The Midshipman was all alive. Mr Toots and Susan had arrived at last.
Susan had run upstairs like a young woman bereft of her senses, and Mr
Toots and the Chicken had gone into the Parlour.

'Oh my own pretty darling sweet Miss Floy!' cried the Nipper, running
into Florence's room, 'to think that it should come to this and I should
find you here my own dear dove with nobody to wait upon you and no home
to call your own but never never will I go away again Miss Floy for
though I may not gather moss I'm not a rolling stone nor is my heart a
stone or else it wouldn't bust as it is busting now oh dear oh dear!'

Pouring out these words, without the faintest indication of a stop,
of any sort, Miss Nipper, on her knees beside her mistress, hugged her
close.

'Oh love!' cried Susan, 'I know all that's past I know it all my tender
pet and I'm a choking give me air!'

'Susan, dear good Susan!' said Florence.

'Oh bless her! I that was her little maid when she was a little child!
and is she really, really truly going to be married?' exclaimed Susan,
in a burst of pain and pleasure, pride and grief, and Heaven knows how
many other conflicting feelings.

'Who told you so?' said Florence.

'Oh gracious me! that innocentest creetur Toots,' returned Susan
hysterically. 'I knew he must be right my dear, because he took on so.
He's the devotedest and innocentest infant! And is my darling,' pursued
Susan, with another close embrace and burst of tears, 'really really
going to be married!'

The mixture of compassion, pleasure, tenderness, protection, and regret
with which the Nipper constantly recurred to this subject, and at every
such once, raised her head to look in the young face and kiss it, and
then laid her head again upon her mistress's shoulder, caressing her and
sobbing, was as womanly and good a thing, in its way, as ever was seen
in the world.

'There, there!' said the soothing voice of Florence presently. 'Now
you're quite yourself, dear Susan!'

Miss Nipper, sitting down upon the floor, at her mistress's feet,
laughing and sobbing, holding her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes with
one hand, and patting Diogenes with the other as he licked her face,
confessed to being more composed, and laughed and cried a little more in
proof of it.

'I-I-I never did see such a creetur as that Toots,' said Susan, 'in all
my born days never!'

'So kind,' suggested Florence.

'And so comic!' Susan sobbed. 'The way he's been going on inside with me
with that disrespectable Chicken on the box!'

'About what, Susan?' inquired Florence, timidly.

'Oh about Lieutenant Walters, and Captain Gills, and you my dear Miss
Floy, and the silent tomb,' said Susan.

'The silent tomb!' repeated Florence.

'He says,' here Susan burst into a violent hysterical laugh, 'that he'll
go down into it now immediately and quite comfortable, but bless your
heart my dear Miss Floy he won't, he's a great deal too happy in seeing
other people happy for that, he may not be a Solomon,' pursued the
Nipper, with her usual volubility, 'nor do I say he is but this I do
say a less selfish human creature human nature never knew!'

Miss Nipper being still hysterical, laughed immoderately after making
this energetic declaration, and then informed Florence that he was
waiting below to see her; which would be a rich repayment for the
trouble he had had in his late expedition.

Florence entreated Susan to beg of Mr Toots as a favour that she might
have the pleasure of thanking him for his kindness; and Susan, in a few
moments, produced that young gentleman, still very much dishevelled in
appearance, and stammering exceedingly.

'Miss Dombey,' said Mr Toots. 'To be again permitted to--to--gaze--at
least, not to gaze, but--I don't exactly know what I was going to say,
but it's of no consequence.'

'I have to thank you so often,' returned Florence, giving him both her
hands, with all her innocent gratitude beaming in her face, 'that I have
no words left, and don't know how to do it.'

'Miss Dombey,' said Mr Toots, in an awful voice, 'if it was possible
that you could, consistently with your angelic nature, Curse me, you
would--if I may be allowed to say so--floor me infinitely less, than by
these undeserved expressions of kindness Their effect upon me--is--but,'
said Mr Toots, abruptly, 'this is a digression, and of no consequence at
all.'

As there seemed to be no means of replying to this, but by thanking him
again, Florence thanked him again.

'I could wish,' said Mr Toots, 'to take this opportunity, Miss Dombey,
if I might, of entering into a word of explanation. I should have had
the pleasure of--of returning with Susan at an earlier period; but, in
the first place, we didn't know the name of the relation to whose house
she had gone, and, in the second, as she had left that relation's and
gone to another at a distance, I think that scarcely anything short of
the sagacity of the Chicken, would have found her out in the time.'

Florence was sure of it.

'This, however,' said Mr Toots, 'is not the point. The company of Susan
has been, I assure you, Miss Dombey, a consolation and satisfaction
to me, in my state of mind, more easily conceived than described. The
journey has been its own reward. That, however, still, is not the
point. Miss Dombey, I have before observed that I know I am not what is
considered a quick person. I am perfectly aware of that. I don't think
anybody could be better acquainted with his own--if it was not too
strong an expression, I should say with the thickness of his own
head--than myself. But, Miss Dombey, I do, notwithstanding, perceive the
state of--of things--with Lieutenant Walters. Whatever agony that state
of things may have caused me (which is of no consequence at all), I
am bound to say, that Lieutenant Walters is a person who appears to be
worthy of the blessing that has fallen on his--on his brow. May he
wear it long, and appreciate it, as a very different, and very unworthy
individual, that it is of no consequence to name, would have done! That,
however, still, is not the point. Miss Dombey, Captain Gills is a friend
of mine; and during the interval that is now elapsing, I believe it
would afford Captain Gills pleasure to see me occasionally coming
backwards and forwards here. It would afford me pleasure so to come. But
I cannot forget that I once committed myself, fatally, at the corner of
the Square at Brighton; and if my presence will be, in the least degree,
unpleasant to you, I only ask you to name it to me now, and assure you
that I shall perfectly understand you. I shall not consider it at all
unkind, and shall only be too delighted and happy to be honoured with
your confidence.'

'Mr Toots,' returned Florence, 'if you, who are so old and true a friend
of mine, were to stay away from this house now, you would make me very
unhappy. It can never, never, give me any feeling but pleasure to see
you.

'Miss Dombey,' said Mr Toots, taking out his pocket-handkerchief, 'if I
shed a tear, it is a tear of joy. It is of no consequence, and I am very
much obliged to you. I may be allowed to remark, after what you have
so kindly said, that it is not my intention to neglect my person any
longer.'

Florence received this intimation with the prettiest expression of
perplexity possible.

'I mean,' said Mr Toots, 'that I shall consider it my duty as a
fellow-creature generally, until I am claimed by the silent tomb, to
make the best of myself, and to--to have my boots as brightly polished,
as--as--circumstances will admit of. This is the last time, Miss Dombey,
of my intruding any observation of a private and personal nature. I
thank you very much indeed. If I am not, in a general way, as sensible
as my friends could wish me to be, or as I could wish myself, I
really am, upon my word and honour, particularly sensible of what is
considerate and kind. I feel,' said Mr Toots, in an impassioned tone,
'as if I could express my feelings, at the present moment, in a most
remarkable manner, if--if--I could only get a start.'

Appearing not to get it, after waiting a minute or two to see if it
would come, Mr Toots took a hasty leave, and went below to seek the
Captain, whom he found in the shop.

'Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, 'what is now to take place between
us, takes place under the sacred seal of confidence. It is the sequel,
Captain Gills, of what has taken place between myself and Miss Dombey,
upstairs.'

'Alow and aloft, eh, my lad?' murmured the Captain.

'Exactly so, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, whose fervour of
acquiescence was greatly heightened by his entire ignorance of the
Captain's meaning. 'Miss Dombey, I believe, Captain Gills, is to be
shortly united to Lieutenant Walters?'

'Why, ay, my lad. We're all shipmets here,--Wal'r and sweet--heart will
be jined together in the house of bondage, as soon as the askings is
over,' whispered Captain Cuttle, in his ear.

'The askings, Captain Gills!' repeated Mr Toots.

'In the church, down yonder,' said the Captain, pointing his thumb over
his shoulder.

'Oh! Yes!' returned Mr Toots.

