had told me beforehand that his presence there would be necessary. I had just come in one night from my dear girl's, and was sitting in the midst of all my new clothes, looking at them all around me, and thinking, when a letter from my guardian was brought to me. It asked me to join him in the country; and mentioned by what stage-coach my place was taken, and at what time in the morning I should have to leave town. It added in a postscript that I would not be many hours from Ada.
I expected few things less than a journey at that time, but I was ready for it in half-an-hour, and set off as appointed early next morning. I travelled all day, wondering all day what I could be wanted for at such a distance; now I thought it might be for this purpose, and now I thought it might be for that purpose; but I was never, never, never near the truth.
It was night when I came to my journey's end, and found my guardian waiting for me. This was a great relief, for towards evening I had begun to fear (the more so as his letter was a very short one) that he might be ill. However, there he was, as well as it was possible to be; and when I saw his genial face again at its brightest and best, I said to myself he has been doing some other great kindness. Not that it required much penetration to say that, because I knew that his being there at all was an act of kindness.
Supper was ready at the hotel, and when we were alone at table he said:
“Full of curiosity, no doubt, little woman, to know why I have brought you here?”
“Well, guardian,” said I, “without thinking myself a Fatima, or you a Blue Beard, I am a little curious about it.”
“Then to ensure your night's rest, my love,” he returned, gaily, “I won't wait until to-morrow to tell you. I have very much wished to express to Woodcourt, somehow, my sense of his humanity to poor unfortunate Jo, his inestimable services to my young cousins, and his value to us all. When it was decided that he should settle here, it came into my head that I might ask his acceptance of some unpretending and suitable little place, to lay his own head in. I therefore caused such a place to be looked out for, and such a place was found on very easy terms, and I have been touching it up for him and making it habitable. However, when I walked over it the day before yesterday, and it was reported ready, I found that I was not housekeeper enough to know whether things were all as they ought to be. So I sent off for the best little housekeeper that could possibly be got, to come and give me her advice and opinion. And here she is,” said my guardian, “laughing and crying both together!”
Because he was so dear, so good, so admirable. I tried to tell him what I thought of him, but I could not articulate a word.
“Tut, tut!” said my guardian. “You make too much of it, little woman. why how you sob. Dame Durden, how you sob!”
“It is with exquisite pleasure, guardian—with a heart full of thanks.”
“Well, well,” said he. “I am delighted that you approve. I thought you would. I meant it as a pleasant surprise for the little mistress of Bleak House.”
