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- Чарльз Диккенс
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May
you
,
in
your
just
resentment
,
be
able
to
forget
the
unworthy
woman
on
whom
you
have
wasted
a
most
generous
devotion
—
who
avoids
you
only
with
a
deeper
shame
than
that
with
which
she
hurries
from
herself
—
and
who
writes
this
last
adieu
.
She
veils
and
dresses
quickly
,
leaves
all
her
jewels
and
her
money
,
listens
,
goes
downstairs
at
a
moment
when
the
hall
is
empty
,
opens
and
shuts
the
great
door
,
flutters
away
in
the
shrill
frosty
wind
.
Impassive
,
as
behoves
its
high
breeding
,
the
Dedlock
town
house
stares
at
the
other
houses
in
the
street
of
dismal
grandeur
and
gives
no
outward
sign
of
anything
going
wrong
within
.
Carriages
rattle
,
doors
are
battered
at
,
the
world
exchanges
calls
;
ancient
charmers
with
skeleton
throats
and
peachy
cheeks
that
have
a
rather
ghastly
bloom
upon
them
seen
by
daylight
,
when
indeed
these
fascinating
creatures
look
like
Death
and
the
Lady
fused
together
,
dazzle
the
eyes
of
men
.
Forth
from
the
frigid
mews
come
easily
swinging
carriages
guided
by
short
-
legged
coachmen
in
flaxen
wigs
,
deep
sunk
into
downy
hammercloths
,
and
up
behind
mount
luscious
Mercuries
bearing
sticks
of
state
and
wearing
cocked
hats
broadwise
,
a
spectacle
for
the
angels
.
The
Dedlock
town
house
changes
not
externally
,
and
hours
pass
before
its
exalted
dullness
is
disturbed
within
.
But
Volumnia
the
fair
,
being
subject
to
the
prevalent
complaint
of
boredom
and
finding
that
disorder
attacking
her
spirits
with
some
virulence
,
ventures
at
length
to
repair
to
the
library
for
change
of
scene
.
Her
gentle
tapping
at
the
door
producing
no
response
,
she
opens
it
and
peeps
in
;
seeing
no
one
there
,
takes
possession
.
The
sprightly
Dedlock
is
reputed
,
in
that
grass
-
grown
city
of
the
ancients
,
Bath
,
to
be
stimulated
by
an
urgent
curiosity
which
impels
her
on
all
convenient
and
inconvenient
occasions
to
sidle
about
with
a
golden
glass
at
her
eye
,
peering
into
objects
of
every
description
.
Certain
it
is
that
she
avails
herself
of
the
present
opportunity
of
hovering
over
her
kinsman
’
s
letters
and
papers
like
a
bird
,
taking
a
short
peck
at
this
document
and
a
blink
with
her
head
on
one
side
at
that
document
,
and
hopping
about
from
table
to
table
with
her
glass
at
her
eye
in
an
inquisitive
and
restless
manner
.
In
the
course
of
these
researches
she
stumbles
over
something
,
and
turning
her
glass
in
that
direction
,
sees
her
kinsman
lying
on
the
ground
like
a
felled
tree
.
Volumnia
’
s
pet
little
scream
acquires
a
considerable
augmentation
of
reality
from
this
surprise
,
and
the
house
is
quickly
in
commotion
.
Servants
tear
up
and
down
stairs
,
bells
are
violently
rung
,
doctors
are
sent
for
,
and
Lady
Dedlock
is
sought
in
all
directions
,
but
not
found
.
Nobody
has
seen
or
heard
her
since
she
last
rang
her
bell
.
Her
letter
to
Sir
Leicester
is
discovered
on
her
table
,
but
it
is
doubtful
yet
whether
he
has
not
received
another
missive
from
another
world
requiring
to
be
personally
answered
,
and
all
the
living
languages
,
and
all
the
dead
,
are
as
one
to
him
.
They
lay
him
down
upon
his
bed
,
and
chafe
,
and
rub
,
and
fan
,
and
put
ice
to
his
head
,
and
try
every
means
of
restoration
.