'And then,' said the Captain, in his hoarse whisper, and tapping Mr
Toots on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling from him with
a look of infinite admiration, 'what follers? That there pretty creetur,
as delicately brought up as a foreign bird, goes away upon the roaring
main with Wal'r on a woyage to China!'

'Lord, Captain Gills!' said Mr Toots.

'Ay!' nodded the Captain. 'The ship as took him up, when he was wrecked
in the hurricane that had drove her clean out of her course, was a
China trader, and Wal'r made the woyage, and got into favour, aboard
and ashore--being as smart and good a lad as ever stepped--and so, the
supercargo dying at Canton, he got made (having acted as clerk afore),
and now he's supercargo aboard another ship, same owners. And so, you
see,' repeated the Captain, thoughtfully, 'the pretty creetur goes away
upon the roaring main with Wal'r, on a woyage to China.'

Mr Toots and Captain Cuttle heaved a sigh in concert. 'What then?' said
the Captain. 'She loves him true. He loves her true. Them as should have
loved and tended of her, treated of her like the beasts as perish. When
she, cast out of home, come here to me, and dropped upon them planks,
her wownded heart was broke. I know it. I, Ed'ard Cuttle, see it.
There's nowt but true, kind, steady love, as can ever piece it up again.
If so be I didn't know that, and didn't know as Wal'r was her true love,
brother, and she his, I'd have these here blue arms and legs chopped
off, afore I'd let her go. But I know it, and what then! Why, then, I
say, Heaven go with 'em both, and so it will! Amen!'

'Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, 'let me have the pleasure of shaking
hands You've a way of saying things, that gives me an agreeable warmth,
all up my back. I say Amen. You are aware, Captain Gills, that I, too,
have adored Miss Dombey.'

'Cheer up!' said the Captain, laying his hand on Mr Toots's shoulder.
'Stand by, boy!'

'It is my intention, Captain Gills,' returned the spirited Mr Toots,
'to cheer up. Also to standby, as much as possible. When the silent tomb
shall yawn, Captain Gills, I shall be ready for burial; not before. But
not being certain, just at present, of my power over myself, what I wish
to say to you, and what I shall take it as a particular favour if you
will mention to Lieutenant Walters, is as follows.'

'Is as follers,' echoed the Captain. 'Steady!'

'Miss Dombey being so inexpressably kind,' continued Mr Toots with
watery eyes, 'as to say that my presence is the reverse of disagreeable
to her, and you and everybody here being no less forbearing and
tolerant towards one who--who certainly,' said Mr Toots, with momentary
dejection, 'would appear to have been born by mistake, I shall come
backwards and forwards of an evening, during the short time we can all
be together. But what I ask is this. If, at any moment, I find that
I cannot endure the contemplation of Lieutenant Walters's bliss, and
should rush out, I hope, Captain Gills, that you and he will both
consider it as my misfortune and not my fault, or the want of inward
conflict. That you'll feel convinced I bear no malice to any living
creature-least of all to Lieutenant Walters himself--and that you'll
casually remark that I have gone out for a walk, or probably to see what
o'clock it is by the Royal Exchange. Captain Gills, if you could enter
into this arrangement, and could answer for Lieutenant Walters, it would
be a relief to my feelings that I should think cheap at the sacrifice of
a considerable portion of my property.'

'My lad,' returned the Captain, 'say no more. There ain't a colour you
can run up, as won't be made out, and answered to, by Wal'r and self.'

'Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots, 'my mind is greatly relieved. I wish to
preserve the good opinion of all here. I--I--mean well, upon my honour,
however badly I may show it. You know,' said Mr Toots, 'it's as exactly
as Burgess and Co. wished to oblige a customer with a most extraordinary
pair of trousers, and could not cut out what they had in their minds.'

With this apposite illustration, of which he seemed a little Proud, Mr
Toots gave Captain Cuttle his blessing and departed.

The honest Captain, with his Heart's Delight in the house, and Susan
tending her, was a beaming and a happy man. As the days flew by, he
grew more beaming and more happy, every day. After some conferences with
Susan (for whose wisdom the Captain had a profound respect, and whose
valiant precipitation of herself on Mrs MacStinger he could never
forget), he proposed to Florence that the daughter of the elderly lady
who usually sat under the blue umbrella in Leadenhall Market, should,
for prudential reasons and considerations of privacy, be superseded in
the temporary discharge of the household duties, by someone who was not
unknown to them, and in whom they could safely confide. Susan, being
present, then named, in furtherance of a suggestion she had previously
offered to the Captain, Mrs Richards. Florence brightened at the name.
And Susan, setting off that very afternoon to the Toodle domicile, to
sound Mrs Richards, returned in triumph the same evening, accompanied by
the identical rosy-cheeked apple-faced Polly, whose demonstrations, when
brought into Florence's presence, were hardly less affectionate than
those of Susan Nipper herself.

This piece of generalship accomplished; from which the Captain derived
uncommon satisfaction, as he did, indeed, from everything else that was
done, whatever it happened to be; Florence had next to prepare Susan for
their approaching separation. This was a much more difficult task, as
Miss Nipper was of a resolute disposition, and had fully made up her
mind that she had come back never to be parted from her old mistress any
more.

'As to wages dear Miss Floy,' she said, 'you wouldn't hint and wrong me
so as think of naming them, for I've put money by and wouldn't sell my
love and duty at a time like this even if the Savings' Banks and me were
total strangers or the Banks were broke to pieces, but you've never been
without me darling from the time your poor dear Ma was took away, and
though I'm nothing to be boasted of you're used to me and oh my own dear
mistress through so many years don't think of going anywhere without me,
for it mustn't and can't be!'

'Dear Susan, I am going on a long, long voyage.'

'Well Miss Floy, and what of that? the more you'll want me. Lengths of
voyages ain't an object in my eyes, thank God!' said the impetuous Susan
Nipper.

'But, Susan, I am going with Walter, and I would go with Walter
anywhere--everywhere! Walter is poor, and I am very poor, and I must
learn, now, both to help myself, and help him.'

'Dear Miss Floy!' cried Susan, bursting out afresh, and shaking her head
violently, 'it's nothing new to you to help yourself and others too
and be the patientest and truest of noble hearts, but let me talk to Mr
Walter Gay and settle it with him, for suffer you to go away across the
world alone I cannot, and I won't.'

'Alone, Susan?' returned Florence. 'Alone? and Walter taking me with
him!' Ah, what a bright, amazed, enraptured smile was on her face!--He
should have seen it. 'I am sure you will not speak to Walter if I ask
you not,' she added tenderly; 'and pray don't, dear.'

Susan sobbed 'Why not, Miss Floy?'

'Because,' said Florence, 'I am going to be his wife, to give him up my
whole heart, and to live with him and die with him. He might think, if
you said to him what you have said to me, that I am afraid of what is
before me, or that you have some cause to be afraid for me. Why, Susan,
dear, I love him!'

Miss Nipper was so much affected by the quiet fervour of these words,
and the simple, heartfelt, all-pervading earnestness expressed in them,
and making the speaker's face more beautiful and pure than ever, that
she could only cling to her again, crying. Was her little mistress
really, really going to be married, and pitying, caressing, and
protecting her, as she had done before.

But the Nipper, though susceptible of womanly weaknesses, was almost as
capable of putting constraint upon herself as of attacking the
redoubtable MacStinger. From that time, she never returned to the
subject, but was always cheerful, active, bustling, and hopeful. She did,
indeed, inform Mr Toots privately, that she was only 'keeping up' for the
time, and that when it was all over, and Miss Dombey was gone, she might
be expected to become a spectacle distressful; and Mr Toots did also
express that it was his case too, and that they would mingle their tears
together; but she never otherwise indulged her private feelings in the
presence of Florence or within the precincts of the Midshipman.

