turned. It was a toilsome journey up-stairs to his room, and
he re-entered its dark solitary precincts in unutterable misery.

When it was almost midnight, and the prison had long been quiet, a
cautious creak came up the stairs, and a cautious tap of a key was given
at his door. It was Young John. He glided in, in his stockings, and held
the door closed, while he spoke in a whisper.

'It's against all rules, but I don't mind. I was determined to come
through, and come to you.'

'What is the matter?'

'Nothing's the matter, sir. I was waiting in the court-yard for Miss
Dorrit when she came out. I thought you'd like some one to see that she
was safe.'

'Thank you, thank you! You took her home, John?'

'I saw her to her hotel. The same that Mr Dorrit was at. Miss Dorrit
walked all the way, and talked to me so kind, it quite knocked me over.
Why do you think she walked instead of riding?'

'I don't know, John.'

'To talk about you. She said to me, "John, you was always honourable,
and if you'll promise me that you will take care of him, and never let
him want for help and comfort when I am not there, my mind will be at
rest so far." I promised her. And I'll stand by you,' said John Chivery,
'for ever!'

Clennam, much affected, stretched out his hand to this honest spirit.

'Before I take it,' said John, looking at it, without coming from the
door, 'guess what message Miss Dorrit gave me.'

Clennam shook his head.

'"Tell him,"' repeated John, in a distinct, though quavering voice,
'"that his Little Dorrit sent him her undying love." Now it's delivered.
Have I been honourable, sir?'

'Very, very!'

'Will you tell Miss Dorrit I've been honourable, sir?'

'I will indeed.'

'There's my hand, sir,' said john, 'and I'll stand by you forever!'

After a hearty squeeze, he disappeared with the same cautious creak upon
the stair, crept shoeless over the pavement of the yard, and, locking
the gates behind him, passed out into the front where he had left his
shoes. If the same way had been paved with burning ploughshares, it is
not at all improbable that John would have traversed it with the same
devotion, for the same purpose.

CHAPTER 30. Closing in

The last day of the appointed week touched the bars of the Marshalsea
gate. Black, all night, since the gate had clashed upon Little Dorrit,
its iron stripes were turned by the early-glowing sun into stripes of
gold. Far aslant across the city, over its j