The Old Curiosity Shop | Page 8

'Sir,' rejoined the old man after a moment's silence.' I have no right to
feel hurt at what you say. It is true that in many respects I am the child,
and she the grown person--that you have seen already. But waking or
sleeping, by night or day, in sickness or health, she is the one object of
my care, and if you knew of how much care, you would look on me
with different eyes, you would indeed. Ah! It's a weary life for an old
man--a weary, weary life--but there is a great end to gain and that I
keep before me.'
Seeing that he was in a state of excitement and impatience, I turned to
put on an outer coat which I had thrown off on entering the room,

purposing to say no more. I was surprised to see the child standing
patiently by with a cloak upon her arm, and in her hand a hat, and stick.
'Those are not mine, my dear,' said I.
'No,' returned the child, 'they are grandfather's.'
'But he is not going out to-night.'
'Oh, yes, he is,' said the child, with a smile.
'And what becomes of you, my pretty one?'
'Me! I stay here of course. I always do.'
I looked in astonishment towards the old man, but he was, or feigned to
be, busied in the arrangement of his dress. From him I looked back to
the slight gentle figure of the child. Alone! In that gloomy place all the
long, dreary night.
She evinced no consciousness of my surprise, but cheerfully helped the
old man with his cloak, and when he was ready took a candle to light us
out. Finding that we did not follow as she expected, she looked back
with a smile and waited for us. The old man showed by his face that he
plainly understood the cause of my hesitation, but he merely signed to
me with an inclination of the head to pass out of the room before him,
and remained silent. I had no resource but to comply.
When we reached the door, the child setting down the candle, turned to
say good night and raised her face to kiss me. Then she ran to the old
man, who folded her in his arms and bade God bless her.
'Sleep soundly, Nell,' he said in a low voice, 'and angels guard thy bed!
Do not forget thy prayers, my sweet.'
'No, indeed,' answered the child fervently, 'they make me feel so
happy!'
'That's well; I know they do; they should,' said the old man. 'Bless thee

a hundred times! Early in the morning I shall be home.'
'You'll not ring twice,' returned the child. 'The bell wakes me, even in
the middle of a dream.'
With this, they separated. The child opened the door (now guarded by a
shutter which I had heard the boy put up before he left the house) and
with another farewell whose clear and tender note I have recalled a
thousand times, held it until we had passed out. The old man paused a
moment while it was gently closed and fastened on the inside, and
satisfied that this was done, walked on at a slow pace. At the
street-corner he stopped, and regarding me with a troubled countenance
said that our ways were widely different and that he must take his leave.
I would have spoken, but summoning up more alacrity than might have
been expected in one of his appearance, he hurried away. I could see
that twice or thrice he looked back as if to ascertain if I were still
watching him, or perhaps to assure himself that I was not following at a
distance. The obscurity of the night favoured his disappearance, and his
figure was soon beyond my sight.
I remained standing on the spot where he had left me, unwilling to
depart, and yet unknowing why I should loiter there. I looked wistfully
into the street we had lately quitted, and after a time directed my steps
that way. I passed and repassed the house, and stopped and listened at
the door; all was dark, and silent as the grave.
Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away, thinking of all
possible harm that might happen to the child--of fires and robberies and
even murder--and feeling as if some evil must ensure if I turned my
back upon the place. The closing of a door or window in the street
brought me before the curiosity-dealer's once more; I crossed the road
and looked up at the house to assure myself that the noise had not come
from there. No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as before.
There were few passengers astir; the street was sad and dismal, and