The morning light was in no hurry to climb the prison wall and look in

at the Snuggery windows; and when it did come, it would have been more

welcome if it had come alone, instead of bringing a rush of rain with

it. But the equinoctial gales were blowing out at sea, and the impartial

south-west wind, in its flight, would not neglect even the narrow

Marshalsea.

While it roared through the steeple of St George's Church,

and twirled all the cowls in the neighbourhood, it made a swoop to beat

the Southwark smoke into the jail; and, plunging down the chimneys

of the few early collegians who were yet lighting their fires, half

suffocated them. Arthur Clennam would have been little disposed to

linger in bed, though his bed had been in a more private situation, and

less affected by the raking out of yesterday's fire, the kindling of

to-day's under the collegiate boiler, the filling of that Spartan vessel

at the pump, the sweeping and sawdusting of the common room, and other

such preparations. Heartily glad to see the morning, though little

rested by the night, he turned out as soon as he could distinguish

objects about him, and paced the yard for two heavy hours before the

gate was opened.

The walls were so near to one another, and the wild clouds hurried

over them so fast, that it gave him a sensation like the beginning of

sea-sickness to look up at the gusty sky. The rain, carried aslant by

flaws of wind, blackened that side of the central building which he had

visited last night, but left a narrow dry trough under the lee of the

wall, where he walked up and down among the waits of straw and dust

and paper, the waste droppings of the pump, and the stray leaves of

yesterday's greens. It was as haggard a view of life as a man need look

upon.

Nor was it relieved by any glimpse of the little creature who had

brought him there. Perhaps she glided out of her doorway and in at that

where her father lived, while his face was turned from both; but he saw

nothing of her. It was too early for her brother; to have seen him once,

was to have seen enough of him to know that he would be sluggish to

leave whatever frowsy bed he occupied at night; so, as Arthur Clennam

walked up and down, waiting for the gate to open, he cast about in

his mind for future rather than for present means of pursuing his

discoveries.

At last the lodge-gate turned, and the turnkey, standing on the step,

taking an early comb at his hair, was ready to let him out. With a

joyful sense of release he passed through the lodge, and found himself

again in the little outer court-yard where he had spoken to the brother

last night. There was a string of people already straggling in, whom it was not

difficult to identify as the nondescript messengers, go-betweens, and

errand-bearers of the place. Some of them had been lounging in the rain

until the gate should open; others, who had timed their arrival

with greater nicety, were coming up now, and passing in with damp

whitey-brown paper bags from the grocers, loaves of bread, lumps of

butter, eggs, milk, and the like. The shabbiness of these attendants

upon shabbiness, the poverty of these insolvent waiters upon insolvency,

was a sight to see.




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