Howbeit
,
the
day
has
ebbed
away
,
and
it
is
night
in
his
room
before
his
stertorous
breathing
lulls
or
his
fixed
eyes
show
any
consciousness
of
the
candle
that
is
occasionally
passed
before
them
.
But
when
this
change
begins
,
it
goes
on
;
and
by
and
by
he
nods
or
moves
his
eyes
or
even
his
hand
in
token
that
he
hears
and
comprehends
.
He
fell
down
,
this
morning
,
a
handsome
stately
gentleman
,
somewhat
infirm
,
but
of
a
fine
presence
,
and
with
a
well
-
filled
face
.
He
lies
upon
his
bed
,
an
aged
man
with
sunken
cheeks
,
the
decrepit
shadow
of
himself
.
His
voice
was
rich
and
mellow
and
he
had
so
long
been
thoroughly
persuaded
of
the
weight
and
import
to
mankind
of
any
word
he
said
that
his
words
really
had
come
to
sound
as
if
there
were
something
in
them
.
But
now
he
can
only
whisper
,
and
what
he
whispers
sounds
like
what
it
is
—
mere
jumble
and
jargon
.
His
favourite
and
faithful
housekeeper
stands
at
his
bedside
.
It
is
the
first
act
he
notices
,
and
he
clearly
derives
pleasure
from
it
.
After
vainly
trying
to
make
himself
understood
in
speech
,
he
makes
signs
for
a
pencil
.
So
inexpressively
that
they
cannot
at
first
understand
him
;
it
is
his
old
housekeeper
who
makes
out
what
he
wants
and
brings
in
a
slate
.
After
pausing
for
some
time
,
he
slowly
scrawls
upon
it
in
a
hand
that
is
not
his
,
"
Chesney
Wold
?
"
No
,
she
tells
him
;
he
is
in
London
.
He
was
taken
ill
in
the
library
this
morning
.
Right
thankful
she
is
that
she
happened
to
come
to
London
and
is
able
to
attend
upon
him
.
"
It
is
not
an
illness
of
any
serious
consequence
,
Sir
Leicester
.
You
will
be
much
better
to
-
morrow
,
Sir
Leicester
.
All
the
gentlemen
say
so
.
"
This
,
with
the
tears
coursing
down
her
fair
old
face
.
After
making
a
survey
of
the
room
and
looking
with
particular
attention
all
round
the
bed
where
the
doctors
stand
,
he
writes
,
"
My
Lady
.
"
"
My
Lady
went
out
,
Sir
Leicester
,
before
you
were
taken
ill
,
and
don
’
t
know
of
your
illness
yet
.
"
He
points
again
,
in
great
agitation
,
at
the
two
words
.
They
all
try
to
quiet
him
,
but
he
points
again
with
increased
agitation
.
On
their
looking
at
one
another
,
not
knowing
what
to
say
,
he
takes
the
slate
once
more
and
writes
"
My
Lady
.
For
God
’
s
sake
,
where
?
"
And
makes
an
imploring
moan
.
It
is
thought
better
that
his
old
housekeeper
should
give
him
Lady
Dedlock
’
s
letter
,
the
contents
of
which
no
one
knows
or
can
surmise
.
She
opens
it
for
him
and
puts
it
out
for
his
perusal
.
Having
read
it
twice
by
a
great
effort
,
he
turns
it
down
so
that
it
shall
not
be
seen
and
lies
moaning
.
He
passes
into
a
kind
of
relapse
or
into
a
swoon
,
and
it
is
an
hour
before
he
opens
his
eyes
,
reclining
on
his
faithful
and
attached
old
servant
’
s
arm
.
The
doctors
know
that
he
is
best
with
her
,
and
when
not
actively
engaged
about
him
,
stand
aloof
.
The
slate
comes
into
requisition
again
,
but
the
word
he
wants
to
write
he
cannot
remember
.
His
anxiety
,
his
eagerness
,
and
affliction
at
this
pass
are
pitiable
to
behold
.