Limited and plain as Florence's wardrobe was--what a contrast to that
prepared for the last marriage in which she had taken part!--there was a
good deal to do in getting it ready, and Susan Nipper worked away at
her side, all day, with the concentrated zeal of fifty sempstresses. The
wonderful contributions Captain Cuttle would have made to this branch
of the outfit, if he had been permitted--as pink parasols, tinted
silk stockings, blue shoes, and other articles no less necessary on
shipboard--would occupy some space in the recital. He was induced,
however, by various fraudulent representations, to limit his
contributions to a work-box and dressing case, of each of which he
purchased the very largest specimen that could be got for money. For
ten days or a fortnight afterwards, he generally sat, during the
greater part of the day, gazing at these boxes; divided between extreme
admiration of them, and dejected misgivings that they were not gorgeous
enough, and frequently diving out into the street to purchase some
wild article that he deemed necessary to their completeness. But his
master-stroke was, the bearing of them both off, suddenly, one morning,
and getting the two words FLORENCE GAY engraved upon a brass heart
inlaid over the lid of each. After this, he smoked four pipes
successively in the little parlour by himself, and was discovered
chuckling, at the expiration of as many hours.

Walter was busy and away all day, but came there every morning early
to see Florence, and always passed the evening with her. Florence never
left her high rooms but to steal downstairs to wait for him when it was
his time to come, or, sheltered by his proud, encircling arm, to bear
him company to the door again, and sometimes peep into the street. In
the twilight they were always together. Oh blessed time! Oh wandering
heart at rest! Oh deep, exhaustless, mighty well of love, in which so
much was sunk!

The cruel mark was on her bosom yet. It rose against her father with the
breath she drew, it lay between her and her lover when he pressed her to
his heart. But she forgot it. In the beating of that heart for her, and
in the beating of her own for him, all harsher music was unheard, all
stern unloving hearts forgotten. Fragile and delicate she was, but with
a might of love within her that could, and did, create a world to fly
to, and to rest in, out of his one image.

How often did the great house, and the old days, come before her in the
twilight time, when she was sheltered by the arm, so proud, so fond,
and, creeping closer to him, shrunk within it at the recollection! How
often, from remembering the night when she went down to that room and
met the never-to-be forgotten look, did she raise her eyes to those that
watched her with such loving earnestness, and weep with happiness in
such a refuge! The more she clung to it, the more the dear dead child
was in her thoughts: but as if the last time she had seen her father,
had been when he was sleeping and she kissed his face, she always left
him so, and never, in her fancy, passed that hour.

'Walter, dear,' said Florence, one evening, when it was almost dark. 'Do
you know what I have been thinking to-day?'

'Thinking how the time is flying on, and how soon we shall be upon the
sea, sweet Florence?'

'I don't mean that, Walter, though I think of that too. I have been
thinking what a charge I am to you.'

'A precious, sacred charge, dear heart! Why, I think that sometimes.'

'You are laughing, Walter. I know that's much more in your thoughts than
mine. But I mean a cost.

'A cost, my own?'

'In money, dear. All these preparations that Susan and I are so busy
with--I have been able to purchase very little for myself. You were poor
before. But how much poorer I shall make you, Walter!'

'And how much richer, Florence!'

Florence laughed, and shook her head.

'Besides,' said Walter, 'long ago--before I went to sea--I had a little
purse presented to me, dearest, which had money in it.'

'Ah!' returned Florence, laughing sorrowfully, 'very little! very
little, Walter! But, you must not think,' and here she laid her light
hand on his shoulder, and looked into his face, 'that I regret to be
this burden on you. No, dear love, I am glad of it. I am happy in it. I
wouldn't have it otherwise for all the world!'

'Nor I, indeed, dear Florence.'

'Ay! but, Walter, you can never feel it as I do. I am so proud of you!
It makes my heart swell with such delight to know that those who speak
of you must say you married a poor disowned girl, who had taken shelter
here; who had no other home, no other friends; who had nothing--nothing!
Oh, Walter, if I could have brought you millions, I never could have
been so happy for your sake, as I am!'

'And you, dear Florence? are you nothing?' he returned.

'No, nothing, Walter. Nothing but your wife.' The light hand stole about
his neck, and the voice came nearer--nearer. 'I am nothing any more,
that is not you. I have no earthly hope any more, that is not you. I
have nothing dear to me any more, that is not you.'

Oh! well might Mr Toots leave the little company that evening, and twice
go out to correct his watch by the Royal Exchange, and once to keep an
appointment with a banker which he suddenly remembered, and once to take
a little turn to Aldgate Pump and back!

But before he went upon these expeditions, or indeed before he came, and
before lights were brought, Walter said:

'Florence, love, the lading of our ship is nearly finished, and probably
on the very day of our marriage she will drop down the river. Shall we
go away that morning, and stay in Kent until we go on board at Gravesend
within a week?'

'If you please, Walter. I shall be happy anywhere. But--'

'Yes, my life?'

'You know,' said Florence, 'that we shall have no marriage party, and
that nobody will distinguish us by our dress from other people. As we
leave the same day, will you--will you take me somewhere that morning,
Walter--early--before we go to church?'

Walter seemed to understand her, as so true a lover so truly loved
should, and confirmed his ready promise with a kiss--with more than one
perhaps, or two or three, or five or six; and in the grave, peaceful
evening, Florence was very happy.

Then into the quiet room came Susan Nipper and the candles; shortly
afterwards, the tea, the Captain, and the excursive Mr Toots, who, as
above mentioned, was frequently on the move afterwards, and passed but a
restless evening. This, however, was not his habit: for he generally got
on very well, by dint of playing at cribbage with the Captain under the
advice and guidance of Miss Nipper, and distracting his mind with
the calculations incidental to the game; which he found to be a very
effectual means of utterly confounding himself.

The Captain's visage on these occasions presented one of the finest
examples of combination and succession of expression ever observed. His
instinctive delicacy and his chivalrous feeling towards Florence,
taught him that it was not a time for any boisterous jollity, or violent
display of satisfaction; floating reminiscences of Lovely Peg, on
the other hand, were constantly struggling for a vent, and urging the
Captain to commit himself by some irreparable demonstration. Anon, his
admiration of Florence and Walter--well-matched, truly, and full of
grace and interest in their youth, and love, and good looks, as they
sat apart--would take such complete possession of hIm, that he would lay
down his cards, and beam upon them, dabbing his head all over with his
pocket-handkerchief; until warned, perhaps, by the sudden rushing forth
of Mr Toots, that he had unconsciously been very instrumental, indeed,
in making that gentleman miserable. This reflection would make the
Captain profoundly melancholy, until the return of Mr Toots; when he
would fall to his cards again, with many side winks and nods, and polite
waves of his hook at Miss Nipper, importing that he wasn't going to do
so any more. The state that ensued on this, was, perhaps, his best; for
then, endeavouring to discharge all expression from his face, he would
sit staring round the room, with all these expressions conveyed into
it at once, and each wrestling with the other. Delighted admiration of
Florence and Walter always overthrew the rest, and remained victorious
and undisguised, unless Mr Toots made another rush into the air, and
then the Captain would sit, like a remorseful culprit, until he came
back again, occasionally calling upon himself, in a low reproachful
voice, to 'Stand by!' or growling some remonstrance to 'Ed'ard Cuttle,
my lad,' on the want of caution observable in his behaviour.

One of Mr Toots's hardest trials, however, was of his own seeking.
On the approach of the Sunday which was to witness the last of those
askings in church of which the Captain had spoken, Mr Toots thus stated
his feelings to Susan Nipper.

'Susan,' said Mr Toots, 'I am drawn towards the building. The words
which cut me off from Miss Dombey for ever, will strike upon my ears
like a knell you know, but upon my word and honour, I feel that I must
hear them. Therefore,' said Mr Toots, 'will you accompany me to-morrow,
to the sacred edifice?'

Miss Nipper expressed her readiness to do so, if that would be any
satisfaction to Mr Toots, but besought him to abandon his idea of going.

'Susan,' returned Mr Toots, with much solemnity, 'before my whiskers
began to be observed by anybody but myself, I adored Miss Dombey. While
yet a victim to the thraldom of Blimber, I adored Miss Dombey. When I
could no longer be kept out of my property, in a legal point of view,
and--and accordingly came into it--I adored Miss Dombey. The banns which
consign her to Lieutenant Walters, and me to--to Gloom, you know,' said
Mr Toots, after hesitating for a strong expression, 'may be dreadful,
will be dreadful; but I feel that I should wish to hear them spoken. I
feel that I should wish to know that the ground was certainly cut from
under me, and that I hadn't a hope to cherish, or a--or a leg, in short,
to--to go upon.'

