'Little Dorrit,' he said, taking her hand again, and speaking lower than
he had spoken yet, so that even Maggy in the small room could not hear
him, 'another word. I have wanted very much to say this to you; I have
tried for opportunities. Don't mind me, who, for the matter of years,
might be your father or your uncle. Always think of me as quite an
old man.
I know that all your devotion centres in this room, and
that nothing to the last will ever tempt you away from the duties you
discharge here. If I were not sure of it, I should, before now, have
implored you, and implored your father, to let me make some provision
for you in a more suitable place. But you may have an interest--I will
not say, now, though even that might be--may have, at another time,
an interest in some one else; an interest not incompatible with your
affection here.' She was very, very pale, and silently shook her head.
'It may be, dear Little Dorrit.' 'No. No. No.' She shook her head, after each slow repetition of
the word, with an air of quiet desolation that he remembered long
afterwards. The time came when he remembered it well, long afterwards,
within those prison walls; within that very room.
'But, if it ever should be, tell me so, my dear child. Entrust the truth
to me, point out the object of such an interest to me, and I will try
with all the zeal, and honour, and friendship and respect that I feel
for you, good Little Dorrit of my heart, to do you a lasting service.'
'O thank you, thank you! But, O no, O no, O no!' She said this, looking
at him with her work-worn hands folded together, and in the same
resigned accents as before.
'I press for no confidence now. I only ask you to repose unhesitating
trust in me.' 'Can I do less than that, when you are so good!' 'Then you will trust me fully? Will have no secret unhappiness, or
anxiety, concealed from me?'
'Almost none.' 'And you have none now?' She shook her head. But she was very pale. 'When I lie down to-night, and my thoughts come back--as they will, for
they do every night, even when I have not seen you--to this sad place, I
may believe that there is no grief beyond this room, now, and its usual
occupants, which preys on Little Dorrit's mind?'
She seemed to catch at these words--that he remembered, too, long
afterwards--and said, more brightly, 'Yes, Mr Clennam; yes, you may!' The crazy staircase, usually not slow to give notice when any one was
coming up or down, here creaked under a quick tread, and a further sound
was heard upon it, as if a little steam-engine with more steam than it
knew what to do with, were working towards the room. As it approached,
which it did very rapidly, it laboured with increased energy; and,
after knocking at the door, it sounded as if it were stooping down and
snorting in at the keyhole.