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 where I was staying, and he seemed quite pleased to see me.  He was glad to meet Richard again, too, and promised, on my asking him, to befriend Richard in London.

IV.—­End of Jarndyce and Jarndyce

Richard always declared that it was Ada he meant to see righted, no less than himself, and his anxiety on that point so impressed Mr. Woodcourt that he told me about it.  It revived a fear I had had before, that my dear girl’s little property might be absorbed by Mr. Vholes, and that Richard’s justification to himself would be this.

So I went up to London to see Richard, who now lived in Symond’s Inn, and my darling Ada went with me.  He was poring over a table covered with dusty papers, but he received us very affectionately.

I noticed, as he passed his two hands over his head, how sunken and how large his eyes appeared, and how dry his lips were.  He spoke of the case half-hopefully, half-despondently, “Either the suit must be ended, Esther, or the suitor.  But it shall be the suit—­the suit.”  Then he took a few turns up and down, and sank upon the sofa.  “I get so tired,” he said gloomily.  “It is such weary, weary work.”

“Esther, dear,” Ada said, very quietly, “I am not going home again.  Never any more.  I am going to stay with my dear husband.  We have been married above two months.  Go home without me, my own Esther; I shall never go home any more.”