Susan Nipper could only commiserate Mr Toots's unfortunate condition,
and agree, under these circumstances, to accompany him; which she did
next morning.

The church Walter had chosen for the purpose, was a mouldy old church
in a yard, hemmed in by a labyrinth of back streets and courts, with a
little burying-ground round it, and itself buried in a kind of vault,
formed by the neighbouring houses, and paved with echoing stones It was
a great dim, shabby pile, with high old oaken pews, among which about
a score of people lost themselves every Sunday; while the clergyman's
voice drowsily resounded through the emptiness, and the organ
rumbled and rolled as if the church had got the colic, for want of a
congregation to keep the wind and damp out. But so far was this city
church from languishing for the company of other churches, that spires
were clustered round it, as the masts of shipping cluster on the river.
It would have been hard to count them from its steeple-top, they were so
many. In almost every yard and blind-place near, there was a church. The
confusion of bells when Susan and Mr Toots betook themselves towards it
on the Sunday morning, was deafening. There were twenty churches close
together, clamouring for people to come in.

The two stray sheep in question were penned by a beadle in a commodious
pew, and, being early, sat for some time counting the congregation,
listening to the disappointed bell high up in the tower, or looking at
a shabby little old man in the porch behind the screen, who was ringing
the same, like the Bull in Cock Robin, with his foot in a stirrup. Mr
Toots, after a lengthened survey of the large books on the reading-desk,
whispered Miss Nipper that he wondered where the banns were kept, but
that young lady merely shook her head and frowned; repelling for the
time all approaches of a temporal nature.

Mr Toots, however, appearing unable to keep his thoughts from the banns,
was evidently looking out for them during the whole preliminary portion
of the service. As the time for reading them approached, the poor
young gentleman manifested great anxiety and trepidation, which was not
diminished by the unexpected apparition of the Captain in the front row
of the gallery. When the clerk handed up a list to the clergyman, Mr
Toots, being then seated, held on by the seat of the pew; but when the
names of Walter Gay and Florence Dombey were read aloud as being in the
third and last stage of that association, he was so entirley conquered
by his feelings as to rush from the church without his hat, followed by
the beadle and pew-opener, and two gentlemen of the medical profeesion,
who happened to be present; of whom the first-named presently returned
for that article, informing Miss Nipper in a whisper that she was not
to make herself uneasy about the gentleman, as the gentleman said his
indisposition was of no consequence.

Miss Nipper, feeling that the eyes of that integral portion of Europe
which lost itself weekly among the high-backed pews, were upon her,
would have been sufficient embarrassed by this incident, though it had
terminated here; the more so, as the Captain in the front row of the
gallery, was in a state of unmitigated consciousness which could
hardly fail to express to the congregation that he had some mysterious
connection with it. But the extreme restlessness of Mr Toots painfully
increased and protracted the delicacy of her situation. That young
gentleman, incapable, in his state of mind, of remaining alone in the
churchyard, a prey to solitary meditation, and also desirous, no
doubt, of testifying his respect for the offices he had in some
measure interrupted, suddenly returned--not coming back to the pew,
but stationing himself on a free seat in the aisle, between two elderly
females who were in the habit of receiving their portion of a
weekly dole of bread then set forth on a shelf in the porch. In this
conjunction Mr Toots remained, greatly disturbing the congregation, who
felt it impossible to avoid looking at him, until his feelings overcame
him again, when he departed silently and suddenly. Not venturing to
trust himself in the church any more, and yet wishing to have some
social participation in what was going on there, Mr Toots was, after
this, seen from time to time, looking in, with a lorn aspect, at one or
other of the windows; and as there were several windows accessible to
him from without, and as his restlessness was very great, it not only
became difficult to conceive at which window he would appear next, but
likewise became necessary, as it were, for the whole congregation
to speculate upon the chances of the different windows, during the
comparative leisure afforded them by the sermon. Mr Toots's movements in
the churchyard were so eccentric, that he seemed generally to defeat
all calculation, and to appear, like the conjuror's figure, where he
was least expected; and the effect of these mysterious presentations
was much increased by its being difficult to him to see in, and easy to
everybody else to see out: which occasioned his remaining, every time,
longer than might have been expected, with his face close to the glass,
until he all at once became aware that all eyes were upon him, and
vanished.

These proceedings on the part of Mr Toots, and the strong individual
consciousness of them that was exhibited by the Captain, rendered Miss
Nipper's position so responsible a one, that she was mightily relieved
by the conclusion of the service; and was hardly so affable to Mr Toots
as usual, when he informed her and the Captain, on the way back, that
now he was sure he had no hope, you know, he felt more comfortable--at
least not exactly more comfortable, but more comfortably and completely
miserable.

Swiftly now, indeed, the time flew by until it was the evening before
the day appointed for the marriage. They were all assembled in the upper
room at the Midshipman's, and had no fear of interruption; for there
were no lodgers in the house now, and the Midshipman had it all to
himself. They were grave and quiet in the prospect of to-morrow, but
moderately cheerful too. Florence, with Walter close beside her, was
finishing a little piece of work intended as a parting gift to the
Captain. The Captain was playing cribbage with Mr Toots. Mr Toots was
taking counsel as to his hand, of Susan Nipper. Miss Nipper was giving
it, with all due secrecy and circumspection. Diogenes was listening,
and occasionally breaking out into a gruff half-smothered fragment of
a bark, of which he afterwards seemed half-ashamed, as if he doubted
having any reason for it.

'Steady, steady!' said the Captain to Diogenes, 'what's amiss with you?
You don't seem easy in your mind to-night, my boy!'

Diogenes wagged his tail, but pricked up his ears immediately
afterwards, and gave utterance to another fragment of a bark; for which
he apologised to the Captain, by again wagging his tail.

'It's my opinion, Di,' said the Captain, looking thoughtfully at his
cards, and stroking his chin with his hook, 'as you have your doubts of
Mrs Richards; but if you're the animal I take you to be, you'll think
better o' that; for her looks is her commission. Now, Brother:' to Mr
Toots: 'if so be as you're ready, heave ahead.'

The Captain spoke with all composure and attention to the game, but
suddenly his cards dropped out of his hand, his mouth and eyes opened
wide, his legs drew themselves up and stuck out in front of his chair,
and he sat staring at the door with blank amazement. Looking round upon
the company, and seeing that none of them observed him or the cause
of his astonishment, the Captain recovered himself with a great gasp,
struck the table a tremendous blow, cried in a stentorian roar, 'Sol
Gills ahoy!' and tumbled into the arms of a weather-beaten pea-coat that
had come with Polly into the room.

In another moment, Walter was in the arms of the weather-beaten
pea-coat. In another moment, Florence was in the arms of the
weather-beaten pea-coat. In another moment, Captain Cuttle had embraced
Mrs Richards and Miss Nipper, and was violently shaking hands with Mr
Toots, exclaiming, as he waved his hook above his head, 'Hooroar, my
lad, hooroar!' To which Mr Toots, wholly at a loss to account for these
proceedings, replied with great politeness, 'Certainly, Captain Gills,
whatever you think proper!'

The weather-beaten pea-coat, and a no less weather-beaten cap and
comforter belonging to it, turned from the Captain and from Florence
back to Walter, and sounds came from the weather-beaten pea-coat, cap,
and comforter, as of an old man sobbing underneath them; while the
shaggy sleeves clasped Walter tight. During this pause, there was
an universal silence, and the Captain polished his nose with great
diligence. But when the pea-coat, cap, and comforter lifted themselves
up again, Florence gently moved towards them; and she and Walter taking
them off, disclosed the old Instrument-maker, a little thinner and more
careworn than of old, in his old Welsh wig and his old coffee-coloured
coat and basket buttons, with his old infallible chronometer ticking
away in his pocket.

'Chock full o' science,' said the radiant Captain, 'as ever he was! Sol
Gills, Sol Gills, what have you been up to, for this many a long day, my
ould boy?'

