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Bleak House 45
there。 However； when we began to jolt upon a stone pavement；
and particularly when every other conveyance seemed to be
running into us and we seemed to be running into every other
conveyance； I began to believe that we really were approaching
the end of our journey。 Very soon afterwards we stopped。
A young gentleman who had inked himself by accident；
addressed me from the pavement； and said； “I am from Kenge and
Carboy’s； miss； of Lincoln’s Inn。”
“If you please； sir；” said I。
He was very obliging； and as he handed me into a fly； after
superintending the removal of my boxes； I asked him whether
there was a great fire anywhere？ For the streets were so full of
dense brown smoke that scarcely anything was to be seen。
“O dear no； miss；” he said。 “This is a London particular。”
I had never heard of such a thing。
“A fog； miss；” said the young gentleman。
“O indeed！” said I。
We drove slowly through the dirtiest and darkest streets that
ever were seen in the world （I thought）； and in such a distracting
state of confusion that I wondered how the people kept their
senses； until we passed into sudden quietude under an old
gateway； and drove on through a silent square until we came to an
odd nook in the corner； where there was an entrance up a steep；
broad flight of stairs； like an entrance to a church。 And there really
was a churchyard； outside under some cloisters； for I saw the
gravestones from the staircase window。
This was Kenge and Carboy’s。 The young gentleman showed
me through an outer office into Mr Kenge’s room—there was no
one in it—and politely put an armchair for me by the fire。 He then
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called my attention to a little looking…glass； hanging from a nail on
one side of the chimney…piece。
“In case you should wish to look at yourself； miss； after the
journey； as you’re going before the Chancellor。 Not that it’s
requisite； I am sure；” said the young gentleman civilly。
“Going before the Chancellor？” I said； startled for a moment。
“Only a matter of form； miss；” returned the young gentleman。
“Mr Kenge is in court now。 He left his compliments； and would
you partake of some refreshment；” there were biscuits and a
decanter of wine on a small table； “and look over the paper；”
which the young gentleman gave me as he spoke。 He then stirred
the fire and left me。
Everything was so strange—the stranger for its being night in
the daytime； and the candles burning with a white flame； and
looking raw and cold—that I read the words in the newspaper
without knowing what they meant； and found myself reading the
same words repeatedly。 As it was of no use going on in that way； I
put the paper down； took a peep at my bonnet in the glass to see if
it was neat； and looked at the room； which was not half lighted；
and at the shabby dusty tables； and at the piles of writings； and at
a bookcase full of the most inexpressive…looking books that ever
had anything to say for themselves。 Then I went on； thinking；
thinking； thinking； and the fire went on burning； burning；
burning； and the candles went on flickering and guttering； and
there were no snuffers—until the young gentleman by…and…by
brought a very dirty pair； for two hours。
At last Mr Kenge came。 He was not altered； but he was
surprised to see how altered I was； and appeared quite pleased。
“As you are going to be the companion of the young lady who is
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Bleak House 47
now in the Chancellor’s private room； Miss Summerson；” he said；
“we thought it well that you should be in attendance also。 You will
not be discomposed by the Lord Chancellor； I dare say？”
“No； sir；” I said； “I don’t think I shall。” Really not seeing； on
consideration； why I should be。
So Mr Kenge gave me his arm； and we went round the corner；
under a colonnade； and in at a side door。 And so we came； along a
passage； into a comfortable sort of room； where a young lady and a
young gentleman were standing near a great； loud…roaring fire。 A
screen was interposed between them and it； and they were leaning
on the screen； talking。
They both looked up when I came in； and I saw in the young
lady； with the fire shining upon her； such a beautiful girl！ With
such rich golden hair； such soft blue eyes； and such a bright；
innocent； trusting face！
“Miss Ada；” said Mr Kenge； “this is Miss Summerson。”
She came to meet me with a smile of welcome； and her hand
extended； but seemed to change her mind in a moment； and
kissed me。 In short； she had such a natural； captivating； winning
manner； that in a few minutes we were sitting in the window…seat；
with the light of the fire upon us； talking together； as free and
happy as could be。
What a load off my mind！ It was so delightful to know that she
could confide in me； and like me！ It was so good of her； and so
encouraging to me！
The young gentleman was her distant cousin； she told me； and
his name Richard Carstone。 He was a handsome youth； with an
ingenuous face； and a most engaging laugh； and after she had
called him up to where we sat； he stood by us； in the light of the
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fire too； talking gaily； like a light…hearted boy。 He was very young；
not more than nineteen then； if quite so much； but nearly two
years older than she was。 They were both orphans； and （what was
very unexpected and curious to me） had never met before that
day。 Our all three coming together for the first time； in such an
unusual place； was a thing to talk about； and we talked about it；
and the fire； which had left off roaring； winked its red eyes at us—
as Richard said—like a drowsy old Chancery lion。
We conversed in a low tone； because a full…dressed gentleman
in a bag wig； frequently came in and out； and when he did so； we
could hear a drawling sound in the distance； which he said was
one of the counsel in our case addressing the Lord Chancellor。 He
told Mr Kenge that the Chancellor would be up in five minutes；
and presently we heard a bustle and a tread of feet； and Mr Kenge
said that the court had risen； and his lordship was in the next
room。
The gentleman in the bag wig opened the door almost directly；
and requested Mr Kenge to come in。 Upon that； we all went into
the next room； Mr Kenge first； with my darling—it is so natural to
me now； that I can’t help writing it； and there； plainly dressed in
black； and sitting in an armchair at a table near the fire； was his
lordship； whose robe； trimmed with beautiful gold lace； was
thrown upon another chair。 He gave us a searching look as we
entered； but his manner was both courtly and kind。
The gentleman in the bag wig laid bundles of papers on his
lordship’s table； and his lordship silently selected one； and turned
over the leaves。
“Miss Clare；” said the Lord Chancellor。 “Miss Ada Clare？”
Mr Kenge presented her； and his lordship begged her to sit
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