It
seems
as
if
he
must
go
mad
in
the
necessity
he
feels
for
haste
and
the
inability
under
which
he
labours
of
expressing
to
do
what
or
to
fetch
whom
.
He
has
written
the
letter
B
,
and
there
stopped
.
Of
a
sudden
,
in
the
height
of
his
misery
,
he
puts
Mr
.
before
it
.
The
old
housekeeper
suggests
Bucket
.
Thank
heaven
!
That
’
s
his
meaning
.
Mr
.
Bucket
is
found
to
be
downstairs
,
by
appointment
.
Shall
he
come
up
?
There
is
no
possibility
of
misconstruing
Sir
Leicester
’
s
burning
wish
to
see
him
or
the
desire
he
signifies
to
have
the
room
cleared
of
every
one
but
the
housekeeper
.
It
is
speedily
done
,
and
Mr
.
Bucket
appears
.
Of
all
men
upon
earth
,
Sir
Leicester
seems
fallen
from
his
high
estate
to
place
his
sole
trust
and
reliance
upon
this
man
.
"
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
I
’
m
sorry
to
see
you
like
this
.
I
hope
you
’
ll
cheer
up
.
I
’
m
sure
you
will
,
on
account
of
the
family
credit
.
"
Sir
Leicester
puts
her
letter
in
his
hands
and
looks
intently
in
his
face
while
he
reads
it
.
A
new
intelligence
comes
into
Mr
.
Bucket
’
s
eye
as
he
reads
on
;
with
one
hook
of
his
finger
,
while
that
eye
is
still
glancing
over
the
words
,
he
indicates
,
"
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
I
understand
you
.
"
Sir
Leicester
writes
upon
the
slate
.
"
Full
forgiveness
.
Find
—
"
Mr
.
Bucket
stops
his
hand
.
"
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
I
’
ll
find
her
.
But
my
search
after
her
must
be
begun
out
of
hand
.
Not
a
minute
must
be
lost
.
"
With
the
quickness
of
thought
,
he
follows
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
’
s
look
towards
a
little
box
upon
a
table
.
"
Bring
it
here
,
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
?
Certainly
.
Open
it
with
one
of
these
here
keys
?
Certainly
.
The
littlest
key
?
TO
be
sure
.
Take
the
notes
out
?
So
I
will
.
Count
’
em
?
That
’
s
soon
done
.
Twenty
and
thirty
’
s
fifty
,
and
twenty
’
s
seventy
,
and
fifty
’
s
one
twenty
,
and
forty
’
s
one
sixty
.
Take
’
em
for
expenses
?
That
I
’
ll
do
,
and
render
an
account
of
course
.
Don
’
t
spare
money
?
No
I
won
’
t
.
"
The
velocity
and
certainty
of
Mr
.
Bucket
’
s
interpretation
on
all
these
heads
is
little
short
of
miraculous
.
Mrs
.
Rouncewell
,
who
holds
the
light
,
is
giddy
with
the
swiftness
of
his
eyes
and
hands
as
he
starts
up
,
furnished
for
his
journey
.
"
You
’
re
George
’
s
mother
,
old
lady
;
that
’
s
about
what
you
are
,
I
believe
?
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
aside
,
with
his
hat
already
on
and
buttoning
his
coat
.
"
Yes
,
sir
,
I
am
his
distressed
mother
.
"
"
So
I
thought
,
according
to
what
he
mentioned
to
me
just
now
.
Well
,
then
,
I
’
ll
tell
you
something
.
You
needn
’
t
be
distressed
no
more
.
Your
son
’
s
all
right
.
Now
,
don
’
t
you
begin
a
-
crying
,
because
what
you
’
ve
got
to
do
is
to
take
care
of
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
and
you
won
’
t
do
that
by
crying
.
As
to
your
son
,
he
’
s
all
right
,
I
tell
you
;
and
he
sends
his
loving
duty
,
and
hoping
you
’
re
the
same
.
He
’
s
discharged
honourable
;
that
’
s
about
what
HE
is
;
with
no
more
imputation
on
his
character
than
there
is
on
yours
,
and
yours
is
a
tidy
one
,
I
’
LL
bet
a
pound
.
