Chapter XXXIV. A Turn of the Screw

by Charles Dickens

　　"Now, what," says Mr. George, "may this be? Is it blank cartridgeor ball? A flash in the pan or a shot?"An open letter is the subject of the trooper's speculations, and itseems to perplex him mightily. He looks at it at arm's length,brings it close to him, holds it in his right hand, holds it in hisleft hand, reads it with his head on this side, with his head onthat side, contracts his eyebrows, elevates them, still cannotsatisfy himself. He smooths it out upon the table with his heavypalm, and thoughtfully walking up and down the gallery, makes ahalt before it every now and then to come upon it with a fresh eye.Even that won't do. "Is it," Mr. George still muses, "blankcartridge or ball?"Phil Squod, with the aid of a brush and paint-pot, is employed inthe distance whitening the targets, softly whistling in quick-marchtime and in drum-and-fife manner that he must and will go backagain to the girl he left behind him."Phil!" The trooper beckons as he calls him.Phil approaches in his usual way, sidling off at first as if hewere going anywhere else and then bearing down upon his commanderlike a bayonet-charge. Certain splashes of white show in highrelief upon his dirty face, and he scrapes his one eyebrow with thehandle of the brush."Attention, Phil! Listen to this.""Steady, commander, steady.""'Sir. Allow me to remind you (though there is no legal necessityfor my doing so, as you are aware) that the bill at two months'date drawn on yourself by Mr. Matthew Bagnet, and by you accepted,for the sum of ninety-seven pounds four shillings and ninepence,will become due to-morrow, when you will please be prepared to takeup the same on presentation. Yours, Joshua Smallweed.' What doyou make of that, Phil?""Mischief, guv'ner.""Why?""I think," replies Phil after pensively tracing out a cross-wrinklein his forehead with the brush-handle, "that mischeeviousconsequences is always meant when money's asked for.""Lookye, Phil," says the trooper, sitting on the table. "First andlast, I have paid, I may say, half as much again as this principalin interest and one thing and another."Phil intimates by sidling back a pace or two, with a veryunaccountable wrench of his wry face, that he does not regard thetransaction as being made more promising by this incident."And lookye further, Phil," says the trooper, staying his prematureconclusions with a wave of his hand. "There has always been anunderstanding that this bill was to be what they call renewed. Andit has been renewed no end of times. What do you say now?""I say that I think the times is come to a end at last.""You do? Humph! I am much of the same mind myself.""Joshua Smallweed is him that was brought here in a chair?""The same.""Guv'ner," says Phil with exceeding gravity, "he's a leech in hisdispositions, he's a screw and a wice in his actions, a snake inhis twistings, and a lobster in his claws."Having thus expressively uttered his sentiments, Mr. Squod, afterwaiting a little to ascertain if any further remark be expected ofhim, gets back by his usual series of movements to the target hehas in hand and vigorously signifies through his former musicalmedium that he must and he will return to that ideal young lady.George, having folded the letter, walks in that direction."There is a way, commander," says Phil, looking cunningly at him,"of settling this.""Paying the money, I suppose? I wish I could."Phil shakes his head. "No, guv'ner, no; not so bad as that. Thereis a way," says Phil with a highly artistic turn of his brush;"what I'm a-doing at present.""Whitewashing."Phil nods."A pretty way that would be! Do you know what would become of theBagnets in that case? Do you know they would be ruined to pay offmy old scores? You're a moral character," says the trooper, eyeinghim in his large way with no small indignation; "upon my life youare, Phil!"Phil, on one knee at the target, is in course of protestingearnestly, though not without many allegorical scoops of his brushand smoothings of the white surface round the rim with his thumb,that he had forgotten the Bagnet responsibility and would not somuch as injure a hair of the head of any member of that worthyfamily when steps are audible in the long passage without, and acheerful voice is heard to wonder whether George is at home. Phil,with a look at his master, hobbles up, saying, "Here's the guv'ner,Mrs. Bagnet! Here he is!" and the old girl herself, accompanied byMr. Bagnet, appears.The old girl never appears in walking trim, in any season of theyear, without a grey cloth cloak, coarse and much worn but veryclean, which is, undoubtedly, the identical garment rendered sointeresting to Mr. Bagnet by having made its way home to Europefrom another quarter of the globe in company with