'I'm half blind, Ned,' said the old man, 'and almost deaf and dumb with
joy.'

'His wery woice,' said the Captain, looking round with an exultation
to which even his face could hardly render justice--'his wery woice as
chock full o' science as ever it was! Sol Gills, lay to, my lad, upon
your own wines and fig-trees like a taut ould patriark as you are, and
overhaul them there adwentures o' yourn, in your own formilior woice.
'Tis the woice,' said the Captain, impressively, and announcing a
quotation with his hook, 'of the sluggard, I heerd him complain, you
have woke me too soon, I must slumber again. Scatter his ene-mies, and
make 'em fall!'

The Captain sat down with the air of a man who had happily expressed the
feeling of everybody present, and immediately rose again to present Mr
Toots, who was much disconcerted by the arrival of anybody, appearing to
prefer a claim to the name of Gills.

'Although,' stammered Mr Toots, 'I had not the pleasure of your
acquaintance, Sir, before you were--you were--'

'Lost to sight, to memory dear,' suggested the Captain, in a low voice.

'Exactly so, Captain Gills!' assented Mr Toots. 'Although I had not the
pleasure of your acquaintance, Mr--Mr Sols,' said Toots, hitting on that
name in the inspiration of a bright idea, 'before that happened, I have
the greatest pleasure, I assure you, in--you know, in knowing you. I
hope,' said Mr Toots, 'that you're as well as can be expected.'

With these courteous words, Mr Toots sat down blushing and chuckling.

The old Instrument-maker, seated in a corner between Walter and
Florence, and nodding at Polly, who was looking on, all smiles and
delight, answered the Captain thus:

'Ned Cuttle, my dear boy, although I have heard something of the changes
of events here, from my pleasant friend there--what a pleasant face she
has to be sure, to welcome a wanderer home!' said the old man, breaking
off, and rubbing his hands in his old dreamy way.

'Hear him!' cried the Captain gravely. ''Tis woman as seduces all
mankind. For which,' aside to Mr Toots, 'you'll overhaul your Adam and
Eve, brother.'

'I shall make a point of doing so, Captain Gills,' said Mr Toots.

'Although I have heard something of the changes of events, from her,'
resumed the Instrument-maker, taking his old spectacles from his pocket,
and putting them on his forehead in his old manner, 'they are so great
and unexpected, and I am so overpowered by the sight of my dear boy, and
by the,'--glancing at the downcast eyes of Florence, and not attempting
to finish the sentence--'that I--I can't say much to-night. But my dear
Ned Cuttle, why didn't you write?'

The astonishment depicted in the Captain's features positively
frightened Mr Toots, whose eyes were quite fixed by it, so that he could
not withdraw them from his face.

'Write!' echoed the Captain. 'Write, Sol Gills?'

'Ay,' said the old man, 'either to Barbados, or Jamaica, or Demerara,
That was what I asked.'

'What you asked, Sol Gills?' repeated the Captain.

'Ay,' said the old man. 'Don't you know, Ned? Sure you have not
forgotten? Every time I wrote to you.'

The Captain took off his glazed hat, hung it on his hook, and smoothing
his hair from behind with his hand, sat gazing at the group around him:
a perfect image of wondering resignation.

'You don't appear to understand me, Ned!' observed old Sol.

'Sol Gills,' returned the Captain, after staring at him and the rest
for a long time, without speaking, 'I'm gone about and adrift. Pay out
a word or two respecting them adwenturs, will you! Can't I bring up,
nohows? Nohows?' said the Captain, ruminating, and staring all round.

'You know, Ned,' said Sol Gills, 'why I left here. Did you open my
packet, Ned?'

'Why, ay, ay,' said the Captain. 'To be sure, I opened the packet.'

'And read it?' said the old man.

'And read it,' answered the Captain, eyeing him attentively, and
proceeding to quote it from memory. '"My dear Ned Cuttle, when I left
home for the West Indies in forlorn search of intelligence of my dear-"
There he sits! There's Wal'r!' said the Captain, as if he were relieved
by getting hold of anything that was real and indisputable.

'Well, Ned. Now attend a moment!' said the old man. 'When I wrote
first--that was from Barbados--I said that though you would receive that
letter long before the year was out, I should be glad if you would open
the packet, as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned.
When I wrote the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times--that was
from Jamaica--I said I was in just the same state, couldn't rest, and
couldn't come away from that part of the world, without knowing that
my boy was lost or saved. When I wrote next--that, I think, was from
Demerara, wasn't it?'

'That he thinks was from Demerara, warn't it!' said the Captain, looking
hopelessly round.

'--I said,' proceeded old Sol, 'that still there was no certain
information got yet. That I found many captains and others, in that part
of the world, who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a
passage here and there, and for whom I was able, now and then, to do a
little in return, in my own craft. That everyone was sorry for me, and
seemed to take a sort of interest in my wanderings; and that I began
to think it would be my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my
boy, until I died.'

'Began to think as how he was a scientific Flying Dutchman!' said the
Captain, as before, and with great seriousness.

'But when the news come one day, Ned,--that was to Barbados, after I got
back there,--that a China trader home'ard bound had been spoke, that had
my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home;
arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!' said the old man,
devoutly.

The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared
all round the circle, beginning with Mr Toots, and ending with the
Instrument-maker; then gravely said:

'Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to blow
every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and
bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was
ever delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters,' repeated the
Captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, 'was
ever delivered unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home
at ease, and doth improve each shining hour!'

'And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine
Brig Place!' exclaimed old Sol.

The colour all went out of the Captain's face and all came back again in
a glow.

'What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?'
inquired the Captain.

'Mean? Your lodgings, Ned,' returned the old man. 'Mrs What's-her-name!
I shall forget my own name next, but I am behind the present time--I
always was, you recollect--and very much confused. Mrs--'

'Sol Gills!' said the Captain, as if he were putting the most improbable
case in the world, 'it ain't the name of MacStinger as you're a trying
to remember?'

'Of course it is!' exclaimed the Instrument-maker. 'To be sure Ned. Mrs
MacStinger!'

Captain Cuttle, whose eyes were now as wide open as they would be, and
the knobs upon whose face were perfectly luminous, gave a long shrill
whistle of a most melancholy sound, and stood gazing at everybody in a
state of speechlessness.

'Overhaul that there again, Sol Gills, will you be so kind?' he said at
last.

'All these letters,' returned Uncle Sol, beating time with the
forefinger of his right hand upon the palm of his left, with a
steadiness and distinctness that might have done honour, even to the
infallible chronometer in his pocket, 'I posted with my own hand, and
directed with my own hand, to Captain Cuttle, at Mrs MacStinger's,
Number nine Brig Place.'

The Captain took his glazed hat off his hook, looked into it, put it on,
and sat down.

'Why, friends all,' said the Captain, staring round in the last state of
discomfiture, 'I cut and run from there!'

'And no one knew where you were gone, Captain Cuttle?' cried Walter
hastily.

'Bless your heart, Wal'r,' said the Captain, shaking his head, 'she'd
never have allowed o' my coming to take charge o' this here property.
Nothing could be done but cut and run. Lord love you, Wal'r!' said the
Captain, 'you've only seen her in a calm! But see her when her angry
passions rise--and make a note on!'

'I'd give it her!' remarked the Nipper, softly.

'Would you, do you think, my dear?' returned the Captain, with feeble
admiration. 'Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain't no wild
animal I wouldn't sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means
of a friend as nobody's a match for. It was no good sending any letter
there. She wouldn't take in any letter, bless you,' said the Captain,
'under them circumstances! Why, you could hardly make it worth a man's
while to be the postman!'

'Then it's pretty clear, Captain Cuttle, that all of us, and you and
Uncle Sol especially,' said Walter, 'may thank Mrs MacStinger for no
small anxiety.'

The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the late
Mr MacStinger, was so apparent, that the Captain did not contest the
point; but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody
dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering
the last conversation he and the Captain had held together respecting
it, he remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes--an extraordinary
period for him when that sun, his face, broke out once more, shining on
all beholders with extraordinary brilliancy; and he fell into a fit of
shaking hands with everybody over and over again.

