Tope, with his eyes on the
Reverend Mr. Crisparkle, shoots this word out, as defying him to
improve upon it: 'and a dimness and giddiness crept over him as
strange as ever I saw: though he didn't seem to mind it
particularly, himself. However, a little time and a little water
brought him out of his DAZE.' Mr. Tope repeats the word and its
emphasis, with the air of saying: 'As I HAVE made a success, I'll
make it again.'
'And Mr. Jasper has gone home quite himself, has he?' asked the
Dean.
'Your Reverence, he has gone home quite himself. And I'm glad to
see he's having his fire kindled up, for it's chilly after the wet,
and the Cathedral had both a damp feel and a damp touch this
afternoon, and he was very shivery.'
They all three look towards an old stone gatehouse crossing the
Close, with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it. Through its
latticed window, a fire shines out upon the fast-darkening scene,
involving in shadow the pendent masses of ivy and creeper covering
the building's front. As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour,
a ripple of wind goes through these at their distance, like a
ripple of the solemn sound that hums through tomb and tower, broken
niche and defaced statue, in the pile close at hand.
'Is Mr. Jasper's nephew with him?' the Dean asks.
'No, sir,' replied the Verger, 'but expected. There's his own
solitary shadow betwixt his two windows--the one looking this way,
and the one looking down into the High Street--drawing his own
curtains now.'
'Well, well,' says the Dean, with a sprightly air of breaking up
the little conference, 'I hope Mr. Jasper's heart may not be too
much set upon his nephew. Our affections, however laudable, in
this transitory world, should never master us; we should guide
them, guide them. I find I am not disagreeably reminded of my
dinner, by hearing my dinner-bell. Perhaps, Mr. Crisparkle, you
will, before going home, look in on Jasper?'
'Certainly, Mr. Dean. And tell him that you had the kindness to
desire to know how he was?'
'Ay; do so, do so. Certainly. Wished to know how he was. By all
means. Wished to know how he was.'
With a pleasant air of patronage, the Dean as nearly cocks his
quaint hat as a Dean in good spirits may, and directs his comely
gaiters towards the ruddy dining-room of the snug old red-brick
house where he is at present, 'in residence' with Mrs. Dean and
Miss Dean.
Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually
pitching himself head-foremost into all the deep running water in
the surrounding country; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, early riser,
musical, classical, cheerful, kind, good-natured, social,
contented, and boy-like; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon and good man,
lately 'Coach' upon the chief Pagan high roads, but since promoted
by a patron (grateful for a well-taught son) to his present
Christian beat; betakes himself to the gatehouse, on his way home
to his early tea.
'Sorry to hear from Tope that you have not been well, Jasper.'
'O, it was nothing, nothing!'
'You look a little worn.'
'Do I? O, I don't think so. What is better, I don't feel so.
Tope has made too much of it, I suspect.
