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Florence Dombey
by
“Was spared,” repeated Florence, “and–“
“And come home in that ship,” said the captain, still looking in the same direction, “and–don’t be frightened, Pretty!–and landed; and one morning come cautiously to his own door to take a observation, knowing that his friends would think him drowned, when he sheered off at the unexpected–“
“At the unexpected barking of a dog?” cried Florence quickly.
“Yes!” roared the captain. “Steady, darling! courage! Don’t look round yet. See there! upon the wall!”
There was the shadow of a man upon the wall close to her. She started up, looked round, and, with a piercing cry, saw Walter Gay behind her!
She had no thought of him but as a brother, a brother rescued from the grave; a shipwrecked brother, saved, and at her side,–and rushed into his arms. In all the world he seemed to be her hope, her comfort, refuge, natural protector. In his home-coming,–her champion and knight-errant from childhood’s early days,–there came to Florence a compensation for all that she had suffered.
On that night within the little Shop a light arose for her that never ceased to shed its brilliance on her path. Young, strong, and powerful, Walter Gay in his chivalrous reverence and love for her, would henceforth protect her life from sadness.
Except from that one great sorrow that he could not lift;–she was estranged from her father’s love and care;–but in sweet submission she bent her shoulders to the burden of that loss, and accepted the new joy of Walter’s return with a lightened heart.
Years later, when Mr. Dombey by a turn of fortune’s wheel, was left alone in his dreary mansion, broken in mind and body, bereft of all his wealth; deserted alike by friends and servants;–it was Florence, the neglected, spurned, exiled daughter, who came like a good household angel and clung to him, caressing him, forgetting all but love, and love that outlasts injuries.
As she clung close to him, he kissed her on the lips and lifting up his eyes, said, “Oh, my God, forgive me, for I need it very much!”
With that he dropped his head again, lamenting over her and caressing her, and there was not a sound in all the house for a long, long, time; they remaining clasped in one another’s arms, in the glorious sunshine that had crept in with Florence. And so we leave them–Father and Daughter–united at last in an undying affection.