the prospect shone defined and clear, free from
the bloom of the drowsy summer weather, which had rested on it as the
bloom lies on the plum. So, from the seashore the ocean was no longer to
be seen lying asleep in the heat, but its thousand sparkling eyes were
open, and its whole breadth was in joyful animation, from the cool sand
on the beach to the little sails on the horizon, drifting away like
autumn-tinted leaves that had drifted from the trees. Changeless and
barren, looking ignorantly at all the seasons with its fixed, pinched
face of poverty and care, the prison had not a touch of any of these
beauties on it. Blossom what would, its bricks and bars bore uniformly
the same dead crop. Yet Clennam, listening to the voice as it read to
him, heard in it all that great Nature was doing, heard in it all the
soothing songs she sings to man. At no Mother's knee but hers had he
ever dwelt in his youth on hopeful promises, on playful fancies, on
the harvests of tenderness and humility that lie hidden in the
early-fostered seeds of the imagination; on the oaks of retreat from
blighting winds, that have the germs of their strong roots in nursery
acorns.

But, in the tones of the voice that read to him, there were memories of
an old feeling of such things, and echoes of every merciful and loving
whisper that had ever stolen to him in his life.

When the voice stopped, he put his hand over his eyes, murmuring that
the light was strong upon them.

Little Dorrit put the book by, and presently arose quietly to shade
the window. Maggy sat at her needlework in her old place. The light
softened, Little Dorrit brought her chair closer to his side.

'This will soon be over now, dear Mr Clennam. Not only are Mr Doyce's
letters to you so full of friendship and encouragement, but Mr Rugg says
his letters to him are so full of help, and that everybody (now a little
anger is past) is so considerate, and speaks so well of you, that it
will soon be over now.'

'Dear girl. Dear heart. Good angel!'

'You praise me far too much. And yet it is such an exquisite pleasure
to me to hear you speak so feelingly, and to--and to see,' said Little
Dorrit, raising her eyes to his, 'how deeply you mean it, that I cannot
say Don't.'

He lifted her hand to his lips.

'You have been here many, many times, when I have not seen you, Little
Dorrit?'

'Yes, I have been here sometimes when I have not come into the room.'

'Very often?'

'Rather