ed me would I be the mistress of Bleak House. It was not a
love-letter, though it expressed so much love, but was written just as
he would at any time have spoken to me.

I felt that to devote my life to his happiness was to thank him poorly
for all he had done for me. Still I cried very much; not only in the
fulness of my heart after reading the letter, but as if something for
which there was no name or distinct idea were lost to me. I was very
happy, very thankful, very hopeful, but I cried very much.

On entering the breakfast-room next morning I found my guardian just as
usual; quite as frank, as open, as free. I thought he might speak to me
about the letter, but he never did.

At the end of a week I went to him and said, rather hesitating and
trembling, "Guardian, when would you like to have the answer to the
letter?"

"When it's ready, my dear," he replied.

"I think it's ready," said I, "and I have brought it myself."

I put my two arms around his neck and kissed him, and he said was this
the mistress of Bleak House? And I said "Yes," and it made no difference
presently, and I said nothing to my pet, Ada, about it.

It was a few days after this, when Mr. Vholes, the attorney whom Richard
employed to watch his interests, called at Bleak House, and told us that
his client was very embarrassed financially, and so thought of throwing
up his commission in the army.

To avert this I went down to Deal and found Richard alone in the
barracks. He was writing at a table, with a great confusion of clothes,
tin cases, books, boots, and brushes strewn all about the floor. So worn
and haggard he looked, even in the fulness of his handsome youth!

My mission was quite fruitless.

"No, Dame Durden! Two subjects I forbid. The first is John Jarndyce. The
second, you know what. Call it madness, and I tell you I can't help it
now, and can't be sane. But it is no such thing; it is the one object I
have to pursue."

He went on to tell me that it was impossible to remain a soldier; that,
apart from debts and duns, he took no interest in his employment and was
not fit for it. He showed me papers to prove that his retirement was
arranged. Knowing I had done no good by coming down, I prepared to
return to London on the morrow.

There was some excitement in the town by reason of the arrival of a big
Indiaman, and, as it happened, amongst those who came on shore from the
ship was Mr. Allan Woodcourt. I met him in the hotel whe