Mrs. Bagnet andan umbrella. The latter faithful appendage is also invariably apart of the old girl's presence out of doors. It is of no colourknown in this life and has a corrugated wooden crook for a handle,with a metallic object let into its prow, or beak, resembling alittle model of a fanlight over a street door or one of the ovalglasses out of a pair of spectacles, which ornamental object hasnot that tenacious capacity of sticking to its post that might bedesired in an article long associated with the British army. Theold girl's umbrella is of a flabby habit of waist and seems to bein need of stays--an appearance that is possibly referable to itshaving served through a series of years at home as a cupboard andon journeys as a carpet bag. She never puts it up, having thegreatest reliance on her well-proved cloak with its capacious hood,but generally uses the instrument as a wand with which to point outjoints of meat or bunches of greens in marketing or to arrest theattention of tradesmen by a friendly poke. Without her market-basket, which is a sort of wicker well with two flapping lids, shenever stirs abroad. Attended by these her trusty companions,therefore, her honest sunburnt face looking cheerily out of a roughstraw bonnet, Mrs. Bagnet now arrives, fresh-coloured and bright,in George's Shooting Gallery."Well, George, old fellow," says she, "and how do you do, thissunshiny morning?"Giving him a friendly shake of the hand, Mrs. Bagnet draws a longbreath after her walk and sits down to enjoy a rest. Having afaculty, matured on the tops of baggage-waggons and in other suchpositions, of resting easily anywhere, she perches on a roughbench, unties her bonnet-strings, pushes back her bonnet, crossesher arms, and looks perfectly comfortable.Mr. Bagnet in the meantime has shaken hands with his old comradeand with Phil, on whom Mrs. Bagnet likewise bestows a good-humourednod and smile."Now, George," said Mrs. Bagnet briskly, "here we are, Lignum andmyself"--she often speaks of her husband by this appellation, onaccount, as it is supposed, of Lignum Vitae having been his oldregimental nickname when they first became acquainted, incompliment to the extreme hardness and toughness of hisphysiognomy--"just looked in, we have, to make it all correct asusual about that security. Give him the new bill to sign, George,and he'll sign it like a man.""I was coming to you this morning," observes the trooperreluctantly."Yes, we thought you'd come to us this morning, but we turned outearly and left Woolwich, the best of boys, to mind his sisters andcame to you instead--as you see! For Lignum, he's tied so closenow, and gets so little exercise, that a walk does him good. Butwhat's the matter, George?" asks Mrs. Bagnet, stopping in hercheerful talk. "You don't look yourself.""I am not quite myself," returns the trooper; "I have been a littleput out, Mrs. Bagnet."Her bright quick eye catches the truth directly. "George!" holdingup her forefinger. "Don't tell me there's anything wrong aboutthat security of Lignum's! Don't do it, George, on account of thechildren!"The trooper looks at her with a troubled visage."George," says Mrs. Bagnet, using both her arms for emphasis andoccasionally bringing down her open hands upon her knees. "If youhave allowed anything wrong to come to that security of Lignum's,and if you have let him in for it, and if you have put us in dangerof being sold up--and I see sold up in your face, George, as plainas print--you have done a shameful action and have deceived uscruelly. I tell you, cruelly, George. There!"Mr. Bagnet, otherwise as immovable as a pump or a lamp-post, putshis large right hand on the top of his bald head as if to defend itfrom a shower-bath and looks with great uneasiness at Mrs. Bagnet."George," says that old girl, "I wonder at you! George, I amashamed of you! George, I couldn't have believed you would havedone it! I always knew you to be a rolling sone that gathered nomoss, but I never thought you would have taken away what littlemoss there was for Bagnet and the children to lie upon. You knowwhat a hard-working, steady-going chap he is. You know what Quebecand Malta and Woolwich are, and I never did think you would, orcould, have had the heart to serve us so. Oh, George!" Mrs.Bagnet gathers up her cloak to wipe her eyes on in a very genuinemanner, "How could you do it?"Mrs. Bagnet ceasing, Mr. Bagnet removes his hand from his head asif the shower-bath were over and looks disconsolately at Mr.George, who has turned quite white and looks distressfully at thegrey cloak and straw bonnet."Mat," says the trooper in a subdued voice, addressing him butstill looking at his wife, "I am sorry you take it so much toheart, because I do hope it's not so bad as that comes to. Icertainly have, this morning, received this letter"--which he readsaloud--"but I hope it may be set right yet. As to a rolling stone,why, what you say is true. I am a rolling stone, and I neverrolled in anybody's way, I fully believe, that I rolled the leastgood to. But it's impossible for an old vagabond comrade to likeyour wife and family better than I like 'em, Mat, and I trustyou'll look upon me as forgivingly as you can. Don't think I'vekept anything from you. I haven't had the letter more than aquarter of an hour.""Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet after a short silence, "will youtell him my opinion?""Oh! Why didn't he marry," Mrs. Bagnet answers, half laughing andhalf crying, "Joe Pouch's widder in North America? Then hewouldn't have got himself into these troubles.""The old girl," says Mr. Baguet, "puts it correct--why didn't you?""Well, she has a better husband by this time, I hope," returns thetrooper. "Anyhow, here I stand, this present day, not married toJoe Pouch's widder. What shall I do? You see all I have got aboutme. It's not mine; it's yours. Give the word, and I'll sell offevery morsel. If I could have hoped it would have brought innearly the sum wanted, I'd have sold all long ago. Don't believethat I'll leave you or yours in the lurch, Mat. I'd sell myselffirst. I only wish," says the trooper, giving himself adisparaging blow in the chest, "that I knew of any one who'd buysuch a second-hand piece of old stores.""Old girl," murmurs Mr. Bagnet, "give him another bit of my mind.""George," says the old girl, "you are not so much to be blamed, onfull consideration, except for ever taking this business withoutthe means.""And that was like me!" observes the penitent trooper, shaking hishead. "Like me, I know.""Silence! The old girl," says Mr. Bagnet, "is correct--in her wayof giving my opinions--hear me out!""That was when you never ought to have asked for the security,George, and when you never ought to have got it, all thingsconsidered. But what's done can't be undone. You are always anhonourable and straightforward fellow, as far as lays in yourpower, though a little flighty. On the other hand, you can't admitbut what it's natural in us to be anxious with such a thing hangingover our heads. So forget and forgive all round, George. Come!Forget and forgive all round!"Mrs. Bagnet, giving him one of her honest hands and giving herhusband the other, Mr. George gives each of them one of his andholds them while he speaks."I do assure you both, there's nothing I wouldn't do to dischargethis obligation. But whatever I have been able to scrape togetherhas gone every two months in keeping it up. We have lived plainlyenough here, Phil and I. But the gallery don't quite do what wasexpected of it, and it's not--in short, it's not the mint. It waswrong in me to take it? Well, so it was. But I was in a mannerdrawn into that step, and I thought it might steady me, and set meup, and you'll try to overlook my having such expectations, andupon my soul, I am very much obliged to you, and very much ashamedof myself." With these concluding words, Mr. George gives a shaketo each of the hands he holds, and relinquishing them, backs a paceor two in a broad-chested, upright attitude, as if he had made afinal confession and were immediately going to be shot with allmilitary honours."George, hear me out!" says Mr. Bagnet, glancing at his wife. "Oldgirl, go on!"Mr. Bagnet, being in this singular manner heard out, has merely toobserve that the letter must be attended to without any delay, thatit is advisable that George and he should immediately wait on Mr.Smallweed in person, and that the primary object is to save andhold harmless Mr. Bagnet, who had none of the money. Mr. George,entirely assenting, puts on his hat and prepares to march with Mr.Bagnet to the enemy's camp."Don't you mind a woman's hasty word, George," says Mrs. Bagnet,patting him on the shoulder. "I trust my old Lignum to you, and Iam sure you'll bring him through it."The trooper returns that this is kindly said and that he will bringLignum through it somehow. Upon which Mrs. Bagnet, with her cloak,basket, and umbrella, goes home, bright-eyed again, to the rest ofher family, and the comrades sally forth on the hopeful errand ofmollifying Mr. Smallweed.Whether there are two people in England less likely to comesatisfactorily out of any negotiation with Mr. Smallweed than Mr.George and Mr. Matthew Bagnet may be very reasonably questioned.Also, notwithstanding their martial appearance, broad squareshoulders, and heavy tread, whether there are within the samelimits two more simple and unaccustomed children in all theSmallweedy affairs of life. As they proceed with great gravitythrough the streets towards the region of Mount Pleasant, Mr.Bagnet, observing his companion to be