'My own Little Dorrit,' said Clennam, compassionately.

She burst into tears. Maggy looked round of a sudden, and stared for at

least a minute; but did not interpose. Clennam waited some little while

before he spoke again. 'I cannot bear,' he said then, 'to see you weep; but I hope this is a

relief to an overcharged heart.' 'Yes it is, sir. Nothing but that.'

'Well, well! I feared you would think too much of what passed here just

now. It is of no moment; not the least. I am only unfortunate to have

come in the way. Let it go by with these tears. It is not worth one of

them. One of them? Such an idle thing should be repeated, with my glad

consent, fifty times a day, to save you a moment's heart-ache, Little

Dorrit.' She had taken courage now, and answered, far more in her usual manner,

'You are so good! But even if there was nothing else in it to be sorry

for and ashamed of, it is such a bad return to you--'

'Hush!' said Clennam, smiling and touching her lips with his hand.

'Forgetfulness in you who remember so many and so much, would be new

indeed. Shall I remind you that I am not, and that I never was, anything

but the friend whom you agreed to trust? No. You remember it, don't

you?' 'I try to do so, or I should have broken the promise just now, when my

mistaken brother was here. You will consider his bringing-up in this

place, and will not judge him hardly, poor fellow, I know!' In raising

her eyes with these words, she observed his face more nearly than she

had done yet, and said, with a quick change of tone, 'You have not been

ill, Mr Clennam?' 'No.'

'Nor tried? Nor hurt?' she asked him, anxiously.

It fell to Clennam now, to be not quite certain how to answer. He said

in reply: 'To speak the truth, I have been a little troubled, but it is over. Do I show it so plainly? I ought to have more fortitude and self-command

than that. I thought I had. I must learn them of you. Who could teach me

better!' He never thought that she saw in him what no one else could see. He

never thought that in the whole world there were no other eyes that

looked upon him with the same light and strength as hers.

'But it brings me to something that I wish to say,' he continued, 'and

therefore I will not quarrel even with my own face for telling tales

and being unfaithful to me. Besides, it is a privilege and pleasure to

confide in my Little Dorrit. Let me confess then, that, forgetting how

grave I was, and how old I was, and how the time for such things had

gone by me with the many years of sameness and little happiness that

made up my long life far away, without marking it--that, forgetting all

this, I fancied I loved some one.' 'Do I know her, sir?' asked Little Dorrit. 'No, my child.' 'Not the lady who has been kind to me for your sake?' 'Flora. No, no. Do you think--' 'I never quite thought so,' said Little Dorrit, more to herself than

him. 'I did wonder at it a little.'




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