His breath fell like a flame of fire on Stephen’s ear, it was so hot.
“That was our light porter at the Bank,” said Tom, “who brought you the message to-night. I call him our light porter, because I belong to the Bank too.”
Stephen thought, “What a hurry he is in!” He spoke so confusedly.
“Well!” said Tom. “Now look here! When are you off?”
“T’ day’s Monday,” replied Stephen, considering. “Why, sir, Friday or Saturday, nigh ’bout.”
“Friday or Saturday,” said Tom. “Now, look here! I am not sure that I can do you the good turn I want to do you – that’s my sister, you know, in your room – but I may be able to, and if I should not be able to, there’s no harm done. So I tell you what. You’ll know our light porter again?”
“Yes, sure,” said Stephen.
“Very well,” returned Tom. “When you leave work of a night, between this and your going away, just hang about the Bank an hour or so, will you? Don’t take on, as if you meant anything, if he should see you hanging about there; because I shan’t put him up to speak to you, unless I find I can do you the service I want to do you. In that case he’ll have a note or a message for you, but not else. Now look here! You are sure you understand.”
He had wormed a finger, in the darkness, through a button-hole of Stephen’s coat, and was screwing that corner of the garment tight up, round and round, in an extraordinary manner.
“I understand, sir,” said Stephen.
“Now look here,” repeated Tom. “Be sure you don’t make any mistake then, and don’t forget. I shall tell my sister as we go home, what I have in view, and she’ll approve, I know. Now look here! You’re all right, are you? You understand all about it? Very well then. Come along, Loo!”
He pushed the door open as he called to her, but did not return into the room, or wait to be lighted down the narrow stairs. He was at the bottom when she began to descend, and was in the street before she could take his arm.
Mrs. Pegler remained in her corner until the brother and sister were gone, and until Stephen came back with the candle in his hand. She was in a state of inexpressible admiration of Mrs. Bounderby, and, like an unaccountable old woman, wept, “because she was such a pretty dear.” Yet Mrs. Pegler was so flurried lest the object of her admiration should return by chance, or anybody else should come, that her cheerfulness was ended for that night. It was late too, to people who rose early and worked hard; therefore the party broke up; and Stephen and Rachael escorted their mysterious acquaintance to the door of the Traveller’s Coffee House, where they parted from her.
They walked back together to the corner of the street where Rachael lived, and as they drew nearer and nearer to it, silence crept upon them. When they came to the dark corner where their unfrequent meetings always ended, they stopped, still silent, as if both were afraid to speak.
“I shall strive t’ see thee agen, Rachael, afore I go, but if not – ”
“Thou wilt not, Stephen, I know. ‘Tis better that we make up our minds to be open wi’ one another.”
“Thou’rt awlus right. ‘Tis bolder and better. I ha been thinkin then, Rachael, that as ’tis but a day or two that remains ’twere better for thee, my dear, not t’ be seen wi’ me. ‘T might bring thee into trouble fur no good.”
“‘Tis not for that, Stephen, that I mind. But thou know’st our old agreement. ‘Tis for that.”
“Well, well,” said he. “‘Tis better onyways.”
“Thou’lt write to me, and tell me all that happens, Stephen?”
“Yes. What can I say now, but Heaven be wi’ thee, Heaven bless thee, Heaven thank thee and reward thee!”
“May it bless thee, Stephen, too, in all thy wanderings, and send thee peace and rest at last!”
“I towd thee, my dear,” said Stephen Blackpool – “that night – that I would never see or think o’ onything that angered me, but thou, so much better than me, should’st be beside it. Thou’rt beside it now. Thou mak’st me see it wi’ a better eye. Bless thee. Good night. Good-bye!”