The post of honour and the post of shame, the
general's station and the drummer's, a peer's statue in Westminster
Abbey and a seaman's hammock in the bosom of the deep, the mitre and
the workhouse, the woolsack and the gallows, the throne and the
guillotine--the travellers to all are on the great high road, but it
has wonderful divergencies, and only Time shall show us whither each
traveller is bound.
On a wintry afternoon at twilight, Mrs Flintwinch, having been heavy all
day, dreamed this dream: She thought she was in the kitchen getting the kettle ready for tea, and
was warming herself with her feet upon the fender and the skirt of her
gown tucked up, before the collapsed fire in the middle of the grate,
bordered on either hand by a deep cold black ravine. She thought that
as she sat thus, musing upon the question whether life was not for some
people a rather dull invention, she was frightened by a sudden noise
behind her. She thought that she had been similarly frightened once last
week, and that the noise was of a mysterious kind--a sound of rustling
and of three or four quick beats like a rapid step; while a shock or
tremble was communicated to her heart, as if the step had shaken the
floor, or even as if she had been touched by some awful hand. She
thought that this revived within her certain old fears of hers that
the house was haunted; and that she flew up the kitchen stairs without
knowing how she got up, to be nearer company.
Mistress Affery thought that on reaching the hall, she saw the door of
her liege lord's office standing open, and the room empty. That she went
to the ripped-up window in the little room by the street door to connect
her palpitating heart, through the glass, with living things beyond
and outside the haunted house. That she then saw, on the wall over the
gateway, the shadows of the two clever ones in conversation above. That
she then went upstairs with her shoes in her hand, partly to be near
the clever ones as a match for most ghosts, and partly to hear what they
were talking about. 'None of your nonsense with me,' said Mr Flintwinch. 'I won't take it
from you.' Mrs Flintwinch dreamed that she stood behind the door, which was just
ajar, and most distinctly heard her husband say these bold words. '
Flintwinch,' returned Mrs Clennam, in her usual strong low voice,
'there is a demon of anger in you. Guard against it.'