thoughtful, considers it afriendly part to refer to Mrs. Bagnet's late sally."George, you know the old girl--she's as sweet and as mild as milk.But touch her on the children--or myself--and she's off likegunpowder.""It does her credit, Mat!""George," says Mr. Bagnet, looking straight before him, "the oldgirl--can't do anything--that don't do her credit. More or less.I never say so. Discipline must he maintained.""She's worth her weight in gold," says the trooper."In gold?" says Mr. Bagnet. "I'll tell you what. The old girl'sweight--is twelve stone six. Would I take that weight--in anymetal--for the old girl? No. Why not? Because the old girl'smetal is far more precious---than the preciousest metal. And she'sall metal!""You are right, Mat!""When she took me--and accepted of the ring--she 'listed under meand the children--heart and head, for life. She's that earnest,"says Mr. Bagnet, "and true to her colours--that, touch us with afinger--and she turns out--and stands to her arms. If the old girlfires wide--once in a way--at the call of duty--look over it,George. For she's loyal!""Why, bless her, Mat," returns the trooper, "I think the higher ofher for it!""You are right!" says Mr. Bagnet with the warmest enthusiasm,though without relaxing the rigidity of a single muscle. "Think ashigh of the old girl--as the rock of Gibraltar--and still you'll bethinking low--of such merits. But I never own to it before her.Discipline must be maintained."These encomiums bring them to Mount Pleasant and to GrandfatherSmallweed's house. The door is opened by the perennial Judy, who,having surveyed them from top to toe with no particular favour, butindeed with a malignant sneer, leaves them standing there while sheconsults the oracle as to their admission. The oracle may beinferred to give consent from the circumstance of her returningwith the words on her honey lips that they can come in if they wantto it. Thus privileged, they come in and find Mr. Smallweed withhis feet in the drawer of his chair as if it were a paper foot-bathand Mrs. Smallweed obscured with the cushion like a bird that isnot to sing."My dear friend," says Grandfather Smallweed with those two leanaffectionate arms of his stretched forth. "How de do? How de do?Who is our friend, my dear friend?""Why this," returns George, not able to be very conciliatory atfirst, "is Matthew Bagnet, who has obliged me in that matter ofours, you know.""Oh! Mr. Bagnet? Surely!" The old man looks at him under hishand."Hope you're well, Mr. Bagnet? Fine man, Mr. George! Militaryair, sir!"No chairs being offered, Mr. George brings one forward for Bagnetand one for himself. They sit down, Mr. Bagnet as if he had nopower of bending himself, except at the hips, for that purpose."Judy," says Mr. Smallweed, "bring the pipe.""Why, I don't know," Mr. George interposes, "that the young womanneed give herself that trouble, for to tell you the truth, I am notinclined to smoke it to-day.""Ain't you?" returns the old man. "Judy, bring the pipe.""The fact is, Mr. Smallweed," proceeds George, "that I find myselfin rather an unpleasant state of mind. It appears to me, sir, thatyour friend in the city has been playing tricks.""Oh, dear no!" says Grandfather Smallweed. "He never does that!""Don't he? Well, I am glad to hear it, because I thought it mightbe his doing. This, you know, I am speaking of. This letter."Grandfather Smallweed smiles in a very ugly way in recognition ofthe letter."What does it mean?" asks Mr. George."Judy," says the old man. "Have you got the pipe? Give it to me.Did you say what does it mean, my good friend?""Aye! Now, come, come, you know, Mr. Smallweed," urges thetrooper, constraining himself to speak as smoothly andconfidentially as he can, holding the open letter in one hand andresting the broad knuckles of the other on his thigh, "a good lotof money has passed between us, and we are face to face at thepresent moment, and are both well aware of the understanding therehas always been. I am prepared to do the usual thing which I havedone regularly and to keep this matter going. I never got a letterlike this from you before, and I have been a little put about by itthis morning, because here's my friend Matthew Bagnet, who, youknow, had none of the money--""I don't know it, you know," says the old man quietly."Why, con-found you--it, I mean--I tell you so, don't I?""Oh, yes, you tell me so," returns Grandfather Smallweed. "But Idon't know it.""Well!" says the trooper, swallowing his fire. "I know it."Mr. Smallweed replies with excellent temper, "Ah! That's quiteanother thing!" And adds, "But it don't matter. Mr. Bagnet'ssituation is all one, whether or no."The unfortunate George makes a great effort to arrange the affaircomfortably and to propitiate Mr. Smallweed by taking him upon hisown