Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens (best books to read for students TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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She slowly withdrew them when he had ceased, and dropped her forehead on her hand. Her other hand pressed hard upon the table, and again the curious stir was observable in her, as if she were going to rise.
âThis box can never bring, elsewhere, the price it will bring here.
This knowledge can never be of the same profit to you, sold to any other person, as sold to me. But I have not the present means of raising the sum you have demanded. I have not prospered. What will you take now, and what at another time, and how am I to be assured of your silence?â
âMy angel,â said Rigaud, âI have said what I will take, and time presses. Before coming here, I placed copies of the most important of these papers in another hand. Put off the time till the Marshalsea gate shall be shut for the night, and it will be too late to treat. The prisoner will have read them.â
She put her two hands to her head again, uttered a loud exclamation, and started to her feet. She staggered for a moment, as if she would have fallen; then stood firm.
âSay what you mean. Say what you mean, man!â
Before her ghostly figure, so long unused to its erect attitude, and so stiffened in it, Rigaud fell back and dropped his voice. It was, to all the three, almost as if a dead woman had risen.
âMiss Dorrit,â answered Rigaud, âthe little niece of Monsieur Frederick, whom I have known across the water, is attached to the prisoner. Miss Dorrit, little niece of Monsieur Frederick, watches at this moment over the prisoner, who is ill. For her I with my own hands left a packet at the prison, on my way here, with a letter of instructions, âFOR HIS SAKEââshe will do anything for his sakeâto keep it without breaking the seal, in case of its being reclaimed before the hour of shutting up tonightâif it should not be reclaimed before the ringing of the prison bell, to give it to him; and it encloses a second copy for herself, which he must give to her. What! I donât trust myself among you, now we have got so far, without giving my secret a second life. And as to its not bringing me, elsewhere, the price it will bring here, say then, madame, have you limited and settled the price the little niece will giveâfor his sakeâto hush it up? Once more I say, time presses. The packet not reclaimed before the ringing of the bell tonight, you cannot buy. I sell, then, to the little girl!â
Once more the stir and struggle in her, and she ran to a closet, tore the door open, took down a hood or shawl, and wrapped it over her head. Affery, who had watched her in terror, darted to her in the middle of the room, caught hold of her dress, and went on her knees to her.
âDonât, donât, donât! What are you doing? Where are you going? Youâre a fearful woman, but I donât bear you no ill-will. I can do poor Arthur no good now, that I see; and you neednât be afraid of me. Iâll keep your secret. Donât go out, youâll fall dead in the street. Only promise me, that, if itâs the poor thing thatâs kept here secretly, youâll let me take charge of her and be her nurse. Only promise me that, and never be afraid of me.â
Mrs Clennam stood still for an instant, at the height of her rapid haste, saying in stern amazement:
âKept here? She has been dead a score of years or more. Ask Flintwinchâask HIM. They can both tell you that she died when Arthur went abroad.â
âSo much the worse,â said Affery, with a shiver, âfor she haunts the house, then. Who else rustles about it, making signals by dropping dust so softly? Who else comes and goes, and marks the walls with long crooked touches when we are all a-bed? Who else holds the door sometimes? But donât go outâdonât go out! Mistress, youâll die in the street!â
Her mistress only disengaged her dress from the beseeching hands, said to Rigaud, âWait here till I come back!â and ran out of the room. They saw her, from the window, run wildly through the courtyard and out at the gateway.
For a few moments they stood motionless. Affery was the first to move, and she, wringing her hands, pursued her mistress. Next, Jeremiah Flintwinch, slowly backing to the door, with one hand in a pocket, and the other rubbing his chin, twisted himself out in his reticent way, speechlessly. Rigaud, left alone, composed himself upon the window-seat of the open window, in the old Marseilles-jail attitude. He laid his cigarettes and fire-box ready to his hand, and fell to smoking.
âWhoof! Almost as dull as the infernal old jail. Warmer, but almost as dismal. Wait till she comes back? Yes, certainly; but where is she gone, and how long will she be gone? No matter! Rigaud Lagnier Blandois, my amiable subject, you will get your money. You will enrich yourself. You have lived a gentleman; you will die a gentleman. You triumph, my little boy; but it is your character to triumph. Whoof!â In the hour of his triumph, his moustache went up and his nose came down, as he ogled a great beam over his head with particular satisfaction.
The sun had set, and the streets were dim in the dusty twilight, when the figure so long unused to them hurried on its way. In the immediate neighbourhood of the old house it attracted little attention, for there were only a few straggling people to notice it; but, ascending from the river by the crooked ways that led to London Bridge, and passing into the great main road, it became surrounded by astonishment.
Resolute and wild of look, rapid of foot and yet weak and uncertain, conspicuously dressed in its black garments and with its hurried head-covering, gaunt and of an unearthly paleness, it pressed forward, taking no more heed of the throng than a sleep-walker. More remarkable by being so removed from the crowd it was among than if it had been lifted on a pedestal to be seen, the figure attracted all eyes. Saunterers pricked up their attention to observe it; busy people, crossing it, slackened their pace and turned their heads; companions pausing and standing aside, whispered one another to look at this spectral woman who was coming by; and the sweep of the figure as it passed seemed to create a vortex, drawing the most idle and most curious after it.
Made giddy by the turbulent irruption of this multitude of staring faces into her cell of years, by the confusing sensation of being in the air, and the yet more confusing sensation of being afoot, by the unexpected changes in half-remembered objects, and the want of likeness between the controllable pictures her imagination had often drawn of the life from which she was secluded and the overwhelming rush of the reality, she held her way as if she were environed by distracting thoughts, rather than by external humanity and observation. But, having crossed the bridge and gone some distance straight onward, she remembered that she must ask for a direction; and it was only then, when she stopped and turned to look about her for a promising place of inquiry, that she found herself surrounded by an eager glare of faces.
âWhy are you encircling me?â she asked, trembling.
None of those who were nearest answered; but from the outer ring there arose a shrill cry of âCause youâre mad!â
âI am sure as sane as any one here. I want to find the Marshalsea prison.â
The shrill outer circle again retorted, âThen that âud show you was mad if nothing else did, âcause itâs right opposite!â
A short, mild, quiet-looking young man made his way through to her, as a whooping ensued on this reply, and said: âWas it the Marshalsea you wanted? Iâm going on duty there. Come across with me.â
She laid her hand upon his arm, and he took her over the way; the crowd, rather injured by the near prospect of losing her, pressing before and behind and on either side, and recommending an adjournment to Bedlam. After a momentary whirl in the outer courtyard, the prison-door opened, and shut upon them. In the Lodge, which seemed by contrast with the outer noise a place of refuge and peace, a yellow lamp was already striving with the prison shadows.
âWhy, John!â said the turnkey who admitted them. âWhat is it?â
âNothing, father; only this lady not knowing her way, and being badgered by the boys. Who did you want, maâam?â
âMiss Dorrit. Is she here?â
The young man became
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