"I do," he answered, slowly. He looked at her, and her eyes sank. They sank and almost closed. I saw her quivering lip as her face stooped. She did not reply to him. "You are changed," he went on, after a moment's pause, "but it would have been madness to have expected that you should not be. After nine years you could not look the same laughing child that I left you. It is natural that you should be changed. It is natural that that deeper happiness you spoke of should have set some mark upon you—should have brought, not sadness, but perhaps a sweet, gentle gravity with it -as it has." As it had!-yes, as it had-witnessed by that one mute look of anguish-by that passionate burst of tears! I do not know what he had expected, but not that wild weeping, for at the sight of it he started up with a look of consternation. "Amy," he cried, "what have I done? Good God, what is it?-what have I done? Oh, do not cry so! you will break my heart! Amy, hush! oh, hush, my darling, for God's sake!" He bent over her with every sign of keen emotion; he caught and grasped her hands in his; while she sat, still too wildly weeping to be conscious, I think, of what he did, he passionately raised and pressed those hands upon his lips. But in the very moment when he was thus in the act of kissing them-stooping so that he was almost kneeling by her-before them both there stood Mr. Linton. Stood-drawn to his full height-a figure almost majestic in its burning, fire-eyed hatred, in its deadly, motionless calmness, in its crushing, unutterable scorn. There was no syllable spoken by any of them. Livid to the lips, Captain Vaughan started from my mistress's side: then there was a pause and perfect silence for several moments. When it ended it was Mr. Linton who had broken it. With fearful calmness he addressed my mistress. "They told me that you were alone." She opened her lips and tried to speak. Twice she tried and failed-the words would not come. The third time, when she did speak, she could faintly utter no more than this"I did not hear you return." "I suppose not!" he answered. The color rose to her poor white cheek. Captain Vaughan's eyes too flashed; his lip quivered; he made a step forward. Before he could speak or advance farther my mistress had risen up. She went to him and put out her hand. "Henry, go now," she said. He hesitated, but I think her face spoke a command that he did not dare to disobey. There was a moment's pause, a moment's reading of her passionate look-and then he went. He had wrung her hand; to Mr. Linton, as he passed him, he spoke. "You know where to find me," he said, in a low voice-but Mr. Linton neither answered nor moved. The door closed behind him. There was no pause then. All white like a statue-such terror and such agony in her eyes as I never had seen marked before upon a woman's face-with one broken sob my mistress came and threw herself upon her husband's neck. her. "What have I done?" broke wildly from "Sherard, what have I done?" He took her the slightest, frailest thing I ever saw-and flung her from him, drowning the helpless cry that burst from her in a laugh of derision that might have come from a devil out of hell. With his bitter scoffing voice— "What have you done?" he cried. "What! you mean to feign unconsciousness? You fool! can you concoct no story?-make out no varnished lie? Come-are you struck dumb, you miserable actress ?” I think she almost was. She was standing wild-eyed-cowering before him; as his voice ceased her white lips could but let fall one piteous cry "Have mercy on me!" With fury burning in his eye he turned upon her. "Mercy!" he shouted. "What mercy have you had on me? Fool! do you think I have been blind? Have you gone your miserable course, dreaming that my eye was never upon you? Have I not seen? Have I never watched you when you have sat listening to him-when you have sat drinking in his words-when you have sat, knowing his accursed eyes were on you?" The wild anguish of her heart leaped out in a great cry; but it silenced him not for a second. "Had I seen no other sight, do you think I did not see him now? Was that deception? Was that delusion-that he was kneeling there that he had his lips upon you—that you were receiving his embrace? Woman! keep silence, I say!" For she had stretched her arms out to him, breaking out into the passionate wail of her great misery. "Help me! oh help me, my God!" she cried. "What shall I say? what shall I say? Sherard, have mercy!" she clasped her hands wildly to her brow. "Oh, give me time-help me -I can not think!" she cried. He broke into a wild, fierce laugh. "You can not think! no, it will need more calmness to frame an explanation! Defer it you are wise! but I tell you, you will be wiser still," and harder and sterner rose his cruel voice-"never to attempt it! And listen to this: I warn you! I have borne what you have done till now-but I will bear no more! You go on at your peril! Before my name shall be dishonored by the open history of your shame"-the agonized cry that burst from her drowned his voice only for an instant-“I will crush you both beneath my feet! Woman, let me go!" he cried. There burst over the room a long