terms."That's just what I mean. As you say, Mr. Smallweed, here'sMatthew Bagnet liable to be fixed whether or no. Now, you see,that makes his good lady very uneasy in her mind, and me too, forwhereas I'm a harurn-scarum sort of a good-for-nought that morekicks than halfpence come natural to, why he's a steady family man,don't you see? Now, Mr. Smallweed," says the trooper, gainingconfidence as he proceeds in his soldierly mode of doing business,"although you and I are good friends enough in a certain sort of away, I am well aware that I can't ask you to let my friend Bagnetoff entirely.""Oh, dear, you are too modest. You can ask me anything, Mr.George." (There is an ogreish kind of jocularity in GrandfatherSmallweed to-day.)"And you can refuse, you mean, eh? Or not you so much, perhaps, asyour friend in the city? Ha ha ha!""Ha ha ha!" echoes Grandfather Smallweed. In such a very hardmanner and with eyes so particularly green that Mr. Bagnet'snatural gravity is much deepened by the contemplation of thatvenerable man."Come!" says the sanguine George. "I am glad to find we can bepleasant, because I want to arrange this pleasantly. Here's myfriend Bagnet, and here am I. We'll settle the matter on the spot,if you please, Mr. Smallweed, in the usual way. And you'll ease myfriend Bagnet's mind, and his family's mind, a good deal if you'lljust mention to him what our understanding is."Here some shrill spectre cries out in a mocking manner, "Oh, goodgracious! Oh!" Unless, indeed, it be the sportive Judy, who isfound to be silent when the startled visitors look round, but whosechin has received a recent toss, expressive of derision andcontempt. Mr. Bagnet's gravity becomes yet more profound."But I think you asked me, Mr. George"--old Smallweed, who all thistime has had the pipe in his hand, is the speaker now--"I think youasked me, what did the letter mean?""Why, yes, I did," returns the trooper in his off-hand way, "but Idon't care to know particularly, if it's all correct and pleasant."Mr. Smallweed, purposely balking himself in an aim at the trooper'shead, throws the pipe on the ground and breaks it to pieces."That's what it means, my dear friend. I'll smash you. I'llcrumble you. I'll powder you. Go to the devil!"The two friends rise and look at one another. Mr. Bagnet's gravityhas now attained its profoundest point."Go to the devil!" repeats the old man. "I'll have no more of yourpipe-smokings and swaggerings. What? You're an independentdragoon, too! Go to my lawyer (you remember where; you have beenthere before) and show your independeuce now, will you? Come, mydear friend, there's a chance for you. Open the street door, Judy;put these blusterers out! Call in help if they don't go. Put 'emout!"He vociferates this so loudly that Mr. Bagnet, laying his hands onthe shoulders of his comrade before the latter can recover from hisamazement, gets him on the outside of the street door, which isinstantly slammed by the triumphant Judy. Utterly confounded, Mr.George awhile stands looking at the knocker. Mr. Bagnet, in aperfect abyss of gravity, walks up and down before the littleparlour window like a sentry and looks in every time he passes,apparently revolving something in his mind."Come, Mat," says Mr. George when he has recovered himself, "wemust try the lawyer. Now, what do you think of this rascal?"Mr. Bagnet, stopping to take a farewell look into the parlour,replies with one shake of his head directed at the interior, "If myold girl had been here--I'd have told him!" Having so dischargedhimself of the subject of his cogitations, he falls into step andmarches off with the trooper, shoulder to shoulder.When they present themselves in Lincoln's Inn Fields, Mr.Tulkinghorn is engaged and not to be seen. He is not at allwilling to see them, for when they have waited a full hour, and theclerk, on his bell being rung, takes the opportunity of mentioningas much, he brings forth no more encouraging message than that Mr.Tulkinghorn has nothing to say to them and they had better notwait. They do wait, however, with the perseverance of militarytactics, and at last the bell rings again and the client inpossession comes out of Mr. Tulkinghorn's room.The client is a handsome old lady, no other than Mrs. Rouncewell,housekeeper at Chesney Wold. She comes out of the sanctuary with afair old-fashioned curtsy and softly shuts the door. She istreated with some distinction there, for the clerk steps out of hispew to show her through the outer office and to let her out. Theold lady is thanking him for his attention when she observes thecomrades in waiting."I beg your pardon, sir, but I think those gentlemen are military?"The clerk referring the question to them with his eye, and Mr.George not turning round from the almanac over the fire-place. Mr.Bagnet