during the last
half-hour. It was solely the effect of his internal emotions. There was
a glory and delight within the Captain that spread itself over his whole
visage, and made a perfect illumination there.

The pride with which the Captain looked upon the bronzed cheek and the
courageous eyes of his recovered boy; with which he saw the generous
fervour of his youth, and all its frank and hopeful qualities, shining
once more, in the fresh, wholesome manner, and the ardent face, would
have kindled something of this light in his countenance. The admiration
and sympathy with which he turned his eyes on Florence, whose beauty,
grace, and innocence could have won no truer or more zealous champion
than himself, would have had an equal influence upon him. But the
fulness of the glow he shed around him could only have been engendered
in his contemplation of the two together, and in all the fancies
springing out of that association, that came sparkling and beaming into
his head, and danced about it.

How they talked of poor old Uncle Sol, and dwelt on every little
circumstance relating to his disappearance; how their joy was moderated
by the old man's absence and by the misfortunes of Florence; how they
released Diogenes, whom the Captain had decoyed upstairs some time
before, lest he should bark again; the Captain, though he was in one
continual flutter, and made many more short plunges into the shop, fully
comprehended. But he no more dreamed that Walter looked on Florence, as
it were, from a new and far-off place; that while his eyes often sought
the lovely face, they seldom met its open glance of sisterly affection,
but withdrew themselves when hers were raised towards him; than he
believed that it was Walter's ghost who sat beside him. He saw them
together in their youth and beauty, and he knew the story of their
younger days, and he had no inch of room beneath his great blue
waistcoat for anything save admiration of such a pair, and gratitude for
their being reunited.

They sat thus, until it grew late. The Captain would have been content
to sit so for a week. But Walter rose, to take leave for the night.

'Going, Walter!' said Florence. 'Where?'

'He slings his hammock for the present, lady lass,' said Captain Cuttle,
'round at Brogley's. Within hail, Heart's Delight.'

'I am the cause of your going away, Walter,' said Florence. 'There is a
houseless sister in your place.'

'Dear Miss Dombey,' replied Walter, he