CHAPTER 31 THE WEDDING Dawn, with its passionless blank face, steals shivering to the church beneath which lies the dust of little Paul and his mother, and looks in at the window. It is cold and dark, night crouches yet upon the pavement and broods somber and heavy in nooks and corners of the building. The steeple clock, perched up above the houses, emerging from beneath another of the countless ripples in the tide of time that regularly roll and break on the eternal shore, is grayly visible, like a stone beacon recording how the sea flows on, but within doors dawn at first can only peep at night and see that it is there. Hovering feebly round the church and looking in, Dawn moans and weeps for its short rain, and its tears trickle on the window glass, and the trees against the church wall bow their heads and ring their many hands in sympathy. Night growing pale before it gradually fades out of the church but lingers in the vaults below and sits upon the coffins, and now comes bright day, burnishing the steeple clock and reddening the spire and drying up the tears of Dawn, and stifling its complaining, and the scared Dawn following the night and chasing it from its last refuge shrinks into the vaults itself and hides with a frightened face among the dead until night returns refreshed to drive it out.  For the beetle that man of power comes early this morning with a sextant, and Mrs. Miff, the wheezy little pew opener, a mighty dry old lady, sparely dressed with not an inch of fullness anywhere about her, is also here and has been waiting at the church gate half an hour as her place is for the beetle. A vinegary face has Mrs. Miff, and a mortified bonnet, and eek a thirsty soul for six pence and shillings, beckoning to stray people to come into pews has given Mrs. Miff an air of mystery, and there is reservation in the eye of Mrs. Miff as always knowing of a softer seat and having her suspicions of the fee. There is no such fact as Mr. Miff, nor has there been these twenty years, and Mrs. Miff would rather not allude to him. He held some bad opinions it would seem about free seats, and though Mrs. Miff hopes he may be gone upwards, she couldn't positively undertake to say so. Busy is Mrs. Miff this morning at the church door, beating and dusting the altar cloth, the carpet, and the cushions, and much has Mrs. Miff to say about the wedding they are going to have. Mrs. Miff is told that the new furniture and alterations in the house cost full five thousand pounds if they cost a penny, and Mrs. Miff has heard upon the best authority that the lady hasn't got a six pence wherewithal to bless herself. Mrs. Miff remembers likewise, as if it had happened yesterday, the first wife's funeral, and then the christening, and then the other funeral, and Mrs. Miff says by the by she'll soap and water that air tablet presently against the company arrive. Mr. Sounds the Beatle, who is sitting in the sun upon the church steps all the time, and seldom does anything else except in cold weather sitting by the fire, approves of Mrs. Miff discourse, and asks if Mrs. Miff has heard it said that the lady is uncommon handsome. The information Mrs. Miff has received, being of this nature, Mr. Sounds the Beatle, who, though orthodox and corpulent, is still an admirer of female beauty, observes with unction. Yes, he hears she is a spanker, an expression that seems somewhat forcible to Mrs. Miff, or would, from any lips but those of Mr. Sounds the Beatle. In Mr. Dombie's house, at the same time, there is great stir and bustle, more especially among the women, not one of whom has had a wink of sleep since four o'clock, and all of whom were full dressed before six. Mr. Towlinson is an object of greater consideration than usual to the housemaid, and the cook says at breakfast time that one wedding makes many, which the housemaid can't believe and don't think true at all. Mr. Towlinson reserves his sentiments on this question, being rendered something gloomy by the engagement of a foreigner with whiskers. Mr. Towlinson is whiskreless himself, who has been hired to accompany the happy pair to Paris, and who is busy packing the new chariot. In respect of this personage, Mr. Towlinson admits presently that he never knew of any good that ever come of foreigners, and being charged by the ladies with prejudice says, Look at Bonaparte, who was at the head of him, and see what he was always up to, which the housemaid says is very true. The pastry cook is hard at work in the funeral room in Brook Street, and the very tall young men are busy looking on. One of the very tall young men already smells of sherry, and his eyes have a tendency to become fixed in his head and to stare at objects without seeing them. The very tall young man is conscious of this failing in himself, and informs his comrade that it's his excitement. The very tall young man would say excitement, but his speech is hazy. The men who play the bells have got scent of the marriage, and the marrow bones, and cleavers too, and a brass band too. The first are practicing in a back settlement near Battlebridge. The second put themselves in communication, through their chief with Mr. Towlinson, to whom they offer terms to be bought off. And the third, in the person of an artful trombone, lurks and dodges round the corner, waiting for some trader-tradesman to reveal the place on hour of breakfast for a bribe. Expectation and excitement extend further yet, and take a wider range. From Ball's pond, Mr. Perch brings Mrs. Perch to spend the day with Mr. Donby's servants and accompany them surreptitiously to see the wedding. In Mr. Toots' lodgings, Mr. Toots attires himself as if he were at least the bridegroom. Determined to behold the spectacle in splendor from a secret corner of the gallery, and thither to convey the chicken, for it is Mr. Toots' desperate intent to point out Florence to the chicken. Then and there, and openly to say, Now, chicken, I will not deceive you any longer. The friend I have sometimes mentioned to you is myself. Miss Donby is the object of my passion. What are your opinions, chicken, in this state of things, and what on the spot do you advise? The so-much-to-be-astonish chicken in the meanwhile dips his beak into a tankard of strong beer in Mr. Toots' kitchen and pecks up two pounds of beef steaks. In Princess's place, Miss Toots is up and doing, for she too, though in sore distress, is resolved to put a shilling in the hands of Mrs. Miff, and see the ceremony which has a cruel fascination for her from some lonely corner. The quarters of the wooden midshipmen are all alive, for Captain Cuddle, in his ankle jacks, and with a huge shirt collar, is seated at his breakfast, listening to Rob the Grinder as he reads the marriage service to him beforehand, under orders, to the end that the captain may perfectly understand the solemnity he is about to witness, for which purpose the captain gravely lays injunctions on his chaplain from time to time to put about or to overhaul the air article again, or to stick to his own duty and leave the amends to him the captain, one of which he repeats whenever a pause is made by Rob the Grinder, with sonorous satisfaction. Besides all this and much more, twenty nursery maids in Mr. Donby's street alone have promised twenty families of little women whose instinctive interest in nuptials dates from their cradles that they shall go and see the marriage. Truly, Mr. Sounds the Beetle has good reason to feel himself in office, as he sons his portly figure on the church steps waiting for the marriage hour.  Cousin Phoenix has come over from abroad expressly to attend the marriage. Cousin Phoenix was a man about town forty years ago, but he is still so juvenile in figure and in manner, and so well-got up that strangers are amazed when they discover latent wrinkles in his lordship's face, and crow's feet in his eyes, and first observe him not exactly certain when he walks across a room of going quite straight to where he wants to go. But Cousin Phoenix, getting up at half past seven o'clock or so, is quite another thing from Cousin Phoenix got up and very dim indeed, he looks, while being shaved at Longs Hotel in Bond Street. Mr. Dombie leaves his dressing room amidst a general whisking away of the women on the staircase, who disperse in all directions with a great rustling of skirts, except Mrs. Perch, who being, but that she always is. In an interesting situation, is not nimble, and is obliged to face him, and is ready to sink with confusion as she curtsies, may heaven avert all evil consequences from the house of Perch. Mr. Dombie walks up to the drawing room to bide his time. Gorgeous are Mr. Dombie's new blue coat, fawn-colored pantaloons, and lilac waistcoat, and a whisper goes about the house that Mr. Dombie's hair is curled. A double knock announces the arrival of the Major, who is gorgeous too, and wears a whole geranium in his buttonhole, and has his hair curled tight and crisp, as well the native knows. Dombie, says the Major, putting out both hands. How are you? Major, says Mr. Dombie, how are you? By Jove, sir, says the Major. Joey B. is in such a case this morning, sir, and here he hits himself hard upon the breast. In such case this morning, sir, that dammy Dombie, he has half a mind to make a double marriage of it, sir, and take the mother. Mr. Dombie smiles, but faintly, even for him, for Mr. Dombie feels that he is