one, watching the solemn
path of light upon the sea between them and the moon.

At length she cannot see it plainly, for the tears that fill her eyes;
and then she lays her head down on his breast, and puts her arms around
his neck, saying, 'Oh Walter, dearest love, I am so happy!'

Her husband holds her to his heart, and they are very quiet, and the
stately ship goes on serenely.

'As I hear the sea,' says Florence, 'and sit watching it, it brings so
many days into my mind. It makes me think so much--'

'Of Paul, my love. I know it does.'

Of Paul and Walter. And the voices in the waves are always whispering
to Florence, in their ceaseless murmuring, of love--of love, eternal and
illimitable, not bounded by the confines of this world, or by the end
of time, but ranging still, beyond the sea, beyond the sky, to the
invisible country far away!

CHAPTER 58. After a Lapse

The sea had ebbed and flowed, through a whole year. Through a whole
year, the winds and clouds had come and gone; the ceaseless work of Time
had been performed, in storm and sunshine. Through a whole year, the
tides of human chance and change had set in their allotted courses.
Through a whole year, the famous House of Dombey and Son had fought a
fight for life, against cross accidents, doubtful rumours, unsuccessful
ventures, unpropitious times, and most of all, against the infatuation
of its head, who would not contract its enterprises by a hair's breadth,
and would not listen to a word of warning that the ship he strained so
hard against the storm, was weak, and could not bear it. The year was
out, and the great House was down.

One summer afternoon; a year, wanting some odd days, after the marriage
in the City church; there was a buzz and whisper upon 'Change of a great
failure. A certain cold proud man, well known there, was not there, nor
was he represented there. Next day it was noised abroad that Dombey and
Son had stopped, and next night there was a List of Bankrupts published,
headed by that name.

The world was very busy now, in sooth, and had a deal to say. It was an
innocently credulous and a much ill-used world. It was a world in
which there was 'no other sort of bankruptcy whatever. There were
no conspicuous people in it, trading far and wide on rotten banks
of religion, patriotism, virtue, honour. There was no amount worth
mentioning of mere paper in circulation, on which anybody lived pretty
handsomely, promising to pay g