots without a word, and they walk away together, with Diogenes going on before. Mr. Toots's legs shake under him; and though he is splendidly dressed, he feels misfits, and sees wrinkles, on the masterpieces of Burgess & Co., and wishes he had put on that brightest pair of boots. Doctor Blimber's house, outside, has as scholastic and studious an air as ever; and up there is the window where she used to look for the pale face, and where the pale face brightened when |