takes upon himself to reply, "Yes, ma'am. Formerly.""I thought so. I was sure of it. My heart warms, gentlemen, atthe sight of you. It always does at the sight of such. God blessyou, gentlemen! You'll excuse an old woman, but I had a son oncewho went for a soldier. A fine handsome youth he was, and good inhis bold way, though some people did disparage him to his poormother. I ask your pardon for troubling you, sir. God bless you,gentlemen!""Same to you, ma'am!" returns Mr. Bagnet with right good will.There is something very touching in the earnestness of the oldlady's voice and in the tremble that goes through her quaint oldfigure. But Mr. George is so occupied with the almanac over thefireplace (calculating the coming months by it perhaps) that hedoes not look round until she has gone away and the door is closedupon her."George," Mr. Bagnet gruffly whispers when he does turn from thealmanac at last. "Don't be cast down! 'Why, soldiers, why--shouldwe be melancholy, boys?' Cheer up, my hearty!"The clerk having now again gone in to say that they are still thereand Mr. Tulkinghorn being heard to return with some irascibility,"Let 'em come in then!" they pass into the great room with thepainted ceiling and find him standing before the fire."Now, you men, what do you want? Sergeant, I told you the lasttime I saw you that I don't desire your company here."Sergeant replies--dashed within the last few minutes as to hisusual manner of speech, and even as to his usual carriage--that hehas received this letter, has been to Mr. Smallweed about it, andhas been referred there."I have nothing to say to you," rejoins Mr. Tulkinghorn. "If youget into debt, you must pay your debts or take the consequences.You have no occasion to come here to learn that, I suppose?"Sergeant is sorry to say that he is not prepared with the money."Very well! Then the other man--this man, if this is he--must payit for you."Sergeant is sorry to add that the other man is not prepared withthe money either."Very well! Then you must pay it between you or you must both besued for it and both suffer. You have had the money and mustrefund it. You are not to pocket other people's pounds, shillings,and pence and escape scot-free."The lawyer sits down in his easy-chair and stirs the fire. Mr.George hopes he will have the goodness to--"I tell you, sergeant, I have nothing to say to you. I don't likeyour associates and don't want you here. This matter is not at allin my course of practice and is not in my office. Mr. Smallweed isgood enough to offer these affairs to me, but they are not in myway. You must go to Melchisedech's in Clifford's Inn.""I must make an apology to you, sir," says Mr. George, "forpressing myself upon you with so little encouragement--which isalmost as unpleasant to me as it can be to you--but would you letme say a private word to you?"Mr. Tulkinghorn rises with his hands in his pockets and walks intoone of the window recesses. "Now! I have no time to waste." Inthe midst of his perfect assumption of indifference, he directs asharp look at the trooper, taking care to stand with his own backto the light and to have the other with his face towards it."Well, sir," says Mr. George, "this man with me is the other partyimplicated in this unfortunate affair--nominally, only nominally--and my sole object is to prevent his getting into trouble on myaccount. He is a most respectable man with a wife and family,formerly in the Royal Artillery--""My friend, I don't care a pinch of snuff for the whole RoyalArtillery establishment--officers, men, tumbrils, waggons, horses,guns, and ammunition.""'Tis likely, sir. But I care a good deal for Bagnet and his wifeand family being injured on my account. And if I could bring themthrough this matter, I should have no help for it but to give upwithout any other consideration what you wanted of me the otherday.""Have you got it here?""I have got it here, sir.""Sergeant," the lawyer proceeds in his dry passionless manner, farmore hopeless in the dealing with than any amount of vehemence,"make up your mind while I speak to you, for this is final. AfterI have finished speaking I have closed the subject, and I won't re-open it. Understand that. You can leave here, for a few days,what you say you have brought here if you choose; you can take itaway at once if you choose. In case you choose to leave it here, Ican do this for you--I can replace this matter on its old footing,and I can go so far besides as to give you a written undertakingthat this man Bagnet shall never be troubled in any way until youhave been proceeded against to the utmost, that your means shall beexhausted before the creditor looks to his. This is in fact allbut freeing him. Have you decided?"The trooper puts his hand into his breast and answers with a longbreath, "I