"Wonderful fortune!"
Her lips seemed to repeat the words, but no sound came.
"Dear Little Dorrit," he said, "your father—"
The ice of the pale face broke at the word, and little lights of expression passed all over it. They were all expressions of pain. Her breath was faint and hurried. Her heart beat fast, but he saw that the eyes appealed to him to go on.
"Your father can be free within this week. He does not know it; we must go to him from here, to tell him of it. Your father will be free within a few days. Remember we must go to him, from here, to tell him of it!"
That brought her back. Her eyes were closing, but they opened again.
"This is not all the good fortune. This is not all the wonderful good fortune, Little Dorrit. Shall I tell you more?"
Her lips shaped "Yes."
"He will be a rich man: A great sum of money is waiting to be paid over to him as his inheritance; you are all henceforth very wealthy. Bravest and best of children, I thank Heaven that you are rewarded!"
She turned her head towards his shoulder, and raised her arm towards his neck; then cried out, "Father! Father! Father!" and swooned away.