The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

  her. The men were very ill-looking. They might get their living

  by robbing and murdering travellers. Who could tell?

  Reasoning herself out of these fears, or losing sight of them for

  a little while, there came the anxiety to which the adventures of

  the night gave rise. Here was the old passion awakened again in

  her grandfather's breast, and to what further distraction it might

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  tempt him Heaven only knew. What fears their absence might have

  occasioned already! Persons might be seeking for them even then.

  Would they be forgiven in the morning, or turned adrift again! Oh!

  why had they stopped in that strange place? It would have been

  better, under any circumstances, to have gone on!

  At last, sleep gradually stole upon her--a broken, fitful sleep,

  troubled by dreams of falling from high towers, and waking with a

  start and in great terror. A deeper slumber followed this--and

  then--What! That figure in the room.

  A figure was there. Yes, she had drawn up the blind to admit the

  light when it should be dawn, and there, between the foot of the

  bed and the dark casement, it crouched and slunk along, groping its

  way with noiseless hands, and stealing round the bed. She had no

  voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, watching

  it.

  On it came--on, silently and stealthily, to the bed's head. The

  breath so near her pillow, that she shrunk back into it, lest those

  wandering hands should light upon her face. Back again it stole to

  the window--then turned its head towards her.

  The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter darkness of the

  room, but she saw the turning of the head, and felt and knew how

  the eyes looked and the ears listened. There it remained,

  motionless as she. At length, still keeping the face towards her,

  it busied its hands in something, and she heard the chink of money.

  Then, on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, and

  replacing the garments it had taken from the bedside, dropped upon

  its hands and knees, and crawled away. How slowly it seemed to

  move, now that she could hear but not see it, creeping along the

  floor! It reached the door at last, and stood upon its feet. The

  steps creaked beneath its noiseless tread, and it was gone.

  The first impulse of the child was to fly from the terror of being

  by herself in that room--to have somebody by--not to be alone--

  and then her power of speech would be restored. With no

  consciousness of having moved, she gained the door.

  There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the bottom of the steps.

  She could not pass it; she might have done so, perhaps, in the

  darkness without being seized, but her blood curdled at the

  thought. The figure stood quite still, and so did she; not boldly,

  but of necessity; for going back into the room was hardly less

  terrible than going on.

  The rain beat fast and furiously without, and ran down in plashing

  streams from the thatched roof. Some summer insect, with no escape

  into the air, flew blindly to and fro, beating its body against the

  walls and ceiling, and filling the silent place with murmurs. The

  figure moved again. The child involuntarily did the same. Once in

  her grandfather's room, she would be safe.

  It crept along the passage until it came to the very door she

  longed so ardently to reach. The child, in the agony of being so

  near, had almost darted forward with the design of bursting into

  the room and closing it behind her, when the figure stopped again.

  The idea flashed suddenly upon her--what if it entered there, and

  had a design upon the old man's life! She turned faint and sick.

  It did. It went in. There was a light inside. The figure was now

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  within the chamber, and she, still dumb--quite dumb, and almost

  senseless--stood looking on.

  The door was partly open. Not knowing what she meant to do, but

  meaning to preserve him or be killed herself, she staggered forward

  and looked in.

  What sight was that which met her view!

  The bed had not been lain on, but was smooth and empty. And at a

  table sat the old man himself; the only living creature there; his

  white face pinched and sharpened by the greediness which made his

  eyes unnaturally bright--counting the money of which his hands had

  robbed her.

  CHAPTER 31

  With steps more faltering and unsteady than those with which she

  had approached the room, the child withdrew from the door, and

  groped her way back to her own chamber. The terror she had lately

  felt was nothing compared with that which now oppressed her. No

  strange robber, no treacherous host conniving at the plunder of his

  guests, or stealing to their beds to kill them in their sleep, no

  nightly prowler, however terrible and cruel, could have awakened in

  her bosom half the dread which the recognition of her silent

  visitor inspired. The grey-headed old man gliding like a ghost

  into her room and acting the thief while he supposed her fast

  asleep, then bearing off his prize and hanging over it with the

  ghastly exultation she had witnessed, was worse--immeasurably

  worse, and far more dreadful, for the moment, to reflect upon--

  than anything her wildest fancy could have suggested. If he should

  return--there was no lock or bolt upon the door, and if,

  distrustful of having left some money yet behind, he should come

  back to seek for more--a vague awe and horror surrounded the idea

  of his slinking in again with stealthy tread, and turning his face

  toward the empty bed, while she shrank down close at his feet to

  avoid his touch, which was almost insupportable. She sat and

  listened. Hark! A footstep on the stairs, and now the door was

  slowly opening. It was but imagination, yet imagination had all

  the terrors of reality; nay, it was worse, for the reality would

  have come and gone, and there an end, but in imagination it was

  always coming, and never went away.