At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned
each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all,
except Walter, vacated Florence's room, and went down to the parlour.
Here they were soon afterwards joined by Walter, who told them Florence
was a little sorrowful and heavy-hearted, and had gone to bed. Though
they could not have disturbed her with their voices down there, they all
spoke in a whisper after this: and each, in his different way, felt
very lovingly and gently towards Walter's fair young bride: and a
long explanation there was of everything relating to her, for the
satisfaction of Uncle Sol; and very sensible Mr Toots was of the
delicacy with which Walter made his name and services important, and his
presence necessary to their little council.

'Mr Toots,' said Walter, on parting with him at the house door, 'we
shall see each other to-morrow morning?'

'Lieutenant Walters,' returned Mr Toots, grasping his hand fervently, 'I
shall certainly be present.'

'This is the last night we shall meet for a long time--the last night we
may ever meet,' said Walter. 'Such a noble heart as yours, must feel, I
think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very
grateful to you?'

'Walters,' replied Mr Toots, quite touched, 'I should be glad to feel
that you had reason to be so.'

'Florence,' said Walter, 'on this last night of her bearing her own
name, has made me promise--it was only just now, when you left us
together--that I would tell you--with her dear love--'

Mr Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost, and his eyes upon his
hand.

'--With her dear love,' said Walter, 'that she can never have a friend
whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true
consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she
remembers you in her prayers to-night, and hopes that you will think of
her when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?'

'Say, Walter,' replied Mr Toots indistinctly, 'that I shall think of her
every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married
to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I
am sure her husband deserves her--even her!--and that I am glad of her
choice.'

Mr Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising
his eyes from the doorpost, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter's
hand again with a fervour that Walter was not slow to return and started
homeward.

Mr Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought
with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that
unforeseen circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess
of that distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman.
The Chicken did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this
occasion. Either the gas-lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye
in a hideous manner, and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr Toots,
crossing the road, looked back over his shoulder at the room where
Florence slept. On the road home, he was more demonstrative of
aggressive intentions against the other foot-passengers, than comported
with a professor of the peaceful art of self-defence. Arrived at home,
instead of leaving Mr Toots in his apartments when he had escorted him
thither, he remained before him weighing his white hat in both hands by
the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of which had been many
times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an air of decided
disrespect.

His patron being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe
this for some time, nor indeed until the Chicken, determined not to be
overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth,
to attract attention.

'Now, Master,' said the Chicken, doggedly, when he, at length, caught Mr
Toots's eye, 'I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it,
or whether you're a going in to win?'

'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'explain yourself.'

'Why then, here's all about it, Master,' said the Chicken. 'I ain't
a cove to chuck a word away. Here's wot it is. Are any on 'em to be
doubled up?'

When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and
a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his
right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself.

'Come, Master,' said the Chicken. 'Is it to be gammon or pluck? Which?'

'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'your expressions are coarse, and your
meaning is obscure.'

'Why, then, I tell you what, Master,' said the Chicken. 'This is where
it is. It's mean.'

'What is mean, Chicken?' asked Mr Toots.

'It is,' said the Chicken, with a frightful corrugation of his broken
nose. 'There! Now, Master! Wot! When you could go and blow on this here
match to the stiff'un;' by which depreciatory appellation it has been
since supposed that the Game One intended to signify Mr Dombey; 'and
when you could knock the winner and all the kit of 'em dead out o' wind
and time, are you going to give in? To give in?' said the Chicken, with
contemptuous emphasis. 'Wy, it's mean!'

'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, severely, 'you're a perfect Vulture! Your
sentiments are atrocious.'

'My sentiments is Game and Fancy, Master,' returned the Chicken. 'That's
wot my sentiments is. I can't abear a meanness. I'm afore the public,
I'm to be heerd on at the bar of the Little Helephant, and no Gov'ner
o' mine mustn't go and do what's mean. Wy, it's mean,' said the Chicken,
with increased expression. 'That's where it is. It's mean.'

'Chicken,' said Mr Toots, 'you disgust me.'

'Master,' returned the Chicken, putting on his hat, 'there's a pair on
us, then. Come! Here's a offer! You've spoke to me more than once't
or twice't about the public line. Never mind! Give me a fi'typunnote
to-morrow, and let me go.'

'Chicken,' returned Mr Toots, 'after the odious sentiments you have
expressed, I shall be glad to part on such terms.'

'Done then,' said the Chicken. 'It's a bargain. This here conduct of
yourn won't suit my book, Master. Wy, it's mean,' said the Chicken; who
seemed equally unable to get beyond that point, and to stop short of it.
'That's where it is; it's mean!'

So Mr Toots and the Chicken agreed to part on this incompatibility of
moral perception; and Mr Toots lying down to sleep, dreamed happily of
Florence, who had thought of him as her friend upon the last night of
her maiden life, and who had sent him her dear love.

Meanwhile, back at Sol's shop, Susan has been located and returns with Toots and Chicken to take care of Florence. Toots declares that he is happy that Walter and Florence will marry, and vows his friendship. It is planned that once Florence and Walter marry, they will depart for China, since that is where Walter sailed after being rescued from his wrecked voyage, and where his fortune is now tied. Susan is determined to accompany her, but Florence persuades her that Walter will take good care of her. Time passes with preparations for the marriage, and the evening before the wedding, Sol Gills suddenly reappears. He is delighted to see everyone reunited, happy, and safe, but he asks Cuttle why Cuttle hasn't answered the various letters he sent him. Cuttle is stunned and confused. Sol explains that he spent time in various parts of the West Indies looking for news of Walter and finally heard the story of him having been picked up by the China bound ship and now being on his way home. Upon hearing this, he also set sail to return to England. Cuttle swears he never received the letters, and it comes to light that Sol had, reasonably, addressed the letters to Cuttle's former residence at the lodgings of Mrs. MacStinger. However, because he has so carefully hidden his whereabouts, there was no way for Mrs. MacStinger to forward these letters to him. On their way home, the Chicken suggests that Toots continue to fight for Florence's hand and heart, which horrifies Toots. He is resigned to her marriage, and values his friendship with her. He and the Chicken part ways


Mr Sownds the beadle, and Mrs Miff the pew-opener, are early at their
posts in the fine church where Mr Dombey was married. A yellow-faced old
gentleman from India, is going to take unto himself a young wife this
morning, and six carriages full of company are expected, and Mrs Miff
has been informed that the yellow-faced old gentleman could pave
the road to church with diamonds and hardly miss them.

The nuptial benediction is to be a superior one, proceeding from a very
reverend, a dean, and the lady is to be given away, as an extraordinary
present, by somebody who comes express from the Horse Guards.

Mrs Miff is more intolerant of common people this morning, than she
generally is; and she his always strong opinions on that subject, for it
is associated with free sittings. Mrs Miff is not a student of political
economy (she thinks the science is connected with dissenters; 'Baptists
or Wesleyans, or some o' them,' she says), but she can never understand
what business your common folks have to be married. 'Drat 'em,' says Mrs
Miff 'you read the same things over 'em and instead of sovereigns get
sixpences!'

Mr Sownds the beadle is more liberal than Mrs Miff--but then he is not
a pew-opener. 'It must be done, Ma'am,' he says. 'We must marry 'em. We
must have our national schools to walk at the head of, and we must have
our standing armies. We must marry 'em, Ma'am,' says Mr Sownds, 'and
keep the country going.'

Mr Sownds is sitting on the steps and Mrs Miff is dusting in the church,
when a young couple, plainly dressed, come in. The mortified bonnet of
Mrs Miff is sharply turned towards them, for she espies in this
early visit indications of a runaway match. But they don't want to be
married--'Only,' says the gentleman, 'to walk round the church.' And as
he slips a genteel compliment into the palm of Mrs Miff, her vinegary
face relaxes, and her mortified bonnet and her spare dry figure dip and
crackle.

Mrs Miff resumes her dusting and plumps up her cushions--for the
yellow-faced old gentleman is reported to have tender knees--but keeps
her glazed, pew-opening eye on the young couple who are walking round
the church. 'Ahem,' coughs Mrs Miff whose cough is drier than the hay in
any hassock in her charge, 'you'll come to us one of these mornings, my
dears, unless I'm much mistaken!'

