Bleak House by Charles Dickens (ebook reader that looks like a book TXT) 📕

should she do without me! Nor was Richard much better; and as for

me, I should have been the worst of the three if I had not severely

said to myself, “Now Esther, if you do, I’ll never speak to you

again!”

“Why, I declare,” said I, “I never saw such a wife. I don’t think

she loves her husband at all. Here, Richard, take my child, for

goodness’ sake.” But I held her tight all the while, and could

have wept over her I don’t know how long.

“I give this dear young couple notice,” said I, “that I am only

going away to come back to-morrow and that I shall be always coming

backwards and forwards until Symond’s Inn is tired of the sight of

me. So I shall not say good-bye, Richard. For what would be the

use of that, you know, when I am coming back so soon!”

I had given my darling to him now, and I meant to go; but I

lingered for one more look of the precious face which it seemed to

rive my heart to turn from.

So I said (in a merry, bustling manner) that unless they gave me

some encouragement to come back, I was not sure that I could take

that liberty, upon which my dear girl looked up, faintly smiling

through her tears, and I folded her lovely face between my hands,

and gave it one last kiss, and laughed, and ran away.

And when I got downstairs, oh, how I cried! It almost seemed to me

that I had lost my Ada for ever. I was so lonely and so blank

without her, and it was so desolate to be going home with no hope

of seeing her there, that I could get no comfort for a little while

as I walked up and down in a dim corner sobbing and crying.

I came to myself by and by, after a little scolding, and took a

coach home. The poor boy whom I had found at St. Albans had

reappeared a short time before and was lying at the point of death;

indeed, was then dead, though I did not know it. My guardian had

gone out to inquire about him and did not return to dinner. Being

quite alone, I cried a little again, though on the whole I don’t

think I behaved so very, very ill.

It was only natural that I should not be quite accustomed to the

loss of my darling yet. Three or four hours were not a long time

after years. But my mind dwelt so much upon the uncongenial scene

in which I had left her, and I pictured it as such an overshadowed

stony-hearted one, and I so longed to be near her and taking some

sort of care of her, that I determined to go back in the evening

only to look up at her windows.

It was foolish, I dare say, but it did not then seem at all so to

me, and it does not seem quite so even now. I took Charley into my

confidence, and we went out at dusk. It was dark when we came to

the new strange home of my dear girl, and there was a light behind

the yellow blinds. We walked past cautiously three or four times,

looking up, and narrowly missed encountering Mr. Vholes, who came

out of his office while we were there and turned his head to look

up too before going home. The sight of his lank black figure and

the lonesome air of that nook in the dark were favourable to the

state of my mind. I thought of the youth and love and beauty of my

dear girl, shut up in such an ill-assorted refuge, almost as if it

were a cruel place.

It was very solitary and very dull, and I did not doubt that I

might safely steal upstairs. I left Charley below and went up with

a light foot, not distressed by any glare from the feeble oil

lanterns on the way. I listened for a few moments, and in the

musty rotting silence of the house believed that I could hear the

murmur of their young voices. I put my lips to the hearse-like

panel of the door as a kiss for my dear and came quietly down

again, thinking that one of these days I would confess to the

visit.

And it really did me good, for though nobody but Charley and I knew

anything about it, I somehow felt as if it had diminished the

separation between Ada and me and had brought us together again for

those moments. I went back, not quite accustomed yet to the

change, but all the better for that hovering about my darling.

My guardian had come home and was standing thoughtfully by the dark

window. When I went in, his face cleared and he came to his seat,

but he caught the light upon my face as I took mine.

“Little woman,” said he, “You have been crying.”

“Why, yes, guardian,” said I, “I am afraid I have been, a little.

Ada has been in such distress, and is so very sorry, guardian.”

I put my arm on the back of his chair, and I saw in his glance that

my words and my look at her empty place had prepared him.

“Is she married, my dear?”

I told him all about it and how her first entreaties had referred

to his forgiveness.

“She has no need of it,” said he. “Heaven bless her and her

husband!” But just as my first impulse had been to pity her, so

was his. “Poor girl, poor girl! Poor Rick! Poor Ada!”

Neither of us spoke after that, until he said with a sigh, “Well,

well, my dear! Bleak House is thinning fast.”

“But its mistress remains, guardian.” Though I was timid about

saying it, I ventured because of the sorrowful tone in which he had

spoken. “She will do all she can to make it happy,” said I.

“She will succeed, my love!”

The letter had made no difference between us except that the seat

by his side had come to be mine; it made none now. He turned his

old bright fatherly look upon me, laid his hand on my hand in his

old way, and said again, “She will succeed, my dear. Nevertheless,

Bleak House is thinning fast, O little woman!”

I was sorry presently that this was all we said about that. I was

rather disappointed. I feared I might not quite have been all I

had meant to be since the letter and the answer.