  The feeling which beset the child was one of dim uncertain horror.

  She had no fear of the dear old grandfather, in whose

  love for her this disease of the brain had been engendered; but the

  man she had seen that night, wrapt in the game of chance, lurking

  in her room, and counting the money by the glimmering light, seemed

  like another creature in his shape, a monstrous distortion of his

  image, a something to recoil from, and be the more afraid of,

  because it bore a likeness to him, and kept close about her, as he

  did. She could scarcely connect her own affectionate companion,

  save by his loss, with this old man, so like yet so unlike him.

  She had wept to see him dull and quiet. How much greater cause she

  had for weeping now!

  The child sat watching and thinking of these things, until the

  phantom in her mind so increased in gloom and terror, that she felt

  it would be a relief to hear the old man's voice, or, if he were

  asleep,
even to see him, and banish some of the fears that

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  clustered round his image. She stole down the stairs and passage

  again. The door was still ajar as she had left it, and the candle

  burning as before.

  She had her own candle in her hand, prepared to say, if he were

  waking, that she was uneasy and could not rest, and had come to see

  if his were still alight. Looking into the room, she saw him lying

  calmly on his bed, and so took courage to enter.

  Fast asleep. No passion in the face, no avarice, no anxiety, no

  wild desire; all gentle, tranquil, and at peace. This was not the

  gambler, or the shadow in her room; this was not even the worn and

  jaded man whose face had so often met her own in the grey morning

  light; this was her dear old friend, her harmless fellowtraveller,

  her good, kind grandfather.

  She had no fear as she looked upon his slumbering features, but she

  had a deep and weighty sorrow, and it found its relief in tears.

  'God bless him!' said the child, stooping softly to kiss his placid

  cheek. 'I see too well now, that they would indeed part us if they

  found us out, and shut him up from the light of the sun and sky.

  He has only me to help him. God bless us both!'

  Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she had come,

  and, gaining her own room once more, sat up during the remainder of

  that long, long, miserable night.

  At last the day turned her waning candle pale, and she fell asleep.

  She was quickly roused by the girl who had shown her up to bed;

  and, as soon as she was dressed, prepared to go down

  to her grandfather. But first she searched her pocket and found

  that her money was all gone--not a sixpence remained.

  The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they were on their

  road. The child thought he rather avoided her eye, and appeared to

  expect that she would tell him of her loss. She felt she must do

  that, or he might suspect the truth.

  'Grandfather,' she said in a tremulous voice, after they had walked

  about a mile in silence, 'do you think they are honest people at

  the house yonder?'

  'Why?' returned the old man trembling. 'Do I think them honest--

  yes, they played honestly.'

  'I'll tell you why I ask,' rejoined Nell. 'I lost some money last

  night--out of my bedroom, I am sure. Unless it was taken by

  somebody in jest--only in jest, dear grandfather, which would make

  me laugh heartily if I could but know it--'

  'Who would take money in jest?' returned the old man in a hurried manner.

  'Those who take money, take it to keep. Don't talk of jest.'

  'Then it was stolen out of my room, dear,' said the child, whose

  last hope was destroyed by the manner of this reply.

  'But is there no more, Nell?' said the old man; 'no more anywhere?

  Was it all taken--every farthing of it--was there nothing left?'

  'Nothing,' replied the child.

  'We must get more,' said the old man, 'we must earn it, Nell, hoard

  it up, scrape it together, come by it somehow. Never mind this

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  loss. Tell nobody of it, and perhaps we may regain it. Don't ask

  how;--we may regain it, and a great deal more;--but tell nobody,

  or trouble may come of it. And so they took it out of thy room,

  when thou wert asleep!' he added in a compassionate tone, very

  different from the secret, cunning way in which he had spoken

  until now. 'Poor Nell, poor little Nell!'

  The child hung down her head and wept. The sympathising tone in

  which he spoke, was quite sincere; she was sure of that. It was not

  the lightest part of her sorrow to know that this was done for her.

  'Not a word about it to any one but me,' said the old man, 'no, not

  even to me,' he added hastily, 'for it can do no good. All the

  losses that ever were, are not worth tears from thy eyes, darling.

  Why should they be, when we will win them back?'

  'Let them go,' said the child looking up. 'Let them go, once and

  for ever, and I would never shed another tear if every penny had

  been a thousand pounds.'

