Dombey and Son - The Original Classic Edition. Dickens Charles

tearful eyes, and once or twice could not help stopping to ease her bursting heart by crying bitterly. But few people noticed her at those times, in the garb she wore: or if they did, believed that she was tutored to excite compassion, and passed on. Florence, too, called to her aid all the firmness and self-reliance of a character that her sad experience had prematurely formed and tried: and keeping the end she had in view steadily before her, steadily pursued it.

       It was full two hours later in the afternoon than when she had started on this strange adventure, when, escaping from the clash and clangour of a narrow street full of carts and waggons, she peeped into a kind of wharf or landing-place upon the river-side, where there were a great many packages, casks, and boxes, strewn about; a large pair of wooden scales; and a little wooden house on wheels, outside of which, looking at the neighbouring masts and boats, a stout man stood whistling, with his pen behind his ear, and his hands in his pockets, as if his day's work were nearly done.

       'Now then! 'said this man, happening to turn round. 'We haven't got anything for you, little girl. Be off !'

       'If you please, is this the City?' asked the trembling daughter of the Dombeys.

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       'Ah! It's the City. You know that well enough, I daresay. Be off ! We haven't got anything for you.'

       'I don't want anything, thank you,' was the timid answer. 'Except to know the way to Dombey and Son's.'

       The man who had been strolling carelessly towards her, seemed surprised by this reply, and looking attentively in her face, rejoined:

       'Why, what can you want with Dombey and Son's?'

       'To know the way there, if you please.'

       The man looked at her yet more curiously, and rubbed the back of his head so hard in his wonderment that he knocked his own hat off.

       'Joe!' he called to another man--a labourer--as he picked it up and put it on again.

       'Joe it is!' said Joe.

       'Where's that young spark of Dombey's who's been watching the shipment of them goods?'

       'Just gone, by t'other gate,' said Joe.

       'Call him back a minute.'

       Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy.

       'You're Dombey's jockey, ain't you?' said the first man.

       '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 herself safe at her journey's end, felt reassured 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 little 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.

       Mr Clark stood rapt in amazement: observing under his breath, I never saw such a start on this wharf before. Walter picked up the shoe, and put it on the little foot as the Prince in the story might have fitted Cinderella's slipper on. He hung the rabbit-skin over his left arm; gave the right to Florence; and felt, not to say like Richard Whittington--that is a tame comparison--but like Saint George of England, with the dragon lying dead before him.

       'Don't cry, Miss Dombey,' said Walter, in a transport of enthusiasm.

       'What a wonderful 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,' said Florence. 'I am only crying for joy.'

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       '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.'

       So Walter, looking immensely fierce, led off Florence, looking very happy; and they went arm-in-arm along the streets, perfectly

       indifferent to any astonishment 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 among the broad leaves and tall trees of some desert island in the tropics--as he very likely fancied, for the time, they were.

       'Have we far to go?' asked Florence at last, lilting up 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 ago. I suppose we must go home too? or, stay. Suppose I take you to my Uncle's, where I live--it's very near here--and go to your house in a coach to tell them you are safe, and bring you back some clothes. Won't that be best?'

       'I think so,' answered Florence. 'Don't 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 recognised him; but

       seeming to correct that first impression, he passed on without stopping.

       '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, stopping and returning. 'I couldn't believe it, with 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 arm-in-arm before him. He was not old, but his hair was white; his body was bent, or bowed as if by the weight of some great trouble: and there were deep lines in his worn and melancholy face. The fire of his eyes, the expression of his features, the very voice in which he spoke, were all subdued and quenched, as if the spirit within him lay in ashes. He was respectably, though very plainly dressed, in black; but his clothes, moulded to the general character of his figure, seemed to shrink and abase themselves upon him, and to join in the sorrowful solicitation which the whole man from head to foot expressed, to be left unnoticed, and alone in

       his humility.

       And yet his interest in youth and hopefulness was not extinguished with the other embers of his 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 had read some fate upon his face, mournfully at variance with its present brightness.

       'What do you advise, Mr Carker?' said Walter, smiling. 'You always give me good advice, you know, when you do speak to me. That's not often, though.'

       'I think your own idea