They are looking at a tablet on the wall, erected to the memory of
someone dead. They are a long way off from Mrs Miff, but Mrs Miff can
see with half an eye how she is leaning on his arm, and how his head is
bent down over her. 'Well, well,' says Mrs Miff, 'you might do worse.
For you're a tidy pair!'

There is nothing personal in Mrs Miff's remark. She merely speaks of
stock-in-trade. She is hardly more curious in couples than in coffins.
She is such a spare, straight, dry old lady--such a pew of a woman--that
you should find as many individual sympathies in a chip. Mr Sownds,
now, who is fleshy, and has scarlet in his coat, is of a different
temperament. He says, as they stand upon the steps watching the young
couple away, that she has a pretty figure, hasn't she, and as well as
he could see (for she held her head down coming out), an uncommon pretty
face. 'Altogether, Mrs Miff,' says Mr Sownds with a relish, 'she is what
you may call a rose-bud.'

Mrs Miff assents with a spare nod of her mortified bonnet; but approves
of this so little, that she inwardly resolves she wouldn't be the wife
of Mr Sownds for any money he could give her, Beadle as he is.

And what are the young couple saying as they leave the church, and go
out at the gate?

'Dear Walter, thank you! I can go away, now, happy.'

'And when we come back, Florence, we will come and see his grave again.'

Florence lifts her eyes, so bright with tears, to his kind face; and
clasps her disengaged hand on that other modest little hand which clasps
his arm.

'It is very early, Walter, and the streets are almost empty yet. Let us
walk.'

'But you will be so tired, my love.'

'Oh no! I was very tired the first time that we ever walked together,
but I shall not be so to-day.'

And thus--not much changed--she, as innocent and earnest-hearted--he, as
frank, as hopeful, and more proud of her--Florence and Walter, on their
bridal morning, walk through the streets together.

Not even in that childish walk of long ago, were they so far removed
from all the world about them as to-day. The childish feet of long ago,
did not tread such enchanted ground as theirs do now. The confidence
and love of children may be given many times, and will spring up in many
places; but the woman's heart of Florence, with its undivided treasure,
can be yielded only once, and under slight or change, can only droop and
die.

They take the streets that are the quietest, and do not go near that in
which her old home stands. It is a fair, warm summer morning, and
the sun shines on them, as they walk towards the darkening mist that
overspreads the City. Riches are uncovering in shops; jewels, gold, and
silver flash in the goldsmith's sunny windows; and great houses cast a
stately shade upon them as they pass. But through the light, and through
the shade, they go on lovingly together, lost to everything around;
thinking of no other riches, and no prouder home, than they have now in
one another.

Gradually they come into the darker, narrower streets, where the sun,
now yellow, and now red, is seen through the mist, only at street
corners, and in small open spaces where there is a tree, or one of the
innumerable churches, or a paved way and a flight of steps, or a curious
little patch of garden, or a burying-ground, where the few tombs and
tombstones are almost black. Lovingly and trustfully, through all the
narrow yards and alleys and the shady streets, Florence goes, clinging
to his arm, to be his wife.

Her heart beats quicker now, for Walter tells her that their church is
very near. They pass a few great stacks of warehouses, with waggons at
the doors, and busy carmen stopping up the way--but Florence does not
see or hear them--and then the air is quiet, and the day is darkened,
and she is trembling in a church which has a strange smell like a
cellar.

The shabby little old man, ringer of the disappointed bell, is standing
in the porch, and has put his hat in the font--for he is quite at home
there, being sexton. He ushers them into an old brown, panelled, dusty
vestry, like a corner-cupboard with the shelves taken out; where the
wormy registers diffuse a smell like faded snuff, which has set the
tearful Nipper sneezing.

Youthful, and how beautiful, the young bride looks, in this old dusty
place, with no kindred object near her but her husband. There is a
dusty old clerk, who keeps a sort of evaporated news shop underneath an
archway opposite, behind a perfect fortification of posts. There is a
dusty old pew-opener who only keeps herself, and finds that quite enough
to do. There is a dusty old beadle (these are Mr Toots's beadle and
pew-opener of last Sunday), who has something to do with a Worshipful
Company who have got a Hall in the next yard, with a stained-glass
window in it that no mortal ever saw. There are dusty wooden ledges and
cornices poked in and out over the altar, and over the screen and round
the gallery, and over the inscription about what the Master and
Wardens of the Worshipful Company did in one thousand six hundred and
ninety-four. There are dusty old sounding-boards over the pulpit and
reading-desk, looking like lids to be let down on the officiating
ministers in case of their giving offence. There is every possible
provision for the accommodation of dust, except in the churchyard, where
the facilities in that respect are very limited.

The Captain, Uncle Sol, and Mr Toots are come; the clergyman is putting
on his surplice in the vestry, while the clerk walks round him, blowing
the dust off it; and the bride and bridegroom stand before the altar.
There is no bridesmaid, unless Susan Nipper is one; and no better father
than Captain Cuttle. A man with a wooden leg, chewing a faint apple and
carrying a blue bag in has hand, looks in to see what is going on; but
finding it nothing entertaining, stumps off again, and pegs his way among
the echoes out of doors.

No gracious ray of light is seen to fall on Florence, kneeling at the
altar with her timid head bowed down. The morning luminary is built
out, and don't shine there. There is a meagre tree outside, where
the sparrows are chirping a little; and there is a blackbird in an
eyelet-hole of sun in a dyer's garret, over against the window, who
whistles loudly whilst the service is performing; and there is the man
with the wooden leg stumping away. The amens of the dusty clerk appear,
like Macbeth's, to stick in his throat a little; but Captain Cuttle
helps him out, and does it with so much goodwill that he interpolates
three entirely new responses of that word, never introduced into the
service before.

They are married, and have signed their names in one of the old sneezy
registers, and the clergyman's surplice is restored to the dust, and the
clergyman is gone home. In a dark corner of the dark church, Florence
has turned to Susan Nipper, and is weeping in her arms. Mr Toots's eyes
are red. The Captain lubricates his nose. Uncle Sol has pulled down his
spectacles from his forehead, and walked out to the door.

'God bless you, Susan; dearest Susan! If you ever can bear witness to
the love I have for Walter, and the reason that I have to love him, do
it for his sake. Good-bye! Good-bye!'

They have thought it better not to go back to the Midshipman, but to
part so; a coach is waiting for them, near at hand.

Miss Nipper cannot speak; she only sobs and chokes, and hugs her
mistress. Mr Toots advances, urges her to cheer up, and takes charge
of her. Florence gives him her hand--gives him, in the fulness of her
heart, her lips--kisses Uncle Sol, and Captain Cuttle, and is borne away
by her young husband.

But Susan cannot bear that Florence should go away with a mournful
recollection of her. She had meant to be so different, that she
reproaches herself bitterly. Intent on making one last effort to redeem
her character, she breaks from Mr Toots and runs away to find the coach,
and show a parting smile. The Captain, divining her object, sets off
after her; for he feels it his duty also to dismiss them with a cheer,
if possible. Uncle Sol and Mr Toots are left behind together, outside
the church, to wait for them.

The coach is gone, but the street is steep, and narrow, and blocked
up, and Susan can see it at a stand-still in the distance, she is sure.
Captain Cuttle follows her as she flies down the hill, and waves his
glazed hat as a general signal, which may attract the right coach and
which may not.

Susan outstrips the Captain, and comes up with it. She looks in at the
window, sees Walter, with the gentle face beside him, and claps her
hands and screams:

'Miss Floy, my darling! look at me! We are all so happy now, dear! One
more good-bye, my precious, one more!'

How Susan does it, she don't know, but she reaches to the window, kisses
her, and has her arms about her neck, in a moment.

'We are all so--so happy now, my dear Miss Floy!' says Susan, with a
suspicious catching in her breath. 'You, you won't be angry with me now.
Now will you?'

'Angry, Susan!'

'No, no; I am sure you won't. I say you won't, my pet, my dearest!'
exclaims Susan; 'and here's the Captain too--your friend the Captain,
you know--to say good-bye once more!'