  'Well, well,' returned the old man, checking himself as some

  impetuous answer rose to his lips, 'she knows no better. I ought

  to be thankful of it.'

  'But listen to me,' said the child earnestly, 'will you listen to me?'

  'Aye, aye, I'll listen,' returned the old man, still without

  looking at her; 'a pretty voice. It has always a sweet sound to

  me. It always had when it was her mother's, poor child.'

  'Let me persuade you, then--oh, do let me persuade you,' said the

  child, 'to think no more of gains or losses, and to try no fortune

  but the fortune we pursue together.'

  'We pursue this aim together,' retorted her grandfather, still

  looking away and seeming to confer with himself. 'Whose image

  sanctifies the game?'

  'Have we been worse off,' resumed the child, 'since you forgot

  these cares, and we have been travelling on together? Have we not

  been much better and happier without a home to shelter us, than

  ever we were in that unhappy house, when they were on your mind?'

  'She speaks the truth,' murmured the old man in the same tone as

  before. 'It must not turn me, but it is the truth; no doubt it

  is.'

  'Only remember what we have been since that bright morning when we

  turned our backs upon it for the last time,' said Nell, 'only

  remember what we have been since we have been free of all those

  miseries--what peaceful days and quiet nights we have had--what

  pleasant times we have known--what happiness we have enjoyed. If

  we have been tired or hungry, we have been soon refreshed, and

  slept the sounder for it. Think what beautiful things we have

  seen, and how contented we have felt. And why was this blessed

  change?'

  He stopped her with a motion of his hand, and bade her talk to him

  no more just then, for he was busy. After a time he kissed her

  cheek, still motioning her to silence, and walked on, looking far

  before him, and sometimes stopping and gazing with a puckered brow

  upon the ground, as if he were painfully trying to collect his

  disordered thoughts. Once she saw tears in his eyes. When he had

  gone on thus for some time, he took her hand in his as he was

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  accustomed to do, with nothing of the violence or animation of his

  late manner; and so, by degrees so fine that the child could not

  trace them, he settled down into his usual quiet way, and suffered

  her to lead him where she would.

  When they presented themselves in the midst of the stupendous

  collection, they found, as Nell had anticipated, that Mrs Jarley

  was not yet out of bed, and that, although she had suffered some

  uneasiness on their account overnight, and had indeed sat up for

  them until past eleven o'clock, she had retired in the persuasion,

  that, being overtaken by storm at some distance from home, they had

  sought the nearest
shelter, and would not return before morning.

  Nell immediately applied herself with great assiduity to the

  decoration and preparation of the room, and had the satisfaction of

  completing her task, and dressing herself neatly, before the

  beloved of the Royal Family came down to breakfast.

  'We haven't had,' said Mrs Jarley when the meal was over, 'more

  than eight of Miss Monflathers's young ladies all the time we've

  been here, and there's twenty-six of 'em, as I was told by the cook

  when I asked her a question or two and put her on the free-list.

  We must try 'em with a parcel of new bills, and you shall take it,

  my dear, and see what effect that has upon 'em.'

  The proposed expedition being one of paramount importance, Mrs

  Jarley adjusted Nell's bonnet with her own hands, and declaring

  that she certainly did look very pretty, and reflected credit on

  the establishment, dismissed her with many commendations, and

  certain needful directions as to the turnings on the right which

  she was to take, and the turnings on the left which she was to

  avoid. Thus instructed, Nell had no difficulty in finding out Miss

  Monflathers's Boarding and Day Establishment, which was a large

  house, with a high wall, and a large garden-gate with a large brass

  plate, and a small grating through which Miss Monflathers's

  parlour-maid inspected all visitors before admitting them; for

  nothing in the shape of a man--no, not even a milkman--was

  suffered, without special license, to pass that gate. Even the

  tax-gatherer, who was stout, and wore spectacles and a

  broad-brimmed hat, had the taxes handed through the grating. More

  obdurate than gate of adamant or brass, this gate of Miss

  Monflathers's frowned on all mankind. The very butcher respected

  it as a gate of mystery, and left off whistling when he rang the

  bell.

  As Nell approached the awful door, it turned slowly upon its hinges

  with a creaking noise, and, forth from the solemn grove beyond,

  came a long file of young ladies, two and two, all with open books

  in their hands, and some with parasols likewise. And last of the

  goodly procession came Miss Monflathers, bearing herself a parasol

  of lilac silk, and supported by two smiling teachers, each mortally

  envious of the other, and devoted unto Miss Monflathers.

  Confused by the looks and whispers of the girls, Nell stood with

  downcast eyes and suffered the procession to pass on, until Miss