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run to a deal of seed in their tags and trimmings。 Sir Leicester； in
the library； has fallen asleep for the good of the country； over the
report of a Parliamentary committee。 My Lady sits in the room in
which she gave audience to the young man of the name of Guppy。
Rosa is with her； and has been writing for her and reading to her。
Rosa is now at work upon embroidery； or some such pretty thing；
and as she bends her head over it； my Lady watches her in silence。
Not for the first time today。
“Rosa。”
The pretty village face looks brightly up。 Then； seeing how
serious my Lady is； looks puzzled and surprised。
“See to the door。 Is it shut？”
Yes。 She goes to it and returns； and looks yet more surprised。
“I am about to place confidence in you； child； for I know I may
trust your attachment； if not your judgment。 In what I am going to
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do； I will not disguise myself to you at least。 But I confide in you。
Say nothing to any one of what passes between us。”
The timid little beauty promises in all earnestness to be
trustworthy。
“Do you know；” Lady Dedlock asks her； signing to her to bring
her chair nearer； “do you know； Rosa； that I am different to you
from what I am to any one？”
“Yes； my Lady。 Much kinder。 But then I often think I know you
as you really are。”
“You often think you know me as I really am？ Poor child； poor
child！”
She says it with a kind of scorn—though not of Rosa—and sits
brooding； looking dreamily at her。
“Do you think； Rosa； you are any relief or comfort to me？ Do
you suppose your being young and natural； and fond of me and
grateful to me； makes it any pleasure to me to have you near me？”
“I don’t know； my Lady； I can scarcely hope so。 But with all my
heart； I wish it was so。”
“It is so； little one。”
The pretty face is checked in its flush of pleasure； by the dark
expression on the handsome face before it。 It looks timidly for an
explanation。
“And if I were to say today； Go！ Leave me！ I should say what
would give me great pain and disquiet； child； and what would
leave me very solitary。”
“My Lady！ Have I offended you？”
“In nothing。 Come here。”
Rosa bends down on the footstool at my Lady’s feet。 My Lady；
with that motherly touch of the famous Iron…master night； lays her
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hand upon her dark hair； and gently keeps it there。
“I told you； Rosa； that I wished you to be happy； and that I
would make you so if I could make anybody happy on this earth。 I
can not。 There are reasons now known to me； reasons in which
you have no part； rendering it far better for you that you should
not remain here。 You must not remain here。 I have determined
that you shall not。 I have written to the father of your lover； and he
will be here today。 All this I have done for your sake。”
The weeping girl covers her hand with kisses； and says what
shall she do； what shall she do； when they are separated！ Her
mistress kisses her on the cheek； and makes no other answer。
“Now； be happy； child； under better circumstances。 Be beloved
and happy！”
“Ah； my Lady； I have sometimes thought—forgive my being so
free—that you are not happy。”
“I！”
“Will you be more so； when you have sent me away？ Pray； pray；
think again。 Let me stay a little while！”
“I have said； my child； that what I do； I do for your sake； not my
own。 It is done。 What I am towards you； Rosa； is what I am now—
not what I shall be a little while hence。 Remember this； and keep
my confidence。 Do so much for my sake； and thus all ends between
us！”
She detaches herself from her simple…hearted companion； and
leaves the room。 Late in the afternoon； when she next appears
upon the staircase； she is in her haughtiest and coldest state。 As
indifferent as if all passion； feeling； and interest； had been worn
out in the earlier ages of the world； and had perished from its
surface with its other departed monsters。
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Mercury has announced Mr Rouncewell； which is the cause of
her appearance。 Mr Rouncewell is not in the library； but she
repairs to the library。 Sir Leicester is there； and she wishes to
speak to him first。
“Sir Leicester； I am desirous—but you are engaged。”
O dear no！ Not at all。 Only Mr Tulkinghorn。
Always at hand。 Haunting every place。 No relief or security
from him for a moment。
“I beg your pardon； Lady Dedlock。 Will you allow me to retire？”
With a look that plainly says； “You know you have the power to
remain if you will；” she tells him it is not necessary； and moves
towards a chair。 Mr Tulkinghorn brings it a little forward for her
with his clumsy bow； and retires into a window opposite。
Interposed between her and the fading light of day in the now
quiet street； his shadow falls upon her； and he darkens all before
her。 Even so does he darken her life。
It is a dull street under the best conditions； where the two long
rows of houses stare at each other with that severity； that half a
dozen of its greatest mansions seem to have been slowly stared
into stone； rather than originally built in that material。 It is a street
of such dismal grandeur； so determined not to condescend to
liveliness； that the doors and windows hold a gloomy state of their
own in black paint and dust； and the echoing mews behind have a
dry and massive appearance； as if they were reserved to stable the
stone charges of noble statues。 Complicated garnish of iron…work
entwines itself over the flights of steps in this awful street； and；
from these petrified bowers； extinguishers for obsolete flambeaux
gasp at the upstart gas。 Here and there a weak little iron hoop；
through which bold boys aspire to throw their friends’ caps （its
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only present use）； retains its place among the rusty foliage； sacred
to the memory of departed oil。 Nay； even oil itself； yet lingering at
long intervals in a little absurd glass pot； with a knob in the bottom
like an oyster； blinks and sulks at newer lights every night； like its
high and dry master in the House of Lords。
Therefore there is not much that Lady Dedlock； seated in her
chair； could wish to see through the window in which Mr
Tulkinghorn stands。 And yet—and yet—she sends a look in that
direction； as if it were her heart’s desire to have that figure
removed out of the way。
Sir Leicester begs his Lady’s pardon。 S