FullReads

In the wildness of her sorrow, shame, and terror, the forlorn girl hurried through the sunshine of a bright morning as if it were the darkness of a winter night. Wringing her hands and weeping bitterly, she fled without a thought, without a hope, without a purpose, but to fly somewhere–anywhere. Suddenly she thought of the only other time she had been lost in the wide wilderness of London–and went that way. To the home of Walter’s uncle.

Checking her sobs and endeavoring to calm the agitation of her manner, so as to avoid attracting notice, Florence was going more quietly when Diogenes, panting for breath, and making the street ring with his glad bark, was at her feet.

She bent down on the pavement, and laid his rough loving foolish head against her breast, and they went on together.

At length the little shop came into view. She ran in and found Captain Cuttle, in his glazed hat, standing over the fire, making his morning’s cocoa. Hearing a footstep and the rustle of a dress, the captain turned at the instant when Florence reeled and fell upon the floor.

The captain, pale as Florence, calling her by his childhood’s name for her, raised her like a baby, and laid her upon the same old sofa upon which she had slumbered long ago.

“It’s Heart’s Delight!” he exclaimed; “It’s the sweet creetur grow’d a woman!”

But Florence did not stir, and the captain moistened her lips and forehead, put back her hair, covered her feet with his own coat, patted her hand–so small in his, that he was struck with wonder when he touched it–and seeing that her eyelids quivered and that her lips began to move, continued these restorative applications with a better heart.

At last she opened her eyes, and spoke: “Captain Cuttle! Is it you? Is Walter’s uncle here?”

“Here, Pretty?” returned the captain. “He a’n’t been here this many a long day. He a’n’t been heer’d on since he sheered off arter poor Wal’r. But,” said the captain, as a quotation, “Though lost to sight, to memory dear, and England, home, and beauty!”

“Do you live here?” asked Florence.

“Yes, my Lady Lass,” returned the captain.

“Oh, Captain Cuttle!” cried Florence, “Save me! Keep me here! Let no one know where I am! I will tell you what has happened by and by, when I can. I have no one in the world to go to. Do not send me away!”

“Send you away, my Lady Lass!” exclaimed the captain; “you, my Heart’s Delight!–Stay a bit! We’ll put up this dead-light, and take a double turn on the key.”

With these words the captain got out the shutter of the door, put it up, made it all fast, and locked the door itself.

“And now,” said he, “You must take some breakfast, Lady Lass, and the dog shall have some too, and after that you shall go aloft to old Sol Gill’s room, and fall asleep there, like an angel.”

The room to which the captain presently carried Florence was very clean, and being an orderly man, and accustomed to make things ship-shape, he converted the bed into a couch by covering it with a clean white drapery. By a similar contrivance he converted the little dressing-table into a species of altar, on which he set forth two silver teaspoons, a flower-pot, a telescope, his celebrated watch, a pocket-comb and a song-book, as a small collection of rareties that made a choice appearance.

Having darkened the window, the captain walked on tiptoe out of the room, and from sheer exhaustion Florence soon fell asleep.

When she awoke the sun was getting low in the West, and after cooling her aching head and burning face in fresh water, she made ready to go downstairs again. What to do or where to live, she–poor, inexperienced girl!–could not yet consider. All was dim and clouded to her mind. She only knew that she had no father upon earth, and she said so many times, with her suppliant head hidden from all but her Father who was in Heaven. Then she tried to calm her thoughts and stay her tears, and went down to her kind protector.