from the attendance of that oppressive maid； who was her mistress； and
a very hard one……and would be taken all over the strange city。 Social
people in other gondolas began to ask each other who the little solitary
girl was whom they passed； sitting in her boat with folded hands；
looking so pensively and wonderingly about her。 Never thinking that
it would be worth anybody's while to notice her or her doings； Little
Dorrit； in her quiet； scared； lost manner； went about the city none the
less。
But her favourite station was the balcony of her own room； overhanging
the canal； with other balconies below； and none above。 It was of massive
stone darkened by ages； built in a wild fancy which came from the East
to that collection of wild fancies； and Little Dorrit was little indeed；
leaning on the broad…cushioned ledge； and looking over。 As she liked no
place of an evening half so well； she soon began to be watched for； and
many eyes in passing gondolas were raised； and many people said； There
was the little figure of the English girl who was always alone。
Such people were not realities to the little figure of the English girl；
such people were all unknown to her。 She would watch the sunset； in its
long low lines of purple and red； and its burning flush high up into
the sky： so glowing on the buildings； and so lightening their structure；
that it made them look as if their strong walls were transparent； and
they shone from within。 She would watch those glories expire； and then；
after looking at the black gondolas underneath； taking guests to music
and dancing； would raise her eyes to the shining stars。 Was there no
party of her own； in other times； on which the stars had shone？ To think
of that old gate now！ She would think of that old gate； and of herself
sitting at it in the dead of the night； pillowing Maggy's head； and of
other places and of other scenes associated with those different times。
And then she would lean upon her balcony； and look over at the water；
as though they all lay underneath it。 When she got to that； she would
musingly watch its running； as if； in the general vision； it might run
dry； and show her the prison again； and herself； and the old room； and
the old inmates； and the old visitors： all lasting realities that had
never changed。
CHAPTER 4。 A Letter from Little Dorrit
Dear Mr Clennam；
I write to you from my own room at Venice； thinking you will be glad to
hear from me。 But I know you cannot be so glad to hear from me as I am
to write to you； for everything about you is as you have been accustomed
to see it； and you miss nothing……unless it should be me； which can only
be for a very little while together and very seldom……while everything in
my life is so strange； and I miss so much。
When we were in Switzerland； which appears to have been years ago；
though it was only weeks； I met young Mrs Gowan； who was on a mountain
excursion like ourselves。 She told me she was very well and very happy。
She sent you the message； by me； that she thanked you affectionately and
would never forget you。 She e； and I loved her
almost as soon as I spoke to her。 But there is nothing singular in that；
who could help loving so beautiful and winning a creature！ I could not
wonder at any one loving her。 No indeed。
It will not make you uneasy on Mrs Gowan's account； I hope……for I
remember that you said you had the interest of a true friend in her……if
I tell you that I wish she could have married some one better suited to
her。 Mr Gowan seems fond of her； and of course she is very fond of him；
but I thought he was not earnest enough……I don't mean in that respect……I
mean in anything。 I could not keep it out of my mind that if I was Mrs
Gowan （what a change that would be； and how I must alter to bee like
her！） I should feel that I was rather lonely and lost； for the want of
some one who was steadfast and firm in purpose。 I even thought she felt
this want a little； almost without knowing it。 But mind you are not made
uneasy by this； for she was 'very well and very happy。' And she looked
most beautiful。
I expect to meet her again before long； and indeed have been expecting
for some days past to see her here。 I will ever be as good a friend to
her as I can for your sake。 Dear Mr Clennam； I dare say you think little
of having been a friend to me when I had no other （not that I have any
other now； for I have made no new friends）； but I think much of it； and
I never can forget it。
I wish I knew……but it is best for no one to write to me……how Mr and Mrs
Plornish prosper in the business which my dear father bought for them；
and that old Mr Nandy lives happily with them and his two grandchildren；
and sings all his songs over and over again。 I cannot quite keep back
the tears from my eyes when I think of my poor Maggy； and of the blank
she must have felt at first； however kind they all are to her； without
her Little Mother。 Will you go and tell her； as a strict secret； with my
love； that she never can have regretted our separation more than I have
regretted it？ And will you tell them all that I have thought of them