going to be related to the mother, and that under those circumstances she is not to be joked about. Dombie, says the Major, seeing this, I give you joy, I congratulate you, Dombie. By the Lord, sir, says the Major, you are more to be envied this day than any man in England. Here again Mr. Dombie's assent is qualified, because he is going to confer a great distinction on a lady, and no doubt she is to be envied most. As to Edith Granger, sir, pursues the Major. There is not a woman in all Europe but might, and would, sir, you will allow Backstock to add, and would give her ears and her earrings, too, to be in Edith Granger's place. You are good enough to say so, Major, says Mr. Dombie. Dombie returns the Major, you know it, let us have no false delicacy. You know it, do you know it, or do you not, Dombie, says the Major, almost in a passion. Oh, really, Major? Dombie, sir, retorts the Major. Do you know that fact, or do you not? Dombie, is old Joe your friend? Are we on that footing of unreserved intimacy? Dombie, that may justify a man, a blunt old Joseph B., sir, in speaking out? Or am I to take open order, Dombie, and to keep my distance, and to stand on forms? My dear Major Backstock, says Mr. Dombie, with a gratified air. You are quite warm. By God, sir, says the Major, I am warm. Joseph B. does not deny it, Dombie. He is warm. This is an occasion, sir, that calls forth all the honest sympathies remaining in an old, infernal, battered, used-up, invalided J. B. Carcass. And I tell you what, Dombie, at such a time a man must blurt out what he feels, or put a muzzle on. And Joseph Backstock tells you to your face, Dombie, as he tells his club behind your back, that he never will be muzzled where Paul Dombie is in question. Now, Dami, sir, concludes the Major with great firmness. What do you make of that? Major, says Mr. Dombie, I assure you that I am really obliged to you. I had no idea of checking your two partial friendship. Not two partial, sir, exclaims the choleric Major. Dombie, I deny it. Your friendship, I will say then, pursues Mr. Dombie on any account. Nor can I forget, Major, on such an occasion as the present, how much I am indebted to it. Dombie, says the Major with appropriate action, that is the hand of Joseph Backstock, of plain old Joey B., sir, if you like that better. That is the hand of which his Royal Highness, the late Duke of York, did me the honor to observe, sir. To his Royal Highness, the late Duke of Kent, that it was the hand of Josh, a rough and tough and possibly an up-to-snuff old vagabond. Dombie, may the present moment be the least unhappy of our lives. God bless you. Now enters Mr. Carker, gorgeous likewise and smiling like a wedding guest indeed. He can scarcely let Mr. Dombie's hand go. He is so congratulatory, and he shakes the Major's hand so heartily at the same time that his voice shakes too, in accord with his arms as it comes sliding from between his teeth. The very day is auspicious, says Mr. Carker. The brightest and most genial weather, I hope I am not a moment late. Punctual to your time, sir, says the Major. I am rejoiced, I am sure, says Mr. Carker. I was afraid I might be a few seconds after the appointed time, for I was delayed by a procession of wagons, and I took the liberty of riding round to Brook Street, this to Mr. Dombie, to leave a few poor rarities of flowers for Mrs. Dombie. A man in my position, and so distinguished as to be invited here, is proud to offer some homage in acknowledgment of his vassalage, and, as I have no doubt, Mrs. Dombie is overwhelmed with what is costly and magnificent. With a strange glance at his patron, I hope the very poverty of my offering may find favour for it. Mrs. Dombie, that is to be, returns Mr. Dombie condescendingly, will be very sensible of your attention, Carker, I am sure. And if she is to be Mrs. Dombie this morning, sir, says the Major, putting down his coffee cup and looking at his watch, it's high time we were off. Fourth, in a barouche, ride Mr. Dombie and Major Bagstock and Mr. Carker to the church. Mr. Sounds, the beetle, has long risen from the steps and is in waiting with his cocked hat in his hand. Mrs. Miff curtsies and proposes chairs in the vestry. Mr. Dombie prefers remaining in the church. As he looks up at the organ, Miss Talks in the gallery shrinks behind the fat leg of a cherub on a monument, with cheeks like a young wind. Captain Cuddle, on the contrary, stands up and waves his hook in token of welcome and encouragement. Mr. Toots informs the chicken behind his hand that the middle gentleman he is in fawn-colored pantaloons is the father of his love. The chicken hoarsely whispers, Mr. Toots, that he's as stiff a cove as ever he sees, but that it is within the resources of science to double him up with one blow in the waistcoat. Mr. Sounds and Mrs. Miff are eyeing Mr. Dombie from a little distance when the noise of approaching wheels is heard and Mr. Sounds goes out. Mrs. Miff, meeting Mr. Dombie's eye as it is withdrawn from the presumptuous maniac upstairs who salutes him with so much urbanity, drops a curtsy and informs him that she believes his good lady is come. Then there is a crowding and a whispering at the door and the good lady enters with a haughty step. There is no sign upon her face of last night's suffering. There is no trace in her manner of the woman on the bended knees reposing her wild head in beautiful abandonment upon the pillow of the sleeping girl. That girl, all gentle and lovely, is at her side, a striking contrast to her own disdainful and defiant figure, standing there composed erect, inscrutable of will, resplendent and majestic in the zenith of its charms, yet beating down and treading on the admiration that it challenges. There is a pause while Mr. Sounds, the beetle, glides into the vestry for the clergyman and clerk. At this juncture Mr. Scuton speaks to Mr. Dombie more distinctly and emphatically than her custom is and moving at the same time close to Edith. My dear Dombie, says the good mamma, I fear I must relinquish darling Florence after all and suffer her to go home as she herself proposed. After my loss of today, my dear Dombie, I feel I shall not have spirits even for her society. Had she not better stay with you, returns the bridegroom? I think not, my dear Dombie. No, I think not. I shall be better alone. Besides, my dear Edith will be her natural and constant guardian when you return and I had better not encroach upon her trust perhaps. She might be jealous, eh, dear Edith? The affectionate mamma presses her daughter's arm as she says this, perhaps in treating her attention earnestly.  We have settled that just now. She fully understands, dear Dombie. Edith, my dear, she fully understands. Again, the good mother presses her daughter's arm. Mr. Dombie offers no additional remonstrance. For the clergyman and clerk appear, and Mrs. Miff, and Mr. Sounds the Beatle, group the party in their proper places at the altar rails. The sun is shining down upon the golden letters of the Ten Commandments. Why does the bride's eye read them one by one? Which one of the Ten appears plainest to her in the glare of light? False gods, murder, the honor that she owes her mother? Which is it that appears to leave the wall and print itself in glowing letters on her book? Who giveth this woman to be married to this man? Cousin Phoenix does that. He has come from Bodden-Bodden on purpose. Confounded, Cousin Phoenix says, Good-natured creature Cousin Phoenix, when we do get a rich city fellow into the family, let us show him some attention, let us do something for him. I give this woman to be married to this man, says Cousin Phoenix, therefore. Cousin Phoenix, meaning to go in a straight line, but turning off sideways by reason of his willful legs, gives the wrong woman to be married to this man, at first, to it, a bride's maid of some condition, Distantly connected with the family and ten years Mrs. Scuton, Jr., but Mrs. Miff, interposing her mortified bonnet, dexterously turns him back and runs him, as on casters, full, at the good lady, whom Cousin Phoenix giveth to be married to this man accordingly. And will they, in the sight of heaven, I, that they will, Mr. Dombie says he will, and what says Edith? She will. So, from that day forward, for better or for worse, for richer for poorer in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do them part, they plight their truth to one another and are married. In a firm free hand the bride scribes her name in the register, when they adjourn to the vestry. There ain't a many ladies come here, Mrs. Miff says, with a curtsy, to look at Mrs. Miff, at such a season, is to make her mortified bonnet go down with a dip, writes their names like this good lady. Mr. Sounds the Beetle thinks it is a truly spanking signature and worthy of the writer, this, however, between himself and conscience. Florence signs, too, but unapplauded, for her hand shakes. All the parties sign. Cousin Phoenix last, who puts his noble name into a wrong place and enrolls himself as having been born that morning. The major now salutes the bride right gallantly and carries out that last branch of military tactics in reference to all the ladies, notwithstanding Mrs. Scutens being extremely hard to kiss and squeaking shrilly in the sacred edifice. The example is followed by Cousin Phoenix and even by Mr. Dombie. Lastly, Mr. Carker, with his white teeth glistening, approaches Edith more as if he meant to bite her than to taste the sweets that linger on her lips.  