The reverend gentleman gradually opened the door by almost imperceptible degrees, until the aperture was just wide enough to admit of the passage of his lank body, when he glided into the room and closed it after him with great care and gentleness. Turning towards Sam, and raising his hands and eyes in token of the unspeakable sorrow with which he regarded the calamity that had befallen the family, he carried the high-backed chair to his old corner by the fire, and, seating himself on the very edge, drew forth a brown pocket-handkerchief, and applied the same to his optics.
While this was going forward, the elder Mr. Weller sat back in his chair, with his eyes wide open, his hands planted on his knees, and his whole countenance expressive of absorbing and overwhelming astonishment. Sam sat opposite him in perfect silence, waiting, with eager curiosity, for the termination of the scene.
Mr. Stiggins kept the brown pocket-handkerchief before his eyes for some minutes, moaning decently meanwhile, and then, mastering his feelings by a strong effort, put it in his pocket and buttoned it up. After this he stirred the fire; after that, he rubbed his hands and looked at Sam.
“Oh, my young friend,” said Mr. Stiggins, breaking the silence in a very low voice, “here’s a sorrowful affliction!”
Sam nodded very slightly.
“For the man of wrath, too!” added Mr. Stiggins; “it makes a vessel’s heart bleed!”
Mr. Weller was overheard by his son to murmur something relative to making a vessel’s nose bleed; but Mr. Stiggins heard him not.
“Do you know, young man,” whispered Mr. Stiggins, drawing his chair closer to Sam, “whether she has left Emanuel anything?”
“Who’s he?” inquired Sam.