A buzz then went round among the young gentlemen, of “Dombey’s going! little Dombey’s going!” and there was a general move after Paul and Florence down the staircase and into the hall, in which the whole Blimber family were included.  The servants with the butler at their head had all an interest in seeing Little Dombey go, and even the young man taking out his books and trunks to the coach melted visibly.  Nothing could restrain them from taking quite a noisy leave of Paul; waving hats after him, pressing downstairs to shake hands with him, crying individually “Dombey! don’t forget me!” Paul whispered to Florence, as she wrapped him up before the door was opened.  Did she hear them?  Would she ever forget it?  Was she glad to know it?  And a lively delight was in his eyes as he spoke to her.

Once for a last look he turned and gazed upon the faces thus addressed to him, surprised to see how shining and how bright and how numerous they were.  They swam before him, as he looked, and next moment he was in the dark coach outside holding close to Florence.  From that time, whenever he thought of Doctor Blimber’s it came back as he had seen it in this last view; and it never seemed a real place again, but always a dream, full of eyes.

And so ended little Paul’s school days at Doctor Blimber’s, for once at home again he never rose from his little bed.  He lay there (listening to the noises in the street), quite tranquilly, not caring much how the time went, but watching it and everything about him with observing eyes.  When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful.  As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen—­deepen, into night.  Then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead.  His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was and how deep it would look reflecting the hosts of stars—­and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea.

As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear their coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-coloured ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day.  When day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself—­pictured! he saw—­the high church towers rising up into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew.  Familiar sounds came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants softly how he was.  Paul always answered for himself, “I am better.  I am a great deal better, thank you.  Tell papa so.”