out, you'll fall dead in the street. Only promise me,
that, if it's the poor thing that's kept here secretly, you'll let me
take charge of her and be her nurse. Only promise me that, and never be
afraid of me.'

Mrs Clennam stood still for an instant, at the height of her rapid
haste, saying in stern amazement:

'Kept here? She has been dead a score of years or more. Ask
Flintwinch--ask HIM. They can both tell you that she died when Arthur
went abroad.'

'So much the worse,' said Affery, with a shiver, 'for she haunts the
house, then. Who else rustles about it, making signals by dropping
dust so softly? Who else comes and goes, and marks the walls with
long crooked touches when we are all a-bed? Who else holds the door
sometimes? But don't go out--don't go out! Mistress, you'll die in the
street!'

Her mistress only disengaged her dress from the beseeching hands, said
to Rigaud, 'Wait here till I come back!' and ran out of the room. They
saw her, from the window, run wildly through the court-yard and out at
the gateway.

For a few moments they stood motionless. Affery was the first to move,
and she, wringing her hands, pursued her mistress. Next, Jeremiah
Flintwinch, slowly backing to the door, with one hand in a pocket, and
the other rubbing his chin, twisted himself out in his reticent way,
speechlessly. Rigaud, left alone, composed himself upon the window-seat
of the open window, in the old Marseilles-jail attitude. He laid his
cigarettes and fire-box ready to his hand, and fell to smoking.

'Whoof! Almost as dull as the infernal old jail. Warmer, but almost as
dismal. Wait till she comes back? Yes, certainly; but where is she gone,
and how long will she be gone? No matter! Rigaud Lagnier Blandois, my
amiable subject, you will get your money. You will enrich yourself. You
have lived a gentleman; you will die a gentleman. You triumph, my little
boy; but it is your character to triumph. Whoof!' In the hour of his
triumph, his moustache went up and his nose came down, as he ogled a
great beam over his head with particular satisfaction.

CHAPTER 31. Closed

The sun had set, and the streets were dim in the dusty twilight, when
the figure so long unused to them hurried on its way. In the immediate
neighbourhood of the old house it attracted little attention, for there
were only a few straggling people to notice it; but, ascending from the
river by the crooked ways that led to London Bridge, and passing in