wild wail —the sobbing of a hopeless and passionate de She turned her wan face upon him; hollow and stern came her toneless voice. spair. With the cry she fell down at his feet, | once again! No-no!" he cried passionately, and he broke from her, and left her lying there. as she tried to rise, "do not leave me! you How long she lay I do not know: the time shall not leave me! Stay with me for the one seemed long to me, but I was chill with terror five minutes that I ask. Amy, stay! or the and could not rightly count it. I thought until first time that I see him the demon will rise up she stirred that he had killed her; and I could in my heart!" but stand and gaze, frozen with fear. But she was not dead-although her face-all wild and tearless-blank and white-looked, when at last she raised it, like no portion of a living thing. She rose and went. She stood for a few moments gazing round her till her memory came; and when it came she broke into low, wild sobbing, and moaning at each breath with the most pitiful sound I think I ever heard, she went away. I heard her go up stairs; and all day I listened for her step again-but it came no more. III. It was the morning of another day, and I had been alone for almost four-and-twenty hours. But my solitude at length this morning was broken, about mid-day; broken, too, in a manner that surprised me, for the person who entered the room was neither Mr. Linton nor my mistress, but Captain Vaughan. He came into the room alone with an agitated, excited look, and began restlessly to pace the floor. In about a minute the door was again opened, but the person who came in was only a servant, with this message-that my mistress was too unwell to leave her room. Captain Vaughan stood staring at the man as he spoke with a strange blank look upon his face; then suddenly "Wait! you must go back to her!” he exclaimed, and he went hurriedly to my mistress's desk and wrote. What he said was only a few words. He fastened his note, and gave it to the servant, and then again, with the same appearance of agitation, he resumed his walk. Ten minutes passed. Then at last a step came slowly down the stairs; again the door was opened, and I saw my mistress. Captain Vaughan sprang toward her, but before he reached her, and before he spoke I heard her hollow voice. "What right have you to seek my husband's life?" she said. "Is it he who has wronged you? Or is it you who have brought this misery upon us?" "God help me, it is I!" he cried. "I have broken your heart-you, who are my soul's idol! you whom I have worshiped!" Her voice leaped up and stopped him. Ringing with scorn-as she burst from him, and stood erect, her cheek and eye on fire-it came. "Am I so fallen," she cried, "that you dare to say to me what no woman ought to hear? And is this love? to insult me-to heap shame and sorrow on me-to rob me of the little all I had on earth-and not even then to leave me! Oh, who will help me? Who will help me?" she suddenly called out, wildly. "My God, what shall I do ?" She sank upon her chair, her momentary strength departed, her face hidden by her clasped hands. There was a long pause then; broken at last by one bitter groan. It came from him. She heard it, and looked up-and even at that moment his sorrow touched her. She went to him and laid her hand upon his arm. "I spoke harshly," she said, in a low voice; "I think I spoke unjustly just now. If I did, forgive me-but I can not quite remember-I feel so ill. I think we have both been wrong, Henry; let us forgive each other." She touched his hand with hers. Shame on him! that even then he would make no effort at self-restraint. He took her hand and caught it to his lips, and kissed it passionately. "You have no pity!" she said, bitterly, and she tore it from him. "Amy," he cried, "forgive me!" "Are you mad that you come here again?" her hands in passionate entreaty to him. she said. "Oh, Henry, have mercy-go from me!" she He stood before her, wildly gazing at her livid cried. "It is so little to ask-and it is the last and colorless face. thing I shall ever ask from you-and my heart 66 'Amy, is this my doing ?" was the bitter cry is breaking!" she cried. that burst from him. She took no heed of it. In silence she went a few steps feebly forward, and sank upon a chair. Then, with a strange cold, painful calmness, she began again to speak. "Tell me what you want. What did you mean by the words you wrote? You dare not! You dare not!" she cried, breaking into sudden agitation. The silence closed upon her words, but only for a moment. "I will go!" he hoarsely whispered. "Do not curse me, Amy! God bless you! God bless you!" Once more he took her hand and wrung it. He did not trust himself to look in her face again. "I have broken my own heart too!" he groaned; and he turned away, and rushed He had flung himself upon his knees beside from the room. her chair. She never looked after him, or spoke again. "No-no-no!" he impetuously exclaimed, She sank into a chair and moved no more. She "I will do nothing-I will injure you no more. sat there, with her hands fallen together on her I only wanted to see you to see you once-knees, with her eyes open, but not looking