My guardian called me into his room next morning, and then I toldhim what had been left untold on the previous night. There wasnothing to be done, he said, but to keep the secret and to avoidanother such encounter as that of yesterday. He understood myfeeling and entirely shared it. He charged himself even withrestraining Mr. Skimpole from improving his opportunity. Oneperson whom he need not name to me, it was not now possible for himto advise or help. He wished it were, but no such thing could be.
If her mistrust of the lawyer whom she had mentioned were well-founded, which he scarcely doubted, he dreaded discovery. He knewsomething of him, both by sight and by reputation, and it wascertain that he was a dangerous man. Whatever happened, herepeatedly impressed upon me with anxious affection and kindness, Iwas as innocent of as himself and as unable to influence.
"Nor do I understand," said he, "that any doubts tend towards you,my dear. Much suspicion may exist without that connexion.""With the lawyer," I returned. "But two other persons have comeinto my mind since I have been anxious. Then I told him all aboutMr. Guppy, who I feared might have had his vague surmises when Ilittle understood his meaning, but in whose silence after our lastinterview I expressed perfect confidence.
"Well," said my guardian. "Then we may dismiss him for thepresent. Who is the other?"I called to his recollection the French maid and the eager offer ofherself she had made to me.
"Ha!" he returned thoughtfully. "That is a more alarming personthan the clerk. But after all, my dear, it was but seeking for anew service. She had seen you and Ada a little while before, andit was natural that you should come into her head. She merelyproposed herself for your maid, you know. She did nothing more.""Her manner was strange," said I.
"Yes, and her manner was strange when she took her shoes off andshowed that cool relish for a walk that might have ended in herdeath-bed," said my guardian. "It would be useless self-distressand torment to reckon up such chances and possibilities. There arevery few harmless circumstances that would not seem full ofperilous meaning, so considered. Be hopeful, little woman. Youcan be nothing better than yourself; be that, through thisknowledge, as you were before you had it. It is the best you cando for everybody's sake. I, sharing the secret with you--""And lightening it, guardian, so much," said I.
"--will be attentive to what passes in that family, so far as I canobserve it from my distance. And if the time should come when Ican stretch out a hand to render the least service to one whom itis better not to name even here, I will not fail to do it for herdear daughter's sake."I thanked him with my whole heart. What could I ever do but thankhim! I was going out at the door when he asked me to stay amoment. Quickly turning round, I saw that same expression on hisface again; and all at once, I don't know how, it flashed upon meas a new and far-off possibility that I understood it.
"My dear Esther," said my guardian, "I have long had something inmy thoughts that I have wished to say to you.""Indeed?""I have had some difficulty in approaching it, and I still have. Ishould wish it to be so deliberately said, and so deliberatelyconsidered. Would you object to my writing it?""Dear guardian, how could I object to your writing anything for MEto read?""Then see, my love," said he with his cheery smile, "am I at thismoment quite as plain and easy--do I seem as open, as honest andold-fashioned--as I am at any time?"I answered in all earnestness, "Quite." With the strictest truth,for his momentary hesitation was gone (it had not lasted a minute),and his fine, sensible, cordial, sterling manner was restored.
"Do I look as if I suppressed anything, meant anything but what Isaid, had any reservation at all, no matter what?" said he with hisbright clear eyes on mine.
I answered, most assuredly he did not.
"Can you fully trust me, and thoroughly rely on what I profess,Esther?""Most thoroughly," said I with my whole heart.
"My dear girl," returned my guardian, "give me your hand."He took it in his, holding me lightly with his arm, and lookingdown into my face with the same genuine freshness and faithfulnessof manner--the old protecting manner which had made that house myhome in a moment--said, "You have wrought changes in me, littlewoman, since the winter day in the stage-coach. First and last youhave done me a world of good since that time.""Ah, guardian, what have you done for me since that time!""But," said he, "that is not to be remembered now.""It never can be forgotten.""Yes, Esther," said he with a gentle seriousness, "it is to beforgotten now, to be forgotten for a while. You are only toremember now that nothing can change me as you know me. Can youfeel quite assured of that, my dear?""I can, and I do," I said.
"That's much," he answered. "That's everything. But I must nottake that at a word. I will not write this something in mythoughts until you have quite resolved within yourself that nothingcan change me as you know me. If you doubt that in the leastdegree, I will never write it. If you are sure of that, on goodconsideration, send Charley to me this night week--'for theletter.' But if you are not quite certain, never send. Mind, Itrust to your truth, in this thing as in everything. If you arenot quite certain on that one point, never send!""Guardian," said I, "I am already certain, I can no more be changedin that conviction than you can be changed towards me. I shallsend Charley for the letter."He shook my hand and said no more. Nor was any more said inreference to this conversation, either by him or me, through thewhole week. When the appointed night came, I said to Charley assoon as I was alone, "Go and knock at Mr. Jarndyce's door, Charley,and say you have come from me--'for the letter.'" Charley went upthe stairs, and down the stairs, and along the passages--the zig-zag way about the old-fashioned house seemed very long in mylistening ears that night--and so came back, along the passages,and down the stairs, and up the stairs, and brought the letter.
"Lay it on the table, Charley," said I. So Charley laid it on thetable and went to bed, and I sat looking at it without taking itup, thinking of many things.
I began with my overshadowed childhood, and passed through thosetimid days to the heavy time when my aunt lay dead, with herresolute face so cold and set, and when I was more solitary withMrs. Rachael than if I had had no one in the world to speak to orto look at. I passed to the altered days when I was so blest as tofind friends in all around me, and to be beloved. I came to thetime when I first saw my dear girl and was received into thatsisterly affection which was the grace and beauty of my life. Irecalled the first bright gleam of welcome which had shone out ofthose very windows upon our expectant faces on that cold brightnight, and which had never paled. I lived my happy life there overagain, I went through my illness and recovery, I thought of myselfso altered and of those around me so unchanged; and all thishappiness shone like a light from one central figure, representedbefore me by the letter on the table.
I opened it and read it. It was so impressive in its love for me,and in the unselfish caution it gave me, and the consideration itshowed for me in every word, that my eyes were too often blinded toread much at a time. But I read it through three times before Ilaid it down. I had thought beforehand that I knew its purport,and I did. It asked me, would I be the mistress of Bleak House.
It was not a love letter, though it expressed so much love, but waswritten just as he would at any time have spoken to me. I saw hisface, and heard his voice, and felt the influence of his kindprot............