You
may
trust
me
,
for
I
took
your
son
.
He
conducted
himself
in
a
game
way
,
too
,
on
that
occasion
;
and
he
’
s
a
fine
-
made
man
,
and
you
’
re
a
fine
-
made
old
lady
,
and
you
’
re
a
mother
and
son
,
the
pair
of
you
,
as
might
be
showed
for
models
in
a
caravan
.
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
what
you
’
ve
trusted
to
me
I
’
ll
go
through
with
.
Don
’
t
you
be
afraid
of
my
turning
out
of
my
way
,
right
or
left
,
or
taking
a
sleep
,
or
a
wash
,
or
a
shave
till
I
have
found
what
I
go
in
search
of
.
Say
everything
as
is
kind
and
forgiving
on
your
part
?
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
I
will
.
And
I
wish
you
better
,
and
these
family
affairs
smoothed
over
—
as
,
Lord
,
many
other
family
affairs
equally
has
been
,
and
equally
will
be
,
to
the
end
of
time
.
"
With
this
peroration
,
Mr
.
Bucket
,
buttoned
up
,
goes
quietly
out
,
looking
steadily
before
him
as
if
he
were
already
piercing
the
night
in
quest
of
the
fugitive
.
His
first
step
is
to
take
himself
to
Lady
Dedlock
’
s
rooms
and
look
all
over
them
for
any
trifling
indication
that
may
help
him
.
The
rooms
are
in
darkness
now
;
and
to
see
Mr
.
Bucket
with
a
wax
-
light
in
his
hand
,
holding
it
above
his
head
and
taking
a
sharp
mental
inventory
of
the
many
delicate
objects
so
curiously
at
variance
with
himself
,
would
be
to
see
a
sight
—
which
nobody
DOES
see
,
as
he
is
particular
to
lock
himself
in
.
"
A
spicy
boudoir
,
this
,
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
,
who
feels
in
a
manner
furbished
up
in
his
French
by
the
blow
of
the
morning
.
"
Must
have
cost
a
sight
of
money
.
Rum
articles
to
cut
away
from
,
these
;
she
must
have
been
hard
put
to
it
!
"
Opening
and
shutting
table
-
drawers
and
looking
into
caskets
and
jewel
-
cases
,
he
sees
the
reflection
of
himself
in
various
mirrors
,
and
moralizes
thereon
.
"
One
might
suppose
I
was
a
-
moving
in
the
fashionable
circles
and
getting
myself
up
for
almac
’
s
,
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
.
"
I
begin
to
think
I
must
be
a
swell
in
the
Guards
without
knowing
it
.
"
Ever
looking
about
,
he
has
opened
a
dainty
little
chest
in
an
inner
drawer
.
His
great
hand
,
turning
over
some
gloves
which
it
can
scarcely
feel
,
they
are
so
light
and
soft
within
it
,
comes
upon
a
white
handkerchief
.
"
Hum
!
Let
’
s
have
a
look
at
YOU
,
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
,
putting
down
the
light
.
"
What
should
YOU
be
kept
by
yourself
for
?
What
’
s
YOUR
motive
?
Are
you
her
ladyship
’
s
property
,
or
somebody
else
’
s
?
You
’
ve
got
a
mark
upon
you
somewheres
or
another
,
I
suppose
?
"
He
finds
it
as
he
speaks
,
"
Esther
Summerson
.
"
"
Oh
!
"
says
Mr
.
Bucket
,
pausing
,
with
his
finger
at
his
ear
.
"
Come
,
I
’
ll
take
YOU
.
"
He
completes
his
observations
as
quietly
and
carefully
as
he
has
carried
them
on
,
leaves
everything
else
precisely
as
he
found
it
,
glides
away
after
some
five
minutes
in
all
,
and
passes
into
the
street
.
With
a
glance
upward
at
the
dimly
lighted
windows
of
Sir
Leicester
’
s
room
,
he
sets
off
,
full
-
swing
,
to
the
nearest
coach
-
stand
,
picks
out
the
horse
for
his
money
,
and
directs
to
be
driven
to
the
shooting
gallery
.
