Mr Pancks crowned his mysteries by making himself acquainted with Tip

in some unknown manner, and taking a Sunday saunter into the College

on that gentleman's arm. Throughout he never took any notice of Little

Dorrit, save once or twice when he happened to come close to her and

there was no one very near; on which occasions, he said in passing,

with a friendly look and a puff of encouragement, 'Pancks the

gipsy--fortune-telling.'

Little Dorrit worked and strove as usual, wondering at all this, but

keeping her wonder, as she had from her earliest years kept many heavier

loads, in her own breast. A change had stolen, and was stealing yet,

over the patient heart. Every day found her something more retiring

than the day before. To pass in and out of the prison unnoticed, and

elsewhere to be overlooked and forgotten, were, for herself, her chief

desires. To her own room too, strangely assorted room for her delicate youth

and character, she was glad to retreat as often as she could without

desertion of any duty. There were afternoon times when she was

unemployed, when visitors dropped in to play a hand at cards with her

father, when she could be spared and was better away. Then she would

flit along the yard, climb the scores of stairs that led to her room,

and take her seat at the window. Many combinations did those spikes

upon the wall assume, many light shapes did the strong iron weave itself

into, many golden touches fell upon the rust, while Little Dorrit sat

there musing. New zig-zags sprung into the cruel pattern sometimes, when

she saw it through a burst of tears; but beautified or hardened still,

always over it and under it and through it, she was fain to look in her

solitude, seeing everything with that ineffaceable brand.

A garret, and a Marshalsea garret without compromise, was Little

Dorrit's room. Beautifully kept, it was ugly in itself, and had little

but cleanliness and air to set it off; for what embellishment she had

ever been able to buy, had gone to her father's room. Howbeit, for this

poor place she showed an increasing love; and to sit in it alone became

her favourite rest. Insomuch, that on a certain afternoon during the Pancks mysteries, when

she was seated at her window, and heard Maggy's well-known step coming

up the stairs, she was very much disturbed by the apprehension of being

summoned away. As Maggy's step came higher up and nearer, she trembled

and faltered; and it was as much as she could do to speak, when Maggy at

length appeared. 'Please, Little Mother,' said Maggy, panting for breath, 'you must come

down and see him. He's here.' 'Who, Maggy?'




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