If wishes, says he in a low voice, are not superfluous, applied to such a union. I thank you, sir, she answers with a curled lip and a heaving bosom. But does Edith feel still, as on the night when she knew that Mr. Dombie would return to offer his alliance, that Carker knows her thoroughly and reads her right, and that she is more degraded by his knowledge of her than by ought else? Is it for this reason that her haughtiness shrinks beneath his smile like snow within the hand that grasps it firmly, and that her imperious glance droops in meeting his and seeks the ground? I am proud to see, said Mr. Carker with a serval stooping of his neck, which the revelations making by his eyes and teeth proclaim to be a lie. I am proud to see that my humble offering is graced by Mrs. Dombie's hand, and permitted to hold so favored a place in so joyful an occasion. Though she bends her head in answer, there is something in the momentary action of her hand, as if she would crush the flowers it holds, and fling them with contempt upon the ground. But she puts the hand through the arm of her new husband, who has been standing near, conversing with the major, and is proud again, and motionless, and silent. The carriages are once more at the church door. Mr. Dombie, with his bride upon his arm, conducts her through the twenty families of little women, who are on the steps, and every one of whom remembers the fashion and the color of her every article of dress from that moment, and reproduces it on her doll, who is forever being married. Cleopatra and Cousin Phoenix enter the same carriage, the major hands into a second carriage, Florence, and the bridesmaid, who so narrowly escape being given away by mistake, and then enters it himself, and is followed by Mr. Carker. Horses prance in caper, coachmen in footmen, shine in fluttering favors, flowers and new-made liveries, away they dash and rattle through the streets, and as they pass along, a thousand heads are turned to look at them, and a thousand sober moralists revenge themselves for not being married to that morning, by reflecting that these people little think such happiness can't last. Miss Tox emerges from behind the cherub's leg, when all is quiet and comes slowly down from the gallery. Miss Tox's eyes are red, and her pocket handkerchief is damp. She is wounded, but not exasperated, and she hopes they may be happy. She quite admits to herself the beauty of the bride, and her own comparatively feeble and faded attractions, but the stately image of Mr. Domby in his lilac waistcoat and his fawn-colored pantaloons is present to her mind, and Miss Tox weeps afresh behind her veil on her way home to Princess's place. Captain Cuddle, having joined in all the amends and responses, with a devout growl, feels much improved by his religious exercises, and in a peaceful frame of mind pervades the body of the church, glazed hat in hand and reads the tablet to the memory of little Paul. The gallant Mr. Toots, attended by the faithful chicken, leaves the building in torments of love. The chicken is as yet unable to elaborate a scheme for winning Florence, but his first idea has gained possession of him, and he thinks the doubling up of Mr. Domby would be a move in the right direction. Mr. Domby's servants come out of their hiding-places and prepare to rush to Brook Street, when they are delayed by symptoms of indisposition on the part of Mrs. Perch, who entreats a glass of water and becomes alarming. Mrs. Perch gets better soon, however, and is borne away, and Mrs. Miff and Mr. Sounds the Beetle sit upon the steps to count what they have gained by the affair and talk it over, while the sexton tolls a funeral. Now the carriages arrive at the bride's residence, and the players on the bells begin to jingle, and the band strikes up, and Mr. Punch, that model of cannubial bliss, salutes a gaping throng, while Mr. Domby, leading Mrs. Domby by the hand, advances solemnly into the Phoenix halls. Now the rest of the wedding party alight, and enter after them. And why does Mr. Carcar passing through the people in the hall door think of the old woman who called to him in the grove that morning? Or why does Florence, as she passes, think with a tremble of her childhood, when she was lost, and of the visage of good Mrs. Brown? Now there are more congratulations on this happiest of days and more company, though not much, and now they leave the drawing-room and range themselves at table in the dark brown dining-room, which no confectioner can brighten up, let him garnish the exhausted negroes with as many flowers and love-knots as he will. The pastry cook has done his duty like a man, though, and a rich breakfast is set forth. Mr. and Mrs. Chick have joined the party, among others. Mrs. Chick admires that Edith should be, by nature, such a perfect Domby, and is affable and confidential to Mrs. Skeuten, whose mind is relieved of a great load, and who takes her share of the champagne. The very tall young man, who suffered from excitement early, is better, but a vague sentiment of repentance has seized upon him, and he hates the other very tall young man, and rests dishes from him by violence, and takes a grim delight in disablaging the company. The company are cool and calm, and do not outrage the black hatchments of pictures looking down upon them by any excess of mirth. Cousin Phoenix and the Major are the gayest there, but Mr. Corker has a smile for the whole table. He has a special smile for the bride, who very, very seldom meets it. Cousin Phoenix rises when the company have breakfasted, and the servants have left the room, and wonderfully young he looks, with his white wristbands almost covering his hands, otherwise rather bony, and the bloom of the champagne in his cheeks. Upon my honor, says Cousin Phoenix, although it's an unusual sort of thing in a private gentleman's house, I must beg leave to call upon you to drink what is usually called, in fact, a toast. The Major very hoarsely indicates his approval. Mr. Corker, bending his hand forward over the table in the direction of Cousin Phoenix, smiles and nods a great many times. In fact, it's not a Cousin Phoenix beginning again, thus comes to a dead stop. Here, here, says the Major in a tone of conviction. Mr. Corker softly clasps his hands, and bending forward over the table again, smiles and nods a great many more times than before, as if he were particularly struck by this last observation, and desired personally to express his sense of the good it has done him. It is, says Cousin Phoenix, an occasion, in fact, when the general usages of life may be a little departed from, without impropriety, and although I never was an orator in my life, and when I was in the House of Commons and had the honor of seconding the address was, in fact, was laid up for a fortnight with a consciousness of failure. The Major and Mr. Corker are so much delighted by this fragment of personal history that Cousin Phoenix laughs and addressing them individually goes on to say, And in point of fact, when I was devilish ill, still, you know, I feel that a duty devolves upon me, and when a duty devolves upon an Englishman, he is bound to get out of it, in my opinion, in the best way he can. Well, our family has had the gratification today of connecting itself in the person of my lovely and accomplished relative, whom I now see in point of fact, present. Here there is general applause. Present repeats Cousin Phoenix, feeling that it is a neat point which will bear repetition with one who, that is to say, with a man at whom the finger of scorn can never, in fact, with my honorable friend Dombie, if he will allow me to call him so. Cousin Phoenix bows to Mr. Dombie. Mr. Dombie solemnly returns the bow. Everybody is more or less gratified and affected by this extraordinary and perhaps unprecedented appeal to the feelings. I have not, says Cousin Phoenix, enjoyed these opportunities which I could have desired of cultivating the acquaintance of my friend Dombie, and studying those qualities which do equal honor to his head, and in point of fact to his heart, for it has been my misfortune to be, as we used to say, in my time in the House of Commons, when it was not the custom to allude to the lords, and when the order of parliamentary proceedings was perhaps better observed than it is now to be in, in point of fact, says Cousin Phoenix, cherishing his joke with great slinus and finally bringing in out with a jerk, in another place. The major falls into convulsions and is recovered with difficulty. But I know sufficient of my friend Dombie resumes Cousin Phoenix in a graver tone, as if he had suddenly become a sadder and wiser man, to know that he is in point of fact what may be emphatically called a merchant, a British merchant and a man. And although I have been resident abroad for some years, it would give me great pleasure to receive my friend Dombie and everybody here at Baden-Baden and to have an opportunity of making him known to the Grand Duke. Still I know enough I flatter myself of my lovely and accomplished relative to know that she possesses every requisite to make a man happy and that her marriage with my friend Dombie is one of inclination and affection on both sides. More smiles and nods from Mr. Carther. Therefore, says Cousin Phoenix, I