Mr
.
Bucket
does
not
claim
to
be
a
scientific
judge
of
horses
,
but
he
lays
out
a
little
money
on
the
principal
events
in
that
line
,
and
generally
sums
up
his
knowledge
of
the
subject
in
the
remark
that
when
he
sees
a
horse
as
can
go
,
he
knows
him
.
His
knowledge
is
not
at
fault
in
the
present
instance
.
Clattering
over
the
stones
at
a
dangerous
pace
,
yet
thoughtfully
bringing
his
keen
eyes
to
bear
on
every
slinking
creature
whom
he
passes
in
the
midnight
streets
,
and
even
on
the
lights
in
upper
windows
where
people
are
going
or
gone
to
bed
,
and
on
all
the
turnings
that
he
rattles
by
,
and
alike
on
the
heavy
sky
,
and
on
the
earth
where
the
snow
lies
thin
—
for
something
may
present
itself
to
assist
him
,
anywhere
—
he
dashes
to
his
destination
at
such
a
speed
that
when
he
stops
the
horse
half
smothers
him
in
a
cloud
of
steam
.
"
Unbear
him
half
a
moment
to
freshen
him
up
,
and
I
’
ll
be
back
.
"
He
runs
up
the
long
wooden
entry
and
finds
the
trooper
smoking
his
pipe
.
"
I
thought
I
should
,
George
,
after
what
you
have
gone
through
,
my
lad
.
I
haven
’
t
a
word
to
spare
.
Now
,
honour
!
All
to
save
a
woman
.
Miss
Summerson
that
was
here
when
Gridley
died
—
that
was
the
name
,
I
know
—
all
right
—
where
does
she
live
?
"
The
trooper
has
just
come
from
there
and
gives
him
the
address
,
near
Oxford
Street
.
"
You
won
’
t
repent
it
,
George
.
Good
night
!
"
He
is
off
again
,
with
an
impression
of
having
seen
Phil
sitting
by
the
frosty
fire
staring
at
him
open
-
mouthed
,
and
gallops
away
again
,
and
gets
out
in
a
cloud
of
steam
again
.
Mr
.
Jarndyce
,
the
only
person
up
in
the
house
,
is
just
going
to
bed
,
rises
from
his
book
on
hearing
the
rapid
ringing
at
the
bell
,
and
comes
down
to
the
door
in
his
dressing
-
gown
.
"
Don
’
t
be
alarmed
,
sir
.
"
In
a
moment
his
visitor
is
confidential
with
him
in
the
hall
,
has
shut
the
door
,
and
stands
with
his
hand
upon
the
lock
.
"
I
’
ve
had
the
pleasure
of
seeing
you
before
.
Inspector
Bucket
.
Look
at
that
handkerchief
,
sir
,
Miss
Esther
Summerson
’
s
.
Found
it
myself
put
away
in
a
drawer
of
Lady
Dedlock
’
s
,
quarter
of
an
hour
ago
.
Not
a
moment
to
lose
.
Matter
of
life
or
death
.
You
know
Lady
Dedlock
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
There
has
been
a
discovery
there
to
-
day
.
Family
affairs
have
come
out
.
Sir
Leicester
Dedlock
,
Baronet
,
has
had
a
fit
—
apoplexy
or
paralysis
—
and
couldn
’
t
be
brought
to
,
and
precious
time
has
been
lost
.
Lady
Dedlock
disappeared
this
afternoon
and
left
a
letter
for
him
that
looks
bad
.
Run
your
eye
over
it
.
Here
it
is
!
"
Mr
.
Jarndyce
,
having
read
it
,
asks
him
what
he
thinks
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
.
It
looks
like
suicide
.
Anyways
,
there
’
s
more
and
more
danger
,
every
minute
,
of
its
drawing
to
that
.
I
’
d
give
a
hundred
pound
an
hour
to
have
got
the
start
of
the
present
time
.
Now
,
Mr
.
