Bleak House, Charles Dickens [the beginning after the end novel read .txt] 📗

upon his bare head, I

felt as if the brightness on him must be like the brightness of the

angels.

 

“Hear me, my love, but do not speak. It is for me to speak now.

When it was that I began to doubt whether what I had done would

really make you happy is no matter. Woodcourt came home, and I

soon had no doubt at all.”

 

I clasped him round the neck and hung my head upon his breast and

wept. “Lie lightly, confidently here, my child,” said he, pressing

me gently to him. “I am your guardian and your father now. Rest

confidently here.”

 

Soothingly, like the gentle rustling of the leaves; and genially,

like the ripening weather; and radiantly and beneficently, like the

sunshine, he went on.

 

“Understand me, my dear girl. I had no doubt of your being

contented and happy with me, being so dutiful and so devoted; but I

saw with whom you would be happier. That I penetrated his secret

when Dame Durden was blind to it is no wonder, for I knew the good

that could never change in her better far than she did. Well! I

have long been in Allan Woodcourt’s confidence, although he was

not, until yesterday, a few hours before you came here, in mine.

But I would not have my Esther’s bright example lost; I would not

have a jot of my dear girl’s virtues unobserved and unhonoured; I

would not have her admitted on sufferance into the line of Morgan

ap-Kerrig, no, not for the weight in gold of all the mountains in

Wales!”

 

He stopped to kiss me on the forehead, and I sobbed and wept

afresh. For I felt as if I could not bear the painful delight of

his praise.

 

“Hush, little woman! Don’t cry; this is to be a day of joy. I

have looked forward to it,” he said exultingly, “for months on

months! A few words more, Dame Trot, and I have said my say.

Determined not to throw away one atom of my Esther’s worth, I took

Mrs. Woodcourt into a separate confidence. ‘Now, madam,’ said I,

‘I clearly perceive—and indeed I know, to boot—that your son

loves my ward. I am further very sure that my ward loves your son,

but will sacrifice her love to a sense of duty and affection, and

will sacrifice it so completely, so entirely, so religiously, that

you should never suspect it though you watched her night and day.’

Then I told her all our story—ours—yours and mine. ‘Now, madam,’

said I, ‘come you, knowing this, and live with us. Come you, and

see my child from hour to hour; set what you see against her

pedigree, which is this, and this’—for I scorned to mince it—‘and

tell me what is the true legitimacy when you shall have quite made

up your mind on that subject.’ Why, honour to her old Welsh blood,

my dear,” cried my guardian with enthusiasm, “I believe the heart

it animates beats no less warmly, no less admiringly, no less

lovingly, towards Dame Durden than my own!”

 

He tenderly raised my head, and as I clung to him, kissed me in his

old fatherly way again and again. What a light, now, on the

protecting manner I had thought about!

 

“One more last word. When Allan Woodcourt spoke to you, my dear,

he spoke with my knowledge and consent—but I gave him no

encouragement, not I, for these surprises were my great reward, and

I was too miserly to part with a scrap of it. He was to come and

tell me all that passed, and he did. I have no more to say. My

dearest, Allan Woodcourt stood beside your father when he lay dead

—stood beside your mother. This is Bleak House. This day I give

this house its little mistress; and before God, it is the brightest

day in all my life!”

 

He rose and raised me with him. We were no longer alone. My

husband—I have called him by that name full seven happy years now

—stood at my side.

 

“Allan,” said my guardian, “take from me a willing gift, the best

wife that ever man had. What more can I say for you than that I

know you deserve her! Take with her the little home she brings

you. You know what she will make it, Allan; you know what she has

made its namesake. Let me share its felicity sometimes, and what

do I sacrifice? Nothing, nothing.”

 

He kissed me once again, and now the tears were in his eyes as he

said more softly, “Esther, my dearest, after so many years, there

is a kind of parting in this too. I know that my mistake has

caused you some distress. Forgive your old guardian, in restoring

him to his old place in your affections; and blot it out of your

memory. Allan, take my dear.”

 

He moved away from under the green roof of leaves, and stopping in

the sunlight outside and turning cheerfully towards us, said, “I

shall be found about here somewhere. It’s a west wind, little

woman, due west! Let no one thank me any more, for I am going to

revert to my bachelor habits, and if anybody disregards this

warning, I’ll run away and never come back!”

 

What happiness was ours that day, what joy, what rest, what hope,

what gratitude, what bliss! We were to be married before the month

was out, but when we were to come and take possession of our own

house was to depend on Richard and Ada.

 

We all three went home together next day. As soon as we arrived in

town, Allan went straight to see Richard and to carry our joyful

news to him and my darling. Late as it was, I meant to go to her

for a few minutes before lying down to sleep, but I went home with

my guardian first to make his tea for him and to occupy the old

chair by his side, for I did not like to think of its being empty

so soon.

