The creature appeared quite horrible with his monstrous head and little body, as he rubbed his hands slowly round, and round, and round again—with something fantastic even in his manner of performing this slight action—and, dropping his shaggy brows and cocking his chin in the air, glanced upward with a stealthy look of exultation that an imp might have copied and appropriated to himself.
“Here,” he said, putting his hand into his breast and sidling up to the old man as he spoke; “I brought it myself for fear of accidents, as being, in gold, it was something large and heavy for Nell to carry in her bag. She need be accustomed to such loads betimes though, neighbour, for she will carry weight when you are dead.”
“Heaven send she may! I hope so,” said the old man with something like a groan.
“Hope so!” echoed the dwarf, approaching close to his ear; “neighbour, I would I knew in what good investment all these supplies are sunk. But you are a deep man, and keep your secret close.”
“My secret!” said the other with a haggard look. “Yes, you’re right—I—I—keep it close—very close.”
He said no more, but taking the money turned away with a slow uncertain step, and pressed his hand upon his head like a weary and dejected man. The dwarf watched him sharply, while he passed into the little sitting-room and locked it in an iron safe above the chimneypiece; and after musing for a short space, prepared to take his leave, observing that unless he made good haste, Mrs. Quilp would certainly be in fits on his return.
“And so neighbour,” he added, “I’ll turn my face homewards, leaving my love for Nelly and hoping she may never lose her way again, though her doing so has procured me an honour I didn’t expect.” With that he bowed and leered at me, and with a keen glance around which seemed to comprehend every object within his range of vision, however small or trivial, went his way.
I had several times essayed to go myself, but the old man had always opposed it and entreated me to remain. As he renewed his entreaties on our being left alone, and adverted with many thanks to the former occasion of our being together, I willingly yielded to his persuasions, and sat down, pretending to examine some curious miniatures and a few old medals which he placed before me. It needed no great pressing to induce me to stay, for if my curiosity had been excited on the occasion of my first visit, it certainly was not diminished now.
Nell joined us before long, and bringing some needlework to the table, sat by the old man’s side. It was pleasant to observe the fresh flowers in the room, the pet bird with a green bough shading his little cage, the breath of freshness and youth which seemed to rustle through the old dull house and hover round the child. It was curious, but not so pleasant, to turn from the beauty and grace of the girl, to the stooping figure, careworn face, and jaded aspect of the old man. As he grew weaker and more feeble, what would become of this lonely little creature; poor protector as he was, say that he died—what would her fate be then?
The old man almost answered my thoughts, as he laid his hand on hers, and spoke aloud.
“I’ll be of better cheer, Nell,” he said; “there must be good fortune in store for thee—I do not ask it for myself, but thee. Such miseries must fall on thy innocent head without it, that I cannot believe but that, being tempted, it will come at last!”
She looked cheerfully into his face, but made no answer.
“When I think,” said he, “of the many years—many in thy short life—that thou hast lived alone with me; of thy monotonous existence, knowing no companions of thy own age nor any childish pleasures; of the solitude in which thou hast grown to be what thou art, and in which thou hast lived apart from nearly all thy kind but one old man; I sometimes fear I have dealt hardly by thee, Nell.”
“Grandfather!” cried the child in unfeigned surprise.
“Not in intention—no no,” said he. “I have ever looked forward to the time that should enable thee to mix among the gayest and prettiest, and take thy station with the best. But I still look forward, Nell, I still look forward, and if I should be forced to leave thee, meanwhile how have I fitted thee for struggles with the world? The poor bird yonder is as well qualified to encounter it, and be turned adrift upon its mercies—Hark! I hear Kit outside. Go to him Nell, go to him.”
She rose, and hurrying away, stopped, turned back, and put her arms about the old man’s neck, then left him and hurried away again—but faster this time, to hide her falling tears.
“A word in your ear Sir,” said the old man in a hurried whisper. “I have been rendered uneasy by what you said the other night, and can only plead that I have done all for the best—that it is too late to retract, if I could (though I cannot)—and that I hope to triumph yet. All is for her sake. I have borne great poverty myself, and would spare her the sufferings that poverty carries with it. I would spare her the miseries that brought her mother, my own dear child, to an early grave. I would leave her—not with resources which could be easily spent or squandered away, but with what would place her beyond the reach of want forever. You mark me Sir? She shall have no pittance, but a fortune—Hush! I can say no more than that, now or at any other time,
