turnkey of the name of Jackson （I don't think you can remember him；
my dear； you were very young）； and……hem！……and he had a……brother； and
this……young brother paid his addresses to……at least； did not go so far
as to pay his addresses to……but admired……respectfully admired……the……not
daughter； the sister……of one of us； a rather distinguished Collegian； I
may say； very much so。 His name was Captain Martin； and he
consulted me on the question whether It was necessary that his
daughter……sister……should hazard offending the turnkey brother by
being too……ha！……too plain with the other brother。 Captain Martin was
a gentleman and a man of honour； and I put it to him first to give me
his……his own opinion。 Captain Martin （highly respected in the army） then
unhesitatingly said that it appeared to him that his……hem！……sister was
not called upon to understand the young man too distinctly； and that
she might lead him on……I am doubtful whether 〃lead him on〃 was Captain
Martin's exact expression： indeed I think he said tolerate him……on her
father's……I should say； brother's……account。 I hardly know how I have
strayed into this story。 I suppose it has been through being unable to
account for Chivery； but as to the connection between the two； I don't
see……'
His voice died away； as if she could not bear the pain of hearing him；
and her hand had gradually crept to his lips。 For a little while there
was a dead silence and stillness； and he remained shrunk in his chair；
and she remained with her arm round his neck and her head bowed down
upon his shoulder。
His supper was cooking in a saucepan on the fire； and； when she moved；
it was to make it ready for him on the table。 He took his usual seat；
she took hers； and he began his meal。 They did not； as yet； look at one
another。 By little and little he began； laying down his knife and fork
with a noise； taking things up sharply； biting at his bread as if he
were offended with it； and in other similar ways showing that he was out
of sorts。 At length he pushed his plate from him； and spoke aloud； with
the strangest inconsistency。
'What does it matter whether I eat or starve？ What does it matter
whether such a blighted life as mine es to an end； now； next week； or
next year？ What am I worth to anyone？ A poor prisoner； fed on alms and
broken victuals； a squalid； disgraced wretch！'
'Father； father！' As he rose she went on her knees to him； and held up
her hands to him。
'Amy；' he went on in a suppressed voice； trembling violently； and
looking at her as wildly as if he had gone mad。 'I tell you； if you
could see me as your mother saw me； you wouldn't believe it to be the
creature you have only looked at through the bars of this cage。 I was
young； I was acplished； I was good…looking； I was independent……by God
I was； child！……and people sought me out； and envied me。 Envied me！'
'Dear father！' She tried to take down the shaking arm that he flourished
in the air； but he resisted； and put her hand away。
'If I had but a picture of myself in those days； though it was ever so
ill done； you would be proud of it； you would be proud of it。 But I have
no such thing。 Now； let me be a warning！ Let no man；' he cried； looking
haggardly about； 'fail to preserve at least that little of the times of
his prosperity and respect。 Let his children have that clue to what he
was。 Unless my face； when I am dead； subsides into the long departed
look……they say such things happen； I don't know……my children will have
never seen me。'
'Father； father！'
'O despise me； despise me！ Look away from me； don't listen to me； stop
me； blush for me； cry for me……even you； Amy！ Do it； do it！ I do it to
myself！ I am hardened now； I have sunk too low to care long even for
that。'
'Dear father； loved father； darling of my heart！' She was clinging to
him with her arms； and she got him to drop into his chair again； and
caught at the raised arm； and tried to put it round her neck。
'Let it lie there； father。 Look at me； father； kiss me； father！ Only
think of me； father； for one little moment！'
Still he went on in the same wild way； though it was gradually breaking
down into a miserable whining。
'And yet I have some respect here。 I have made some stand against it。 I
am not quite trodden down。 Go out and ask who is the chief person in the
place。 They'll tell you it's your father。 Go out and ask who is never
trifled with； and who is always treated with some delicacy。 They'll say；
your father。 Go out and ask what funeral here （it must be here； I know
it can be nowhere else） will make more talk； and perhaps more grief；
than any that has ever gone out at the gate。 They'll say your father's。
Well then。 Amy！ Amy！ Is your father so universally despised？ Is there
nothing to redeem him？ Will you have nothing to remember him by but his
ruin and decay？ Will you be able to have no affection for him when he is
gone； poor castaway； gone？'
He burst into tears of maudlin pity for himself； and at length suffering
her to embrace him and take charge of him； let his grey head rest
against her cheek； and bewailed his wretchedness。 Presently he changed
the subject of his lamentations； and clasping his hands about her as she
embraced him； cried； O Amy； his motherless； forlorn child！ O the days
that he had seen her careful and laborious for him！ Then he reverted to
himself； and weakly told her how much better she would have loved him
if she had known him in his vanished character； and how he would have
married her to a gentleman who should have been proud of her as his
daughter； and how （at which he cried again） she should first have ridden
at his fatherly side on her own horse； and how the crowd （by which he
meant in effect the people who had given him the twelve shillings
he then had in his pocket） should have trudged the dusty roads
respectfully。
Thus； now boasting； now despairing； in either fit a captive with the
jail…rot upon him； and the impurity of his prison worn into the grain of
his soul； he revealed his degenerate state to his affectionate child。
No one else ever beheld him in the details of his humiliation。 Little
recked the Collegians who were laughing in their rooms over his late
address in the Lodge； what a serious picture they had in their obscure
gallery of the Marshalsea that Sunday night。
There was a classical daughter once……perhaps……who ministered to her
father in his prison as her mother had ministered to her。 Little Dorrit；
though of the unheroic modern stock and mere English； did much more；
in forting her father's wasted heart upon her innocent breast； and
turning to it a fountain of love and fidelity that never ran dry or
waned through all his years of famine。
She soothed him； asked him for his forgiveness if she had been； or
seemed to have been； undutiful； told him； Heaven knows truly； that she
could not honour him more if he were the favourite of Fortune and the
whole world acknowledged him。 When his tears were dried； and he sobbed
in his weakness no longer； and was free from that touch of shame； and
had recovered his usual bearing； she prepared the remains of his supper
afresh； and； sitting by his side； rejoiced to see him eat and d