congratulate the family of which I am a member on the acquisition of my friend Dombie. I congratulate my friend Dombie on his union with my lovely and accomplished relative, who possesses every requisite to make a man happy. And I take the liberty of calling on you all in point of fact to congratulate both my friend Dombie and my lovely and accomplished relative on the present occasion. The speech of Cousin Phoenix is received with great applause and Mr. Dombie returns thanks on behalf of himself and Mrs. Dombie. J.B. shortly afterwards proposes Mrs. Scuton. The breakfast languishes when that is done. The violated hatchments are avenged and Edith rises to assume her traveling dress. All the servants in the meantime have been breakfasting below. Champagne has grown to common among them to be mentioned and roast fowls, raised pies and lobster salad have become mere drugs. A very tall young man has recovered his spirits and again alludes to the excise man. His comrade's eye begins to emulate his own and he too stares at objects without taking cognizance thereof. There is a general redness in the faces of the ladies, in the face of Mrs. Perch particularly, who is joyous and beaming, and lifted so far above the cares of life that if she were asked just now to direct away Farrah to Ball's pond where her own cares lodge she would have some difficulty in recalling the way. Mr. Towlinson has proposed the happy pair to which the silver-headed butler has responded neatly and with emotion for he half begins to think he is an old retainer of the family and that he is bound to be affected by these changes. The whole party and especially the ladies are very frolicsome. Mr. Dombe's cook, who generally takes the lead in society, has said it is impossible to settle down after this and why not go in a party to a play. Everybody, Mrs. Perch included, has agreed to this. Even the native, who is tigerish in his drink and who alarms the ladies, Mrs. Perch particularly, by the rolling of his eyes. One of the very tall young men has even proposed a ball after the play and it presents itself to no one, Mrs. Perch included, in the light of an impossibility. Words have arisen between the housemaid and Mr. Towlinson. She, on the authority of an old saw, asserting marriages to be made in heaven. He, affecting to trace the manufacture elsewhere, he supposing that she says so because she thinks of being married her own self. She, saying Lord forbid at any rate that she should ever marry him. To calm these flying taunts, the silver-headed butler rises to propose the health of Mr. Towlinson, whom to know is to esteem. And to esteem is to wish well settled in life with the object of his choice. Wherever there here the silver-headed butler eyes the housemaid, she may be. Mr. Towlinson returns thanks in its speech replete with feeling of which the peroration turns on foreigners, regarding whom he says they may find favor, sometimes with weak and inconstant intellects that can be let away by hair. But all he hopes is he may never hear of no foreigner, never boning nothing out of no traveling chariot. The eye of Mr. Towlinson is so severe and so expressive here that the housemaid is turning hysterical when she and all the rest rouse by the intelligence that the bride is going away hurry upstairs to witness her departure. The chariot is at the door, the bride is descending to the hall, where Mr. Dombie waits for her. Florence is ready on the staircase to depart to, and Miss Nipper, who has held a middle state between the parlor and the kitchen, is prepared to accompany her. As Edith appears Florence hastens toward her to bid her farewell. Is Edith cold that she should tremble? Is there anything unnatural or unwholesome in the touch of Florence that the beautiful form recedes and contracts as if it could not bear it? Is there so much hurry in this going away that Edith, with a wave of her hand, sweeps on and is gone? Mrs. Scuton, overpowered by her feelings as a mother, sinks on her sofa in the Cleopatra attitude when the clatter of the chariot wheels is lost and sheds several tears. The major, coming with the rest of the company from table, endeavours to comfort her, but she will not be comforted on any terms, and so the major takes his leave. Cousin Phoenix takes his leave and Mr. Parker takes his leave. The guests all go away. Cleopatra, left alone, feels a little giddy from her strong emotion and falls asleep. Ginniness prevails below stairs too. The very tall young man, whose excitement came on so soon, appears to have his head glued to the table in the pantry and cannot be detached from it. A violent revulsion has taken place in the spirits of Mrs. Perch, who is low on account of Mr. Perch, and tells Cook that she fears he is not much attached to his home as he used to be when they were only nine in family. Mr.  The housemaid wishes it wasn't wicked to wish that one was dead. There is a general delusion likewise in these lower regions on the subject of time. Everybody conceiving that it ought to be at the earliest ten o'clock at night, whereas it is not yet three in the afternoon. A shadowy idea of wickedness committed haunts every individual in that party, and each one secretly thinks the other a companion in guilt, whom it would be agreeable to avoid. No man or woman has the hardy-hood to hint at the projected visit to this play.  Mrs. Cuten sleeps upstairs two hours afterwards, and naps are not yet over in the kitchen. The hatchments in the dining room look down on crumbs, dirty plates, spillings of wine, half-thought ice, stale, discolored heel taps, scraps of lobster, drumsticks of fowls, and pensive jellies gradually resolving themselves into a lukewarm, gummy soup. The marriage is by this time almost as denuded of its show and garnish as the breakfast. Mr. Domby's servants moralize so much about it, and are so rependent over their early tea at home that by eight o'clock or so they settle down into confirmed seriousness. And Mr. Perch, arriving at that time from the city, fresh and jocular, with a white waistcoat and a comic song ready to spend the evening and prepared for any amount of dissipation, is amazed to find himself coldly received, and Mrs. Perch, but poorly, and to have the pleasing duty of escorting that lady home by the next omnibus. Night closes in, Florence, having rambled through the handsome house from room to room, seeks her own chamber, where the care of Edith has surrounded her with luxuries and comforts, and divesting herself of her handsome dress puts on her old simple mourning for dear Paul, and sits down to read, with diogenes winking and blinking on the ground beside her. But Florence cannot read tonight. The house seems strange and new, and there are loud echoes in it. There is a shadow on her heart. She knows not why or what, but it is heavy. Florence shuts her book, and gruff diogenes, who takes that for a signal, puts his paws upon her lap, and rubs his ears against her caressing hands.  Walter, too, poor, wandering, shipwrecked boy. Oh, where is he? The Major don't know. That's for certain, and don't care. The Major, having choked and slumbered, and all the afternoon, has taken a late dinner at his club, and now sits over his pint of wine, driving a modest young man with a fresh-colored face at the next table. Who would give a handsome sum to be able to rise and go away, but cannot do it? To the verge of madness, by anecdotes of bag-stock, sir, and Donby's wedding, an old Joe's devilish gentlemanly friend, Lord Phoenix. While Cousin Phoenix, who ought to be at longs and in bed, finds himself instead at a gaming-table, where his willful legs have taken him, perhaps in his own despite. Night, like a giant, fills the church from pavement to roof, and holds dominion throughout the silent hours. Pale Don again comes peeping through the windows, and, giving place to-day, sees Night withdraw into the vaults, and follows it, and drives it out, and hides among the dead. The timid mice again cower close together, when the great door clashes, and Mr. Sounds and Mrs. Miff treading the circle of their daily lives, unbroken as a marriage ring come in. Again the cocked hat and the mortified bonnet stand in the background at the marriage hour, and again this man taketh this woman, and this woman taketh this man, on that solemn terms. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness, and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do them part. The very words that Mr. Carker rides into town, repeating, with his mouth stretched to the utmost, as he picks his dainty way. End of Chapter 31. CHAPTER 32. The Wooden Midshipman Goes to Pieces Honest Captain Cuddle, as the weeks flew over him in his fortified retreat, by no means abated any of his prudent provisions against surprise, because of the non-appearance of the enemy. The captain argued that his present security was too profound and wonderful to endure much longer. He knew that when the wind stood in a fair quarter the weather-cock was seldom nailed there, and he was too well acquainted with the determined and dauntless character of Mrs. McStinger to doubt that the heroic woman had devoted herself to the task of his discovery and capture. Trembling beneath the weight of these reasons, Captain Cuddle lived a very close and retired life, seldom stirring abroad until after dark, venturing even then only into the obscurest streets, never going forth at all on Sundays, and both within and without the walls of his retreat, avoiding bonnets, as if they were worn by raging lions. The captain never dreamed that in the event of his being pounced upon by Mrs. McStinger in his walks it would be possible to offer resistance. He felt that it could not be done. He saw himself in his mind's eye, put meekly in a hackney-coach, and carried off to his old lodgings. He foresaw that once immured there he was a lost man, his hat gone. Mrs. McStinger, watchful of him day and night, reproaches heaped upon his head before the infant family, himself the guilty object of suspicion and distrust, an ogre in the children's eyes, and in their mothers a detected traitor, a violent perspiration and aloneness of spirits always came over the captain as this gloomy picture presented itself to his imagination. It generally did so previous to his stealing out of doors at night for air and exercise. Sensible of the risk he ran, the captain took leave of Robb at those times with the solemnity which became a man who might never return, exhorting him in the event of his, the captain's, being lost sight of for a time, to tread in the paths of virtue and keep the brazen instruments well polished. But not to throw away a chance and to secure to himself a means in case of the worst of holding communication with the external world. Captain Cuddle soon conceived the happy idea of teaching Robb the grinder some secret signal by which that adherent might make his presence and fidelity known to his commander in the hour of adversity. After much cogitation the captain decided in favor of instructing him to whistle the marine melody, oh cheerly cheerly, and Robb the grinder attaining a point as near perfection in that accomplishment as a landsman could hope to reach, the captain impressed these mysterious instructions on his mind. Now my lad, stand by, if ever I'm took, took Captain Interposed Robb with his round eyes wide open. Ah! said Captain Cuddle darkly, if ever I goes away meaning to come back to supper and don't come within hail again twenty-four hours after my loss, go you to brig place and whistle that air tune near my old moorings.   Do you understand them orders now? What am I to stand off and on off, Captain, inquired Robb, the horse road? Here's a smart lad for you, cried the captain, eyeing him sternly, as don't know his own native alphabet. Go away a bit and come back again, alternate. Do you understand that? Yes, Captain, said Robb. Very good, my lad, then, said the captain, relenting, do it. That he might do it the better. Captain Cuddle sometimes condescended of an evening after the shop was shut to rehearse this scene, retiring into the parlor for the purpose as into the lodgings of a superstitious Max Stinger and carefully observing the behavior of his ally from the whole of a spile he had cut in the wall. Robb the grinder discharged himself of his duty with so much exactness and judgment when thus put to the proof that the captain presented him at diverse times with seven sixpences in token of satisfaction and gradually felt stealing over his spirit the resignation of a man who had made provisions for the worst and taken every reasonable precaution against an unrelenting fate. Nevertheless the captain did not tempt ill fortune by being a wit more venturesome than before, though he considered it a point of good-breeding in himself as a general friend of the family to attend Mr. Dombie's wedding, of which he had heard from Mr. Perch, and to show that gentleman a pleasant and approving countenance from the gallery. He had repaired to the church in a hackney cabriolet with both windows up and might have scrupled even to make that venture in his dread of Mrs. Max Stinger, but that the ladies' attendance on the ministry of the reverend Mikilsedek rendered it peculiarly unlikely that she would be found in communion with the establishment. The captain got safe home again and fell into the ordinary routine of his new life without encountering any more direct alarm from the enemy than was suggested to him by the daily bonnets in the street. But other subjects began to lay heavy on the captain's mind. Walter's ship was still unheard of. No news came of old Saul Gills. Florence did not even know of the old man's disappearance, and Captain Cuddle had not the heart to tell her. Indeed the captain, as his own hopes of the generous, handsome, gallant-hearted youth whom he had loved, accorded to his rough manner, from a child began to fade and faded more and more from day to day, shrunk with instinctive pain from the thought of exchanging a word with Florence. If he had had good news to carry to her, the honest captain would have braved the newly decorated house and splendid furniture, though these connected with the lady he had seen at church were awful to him and made his way into her presence. With a dark horizon gathering around their common hopes, however, that darkened every hour. The captain almost felt as if he were a new misfortune and affliction to her and was scarcely less afraid of a visit from Florence than from Mrs. McStinger herself. It was a chill, dark autumn evening, and Captain Cuddle had ordered a fire to be kindled in the little back parlor now more than ever like the cabin of a ship. The rain fell fast and the wind blew hard and straying out on the housetop by that stormy bedroom of his old friend, to take an observation of the weather the captain's heart died within him when he saw how wild and desolate it was. Not that he associated the weather of that time with poor Walter's destiny or doubted that if Providence had doomed him to be lost and shipwrecked it was over long ago, but that beneath an outward influence quite distinct from the subject matter of his thoughts the captain's spirit sank and his hopes turned pale as those of wiser men had often done before him and will often do again. Captain Cuddle, addressing his face to the sharp wind and slanting rain looked up at the heavy scud that was flying fast over the wilderness of housetops and looked for something cheery there in vain. The prospect near at hand was no better. In sundry tea chests and other rough boxes at his feet the pigeons of Rob the Grinder were cooing like so many dismal breezes getting up a crazy weather cock of a midshipman with a telescope at his eye once visible from the street but long bricked out the coat, creaked and complained upon his rusty pivot as the shrill blast spun him round and round and sported with him cruelly. Upon the captain's coarse blue vest the cold raindrops started like steel beads and he could hardly maintain himself a slant against the stiff Norwester that came pressing upon him. He was fortunate to topple him over the parapet and throw him on the pavement below. If there were any hope alive that evening, the captain thought, as he held his hat on it certainly kept house and wasn't out of doors so the captain shaking his head in a despondent manner went in to look for it.  He took out his tobacco box and pipe and composing himself to smoke looked for it in the red glow from the bowl and in the wreaths of vapor that curled upward from his lips but there was not so much as an atom of the rust of hope's anchor in either. He tried a glass of grog but melancholy truth was at the bottom of that well and he couldn't finish it. He made a turn or two in the shop and looked for hope among the instruments but they obstinately worked out reckonings for the missing ship in spite of any opposition he could offer that ended at the bottom of the lone sea. The wind still rushing and the rain still pattering against the closed shutters the captain brought two before the wooden midshipman upon the counter and thought as he dried the little officer's uniform with his sleeve how many years the midshipman had seen during which few changes hardly any had transpired among his ship's company how the changes had come altogether one day as it might be and of what a sweeping kind they were. Here was the little society of the back parlor broken up and scattered far and wide. Here was no audience for lovely peg even if there had been anybody to sing it which there was not for the captain was as morally certain that nobody but he could execute that ballad as he was that he had not the spirit under existing circumstances to attempt it. There was no bright face of Walter in the house here the captain transferred his sleeve for a moment from the midshipman's uniform to his own cheek the familiar wig and buttons of Saul Gills were a vision of the past Richard Whittington was knocked on the head and every plan and project in connection with the midshipman lay drifting without mast or rudder on the waste of waters. As the captain with a dejected face stood revolving these thoughts and polishing the midshipman partly in the tenderness of old acquaintance and partly in the absence of his mind unknocking at the shop door communicated a frightful start to the frame of Rob the Grinder seated on the counter whose large eyes had been intently fixed on the captain's face and who had been debating within himself for the five hundredth time whether the captain could have done a murder that he had such an evil conscience and was always running away. What's that? said Captain Cuddle softly. Somebody's knuckles captain answered Rob the Grinder. The captain with an abashed and guilty air immediately sneaked on tiptoe to the little parlor and locked himself in. Rob opening the door would have parlayed with the visitor on the threshold if the visitor had come in female guise but the figure being of the male sex and Rob's orders only applying to women Rob held the door open and allowed it to enter which it did very quickly, glad to get out of the driving rain. A job for Burgess and company at any rate said the visitor looking over his shoulder compassionately at his own legs which were very wet and covered with splashes. Oh, how'd he do, Mr. Gills? The salutation was addressed to the captain now emerging from the back parlor with the most transparent and utterly futile affectation of coming out by accident. Thank ye, the gentleman went on to say in the same breath, I'm very well indeed myself. I'm much obliged to you. My name is Toots, Mr. Toots. The captain remembered to have seen this young gentleman at the wedding and made him a bow. Mr. Toots replied with a chuckle and being embarrassed as he generally was, breathed hard, shook hands with the captain for a long time and then falling on Rob the grinder in the absence of any other resource shook hands with him in a most defectionate and cordial manner.  