as if they saw-with no sign of life about her. She sat thus until once more the room door was opened, and Mr. Linton came in, and came toward her. Then she rose. With a look upon his face whose deadly hatred made her lips gasp as she saw it, and her arms extend in a wild mute attitude of deprecation, he advanced to her-dumb as herself-till he stood still before her. Then he spoke. "Captain Vaughan has been here," he said. She was shaking all over; she tried to answer him and could not. His eyes flashed fire. "Do you deny it?" he cried. She feebly whispered-"No." "And you saw him?" "Yes." "You saw him!" he spoke closely through his set teeth. "Knowing what I told you yesterday-remembering how I warned you!" It was not his words-it was his look-his accent-that made her shriek aloud. She cowered back from him-she hid her face. it!" she cried. "I could not help it! oh, I could not help "He threatened me-he made me come. There was something that he came to say-I do not know-I think he told it to me -but-I can not remember it! I can not remember it!" she moaned, pitifully. "You fool!" he cried, "do you mean to try that child's play again? Did I not warn you yesterday? And you have despised that warning!" he shouted; "but I tell you now it shall be fulfilled! I tell you now"-and with the shriek of a demon he stamped and ground his foot into the floor-"that I will crush you and him beneath my feet! Do you hear me?" He seized her by the arm and shook her. "I will crush you and him into the dust under my heel -and may my curse go down with you to hell!" I heard a cry whose like never smote my ear before or since, and, wild-eyed, transformed into something that I did not know, my mistress flung herself on Mr. Linton's breast. One instant I heard her voice-high-shrill on the air "My brain is on fire!" she shrieked. me-save me-save me!" "Save Then the frantic cry was drowned in his fierce oath as he threw her from him. He left her in the room alone, and in the centre of the floor she stood, rigid as stone, her hands stretched out, her eyes staring on vacancy. For one minute I saw her so-like a fearful statue; then, with a burst of laughter-a peal of hideous merriment-she flung her arms above her head, and fell. They heard her fall, and came and raised her up, and carried her from the room. She was quite senseless. They bore her past me with her face turned upward, white and still. I saw it well; and I never saw it more! They carried her up stairs, and three days passed, three long dark days, through which, from the room above my head, which was her room, I heard wild ravings. Then at last they ceased. The house was hushed. Where I LITTLE DORRIT. BY CHARLES DICKENS. THE last day of the appointed week touched the bars of the Marshalsea gate. Black, all night, since the gate had clashed upon Little Dorrit, its iron stripes were turned by the earlyglowing sun into stripes of gold. Far aslant across the city, over its jumbled roofs, and through the open tracery of its church-towers, struck the long, bright rays, bars of the prison of this lower world. Throughout the day, the old house within the gateway remained untroubled by any visitors. But when the sun was low, three men turned in at the gateway and made for the dilapidated house. Rigaud was the first, and walked by himself, smoking. Mr. Baptist was the second, and jogged close after him, looking at no other object. Mr. Pancks was the third, and carried his hat under his arm for the liberation of his restive hair, the weather being extremely hot. They all came together at the door-steps. "You pair of madmen!" said Rigaud, facing about. "Don't go yet!" "We don't mean to," said Mr. Pancks. of his answer, Rigaud knocked loudly. He had Giving him a dark glance in acknowledgment of his game, and was impatient to begin. He charged himself with drink for the playing-out had hardly finished one long resounding knock, when he turned to the knocker again and began another. That was not yet finished, when Jeremiah Flintwinch opened the door, and they all clanked into the stone hall. Rigaud, thrusting Mr. Flintwinch aside, proceeded straight up stairs. His two attendants followed him, Mr. Flintwinch followed them, and they all came trooping into Mrs. Clennam's quiet room. It was in its usual state; except that one of the windows was wide open, and Affery sat on its old-fashioned window-seat, mending a stocking. The usual articles were on the little table; the usual deadened fire was in the grate; the bed had its usual pall upon it; and the mistress of all sat on her black bier-like sofa, propped up by her black angular bolster that was like the headsman's block. Yet there was a nameless air of preparation in the room, as if it were strung up for an occasion. From what the room derived it-every one of its small variety of objects being in the fixed spot it had occupied for years-no one could have said without looking attentively at its mistress, and that, too, with a previous knowl edge of her face. Although her unchanging | Pancks pursued, with a longing glance into his black dress was in every plait precisely as of old, hat, where he kept his calculations, "for enterand her