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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 drink。 For
now he sat in his black velvet cap and old grey gown； magnanimous again；
and would have ported himself towards any Collegian who might have
looked in to ask his advice； like a great moral Lord Chesterfield； or
Master of the ethical ceremonies of the Marshalsea。
To keep his attention engaged； she talked with him about his wardrobe；
when he was pleased to say； that Yes； indeed； those shirts she proposed
would be exceedingly acceptable； for those he had were worn out； and；
being ready…made； had never fitted him。 Being conversational； and in a
reasonable flow of spirits； he then invited her attention to his coat
as it hung behind the door： remarking that the Father of the place
would set an indifferent example to his children； already disposed to be
slovenly； if he went among them out at elbows。 He was jocular； too；
as to the heeling of his shoes； but became grave on the subject of his
cravat； and promised her that； when she could afford it； she should buy
him a new one。
While he smoked out his cigar in peace； she made his bed； and put the
small room in order for his repose。 Being weary then； owing to the
advanced hour and his emotions； he came out of his chair to bless her
and wish her Good night。 All this time he had never once thought of HER
dress； her shoes； her need of anything。 No other person upon earth； save
herself； could have been so unmindful of her wants。
He kissed her many times with 'Bless you； my love。 Good night； MY dear！'
But her gentle breast had been so deeply wounded by what she had seen of
him that she was unwilling to leave him alone； lest he should lament
and despair again。 'Father； dear； I am not tired； let me e back
presently； when you are in bed； and sit by you。'
He asked her； with an air of protection； if she felt solitary？
'Yes； father。'
'Then e back by all means； my love。'
'I shall be very quiet； father。'
'Don't think of me； my dear；' he said； giving her his kind permission
fully。 'e back by all means。'
He seemed to be dozing when she returned； and she put the low fire
together very softly lest she should awake him。 But he overheard her；
and called out who was that？
'Only Amy； father。'
'Amy； my child； e here。 I want to say a word to you。' He raised
himself a little in his low bed； as she kneeled beside it to bring her
face near him； and put his hand between hers。 O！ Both the private father
and the Father of the Marshalsea were strong within him then。
'My love； you have had a life of hardship here。 No panions； no
recreations； many cares I am afraid？'
'Don't think of that； dear。 I never do。'
'You know my position； Amy。 I have not been able to do much for you； but
all I have been able to do； I have done。'
'Yes； my dear father；' she rejoined； kissing him。 'I know； I know。'
'I am in the twenty…third year of my life here；' he said； with a catch
in his breath that was not so much a sob as an irrepressible sound of
self…approval； the momentary outburst of a noble consciousness。 'It is
all I could do for my children……I have done it。 Amy； my love； you are
by far the best loved of the three； I have had you principally in my
mind……whatever I have done for your sake； my dear child； I have done
freely and without murmuring。'
Only the wisdom that holds the clue to all hearts and all mysteries； can
surely know to what extent a man； especially a man brought down as this
man had been； can impose upon himself。 Enough； for the present place；
that he lay down with wet eyelashes； serene； in a manner majestic； after
bestowing his life of degradation as a sort of portion on the devoted
child upon whom its miseries had fallen so heavily； and whose love alone
had saved him to be even what he was。
That child had no doubts； asked herself no question； for she was but too
content to see him with a lustre round his head。 Poor dear； good dear；
truest； kindest； dearest； were the only words she had for him； as she
hushed him to rest。
She never left him all that night。 As if she had done him a wrong which
her tenderness could hardly repair； she sat