the shop door, I looked round, and saw him going quietly away, like a servant who had seen me home, or a faithful dog. How does she look now, Uncle?’
‘Pretty much the same as before, Wally,’ replied Uncle Sol.
‘That’s right. Now I am off!’
And this time he really was: and Solomon Gills, with no appetite for dinner, sat on the opposite side of the fire, watching Florence in her slumber, building a great many airy castles of the most fantastic architecture; and looking, in the dim shade, and in the close vicinity of all the instruments, like a magician disguised in a Welsh wig and a suit of coffee colour, who held the child in an enchanted sleep.
In the meantime, Walter proceeded towards Mr Dombey’s house at a pace seldom achieved by a hack horse from the stand; and yet with his head out of window every two or three minutes, in impatient remonstrance with the driver. Arriving at his journey’s end, he leaped out, and breathlessly announcing his errand to the servant, followed him straight into the library, we there was a great confusion of tongues, and where Mr Dombey, his sister, and Miss Tox, Richards, and Nipper, were all congregated together.
‘Oh! I beg your pardon, Sir,’ said Walter, rushing up to him, ‘but I’m happy to say it’s all right, Sir. Miss Dombey’s found!’
The boy with his open face, and flowing hair, and sparkling eyes, panting with pleasure and excitement, was wonderfully opposed to Mr Dombey, as he sat confronting him in his library chair.
‘I told you, Louisa, that she would certainly be found,’ said Mr Dombey, looking slightly over his shoulder at that lady, who wept in company with Miss Tox. ‘Let the servants know that no further steps are necessary. This boy who brings the information, is young Gay, from the office. How was my daughter found, Sir? I know how she was lost.’ Here he looked majestically at Richards. ‘But how was she found? Who found her?’
‘Why, I believe I found Miss Dombey, Sir,’ said Walter modestly, ‘at least I don’t know that I can claim the merit of having exactly found her, Sir, but I was the fortunate instrument of – ’
‘What do you mean, Sir,’ interrupted Mr Dombey, regarding the boy’s evident pride and pleasure in his share of the transaction with an instinctive dislike, ‘by not having exactly found my daughter, and by being a fortunate instrument? Be plain and coherent, if you please.’
It was quite out of Walter’s power to be coherent; but he rendered himself as explanatory as he could, in his breathless state, and stated why he had come alone.
‘You hear this, girl?’ said Mr Dombey sternly to the black-eyed. ‘Take what is necessary, and return immediately with this young man to fetch Miss Florence home. Gay, you will be rewarded to-morrow.’
‘Oh! thank you, Sir,’ said Walter. ‘You are very kind. I’m sure I was not thinking of any reward, Sir.’
‘You are a boy,’ said Mr Dombey, suddenly and almost fiercely; ‘and what you think of, or affect to think of, is of little consequence. You have done well, Sir. Don’t undo it. Louisa, please to give the lad some wine.’
Mr Dombey’s glance followed Walter Gay with sharp disfavour, as he left the room under the pilotage of Mrs Chick; and it may be that his mind’s eye followed him with no greater relish, as he rode back to his Uncle’s with Miss Susan Nipper.
There they found that Florence, much refreshed by sleep, had dined, and greatly improved the acquaintance of Solomon Gills, with whom she was on terms of perfect confidence and ease. The black-eyed (who had cried so much that she might now be called the red-eyed, and who was very silent and depressed) caught her in her arms without a word of contradiction or reproach, and made a very hysterical meeting of it. Then converting the parlour, for the nonce, into a private tiring room, she dressed her, with great care, in proper clothes; and presently led her forth, as like a Dombey as her natural disqualifications admitted of her being made.
‘Good-night!’ said Florence, running up to Solomon. ‘You have been very good to me.’
Old Sol was quite delighted, and kissed her like her grand-father.
‘Good-night, Walter! Good-bye!’ said Florence.
‘Good-bye!’ said Walter, giving both his hands.
‘I’ll never forget you,’ pursued Florence. ‘No! indeed I never will. Good-bye, Walter!’
In the innocence of her grateful heart, the child lifted up her face to his. Walter, bending down his own, raised it again, all red and burning; and looked at Uncle Sol, quite sheepishly.
‘Where’s Walter?’ ‘Good-night, Walter!’ ‘Good-bye, Walter!’ ‘Shake hands once more, Walter!’ This was still Florence’s cry, after she was shut up with her little maid, in the coach. And when the coach at length moved off, Walter on the door-step gaily returned the waving of her handkerchief, while the wooden Midshipman behind him seemed, like himself, intent upon that coach alone, excluding all the other passing coaches from his observation.
In good time Mr Dombey’s mansion was gained again, and again there was a noise of tongues in the library. Again, too, the coach was ordered to wait – ‘for Mrs Richards,’ one of Susan’s fellow-servants ominously whispered, as she passed with Florence.
The entrance of the lost child made a slight sensation, but not much. Mr Dombey, who had never found her, kissed her once upon the forehead, and cautioned her not to run away again, or wander anywhere with treacherous attendants. Mrs Chick stopped in her lamentations on the corruption of human nature, even when beckoned to the paths of virtue by a Charitable Grinder; and received her with a welcome something short of the reception due to none but perfect Dombeys. Miss Tox regulated her feelings by the models before her. Richards, the culprit Richards, alone poured out her heart in broken words of welcome, and bowed herself over the little wandering head as if she really loved it.
‘Ah, Richards!’ said Mrs Chick, with a sigh. ‘It would have been much more satisfactory to those who wish to think well of their fellow creatures, and much more becoming in you, if you had shown some proper feeling, in time, for the little child that is now going to be prematurely deprived of its natural nourishment.
‘Cut off,’ said Miss Tox, in a plaintive whisper, ‘from one common fountain!’
‘If it was my ungrateful case,’ said Mrs Chick, solemnly, ‘and I had your reflections, Richards, I should feel as if the Charitable Grinders’ dress would blight my child, and the education choke him.’
For the matter of that – but Mrs Chick didn’t know it – he had been pretty well blighted by the dress already; and as to the education, even its retributive effect might be produced in time, for it was a storm of sobs and blows.
‘Louisa!’ said Mr Dombey. ‘It is not necessary to prolong these observations. The woman is discharged and paid. You leave this house, Richards, for taking my son – my son,’ said Mr Dombey, emphatically repeating these two words, ‘into haunts and into society which are not to be thought of without a shudder. As to the accident which befel Miss Florence this morning, I regard that as, in one great sense, a happy and fortunate circumstance; inasmuch as, but for that occurrence, I never could have known – and from your own lips too – of what you had been guilty. I think, Louisa, the other nurse, the young person,’ here Miss Nipper sobbed aloud, ‘being so much younger, and necessarily influenced by Paul’s nurse, may remain. Have the goodness to direct that this woman’s coach is paid to’ – Mr Dombey stopped and winced – ‘to Staggs’s Gardens.’
Polly moved