every day； and that my heart is faithful to them everywhere？ O； if you
could know how faithful； you would almost pity me for being so far away
and being so grand！
You will be glad； I am sure； to know that my dear father is very well
in health； and that all these changes are highly beneficial to him； and
that he is very different indeed from what he used to be when you used
to see him。 There is an improvement in my uncle too； I think； though he
never plained of old； and never exults now。 Fanny is very graceful；
quick； and clever。 It is natural to her to be a lady； she has adapted
herself to our new fortunes with wonderful ease。
This reminds me that I have not been able to do so； and that I sometimes
almost despair of ever being able to do so。 I find that I cannot learn。
Mrs General is always with us； and we speak French and speak Italian；
and she takes pains to form us in many ways。 When I say we speak French
and Italian； I mean they do。 As for me； I am so slow that I scarcely
get on at all。 As soon as I begin to plan； and think； and try； all my
planning； thinking； and trying go in old directions； and I begin to feel
careful again about the expenses of the day； and about my dear father；
and about my work； and then I remember with a start that there are no
such cares left； and that in itself is so new and improbable that it
sets me wandering again。 I should not have the courage to mention this
to any one but you。
It is the same with all these new countries and wonderful sights。
They are very beautiful； and they astonish me； but I am not collected
enough……not familiar enough with myself； if you can quite understand
what I mean……to have all the pleasure in them that I might have。 What
I knew before them； blends with them； too； so curiously。 For instance；
when we were among the mountains； I often felt （I hesitate to tell such
an idle thing； dear Mr Clennam； even to you） as if the Marshalsea must
be behind that great rock； or as if Mrs Clennam's room where I have
worked so many days； and where I first saw you； must be just beyond that
snow。 Do you remember one night when I came with Maggy to your lodging
in Covent Garden？ That room I have often and often fancied I have seen
before me； travelling along for miles by the side of our carriage； when
I have looked out of the carriage…window after dark。 We were shut out
that night； and sat at the iron gate； and walked about till morning。
I often look up at the stars； even from the balcony of this room； and
believe that I am in the street again； shut out with Maggy。 It is the
same with people that I left in England。
When I go about here in a gondola； I surprise myself looking into other
gondolas as if I hoped to see them。 It would overe me with joy to
see them； but I don't think it would surprise me much； at first。 In my
fanciful times； I fancy that they might be anywhere； and I almost expect
to see their dear faces on the bridges or the quays。
Another difficulty that I have will seem very strange to you。 It must
seem very strange to any one but me； and does even to me： I often feel
the old sad pity for……I need not write the word……for him。 Changed as he
is； and inexpressibly blest and thankful as I always am to know it； the
old sorrowful feeling of passion es upon me sometimes with such
strength that I want to put my arms round his neck； tell him how I love
him； and cry a little on his breast。 I should be glad after that； and
proud and happy。 But I know that I must not do this； that he would not
like it； that Fanny would be angry； that Mrs General would be amazed；
and so I quiet myself。 Yet in doing so； I struggle with the feeling that
I have e to be at a distance from him； and that even in the midst of
all the servants and attendants； he is deserted； and in want of me。
Dear Mr Clennam； I have written a great deal about myself； but I must
write a little more still； or what I wanted most of all to say in this
weak letter would be left out of it。 In all these foolish thoughts of
mine； which I have been so hardy as to confess to you because I know you
will understand me if anybody can； and will make more allowance for me
than anybody else would if you cannot……in all these thoughts； there is
one thought scarcely ever……never……out of my memory； and that is that
I hope you sometimes； in a quiet moment； have a thought for me。 I must
tell you that as to this； I have felt； ever since I have been away； an
anxiety which I am very anxious to relieve。 I have been afraid that you
may think of me in a new light； or a new character。 Don't do that； I
could not bear that……it would make me more unhappy than you can suppose。
It would break my heart to believe that you thought of me in any way
that would make me stranger to you than I was when you were so good to
me。 What I have to pray and entreat of you is； that you will never think
of me as the daughter of a rich person； that you will never think of me
as dressing any better； or living any better； than when you first
knew me。 That you will remember me only as the little shabby girl you
protected with so muc