unchanging attitude was rigidly pre-ing upon the figures; but the figures are not to served, a very slight additional setting of her be disputed. Mr. Clennam ought to have been features and contraction of her gloomy forehead at this moment in his carriage-and-pair, and I was so powerfully marked, that it marked every ought to have been worth from three to five thouthing about her. sand pound." "Who are these?" she said, wonderingly, as the two attendants entered. "What do these people want here?" Mr. Pancks put his hair erect with a general aspect of confidence that could hardly have been surpassed if he had had the amount in his pock "Who are these, dear madame, is it?" re-et. These incontrovertible figures had been the turned Rigaud. "Faith, they are friends of your son the prisoner. And what do they want here, is it? Death, madame, I don't know. You will do well to ask them." occupation of every moment of his leisure since "You know you told us, at the door, not to go that. Altro, old boy, you have seen the figures, yet," said Pancks. and you know how they come out." Mr. Baptist, who had not the slightest arithmetical power of compensating himself in this way, nodded, with a fine display of bright teeth. At whom Mr. Flintwinch had been looking, and to whom he then said: "And you know you told me, at the door, you didn't mean to go," retorted Rigaud. "In a word, madame, permit me to present two spies of the prisoner's-madmen, but spies. If you wish them to remain here during our little conversation, say the word. It is nothing to me." "Oh! It's you, is it? I thought I remem"Why should I wish them to remain here?"bered your face, but I wasn't certain till I saw said Mrs. Clennam. "What have I to do with your teeth. Ah! yes, to be sure. It was this them ?" officious refugee," said Jeremiah to Mrs. Clen"Then, dearest madame,” said Rigaud, throw- | nam, “who came knocking at the door, on the ing himself into an arm-chair so heavily that night when Arthur and Chatterbox were here, the old room trembled, "you will do well to dis-and who asked me a whole Catechism of quesmiss them. It is your affair. They are not my tions about Mr. Blandois." spies-not my rascals." "It is true," Mr. Baptist cheerfully admitted. And behold him, padrone! I have found him, consequentementally." "Hark! You Pancks," said Mrs. Clennam," bending her brows upon him angrily, "you Casby's clerk! Attend to your employer's business and your own. Go. And take that other man with you." "Thank you, ma'am," returned Mr. Pancks, "I am glad to say I see no objection to our both retiring. We have done all we undertook to do for Mr. Clennam. His constant anxiety has been (and it grew worse upon him when he became a prisoner), that this agreeable gentleman should be brought back here, to the place from which he slipped away. Here he is-brought back. And I will say," added Mr. Pancks, "to his ill-looking face, that in my opinion the world would be no worse for his slipping out of it altogether." "I shouldn't have objected," returned, Mr. Flintwinch, "to your having broken your neck consequentementally." "And now," said Mr. Pancks, whose eye had often stealthily wandered to the window-seat, and the stocking that was being mended there, "I've only one other word to say before I go. If Mr. Clennam was here-but unfortunately, though he has so far got the better of this fine gentleman as to return him to this place against his will, he is ill and in prison-ill and in prison, poor fellow-if he was here," said Mr. Pancks, taking one step aside toward the window-seat, and laying his right hand upon the stocking; "he would say, 'Affery, tell your "Your opinion is not asked," added Mrs. | dreams!'" Clennam. "Go." "I am sorry not to leave you in better company, ma'am," said Pancks; "and sorry, too, that Mr. Clennam can't be present. It's my fault, that is." Mr. Pancks held up his right forefinger between his nose and the stocking, with a ghostly air of warning, turned, steamed out, and towed Mr. Baptist after him. The house-door was heard to close upon them, their steps were heard passing over the dull pavement of the echoing court-yard, and still nobody had added a word. Mrs. Clennam and Jeremiah had exchanged a look; and had then looked, and looked still, at Affery; who sat mending the stocking with great assiduity. "You mean his own," she returned. "No, I mean mine, ma'am,” said Pancks, "for it was my misfortune to lead him into a ruinous investment." (Mr. Pancks still clung to that word, and never said speculation.) "Though I can prove by figures," added Mr. Panck, with an anxious countenance, "that it ought to have "Come!" said Mr. Flintwinch at length, been a good investment. I have gone over it screwing himself a curve or two in the direction since it failed, every day of my life, and it comes of the window-seat, and rubbing the palms of out-regarded as a question of figures-triumph- his hands on his coat-tail as if he were preparThe present is not a time or place," Mr. | ing them to do something: "Whatever has to ant. be said among us, had better be begun to be | but I won't submit no longer; no, I won't, I said, without more loss of time. So, Affery, my