I say Miss D-O-M, you know. The captain with responsive gravity and mystery immediately waved his hook towards the little parlor with her, Mr. Toots followed him. Oh, I beg your pardon though, said Mr. Toots, looking up in the captain's face as he sat down in a chair by the fire which the captain placed for him. You don't happen to know the chicken at all, do you, Mr. Gills? The chicken, said the captain. The game chicken, said Mr. Toots. The captain shaking his head, Mr. Toots explained that the man alluded to was the celebrated public character who had covered himself and his country with glory in his contest with the knobby Shropshire one. But this piece of information did not appear to enlighten the captain very much. Because he's outside, that's all, said Mr. Toots. But it's of no consequence. He won't get very wet, perhaps.  Well, if you would have the goodness to let him sit in the shop with your young man, chuckled Mr. Toots, I should be glad because, you know, he's easily offended and the damp's rather bad for his stamina. I'll call him in, Mr. Gills. With that, Mr. Toots, repairing to the shop door, sent a peculiar whistle into the night which produced a stoical gentleman in a shaggy white-gray coat and a flat-brimmed hat with very short hair, a broken nose, and a considerable tract of bare and sterile country behind each ear. Sit down, chicken, said Mr. Toots. The compliant chicken spat out some small pieces of straw on which he was regaling himself and took in a fresh supply of the reserve he carried in his hand. There ain't no drain of nothing short-handy is there, said the chicken, generally. This here slew-sing night is hard lines to a man as lives on his condition. Captain Cuddle proffered a glass of rum which the chicken, throwing back his head, emptied into himself as into a cask after proposing the brief sentiment. Towards us, Mr. Toots and the Captain returning then to the parlor and taking their seats before the fire, Mr. Toots began. Mr. Gills. Oh, asked, said the Captain, my name's Cuddle. Mr. Toots looked greatly disconcerted while the Captain proceeded gravely.  Job, said the Captain, as an index to his authority. Oh, I couldn't see Mr. Gills, could I? said Mr. Toots, because if you could see Saul Gills, young gentleman, said the Captain impressively and laying his heavy hand on Mr. Toots' knee.  Mr. Toots, in his agitation, was going to reply that it was of no consequence at all but he corrected himself and said, Lord bless me, that their man, said the Captain, has left me in charge here by a piece of writing, but though he was almost as good as my sworn brother, I know no more where he's gone or why he's gone. If so be to seek his nevy or if so, along of being not quite settled in his mind than you do. One morning at daybreak he went over the side, saying to the Captain, without a splash, without a ripple, I have looked for that man high and low and never set eyes nor ears nor nothing else upon him from that hour. But, good gracious, Miss Domby don't know, Mr. Toots began. Why I ask you, as a feeling heart, said the Captain, dropping his voice, why should she know? I should help for it. She took to old Saul Gilles, did that sweet creature, with a kindness, with a affability, with a, what's the good of saying so? You know her. I should hope so, chuckled Mr. Toots, with a conscious blush that suffused his whole countenance. And you come here from her, said the Captain. I should think so, chuckled Mr. Toots. Then all I need to observe is, said the Captain, that you know an angel and are chartered by an angel. Mr. Toots instantly seized the Captain's hand and requested the favour of his friendship. Upon my word and honour, said Mr. Toots earnestly, I should be very much obliged to you if you'd improve my acquaintance. I should like to know you, Captain, very much. I really am in want of a friend I am. Little Dombie was my friend at old Blimbers, and I would have been now if he'd have lived. The chicken, said Mr. Toots in a forlorn whisper, is very well, admirable in his way, the sharpest man perhaps in the world. There's not a move he isn't up to. Everybody says so, but I don't know. He's not everything. So she is an angel, Captain. If there is an angel where it's Miss Dombie, that's what I've always said. Really, though, you know, said Mr. Toots, I should be very much obliged to you if you'd cultivate my acquaintance. Captain Cuddle received this proposal in a polite manner, but still without committing himself to its acceptance, merely observing I, I, my lad, we shall see, we shall see, and reminding Mr. Toots of his immediate mission by inquiring to what he was indebted for the honour of that visit. Why, the fact is, replied Mr. Toots, that it's the young woman I come from, not Miss Dombie, Susan, you know. The Captain nodded his head once with a grave expression of face indicative of his regarding that young woman with serious respect. And I'll tell you how it happens, said Mr. Toots.  I don't go there on purpose, you know, but I happen to be in the neighbourhood very often, and when I find myself there, why, why I call. Naturally, observed the Captain. Yes, said Mr. Toots, I called this afternoon. Upon my word and honour, I don't think it's possible that Angel Miss Dombie was this afternoon. The Captain answered with a jerk of his head implying that it might not be easy to some people, but was quite so to him. As I was coming out, said Mr. Toots, the young woman in a most unexpected manner took me into the pantry. The Captain seemed for the moment to object to this proceeding and leaning back in his chair and looked at Mr. Toots with a distrustful, if not threatening, visage. Where she brought out, said Mr. Toots, this newspaper. She told me that she had kept it from Miss Dombie all day on account of something that was in it about somebody that she and Dombie used to know, and then she read the passage to me very well. Then she said, wait a minute, Mr. Toots, endeavoring to concentrate his mental powers on this question, unintentionally fixed the Captain's eye and was so much discomposed by its stern expression that his difficulty in resuming the threat of his subject was enhanced to a painful extent. Oh! said Mr. Toots after long consideration. Oh! Ah! Yes. She said that she hoped there was a bare possibility that it might not be true and that as she couldn't very well come out herself without surprising Miss Dombie, would I go down to Mr. Solomon Gill's the instrument makers in this street? Who was the party's uncle and asked whether he believed it was true or had heard anything else in the city? She said if he couldn't speak to me no doubt Captain Cuddle could by the by, said Mr. Toots as the discovery flashed upon him. You, you know. The Captain glanced at the newspaper in Mr. Toots's his hand and breathed short and hurriedly. Well, pursued Mr. Toots, the reason why I'm rather late is because I went up as far as finchly first to get some uncommonly fine chickweed that grows there from Miss Dombie's bird. But I came on here directly afterwards. You've seen the paper, I suppose? The Captain, who had become cautious of reading the news lest he should find himself advertised at full length by Mrs. McStinger, shook his head. Shall I read the passage to you? inquired Mr. Toots. The Captain making a sign in the affirmative Mr. Toots read as follows the following intelligence. Southampton the bark defiance Henry James Commander arrived in this port today with a cargo of sugar, coffee, and rum reports that being becombed on the sixth day of her passage home from Jamaica in such and such a latitude, you know, said Mr. Toots after making a feeble dash at the figures and tumbling over them. I cried the Captain striking his clenched hand on the table. Heave ahead, my lad! Latitude, repeated Mr. Toots with a startled glance at the Captain and longitude so-and-so. The look-out observed half an hour before sunset some fragments of a wreck drifting at about the distance of a mile. The weather being clear and the bark making no way a boat was hoisted out the same when they were found to consist of sundry large spars and a part of the main rigging of an English brig of about five hundred tons burden together with a portion of the stern on which the words and letters Sun and H were plainly legible. No vestige of any dead body was to be seen upon the floating fragments. Log of the defiance states that a breeze springing up in the night the wreck was seen no more. There can be no doubt that all surmises as to the fate of the missing vessel the sun and air port of London bound for Barbados are now set at rest forever that she broke up in the last hurricane and that every soul on board perished.  