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hopefully to bed。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
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Bleak House 118
Chapter 7
The Ghost’s Walk
hile Esther sleeps； and while Esther wakes； it is still wet
Wweather down at the place in Lincolnshire。 The rain is
ever falling； drip； drip； drip； by day and night； upon the
broad flagged terrace…pavement； The Ghost’s Walk。 The weather
is so very bad； down in Lincolnshire； that the liveliest imagination
can scarcely apprehend its ever being fine again。 Not that there is
any superabundant life of imagination on the spot； for Sir
Leicester is not here （and； truly； even if he were； would not do
much for it in that particular）； but is in Paris； with my Lady； and
solitude； with dusky wings； sits brooding upon Chesney Wold。
There may be some motions of fancy among the lower animals
of Chesney Wold。 The horses in the stables—the long stables in a
barren； red…brick courtyard； where there is a great bell in a turret；
and a clock with a large face； which the pigeons who live near it；
and who love to perch upon its shoulders； seem to be always
consulting—they may contemplate some mental pictures of fine
weather on occasions； and may be better artists at them than the
grooms。 The old roan； so famous for cross…country work； turning
his large eyeball to the grated window near his rack； may
remember the fresh leaves that glisten there at other times； and
the scents that stream in； and may have a fine run with the
hounds； while the human helper； clearing out the next stall； never
stirs beyond his pitchfork and birch…broom。 The grey； whose place
is opposite the door； and who； with an impatient rattle of his
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halter； pricks his ears and turns his head so wistfully when it is
opened； and to whom the opener says； “Woa grey； then； steady！
Noabody wants you today！” may know it quite as well as the man。
The whole seemingly monotonous and uncompanionable half…
dozen； stabled together； may pass the long wet hours； when the
door is shut； in livelier communication than is held in the servant’s
hall； or at the Dedlock Arms；—or may even beguile the time by
improving （perhaps corrupting） the pony in the loose…box in the
corner。
So the mastiff； dozing in his kennel； in the courtyard； with his
large head on his paws； may think of the hot sunshine； when the
shadows of the stable…buildings tire his patience out by changing；
and leave him； at one time of the day； no broader refuge than the
shadow of his own house； where he sits on end； panting and
growling short； and very much wanting something to worry；
besides himself and his chain。 So； now； half…waking and all…
winking； he may recall the house full of company； the coach…
houses full of vehicles； the stables full of horses； and the out…
buildings full of attendants upon horses； until he is undecided
about the present； and comes forth to see how it is。 Then with that
impatient shape of himself； he may growl in the spirit； “Rain； rain；
rain！ Nothing but rain—and no family here！” as he goes in again；
and lies down with a gloomy yawn。
So with the dogs in the kennel…buildings across the park； who
have their restless fits； and whose doleful voices； when the wind
has been very obstinate； have even made it known in the house
itself： upstairs； downstairs； and in my lady’s chamber。 They may
hunt the whole countryside； while the raindrops are pattering
round their inactivity。 So the rabbits； with their self…betraying
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tails； frisking in and out of holes at roots of trees； may be lively
with ideas of the breezy days when their ears are blown about； or
of those seasons of interest when there are sweet young plants to
gnaw。 The turkey in the poultry…yard； always troubled with a
class…grievance （probably Christmas）； may be reminiscent of that
summer…morning wrongfully taken from him； when he got into the
lane among the felled trees； where there was a barn and barley。
The discontented goose； who stoops to pass under the old
gateway； twenty feet high； may gabble out； if we only know it； a
waddling preference for weather when the gateway casts its
shadow on the ground。 Be this as it may； there is not much fancy
otherwise stirring at Chesney Wold。 If there be a little at any odd
moment； it goes； like a little noise in that old echoing place； a long
way； and usually leads off to ghosts and mystery。
It has rained so hard and rained so long； down in Lincolnshire；
that Mrs Rouncewell； the old housekeeper at Chesney Wold； has
several times taken off her spectacles and cleaned them； to make
certain that the drops were not upon the glasses。 Mrs Rouncewell
might have been sufficiently assured by hearing the rain； but that
she is rather deaf； which nothing will induce her to believe。 She is
a fine old lady； handsome； stately； wonderfully neat； and has such
a back； and such a stomacher； that if her stays should turn out
when she dies to have been a broad old…fashioned family fire…
grate； nobody who knows her would have cause to be surprised。
Weather affects Mrs Rouncewell little。 The house is there in all
weathers； and the house； as she expresses it； “is what she looks
at。” She sits in her room （in a side…passage on the ground floor；
with an arched window commanding a smooth quadrangle；
adorned at regular intervals with smooth round trees and smooth
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round blocks of stone； as if the trees were going to play at bowls
with the stones）； and the whole house reposes on her mind。 She
can open it on occasion； and be busy and fluttered； but it is shut…
up now； and lies on the breadth of Mrs Rouncewell’s iron…bound
bosom； in a majestic sleep。
It is the next difficult thing to an impossibility to imagine
Chesney Wold without Mrs Rouncewell； but she has only been
here fifty years。 Ask her how long； this rainy day； and she shall
answer “fifty year three months and a fortnight； by the blessing of
Heaven； if I live till Tuesday。” Mr Rouncewell died some time
before the decease of the pretty fashion of pig…tails； and modestly
hid his own （if he took it with him） in a corner of the churchyard in
the