“I’ll hazard no more conjectures,” said Walter, fervently shaking the hard hand of the Captain, who shook his with no less goodwill. “All I will add is, Heaven forbid that I should touch my Uncle’s possessions, Captain Cuttle! Everything that he left here, shall remain in the care of the truest of stewards and kindest of men—and if his name is not Cuttle, he has no name! Now, best of friends, about—Miss Dombey.”
There was a change in Walter’s manner, as he came to these two words; and when he uttered them, all his confidence and cheerfulness appeared to have deserted him.
“I thought, before Miss Dombey stopped me when I spoke of her father last night,” said Walter, “—you remember how?”
The Captain well remembered, and shook his head.
“I thought,” said Walter, “before that, that we had but one hard duty to perform, and that it was, to prevail upon her to communicate with her friends, and to return home.”
The Captain muttered a feeble “Awast!” or a “Stand by!” or something or other, equally pertinent to the occasion; but it was rendered so extremely feeble by the total discomfiture with which he received this announcement, that what it was, is mere matter of conjecture.
“But,” said Walter, “that is over. I think so, no longer. I would sooner be put back again upon that piece of wreck, on which I have so often floated, since my preservation, in my dreams, and there left to drift, and drive, and die!”
“Hooroar, my lad!” exclaimed the Captain, in a burst of uncontrollable satisfaction. “Hooroar! hooroar! hooroar!”
“To think that she, so young, so good, and beautiful,” said Walter, “so delicately brought up, and born to such a different fortune, should strive with the rough world! But we have seen the gulf that cuts off all behind her, though no one but herself can know how deep it is; and there is no return.”
Captain Cuttle, without quite understanding this, greatly approved of it, and observed in a tone of strong corroboration, that the wind was quite abaft.