During the reading of the paragraph and for a minute or two afterwards he sat with his gaze fixed on the modest Mr. Toots like a man entranced then suddenly rising and putting on his glazed hat which in his visitor's honour he had laid upon the table the captain turned his back and bent his head down on the little chimney piece. Upon my word and honour cried Mr. Toots whose tender heart was moved by the captain's unexpected distress this is a most wretched sort of affair this world is somebody's always dying or going and doing something uncomfortable in it I'm sure I never should have looked forward so much to coming into my property if I had known this I never saw such a world it's a great deal worse than blimbers Captain Cuddle without altering his position signed to Mr. Toots not to mind him and presently turned round with his glazed hat thrust back upon his ears and his hand composing and smoothing his brown face Walter my dear lad said the captain farewell Walter my child my boy I loved you he weren't my flesh and blood said the captain looking at the fire I ain't got none but something of what a father feels when he loses his son I feel in losing Walter for why said the captain because it ain't one loss but around dozen where's that there young school boy with the rosy face and curly hair that used to be as merry in this here parlor come round every week as a piece of music gone down with Walter where's that little fresh lad that nothing couldn't tire nor put out and that sparkled up and blushed so when we joked about heart's delight that he was beautiful to look at gone down with Walter where's that there man's spirit all of fire that wouldn't see the old man hoved down for a minute and cared nothing for itself gone down with Walter it ain't one Walter there was a dozen Walters that I'd known and loved all holding round his neck when he went down and there a holding round my now Mr. Tooth sat silent folding and refolding the newspaper as small as possible upon his knee and Saul Gill said the captain gazing at the fire poor neveless old Saul where are you you got to you was left in charge of me his last words were was take care of my uncle what came over you saw when you went and gave the go-by to Ned Cuddle and what am I to put in my accounts that he's a looking down upon respecting you Saul Gill Saul Gill said the captain shaking his head slowly catch sight of that there newspaper with no one as known Walter by to say a word and broadside to your brooch and down you pitch head foremost drawing a heavy sigh the captain turned to Mr. Toots and roused himself to a sustained consciousness of that gentleman's presence my lad said the captain you must tell the young woman honestly that this here fatal news is too correct they don't romance you see on such pints it's entered on the ship's log and that's the truest book a man can write tomorrow morning said the captain I'll step out and make inquiries but they'll lead to no good they can't do it if you'll give me a look in in the forenoon you shall know what I have here but tell the young woman from captain Cuddle that it's over the captain hooking off his glazed hat pulled his handkerchief out of the crown wiped his grizzled head despairingly and tossed the handkerchief in again with the indifference of deep dejection oh I assure you said Mr. Toots really I am dreadfully sorry upon my word I am though I wasn't acquainted with the party do you think Mr. Dombie will be very much affected captain gills I mean Mr. Cuddle why Lord Love You returned the captain with something of compassion for Mr. Toots his innocence when she weren't no higher than that they were as fond of one another as two young doves were they though said Mr. Toots with a considerably lengthened face they were made from one another said the captain mournfully but what signifies that now upon my word and honor cried Mr. Toots blurting out his words through a singular combination of awkward chuckles and emotion I'm even more sorry than I was before you know captain gills I positively adore Miss Dombie I am perfectly sore with loving her the burst with which this confession forced itself out of the unhappy Mr. Toots bespoke the vehemence of his feelings but what would be the good of my regarding her in this manner if I wasn't truly sorry for her feeling pain whatever was the cause of it mine ain't a selfish affection you know said Mr. Toots in the confidence engendered by his having been a witness of the captain's tenderness it's the sort of thing with me captain gills that if I could be run over crampled upon or or thrown off a very high place or anything of that sort for Miss Dombie's sake it would be the most delightful thing that could happen to me all this Mr. Toots said in a suppressed voice to prevent its reaching the jealous ears of the chicken who objected to the softer emotions which effort of restraint of his feelings made him read to the tips of his ears and caused him to present such an affecting spectacle of disinterested love to the eyes of captain Cuddle that the good captain padded him consolingly on the back and bade him cheer up thank ye captain gills said Mr. Toots it's kind of you in the midst of your own troubles to say so as I said before I really want a friend and should be glad to have your acquaintance although I am very well off said Mr. Toots with energy you can't think what a miserable beast I am the hollow crowd you know when they see me with the chicken and characters of distinction like that suppose me to be happy but I'm wretched this donby captain gills I can't get through my meals I have no pleasure in my tailor I often cry when I'm alone I assure you it'll be satisfaction to me to come back tomorrow or to come back fifty times Mr. Toots with these words shook the captain's hand and disguising such traces of his agitation as could be disguised on so short a notice the chicken's penetrating glance rejoined that eminent gentleman in the shop the chicken who was apt to be jealous of his ascendancy eyed captain cuddle with anything but favor as he took leave of Mr. Toots but followed his patron without being otherwise demonstrative of his ill will leaving the captain oppressed with sorrow and robbed the grinder elevated with joy with the honor of staring for nearly half an hour at the conqueror of the knobby Shropshire one long after Rob was fast to sleep in his bed under the counter the captain sat looking at the fire and long after there was no fire to look at the captain sat gazing on the rusty bars with unavailing thoughts of Walter and old Saul crowding through his mind the stormy chamber at the top of the house brought no rest with it and the captain rose up in the morning sorrowful and unrefreshed as soon as the city offices were opened the captain issued forth to the counting house of Dombian's son but there was no opening of the midshipman's windows that morning Rob the grinder by the captain's orders left the shutters closed and the house was as a house of death it chants that Mr. Parker was entering the office as Captain Cuddle arrived at the door receiving the manager's benison gravely and silently Captain Cuddle made bold to accompany him into his own room well Captain Cuddle said Mr. Parker taking up his usual position before the fireplace and keeping on his hat this is a bad business you have received the news in print yesterday sir said the captain yes said Mr. Parker we have received it it was accurately stated the under writers suffer a considerable loss we are very sorry no help such as life Mr. Parker paired his nails delicately with a pen knife and smiled at the captain who was standing by the door looking at him I excessively regret poor gay said Parker and the crew I understand there were some of our very best men among them it always happens so many men with families too a comfort to reflect that poor gay had no family Captain Cuddle the captain stood rubbing his chin and looking at the manager the manager glanced at the unopened letters lying on his desk and took up the newspaper is there anything I can do for you Captain Cuddle he asked looking off it with a smiling and expressive glance at the door I wish you could set my mind at rest sir on something it's uneasy about return the captain I exclaimed the manager what's that come captain Cuddle I must trouble you to be quick if you please I am much engaged looky here sir said captain advancing a step a former friend Walter went on this here disastrous voyage come come captain Cuddle interposed the smiling manager don't talk about disastrous voyages in that way we have nothing to do with disastrous voyages here my good fellow you must have begun very early on your days allowance captain if you don't remember that there are hazards in all voyages whether by sea or land you are not made uneasy by the supposition that young what's his name was lost in bad weather that was got