omely clothed in his fur and
broadcloths, rich, free, numerously served and attended, his eyes roving
far away among the glories of the landscape, no miserable screen before
them to darken his sight and cast its shadow on him, was enough.

Her uncle was so far rescued from that shadow of old, that he wore the
clothes they gave him, and performed some ablutions as a sacrifice to
the family credit, and went where he was taken, with a certain patient
animal enjoyment, which seemed to express that the air and change did
him good. In all other respects, save one, he shone with no light but
such as was reflected from his brother. His brother's greatness, wealth,
freedom, and grandeur, pleased him without any reference to himself.
Silent and retiring, he had no use for speech when he could hear his
brother speak; no desire to be waited on, so that the servants devoted
themselves to his brother. The only noticeable change he originated in
himself, was an alteration in his manner to his younger niece. Every day
it refined more and more into a marked respect, very rarely shown by age
to youth, and still more rarely susceptible, one would have said, of the
fitness with which he invested it. On those occasions when Miss Fanny
did declare once for all, he would take the next opportunity of baring
his grey head before his younger niece, and of helping her to alight,
or handing her to the carriage, or showing her any other attention, with
the profoundest deference. Yet it never appeared misplaced or forced,
being always heartily simple, spontaneous, and genuine. Neither would he
ever consent, even at his brother's request, to be helped to any place
before her, or to take precedence of her in anything. So jealous was he
of her being respected, that, on this very journey down from the Great
Saint Bernard, he took sudden and violent umbrage at the footman's being
remiss to hold her stirrup, though standing near when she dismounted;
and unspeakably astonished the whole retinue by charging at him on a
hard-headed mule, riding him into a corner, and threatening to trample
him to death.

They were a goodly company, and the Innkeepers all but worshipped them.
Wherever they went, their importance preceded them in the person of the
courier riding before, to see that the rooms of state were ready. He was
the herald of the family procession. The great travelling-carriage came
next: containing, inside, Mr Dorrit, Miss Dorrit, Miss Amy Dorrit,
and