o spoke
ill of you. But, brother, brother, brother, I protest against it!'

It was extraordinary to see of what a burst of earnestness such a
decrepit man was capable. His eyes became bright, his grey hair rose on
his head, markings of purpose on his brow and face which had faded from
them for five-and-twenty years, started out again, and there was an
energy in his hand that made its action nervous once more.

'My dear Frederick!' exclaimed Mr Dorrit faintly. 'What is wrong? What
is the matter?'

'How dare you,' said the old man, turning round on Fanny, 'how dare you
do it? Have you no memory? Have you no heart?'

'Uncle?' cried Fanny, affrighted and bursting into tears, 'why do you
attack me in this cruel manner? What have I done?'

'Done?' returned the old man, pointing to her sister's place, 'where's
your affectionate invaluable friend? Where's your devoted guardian?
Where's your more than mother? How dare you set up superiorities against
all these characters combined in your sister?

For shame, you false girl, for shame!' 'I love Amy,' cried Miss Fanny,
sobbing and weeping, 'as well as I love my life--better than I love my
life. I don't deserve to be so treated. I am as grateful to Amy, and as
fond of Amy, as it's possible for any human being to be. I wish I was
dead. I never was so wickedly wronged. And only because I am anxious for
the family credit.'

'To the winds with the family credit!' cried the old man, with great
scorn and indignation. 'Brother, I protest against pride. I protest
against ingratitude. I protest against any one of us here who have known
what we have known, and have seen what we have seen, setting up any
pretension that puts Amy at a moment's disadvantage, or to the cost of
a moment's pain. We may know that it's a base pretension by its having
that effect. It ought to bring a judgment on us. Brother, I protest
against it in the sight of God!'

As his hand went up above his head and came down on the table, it might
have been a blacksmith's. After a few moments' silence, it had relaxed
into its usual weak condition. He went round to his brother with his
ordinary shuffling step, put the hand on his shoulder, and said, in a
softened voice, 'William, my dear, I felt obliged to say it; forgive me,
for I felt obliged to say it!' and then went, in his bowed way, out of
the palace hall, just as he might have gone out of the Marshalsea room.

All this time Fanny had been sobbing and crying, an