up against him in these offices are you Phi captain sleep and soda water are the best cures for such uneasiness as that my lad returned the captain slowly you are almost a lad to me and so I don't ask your pardon for that slip of a word if you find any pleasure in this here sport you ain't the gentleman I took you for and if you ain't the gentleman I took you for maybe my mind has called to be uneasy now this is what it is Mr. Carker a for that poor lad went away according to others he told me that he weren't going away for his own good or for promotion he owed it was my belief that he was wrong and I told him so and I come here your head governor being absent to ask a question or two of you in a civil way for my own satisfaction them questions you answered free now it'll ease my mind to know when all is over as it is and when what can't be cured must be endured for which as a scholar you'll overhaul the book it's in and thereof make a note to know once more in a word that I weren't mistaken that I weren't backward in my duty when I didn't tell the old man what Walter told me and that the wind was truly in his sail when he heisted of it for Barbados harbor Mr. Carker said the captain in the goodness of his nature when I was here last we was very pleasant together it ain't been altogether so pleasant myself this morning on account of this poor lad and if I have chafed again any observation of yours that I might have fended off my name is Edward Cuddle and I ask your pardon Captain Cuddle returned the manager with all possible politeness I must ask you in favor and what is it sir inquired the captain to have the goodness to walk off if you please rejoin the manager stretching forth his arm and to carry your jargon somewhere else every knob in the captain's face turned white with astonishment and indignation even the red rim on his forehead faded like a rainbow among the gathering clouds Captain Cuddle said the manager shaking his forefinger at him and showing him all his teeth but still amably smiling I was much too lenient with you when you came here before you belong to an artful and audacious set of people in my desire to save young what's his name from being kicked out of this place neck and crop my good captain I tolerated you once only now go my friend the captain was absolutely rooted to the ground and speechless go said the good humored manager gathering up his skirts and standing astride upon the hearth rug like a sensible fellow and let us have no turning out or any such violent measures if Mr. Dombie was here captain you might be obliged to leave in a more ignominious manner possibly I merely say go the captain laying his ponderous hand upon his chest to assist himself in fetching a deep breath looked at Mr. Parker from head to foot and looked round the little room as if he did not clearly understand where he was or in what company you are deep captain Cuddle pursued Parker with the easy and vivacious frankness the man of the world who knew the world too well to be ruffled by any discovery of misdoing when it did not immediately concern himself but you are not quite out of soundings either neither you nor your absent friend captain what have you done with your absent friend hey again the captain laid his hand upon his chest after drawing another deep breath but in a whisper you hatch nice little plots and hold nice little councils and make nice little appointments and receive nice little visitors to captain hey said Parker bending his brows upon him without showing his teeth any the less but it's a bold measure to come here afterwards not like your discretion you conspirators and hiders and runners away should know better than that will you oblige me by going my lad gasped the captain in a choked and trembling voice and with a curious action going on in the ponderous fist there's many words I could wish to say to you but I don't rightly know where they're stowed just at present my young friend Walter was drowned only last night according to my reckoning that's me out you see but you and me will come alongside of one another again my lad said the captain holding up his hook if we live it will be anything but shrewd in you my good fellow if we do return the manager with the same frankness for you may rely I give you fair warning upon my detecting and exposing you I don't pretend to be a more moral man than my neighbors my good captain but the confidence of this house or of any member of this house is not to be abused and undermined while I have eyes and ears good day said Mr. Karker nodding his head Captain Cuddle looking at him steadily Mr. Karker looked full as steadily at the captain went out of the office and left him standing as calm and pleasant as if there were no more spots upon his soul then on his pure white linen and his smooth sleek skin the captain glanced in passing through the outer counting house at the desk where he knew poor Walter had been used to sit now occupied by another young boy with a face almost as fresh and hopeful as his on the day when they tapped the famous last bottle but one of the old Madeira in the little back parlor the association of ideas thus awakened did the captain a great deal of good it softened him in the very height of his anger and brought the tears into his eyes arrived at the wooden midshipments again and sitting down in a corner of the dark shop the captain's indignation strong as it was could make no head against his grief passion seemed not only to do wrong and violence to the memory of the dead but to be infected by death and to droop and decline beside it all the living names and liars in the world were nothing to the honesty and truth of one dead friend the only thing the honest captain made out clearly in this state of mind besides the loss of Walter was that with him almost the whole life of captain Cuddle had been drowned if he reproached himself sometimes and keenly too for having ever connived at Walter's innocent deceit he thought at least as often of the Mr. Parker whom no sea could ever render up and the Mr. Dombie whom he now began to perceive was as far beyond human recall and the heart's delight with whom he must never for gather again and the lovely peg that teak built and trim ballad that had gone ashore upon a rock and split into mere planks and beams of rhyme the captain sat in the dark shop thinking of these things to the entire exclusion of his own injury and looking with as sad an eye upon the ground as if in contemplation of their actual fragments as they floated past him but the captain was not unmindful for all that of such decent and respectful observances in memory of poor Walter as he felt within his power rousing himself and rousing Rob the grinder who in the unnatural twilight was fast asleep the captain sallied forth his attendant at his heels and the dorky in his pocket and repairing to one of those convenient slop selling establishments of which there is abundant choice at the eastern end of London purchased on the spot two suits of mourning one for Rob the grinder which was immensely too small and one for himself which was immensely too large he also provided Rob with a species greatly to be admired for its symmetry and usefulness as well as for a happy blending of the mariner and the coal heaver which is usually termed a and which was something of a novelty in connection with the instrument business in their several garments which the vendor declared to be such a miracle in point of fit as nothing but a rare combination of fortuitous circumstances ever about and the fashion of which was unparalleled within the memory of the oldest inhabitant the captain and grinder immediately arrayed themselves presenting a spectacle fraught with wonder to all who beheld it in this altered form the captain received Mr. Toots I'm took a back my lad at present said the captain and will only confirm that their ill news tell the young woman to break it gentle to the young lady and for neither of them never to think of me no more special mind you that is though I will think of them when night comes on a hurricane and seas is mountain its rowling for which overhaul your doctor what's brother and when found make a note on the captain reserved until some fitter time the consideration of Mr. Toots's offer of friendship and thus dismissed him Captain Cuddle's spirits were so low in truth that he have determined that day to take no further precautions against surprise from Mrs. Mc Stinger but to abandon himself recklessly to chance and be indifferent to what might happen as evening came on he fell into a better frame of mind however and spoke much of Walter to Rob the Grinder whose attention and fidelity he likewise incidentally commended Rob did not blush to hear the captain earnest in his praises but sat staring at him and affecting to snivel with sympathy and making a faint of being virtuous and treasuring up every word he said like a young spy as he was with very promising deceit when Rob had turned in and was fast to sleep the captain trim the candle put on his spectacles he had felt it appropriate to take to spectacles on entering into the instrument trade though his eyes were like a hawks and opened the prayer brook at the burial service and reading softly to himself in the little back parlor and stopping now and then to wipe his eyes the captain in a true and simple spirit committed Walter's body to the deep end of chapter 32