 

When we came home we found that a young man had called three times

in the course of that one day to see me and that having been told

on the occasion of his third call that I was not expected to return

before ten o’clock at night, he had left word that he would call

about then. He had left his card three times. Mr. Guppy.

 

As I naturally speculated on the object of these visits, and as I

always associated something ludicrous with the visitor, it fell out

that in laughing about Mr. Guppy I told my guardian of his old

proposal and his subsequent retraction. “After that,” said my

guardian, “we will certainly receive this hero.” So instructions

were given that Mr. Guppy should be shown in when he came again,

and they were scarcely given when he did come again.

 

He was embarrassed when he found my guardian with me, but recovered

himself and said, “How de do, sir?”

 

“How do you do, sir?” returned my guardian.

 

“Thank you, sir, I am tolerable,” returned Mr. Guppy. “Will you

allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Guppy of the Old Street Road,

and my particular friend, Mr. Weevle. That is to say, my friend

has gone by the name of Weevle, but his name is really and truly

Jobling.”

 

My guardian begged them to be seated, and they all sat down.

 

“Tony,” said Mr. Guppy to his friend after an awkward silence.

“Will you open the case?”

 

“Do it yourself,” returned the friend rather tartly.

 

“Well, Mr. Jarndyce, sir,” Mr. Guppy, after a moment’s

consideration, began, to the great diversion of his mother, which

she displayed by nudging Mr. Jobling with her elbow and winking at

me in a most remarkable manner, “I had an idea that I should see

Miss Summerson by herself and was not quite prepared for your

esteemed presence. But Miss Summerson has mentioned to you,

perhaps, that something has passed between us on former occasions?”

 

“Miss Summerson,” returned my guardian, smiling, “has made a

communication to that effect to me.”

 

“That,” said Mr. Guppy, “makes matters easier. Sir, I have come

out of my articles at Kenge and Carboy’s, and I believe with

satisfaction to all parties. I am now admitted (after undergoing

an examination that’s enough to badger a man blue, touching a pack

of nonsense that he don’t want to know) on the roll of attorneys

and have taken out my certificate, if it would be any satisfaction

to you to see it.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Guppy,” returned my guardian. “I am quite willing

—I believe I use a legal phrase—to admit the certificate.”

 

Mr. Guppy therefore desisted from taking something out of his

pocket and proceeded without it.

 

“I have no capital myself, but my mother has a little property which

takes the form of an annuity”—here Mr. Guppy’s mother rolled her

head as if she never could sufficiently enjoy the observation, and

put her handkerchief to her mouth, and again winked at me—“and a

few pounds for expenses out of pocket in conducting business will

never be wanting, free of interest, which is an advantage, you

know,” said Mr. Guppy feelingly.

 

“Certainly an advantage,” returned my guardian.

 

“I HAVE some connexion,” pursued Mr. Guppy, “and it lays in the

direction of Walcot Square, Lambeth. I have therefore taken a

‘ouse in that locality, which, in the opinion of my friends, is a

hollow bargain (taxes ridiculous, and use of fixtures included in

the rent), and intend setting up professionally for myself there

forthwith.”

 

Here Mr. Guppy’s mother fell into an extraordinary passion of

rolling her head and smiling waggishly at anybody who would look at

her.

 

“It’s a six-roomer, exclusive of kitchens,” said Mr. Guppy, “and in

the opinion of my friends, a commodious tenement. When I mention

my friends, I refer principally to my friend Jobling, who I believe

has known me,” Mr. Guppy looked at him with a sentimental air,

“from boyhood’s hour.”

 

Mr. Jobling confirmed this with a sliding movement of his legs.

 

“My friend Jobling will render me his assistance in the capacity of

clerk and will live in the ‘ouse,” said Mr. Guppy. “My mother will

likewise live in the ‘ouse when her present quarter in the Old

Street Road shall have ceased and expired; and consequently there

will be no want of society. My friend Jobling is naturally

aristocratic by taste, and besides being acquainted with the

movements of the upper circles, fully backs me in the intentions I

am now developing.”

 

Mr. Jobling said “Certainly” and withdrew a little from the elbow

of Mr Guppy’s mother.

 

“Now, I have no occasion to mention to you, sir, you being in the

confidence of Miss Summerson,” said Mr. Guppy, “(mother, I wish

you’d be so good as to keep still), that Miss Summerson’s image was

formerly imprinted on my ‘eart and that I made her a proposal of

marriage.”

 

“That I have heard,” returned my guardian.

 

“Circumstances,” pursued Mr. Guppy, “over which I had no control,

but quite the contrary, weakened the impression of that image for a

time. At which time Miss Summerson’s conduct was highly genteel; I

may even add, magnanimous.”

 

My guardian patted me on the shoulder and seemed much amused.

 

“Now, sir,” said Mr. Guppy, “I have got into that state of mind

myself that I wish for a reciprocity of magnanimous behaviour. I

wish to prove to Miss Summerson that I can rise to a heighth of

which perhaps she hardly thought me capable. I find that the image

which I did suppose