the wall, the shadow fell like
light upon him. She would not let him speak much, and he lay back in
his chair, looking at her. Now and again she would rise and give him
the glass that he might drink, or would smooth the resting-place of his
head; then she would gently resume her seat by him, and bend over her
work again.

The shadow moved with the sun, but she never moved from his side, except
to wait upon him. The sun went down and she was still there. She had
done her work now, and her hand, faltering on the arm of his chair since
its last tending of him, was hesitating there yet. He laid his hand upon
it, and it clasped him with a trembling supplication.

'Dear Mr Clennam, I must say something to you before I go. I have put it
off from hour to hour, but I must say it.'

'I too, dear Little Dorrit. I have put off what I must say.' She
nervously moved her hand towards his lips as if to stop him; then it
dropped, trembling, into its former place.

'I am not going abroad again. My brother is, but I am not. He was always
attached to me, and he is so grateful to me now--so much too grateful,
for it is only because I happened to be with him in his illness--that
he says I shall be free to stay where I like best, and to do what I like
best. He only wishes me to be happy, he says.'

There was one bright star shining in the sky. She looked up at it While
she spoke, as if it were the fervent purpose of her own heart shining
above her.

'You will understand, I dare say, without my telling you, that my
brother has come home to find my dear father's will, and to take
possession of his property. He says, if there is a will, he is sure I
shall be left rich; and if there is none, that he will make me so.'

He would have spoken; but she put up her trembling hand again, and he
stopped.

'I have no use for money, I have no wish for it. It would be of no value
at all to me but for your sake. I could not be rich, and you here. I
must always be much worse than poor, with you distressed. Will you let
me lend you all I have? Will you let me give it you? Will you let me
show you that I have never forgotten, that I never can forget, your
protection of me when this was my home? Dear Mr Clennam, make me of all
the world the happiest, by saying Yes. Make me as happy as I can be in
leaving you here, by saying nothing to-night, and letting me go
away with the hope that you will think of it kindly; and that for my
sake--not for yours, fo