'Hooroar, my Heart's Delight!' vociferates the Captain, with a
countenance of strong emotion. 'Hooroar, Wal'r my lad. Hooroar!
Hooroar!'

What with the young husband at one window, and the young wife at the
other; the Captain hanging on at this door, and Susan Nipper holding
fast by that; the coach obliged to go on whether it will or no, and all
the other carts and coaches turbulent because it hesitates; there
never was so much confusion on four wheels. But Susan Nipper gallantly
maintains her point. She keeps a smiling face upon her mistress, smiling
through her tears, until the last. Even when she is left behind, the
Captain continues to appear and disappear at the door, crying 'Hooroar,
my lad! Hooroar, my Heart's Delight!' with his shirt-collar in a violent
state of agitation, until it is hopeless to attempt to keep up with the
coach any longer. Finally, when the coach is gone, Susan Nipper, being
rejoined by the Captain, falls into a state of insensibility, and is
taken into a baker's shop to recover.

Uncle Sol and Mr Toots wait patiently in the churchyard, sitting on the
coping-stone of the railings, until Captain Cuttle and Susan come back,
Neither being at all desirous to speak, or to be spoken to, they are
excellent company, and quite satisfied. When they all arrive again at
the little Midshipman, and sit down to breakfast, nobody can touch a
morsel. Captain Cuttle makes a feint of being voracious about toast, but
gives it up as a swindle. Mr Toots says, after breakfast, he will come
back in the evening; and goes wandering about the town all day, with a
vague sensation upon him as if he hadn't been to bed for a fortnight.

There is a strange charm in the house, and in the room, in which they
have been used to be together, and out of which so much is gone. It
aggravates, and yet it soothes, the sorrow of the separation. Mr Toots
tells Susan Nipper when he comes at night, that he hasn't been so
wretched all day long, and yet he likes it. He confides in Susan Nipper,
being alone with her, and tells her what his feelings were when she
gave him that candid opinion as to the probability of Miss Dombey's
ever loving him. In the vein of confidence engendered by these common
recollections, and their tears, Mr Toots proposes that they shall go out
together, and buy something for supper. Miss Nipper assenting, they buy
a good many little things; and, with the aid of Mrs Richards, set the
supper out quite showily before the Captain and old Sol came home.

The Captain and old Sol have been on board the ship, and have
established Di there, and have seen the chests put aboard. They have
much to tell about the popularity of Walter, and the comforts he will
have about him, and the quiet way in which it seems he has been working
early and late, to make his cabin what the Captain calls 'a picter,'
to surprise his little wife. 'A admiral's cabin, mind you,' says the
Captain, 'ain't more trim.'

But one of the Captain's chief delights is, that he knows the big watch,
and the sugar-tongs, and tea-spoons, are on board: and again and again
he murmurs to himself, 'Ed'ard Cuttle, my lad, you never shaped a better
course in your life than when you made that there little property over
jintly. You see how the land bore, Ed'ard,' says the Captain, 'and it
does you credit, my lad.'

The old Instrument-maker is more distraught and misty than he used to
be, and takes the marriage and the parting very much to heart. But he is
greatly comforted by having his old ally, Ned Cuttle, at his side; and
he sits down to supper with a grateful and contented face.

'My boy has been preserved and thrives,' says old Sol Gills, rubbing his
hands. 'What right have I to be otherwise than thankful and happy!'

The Captain, who has not yet taken his seat at the table, but who has
been fidgeting about for some time, and now stands hesitating in his
place, looks doubtfully at Mr Gills, and says:

'Sol! There's the last bottle of the old Madeira down below. Would you
wish to have it up to-night, my boy, and drink to Wal'r and his wife?'

The Instrument-maker, looking wistfully at the Captain, puts his hand
into the breast-pocket of his coffee-coloured coat, brings forth his
pocket-book, and takes a letter out.

'To Mr Dombey,' says the old man. 'From Walter. To be sent in three
weeks' time. I'll read it.'

'"Sir. I am married to your daughter. She is gone with me upon a distant
voyage. To be devoted to her is to have no claim on her or you, but God
knows that I am.

'"Why, loving her beyond all earthly things, I have yet, without
remorse, united her to the uncertainties and dangers of my life, I will
not say to you. You know why, and you are her father.

'"Do not reproach her. She has never reproached you.

'"I do not think or hope that you will ever forgive me. There is nothing
I expect less. But if an hour should come when it will comfort you to
believe that Florence has someone ever near her, the great charge of
whose life is to cancel her remembrance of past sorrow, I solemnly
assure you, you may, in that hour, rest in that belief."'

Solomon puts back the letter carefully in his pocket-book, and puts back
his pocket-book in his coat.

'We won't drink the last bottle of the old Madeira yet, Ned,' says the
old man thoughtfully. 'Not yet.

'Not yet,' assents the Captain. 'No. Not yet.'

Susan and Mr Toots are of the same opinion. After a silence they all
sit down to supper, and drink to the young husband and wife in something
else; and the last bottle of the old Madeira still remains among its
dust and cobwebs, undisturbed.

A few days have elapsed, and a stately ship is out at sea, spreading its
white wings to the favouring wind.

Upon the deck, image to the roughest man on board of something that
is graceful, beautiful, and harmless--something that it is good and
pleasant to have there, and that should make the voyage prosperous--is
Florence. It is night, and she and Walter sit alone, watching the solemn
path of light upon the sea between them and the moon.

At length she cannot see it plainly, for the tears that fill her eyes;
and then she lays her head down on his breast, and puts her arms around
his neck, saying, 'Oh Walter, dearest love, I am so happy!'

Her husband holds her to his heart, and they are very quiet, and the
stately ship goes on serenely.

'As I hear the sea,' says Florence, 'and sit watching it, it brings so
many days into my mind. It makes me think so much--'

'Of Paul, my love. I know it does.'

Of Paul and Walter. And the voices in the waves are always whispering
to Florence, in their ceaseless murmuring, of love--of love, eternal and
illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end
of time, but ranging still, beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the
invisible country far away!

The next morning, Walter and Florence go and visit the grave of little Paul. Then, the two are married surrounded by their friends, and shortly thereafter board Walter's ship and set sail. Walter leaves a letter to be delivered to Mr. Dombey, conveying the news of their marriage

As the novel approaches its conclusion, closure starts to emerge in some of the plotlines. Florence and Walter are finally married, and the wedding, especially now that Sol how returned, signals that Florence has finally found the security and love she has always craved. The marriage, however, rather than providing a domestic retreat from the world as might be expected, will radically broaden her horizons in that she will sail with Walter to China. A wife accompanying her husband to sea was not typical at this time, and shows that Florence gives Walter the complete love and devotion she has always longed to offer to her father. It also reveals a new boldness to her: having taken the radical step of leaving her father's house, she can now survey her future fearlessly, and if she has love at long last, she does not have anything to be anxious about. Carker's plot is also resolved with a punishment for his many evil deeds: a train, which is personified as a kind of demon, kills him. While it is possible that Dombey might have been intending to kill him, as was Alice's fear, this accidental death prevents that fate. It evokes instead a kind of poetic justice where Carker's paranoia emerges because he has made it impossible for him to trust anyone. He becomes obsessed with the idea of being watched just as he himself has been ever watchful in his spying and plotting. In effect, he is his own downfall. There are also surprises that emerge even at this late juncture. Alice, despite her deep hatred of Carker, panics at the thought that she may have enabled his murder and attempts to save him. This shows that even her cynicism and bitterness have not completely hardened her, and that it is always possible for a character to have a change of heart and try to show forgiveness and compassion. Edith is also revealed as having different intentions than might be expected. She is not actually involved in an adulterous affair, and reveals that she has in fact outwitted Carker, playing him to her purposes. While clever, this scheme has deep consequences for Edith in that her reputation is ruined and she will never be socially accepted again. Her sense of shame and moral disgust has become a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. And yet, Edith is willing to tolerate this because she is free and will no longer have to live a lie. The Dombey household dynamic was so poisonous for both Edith and Florence that even the drastic risks they take in liberating themselves are presented as worthwhile.