The boy asked, rubbing his nose in a manner that half expressed vexation at hearing so much, and half curiosity to hear more: 'How came you to make that out? What a girl you are!'
'The child's father is employed by the house that employs me;that's how I came to know it, Charley. The father is like his own father, a weak wretched trembling creature, falling to pieces, never sober. But a good workman too, at the work he does. The mother is dead. This poor ailing little creature has come to be what she is, surrounded by drunken people from her cradle--if she ever had one, Charley.'
'I don't see what you have to do with her, for all that,' said the boy.
'Don't you, Charley?'
The boy looked doggedly at the river. They were at Millbank, and the river rolled on their left. His sister gently touched him on the shoulder, and pointed to it.
'Any compensation--restitution--never mind the word, you know my meaning. Father's grave.'
But he did not respond with any tenderness. After a moody silence he broke out in an ill-used tone:
'It'll be a very hard thing, Liz, if, when I am trying my best to get up in the world, you pull me back.'
'I, Charley?'
'Yes, you, Liz. Why can't you let bygones be bygones? Why can't you, as Mr Headstone said to me this very evening about another matter, leave well alone? What we have got to do, is, to turn our faces full in our new direction, and keep straight on.'
'And never look back? Not even to try to make some amends?'
'You are such a dreamer,' said the boy, with his former petulance.
'It was all very well when we sat before the fire--when we looked into the hollow down by the flare--but we are looking into the real world, now.'
'Ah, we were looking into the real world then, Charley!'
'I understand what you mean by that, but you are not justified in it. I don't want, as I raise myself to shake you off, Liz. I want to carry you up with me. That's what I want to do, and mean to do.
I know what I owe you. I said to Mr Headstone this very evening, "After all, my sister got me here." Well, then. Don't pull me back, and hold me down. That's all I ask, and surely that's not unconscionable.'
She had kept a steadfast look upon him, and she answered with composure:
'I am not here selfishly, Charley. To please myself I could not be too far from that river.'
'Nor could you be too far from it to please me. Let us get quit of it equally. Why should you linger about it any more than I? I give it a wide berth.'
'I can't get away from it, I think,' said Lizzie, passing her hand across her forehead. 'It's no purpose of mine that I live by it still.'
'There you go, Liz! Dreaming again! You lodge yourself of your own accord in a house with a drunken--tailor, I suppose--or something of the sort, and a little crooked antic of a child, or old person, or whatever it is, and then you talk as if you were drawn or driven there. Now, do be more practical.'
She had been practical enough with him, in suffering and striving for him; but she only laid her hand upon his shoulder--not reproachfully--and tapped it twice or thrice. She had been used to do so, to soothe him when she carried him about, a child as heavy as herself. Tears started to his eyes.
'Upon my word, Liz,' drawing the back of his hand across them, 'Imean to be a good brother to you, and to prove that I know what Iowe you. All I say is, that I hope you'll control your fancies a little, on my account. I'll get a school, and then you must come and live with me, and you'll have to control your fancies then, so why not now? Now, say I haven't vexed you.'
'You haven't, Charley, you haven't.'
'And say I haven't hurt you.'
'You haven't, Charley.' But this answer was less ready.
'Say you are sure I didn't mean to. Come! There's Mr Headstone stopping and looking over the wall at the tide, to hint that it's time to go. Kiss me, and tell me that you know I didn't mean to hurt you.'
She told him so, and they embraced, and walked on and came up with the schoolmaster.
'But we go your sister's way,' he remarked, when the boy told him he was ready. And with his cumbrous and uneasy action he stiffly offered her his arm. Her hand was just within it, when she drew it back. He looked round with a start, as if he thought she had detected something that repelled her, in the momentary touch.
'I will not go in just yet,' said Lizzie. 'And you have a distance before you, and will walk faster without me.'
Being by this time close to Vauxhall Bridge, they resolved, in consequence, to take that way over the Thames, and they left her;Bradley Headstone giving her his hand at parting, and she thanking him for his care of her brother.
The master and the pupil walked on, rapidly and silently. They had nearly crossed the bridge, when a gentleman came coolly sauntering towards them, with a cigar in his mouth, his coat thrown back, and his hands behind him. Something in the careless manner of this person, and in a certain lazily arrogant air with which he approached, holding possession of twice as much pavement as another would have claimed, instantly caught the boy's attention. As the gentleman passed the boy looked at him narrowly, and then stood still, looking after him.
'Who is it that you stare after?' asked Bradley.
'Why!' said the boy, with a confused and pondering frown upon his face, 'It IS that Wrayburn one!'
Bradley Headstone scrutinized the boy as closely as the boy had scrutinized the gentleman.
'I beg your pardon, Mr Headstone, but I couldn't help wondering what in the world brought HIM here!'