must do it, sir."So Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting on his spectacles, sits down and writesthe undertaking, which he slowly reads and explains to Bagnet, whohas all this time been staring at the ceiling and who puts his handon his bald head again, under this new verbal shower-bath, andseems exceedingly in need of the old girl through whom to expresshis sentiments. The trooper then takes from his breast-pocket afolded paper, which he lays with an unwilling hand at the lawyer'selbow. "'Tis ouly a letter of instructions, sir. The last I everhad from him."Look at a millstone, Mr. George, for some change in its expression,and you will find it quite as soon as in the face of Mr.Tulkinghorn when he opens and reads the letter! He refolds it andlays it in his desk with a countenance as unperturbable as death.Nor has he anything more to say or do but to nod once in the samefrigid and discourteous manner and to say briefly, "You can go.Show these men out, there!" Being shown out, they repair to Mr.Bagnet's residence to dine.Boiled beef and greens constitute the day's variety on the formerrepast of boiled pork and greens, and Mrs. Bagnet serves out themeal in the same way and seasons it with the best of temper, beingthat rare sort of old girl that she receives Good to her armswithout a hint that it might be Better and catches light from anylittle spot of darkness near her. The spot on this occasion is thedarkened brow of Mr. George; he is unusually thoughtful anddepressed. At first Mrs. Bagnet trusts to the combined endearmentsof Quebec and Malta to restore him, but finding those young ladiessensible that their existing Bluffy is not the Bluffy of theirusual frolicsome acquaintance, she winks off the light infantry andleaves him to deploy at leisure on the open ground of the domestichearth.But he does not. He remains in close order, clouded and depressed.During the lengthy cleaning up and pattening process, when he andMr. Bagnet are supplied with their pipes, he is no better than hewas at dinner. He forgets to smoke, looks at the fire and ponders,lets his pipe out, fills the breast of Mr. Bagnet with perturbationand dismay by showing that he has no enjoyment of tobacco.Therefore when Mrs. Bagnet at last appears, rosy from theinvigorating pail, and sits down to her work, Mr. Bagnet growls,"Old girl!" and winks monitions to her to find out what's thematter."Why, George!" says Mrs. Bagnet, quietly threading her needle."How low you are!""Am I? Not good company? Well, I am afraid I am not.""He ain't at all like Blulfy, mother!" cries little Malta."Because he ain't well, I think, mother," adds Quebec."Sure that's a bad sign not to be like Bluffy, too!" returns thetrooper, kissing the young damsels. "But it's true," with a sigh,"true, I am afraid. These little ones are always right!""George," says Mrs. Bagnet, working busily, "if I thought you crossenough to think of anything that a shrill old soldier's wife--whocould have bitten her tongue off afterwards and ought to have doneit almost--said this morning, I don't know what I shouldn't say toyou now.""My kind soul of a darling," returns the trooper. "Not a morsel ofit.""Because really and truly, George, what I said and meant to say wasthat I trusted Lignum to you and was sure you'd bring him throughit. And you have brought him through it, noble!""Thankee, my dear!" says George. "I am glad of your good opinion."In giving Mrs. Bagnet's hand, with her work in it, a friendlyshake--for she took her seat beside him--the trooper's attention isattracted to her face. After looking at it for a little while asshe plies her needle, he looks to young Woolwich, sitting on hisstool in the corner, and beckons that fifer to him."See there, my boy," says George, very gently smoothing themother's hair with his hand, "there's a good loving forehead foryou! All bright with love of you, my boy. A little touched by thesun and the weather through following your father about and takingcare of you, but as fresh and wholesome as a ripe apple on a tree."Mr. Bagnet's face expresses, so far as in its wooden material lies,the highest approbation and acquiescence."The time will come, my boy," pursues the trooper, "when this hairof your mother's will be grey, and this forehead all crossed andre-crossed with wrinkles, and a fine old lady she'll be then. Takecare, while you are young, that you can think in those days, 'Inever whitened a hair of her dear head--I never marked a sorrowfulline in her face!' For of all the many things that you can thinkof when you are a man, you had better have that by you, Woolwich!"Mr. George concludes by rising from his chair, seating the boybeside his mother in it, and saying, with something of a hurryabout him, that he'll smoke his pipe in the street a bit.