The Complete Short Stories of Charles Dickens: 190+ Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Чарльз Диккенс

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СКАЧАТЬ Go on.’

      ‘He is an old man, worn with care and work. He is a spare, dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man. I see him now, despondent and bowed down, and striving against nothing. But, Bertha, I have seen him many times before, and striving hard in many ways for one great sacred object. And I honour his grey head, and bless him!’

      The Blind Girl broke away from her; and throwing herself upon her knees before him, took the grey head to her breast.

      ‘It is my sight restored. It is my sight!’ she cried. ‘I have been blind, and now my eyes are open. I never knew him! To think I might have died, and never truly seen the father who has been so loving to me!’

      There were no words for Caleb’s emotion.

      ‘There is not a gallant figure on this earth,’ exclaimed the Blind Girl, holding him in her embrace, ‘that I would love so dearly, and would cherish so devotedly, as this! The greyer, and more worn, the dearer, father! Never let them say I am blind again. There’s not a furrow in his face, there’s not a hair upon his head, that shall be forgotten in my prayers and thanks to Heaven!’

      Caleb managed to articulate ‘My Bertha!’

      ‘And in my blindness, I believed him,’ said the girl, caressing him with tears of exquisite affection, ‘to be so different! And having him beside me, day by day, so mindful of me always, never dreamed of this!’

      ‘The fresh smart father in the blue coat, Bertha,’ said poor Caleb. ‘He’s gone!’

      ‘Nothing is gone,’ she answered. ‘Dearest father, no! Everything is here—in you. The father that I loved so well; the father that I never loved enough, and never knew; the benefactor whom I first began to reverence and love, because he had such sympathy for me; All are here in you. Nothing is dead to me. The soul of all that was most dear to me is here—here, with the worn face, and the grey head. And I am NOT blind, father, any longer!’

      Dot’s whole attention had been concentrated, during this discourse, upon the father and daughter; but looking, now, towards the little Haymaker in the Moorish meadow, she saw that the clock was within a few minutes of striking, and fell, immediately, into a nervous and excited state.

      ‘Father,’ said Bertha, hesitating. ‘Mary.’

      ‘Yes, my dear,’ returned Caleb. ‘Here she is.’

      ‘There is no change in her. You never told me anything of her that was not true?’

      ‘I should have done it, my dear, I am afraid,’ returned Caleb, ‘if I could have made her better than she was. But I must have changed her for the worse, if I had changed her at all. Nothing could improve her, Bertha.’

      Confident as the Blind Girl had been when she asked the question, her delight and pride in the reply and her renewed embrace of Dot, were charming to behold.

      ‘More changes than you think for, may happen though, my dear,’ said Dot. ‘Changes for the better, I mean; changes for great joy to some of us. You mustn’t let them startle you too much, if any such should ever happen, and affect you? Are those wheels upon the road? You’ve a quick ear, Bertha. Are they wheels?’

      ‘Yes. Coming very fast.’

      ‘I—I—I know you have a quick ear,’ said Dot, placing her hand upon her heart, and evidently talking on, as fast as she could to hide its palpitating state, ‘because I have noticed it often, and because you were so quick to find out that strange step last night. Though why you should have said, as I very well recollect you did say, Bertha, “Whose step is that!” and why you should have taken any greater observation of it than of any other step, I don’t know. Though as I said just now, there are great changes in the world: great changes: and we can’t do better than prepare ourselves to be surprised at hardly anything.’

      Caleb wondered what this meant; perceiving that she spoke to him, no less than to his daughter. He saw her, with astonishment, so fluttered and distressed that she could scarcely breathe; and holding to a chair, to save herself from falling.

      ‘They are wheels indeed!’ she panted. ‘Coming nearer! Nearer! Very close! And now you hear them stopping at the garden-gate! And now you hear a step outside the door—the same step, Bertha, is it not!—and now!’—

      She uttered a wild cry of uncontrollable delight; and running up to Caleb put her hands upon his eyes, as a young man rushed into the room, and flinging away his hat into the air, came sweeping down upon them.

      ‘Is it over?’ cried Dot.

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘Happily over?’

      ‘Yes!’

      ‘Do you recollect the voice, dear Caleb? Did you ever hear the like of it before?’ cried Dot.

      ‘If my boy in the Golden South Americas was alive’—said Caleb, trembling.

      ‘He is alive!’ shrieked Dot, removing her hands from his eyes, and clapping them in ecstasy; ‘look at him! See where he stands before you, healthy and strong! Your own dear son! Your own dear living, loving brother, Bertha

      All honour to the little creature for her transports! All honour to her tears and laughter, when the three were locked in one another’s arms! All honour to the heartiness with which she met the sunburnt sailor-fellow, with his dark streaming hair, half-way, and never turned her rosy little mouth aside, but suffered him to kiss it, freely, and to press her to his bounding heart!

      And honour to the Cuckoo too—why not!—for bursting out of the trap-door in the Moorish Palace like a house-breaker, and hiccoughing twelve times on the assembled company, as if he had got drunk for joy!

      The Carrier, entering, started back. And well he might, to find himself in such good company.

      ‘Look, John!’ said Caleb, exultingly, ‘look here! My own boy from the Golden South Americas! My own son! Him that you fitted out, and sent away yourself! Him that you were always such a friend to!’

      The Carrier advanced to seize him by the hand; but, recoiling, as some feature in his face awakened a remembrance of the Deaf Man in the Cart, said:

      ‘Edward! Was it you?’

      ‘Now tell him all!’ cried Dot. ‘Tell him all, Edward; and don’t spare me, for nothing shall make me spare myself in his eyes, ever again.’

      ‘I was the man,’ said Edward.

      ‘And could you steal, disguised, into the house of your old friend?’ rejoined the Carrier. ‘There was a frank boy once—how many years is it, Caleb, since we heard that he was dead, and had it proved, we thought?—who never would have done that.’

      ‘There was a generous friend of mine, once; more a father to me than a friend;’ said Edward, ‘who never would have judged me, or any other man, unheard. You were he. So I am certain you will hear me now.’

      The Carrier, with a troubled glance at Dot, who still kept far away from him, replied, ‘Well! that’s but fair. I will.’

      ‘You must know that when I left here, a boy,’ said Edward, ‘I was in love, and my love was returned. She was a very young girl, who СКАЧАТЬ