name. Carker.'

Florence, sensible of a strange inclination to shiver, though the day
was hot, presented him to her host and hostess; by whom he was very
graciously received.

'I beg pardon,' said Mr Carker, 'a thousand times! But I am going down
tomorrow morning to Mr Dombey, at Leamington, and if Miss Dombey can
entrust me with any commission, need I say how very happy I shall be?'

Sir Barnet immediately divining that Florence would desire to write a
letter to her father, proposed to return, and besought Mr Carker to come
home and dine in his riding gear. Mr Carker had the misfortune to be
engaged to dinner, but if Miss Dombey wished to write, nothing would
delight him more than to accompany them back, and to be her faithful
slave in waiting as long as she pleased. As he said this with his widest
smile, and bent down close to her to pat his horse's neck, Florence
meeting his eyes, saw, rather than heard him say, 'There is no news of
the ship!'

Confused, frightened, shrinking from him, and not even sure that he
had said those words, for he seemed to have shown them to her in some
extraordinary manner through his smile, instead of uttering them,
Florence faintly said that she was obliged to him, but she would not
write; she had nothing to say.

'Nothing to send, Miss Dombey?' said the man of teeth.

'Nothing,' said Florence, 'but my--but my dear love--if you please.'

Disturbed as Florence was, she raised her eyes to his face with
an imploring and expressive look, that plainly besought him, if he
knew--which he as plainly did--that any message between her and her
father was an uncommon charge, but that one most of all, to spare her.
Mr Carker smiled and bowed low, and being charged by Sir Barnet with the
best compliments of himself and Lady Skettles, took his leave, and rode
away: leaving a favourable impression on that worthy couple. Florence
was seized with such a shudder as he went, that Sir Barnet, adopting the
popular superstition, supposed somebody was passing over her grave. Mr
Carker turning a corner, on the instant, looked back, and bowed, and
disappeared, as if he rode off to the churchyard straight, to do it.

CHAPTER 25. Strange News of Uncle Sol

Captain Cuttle, though no sluggard, did not turn out so early on the
morning after he had seen Sol Gills, through the shop-window, writing in
the parlour, with the Midshipman upon the counter, and Rob the Grinder
making up his bed below it, but th