won't, I won't, I won't!" She was still beating woman, take yourself off!" the air against all comers. In a moment, Affery had thrown the stocking down, started up, caught hold of the windowsill with her right hand, lodged herself upon the window-seat with her right knee, and was flourishing her left hand, beating expected assailants off. After gazing at her in silence, Mrs. Clennam turned to Rigaud. "You see and hear this foolish creature. Do you object to such a piece of distraction remaining where she is?" "I, madame?" he replied, "do I? That's a question for you." "I do not," she said, gloomily. "There is little left to choose now. Flintwinch, it is clos "No, I won't, Jeremiah-no I won't-no I won't! I won't go, I'll stay here. I'll hear all I don't know, and say all I know. I will, ating in." last, if I die for it. I will, I will, I will, I will!" Mr. Flintwinch, stiffening with indignation and amazement, moistened the fingers of one hand at his lips, softly described a circle with them in the palm of the other hand, and continued with a menacing grin to screw himself in the direction of his wife: gasping some remark as he advanced, of which, in his choking anger, only the words "Such a dose!" were audible. “Not a bit nearer, Jeremiah !" cried Affery, never ceasing to beat the air. "Don't come a bit nearer to me, or I'll rouse the neighborhood! I'll throw myself out of window! I'll scream Fire and Murder! I'll wake the dead! Stop where you are, or I'll make shrieks enough to wake the dead!" The determined voice of Mrs. Clennam echoed "Stop!" Jeremiah had stopped already. "It is closing in, Flintwinch. Let her alone. Affery, do you turn against me after these many years ?" Mr. Flintwinch replied by directing a look of red vengeance at his wife, and then, as if to pinion himself from falling upon her, screwed his crossed arms into the breast of his waistcoat, and, with his chin very near one of his elbows, stood in a corner, watching Rigaud in the oddest attitude. Rigaud, for his part, arose from his chair, and seated himself on the table, with his legs dangling. In this easy attitude, he met Mrs. Clennam's set face, with his mustache going up and his nose coming down. "Madame, I am a gentleman-” "Of whom," she interrupted, in her steady tones, "I have heard disparagement, in connection with a French jail and an accusation of murder!" He kissed his hand to her, with his exaggerated gallantry. "Perfectly. Exactly of a lady, too! What absurdity! How incredible! I had the honor of making a great success then; I hope to have the honor of making a great success now. I kiss your hands. Madame, I am a gentleman (I was going to observe), who, when he says, 'I will definitely finish this or that affair at this present sitting,' does definitely finish it. I announce to you that we are arrived at our last sitting, on our little business. You do me the favor to follow, and to comprehend?" She kept her eyes fixed upon him with a frown. "Yes." "I do, if it's turning against you to hear what I don't know, and say what I know. I have broke out now, and I can't go back. I am determined to do it. I will do it, I will, I will, I will! If that's turning against you, yes, I turn against both of you two clever ones. I told Arthur when he first come home, to stand up against you. I told him it was no reason, because I was afeard of my life of you, that he should be. All manner of things have been agoing on since then, and I won't be run up by Jeremiah, nor yet I won't be dazed and scared, nor made a party to I don't know what, no more. I won't, I won't, I won't! I'll up for Arthur when he has nothing left, and is ill, and in pris-Yes." on, and can't up for himself. I will, I will, I will, I will!" "How do you know, you heap of confusion," asked Mrs. Clennam, sternly, "that in doing what you are doing now, you are even serving Arthur ?" "I don't know nothing rightly about any thing," said Affery; "and if ever you said a true word in your life, it's when you call me a heap of confusion, for you two clever ones have done your most to make me such. You married me whether I liked it or not, and you've led me, pretty well ever since, such a life of dreaming and frightening as never was known, and what do you expect me to be but a heap of confusion? You wanted to make me such, and I am such; "Further, I am a gentleman to whom mere mercenary trade-bargains are unknown, but to whom money is always acceptable as the means of pursuing his pleasures. You do me the favor to follow, and to comprehend ?" "Scarcely necessary to ask, one would say. "Further, I am a gentleman of the softest and sweetest disposition, but who, if trifled with, becomes enraged. Noble natures, under such circumstances, become enraged. I possess a noble nature. When the lion is awakened-that is to say, when I enrage—the satisfaction of my animosity is as acceptable to me as money. You always do me the favor to follow, and to comprehend ?” "Yes," she answered, somewhat louder than before. "Do not let me derange you. Pray be tranquil. I have said we are now arrived at our last sitting. Allow me to recall the two sittings we have held." "It is not necessary." |