n to take a bleared and russet colour in his eyes. Dombey
and Son was no more--his children no more. This must be thought of,
well, to-morrow.

He thought of it to-morrow; and sitting thinking in his chair, saw in
the glass, from time to time, this picture:

A spectral, haggard, wasted likeness of himself, brooded and brooded
over the empty fireplace. Now it lifted up its head, examining the lines
and hollows in its face; now hung it down again, and brooded afresh. Now
it rose and walked about; now passed into the next room, and came
back with something from the dressing-table in its breast. Now, it was
looking at the bottom of the door, and thinking.

Hush! what? It was thinking that if blood were to trickle that way, and
to leak out into the hall, it must be a long time going so far. It would
move so stealthily and slowly, creeping on, with here a lazy little
pool, and there a start, and then another little pool, that a
desperately wounded man could only be discovered through its means,
either dead or dying. When it had thought of this a long while, it got
up again, and walked to and fro with its hand in its breast. He glanced
at it occasionally, very curious to watch its motions, and he marked how
wicked and murderous that hand looked.

Now it was thinking again! What was it thinking?

Whether they would tread in the blood when it crept so far, and carry
it about the house among those many prints of feet, or even out into the
street.

It sat down, with its eyes upon the empty fireplace, and as it lost
itself in thought there shone into the room a gleam of light; a ray of
sun. It was quite unmindful, and sat thinking. Suddenly it rose, with
a terrible face, and that guilty hand grasping what was in its breast.
Then it was arrested by a cry--a wild, loud, piercing, loving, rapturous
cry--and he only saw his own reflection in the glass, and at his knees,
his daughter!

Yes. His daughter! Look at her! Look here! Down upon the ground,
clinging to him, calling to him, folding her hands, praying to him.

'Papa! Dearest Papa! Pardon me, forgive me! I have come back to ask
forgiveness on my knees. I never can be happy more, without it!'

Unchanged still. Of all the world, unchanged. Raising the same face to
his, as on that miserable night. Asking his forgiveness!

'Dear Papa, oh don't look strangely on me! I never meant to leave you. I
never thought of it, before or afterwards. I was frightened when I went
away, a