the way,
unmolested.'

With this, she bounced across to the opposite pavement. The old
disgrace, who had been deferentially bowing a pace or two off (for
Little Dorrit had let his arm go in her wonder, when Fanny began), and
who had been hustled and cursed by impatient passengers for stopping the
way, rejoined his companion, rather giddy, and said, 'I hope nothing's
wrong with your honoured father, Miss? I hope there's nothing the matter
in the honoured family?'

'No, no,' returned Little Dorrit. 'No, thank you. Give me your arm
again, Mr Nandy. We shall soon be there now.'

So she talked to him as she had talked before, and they came to the
Lodge and found Mr Chivery on the lock, and went in. Now, it happened
that the Father of the Marshalsea was sauntering towards the Lodge at
the moment when they were coming out of it, entering the prison arm in
arm. As the spectacle of their approach met his view, he displayed the
utmost agitation and despondency of mind; and--altogether regardless of
Old Nandy, who, making his reverence, stood with his hat in his hand, as
he always did in that gracious presence--turned about, and hurried in at
his own doorway and up the staircase.

Leaving the old unfortunate, whom in an evil hour she had taken under
her protection, with a hurried promise to return to him directly, Little
Dorrit hastened after her father, and, on the staircase, found Fanny
following her, and flouncing up with offended dignity. The three came
into the room almost together; and the Father sat down in his chair,
buried his face in his hands, and uttered a groan.

'Of course,' said Fanny. 'Very proper. Poor, afflicted Pa! Now, I hope
you believe me, Miss?'

'What is it, father?' cried Little Dorrit, bending over him. 'Have I
made you unhappy, father? Not I, I hope!'

'You hope, indeed! I dare say! Oh, you'--Fanny paused for a sufficiently
strong expression--'you Common-minded little Amy! You complete
prison-child!'

He stopped these angry reproaches with a wave of his hand, and sobbed
out, raising his face and shaking his melancholy head at his younger
daughter, 'Amy, I know that you are innocent in intention. But you
have cut me to the soul.' 'Innocent in intention!' the implacable Fanny
struck in. 'Stuff in intention! Low in intention! Lowering of the family
in intention!'

'Father!' cried Little Dorrit, pale and trembling. 'I am very sorry.
Pray forgive me. Tell me how it is, that I may not do it again!