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spend。
The only thing that concerned him was a growing doubt lest he might be
feeding extravagance instead of doing good； and the more he disliked
himself for the suspicion； the more it would return。 There was no
doubt much distress； the children were sickly； several of them died；
the doctor's bills； and other expenses； pressed heavily； and Guy blamed
himself for having doubted。 Yet； again； he could not conceal from
himself traces that his uncle was careless and imprudent。 He had once；
indeed； in a violent fit of self…reproach； confessed as much； allowed
that what ought to have been spent in the maintenance of his family；
had gone in gambling； but immediately after； he had been seized with a
fit of terror； and implored Guy to guard the secret； since； if once it
came to the knowledge of his creditors； it would be all over with him。
Concealment of his present difficulties was therefore no less necessary
than assistance in paying the sum he owed。 Indeed； as far as Guy was
able to understand his confused statement； what he wanted was at once
to pay a part of his debt； before he could go on to a place where he
was engaged to perform； and where he would earn enough to make up the
rest。
Guy had intended to have sent for Deloraine； but had since given up the
idea； in order to be able to help forward some plans of Miss
Wellwood's； and resigning this project would enable him to place thirty
pounds at his uncle's disposal； leaving him just enough to pay his
expenses at South Moor； and carry him back to Hollywell。 It was sorely
against his inclination that； instead of helping a charity； his savings
should go to pay gaming debts； and his five…miles walk was spent in
self…debate on the right and wrong of the matter； and questions what
should be done for the futurefor he was beginning to awaken to the
sense of his responsibility； and feared lest he might be encouraging
vice。
Very early next morning Guy put his head into his tutor's room；
announced that he must walk into St。 Mildred's on business； but should
be back by eleven at the latest； ran down…stairs； called Bustle； and
made interest with the farmer's wife for a hunch of dry bread and a cup
of new milk。
Then rejoicing that he had made up his mind； though not light…hearted
enough to whistle； he walked across the moorland； through the white
morning mist； curling on the sides of the hills in fantastic forms； and
now and then catching his lengthened shadow； so as to make him smile by
reminding him of the spectre of the Brocken。
Not without difficulty； he found a back street； and a little shop；
where a slovenly maid was sweeping the steps； and the shutters were not
yet taken down。 He asked if Mr。 Dixon lodged there。 'Yes；' the woman
said； staring in amazement that such a gentleman could be there at that
time in the morning； asking for Mr。 Dixon。
'Is he at home？'
'Yes； sir but he is not up yet。 He was very late last night。 Did you
want to speak to him？ I'll tell Mrs。 Dixon。'
'Is Mrs。 Dixon here？ Then tell her Sir Guy Morville would be glad to
speak to her。'
The maid curtseyed； hurried off； and returned with a message from Mrs。
Dixon to desire he would walk in。 She conducted him through a dark
passage； and up a still darker stair； into a dingy little parlour； with
a carpet of red and green stripes； a horsehair sofa； a grate covered
with cut paper； and a general perfume of brandy and cigars。 There were
some preparations for breakfast； but no one was in the room but a
little girl； about seven years old； dressed in shabby…genteel mourning。
She was pale and sickly…looking； but her eyes were of a lovely deep
blue； with a very sweet expression； and a profusion of thick flaxen
curls hung round her neck and shoulders。 She said in a soft； little；
shy voice；
'Mamma says she will be here directly； if you will excuse her a
moment。'
Having made this formal speech； the little thing was creeping off on
tip…toe； so as to escape before the maid shut the door； but Guy held
out his hand； sat down so as to be on a level with her； and said；
'Don't go； my little maid。 Won't you come and speak to your cousin
Guy？'
Children never failed to be attracted； whether by the winning beauty of
his smile； or the sweetness of the voice in which he spoke to anything
small or weak； and the little girl willingly came up to him； and put
her hand into his。 He stroked her thick； silky curls； and asked her
name。
'Marianne；' she answered。
It was his mother's name； and this little creature had more resemblance
to his tenderly…cherished vision of his young mother than any
description Dixon could have given。 He drew her closer to him； took
the other small； cold hand； and asked her how she liked St。 Mildred's。
'Oh！ much better than London。 There are flowers！' and she proudly
exhibited a cup holding some ragged robins； dead nettles； and other
common flowers which a country child would have held cheap。 He admired
and gained more of her confidence； so that she had begun to chatter
away quite freely about 'the high； high hills that reached up to the
sky； and the pretty stones；' till the door opened； and Mrs。 Dixon and
Bustle made their entrance。
Marianne was so much afraid of the dog； Guy so eager to console； and
her mother to scold her； and protest that it should not be turned out；
that there was nothing but confusion； until Guy had shown her that
Bustle was no dangerous wild beast； induced her to accept his offered
paw； and lay a timid finger on his smooth； black head； after which the
transition was short to dog and child sitting lovingly together on the
floor； Marianne stroking his ears； and admiring him with a sort of
silent ecstasy。
Mrs。 Dixon was a great； coarse； vulgar woman； and Guy perceived why his
uncle had been so averse to taking him to his home； and how he must
have felt the contrast between such a wife and his beautiful sister。
She had a sort of broad sense； and absence of pretension； but her
manner of talking was by no means pleasant； as she querulously accused
her husband of being the cause of all their misfortunes； not even
restrained by the presence of her child from entering into a full
account of his offences。
Mrs。 Dixon said she should not say a word； she should not care if it
was not for the child； but she could not see her wronged by her own
father； and not complain； poor little dear！ she was the last； and she
supposed she should not keep her long。
It then appeared that on her husband's obtaining an engagement for a
series of concerts at the chief county town； Mrs。 Dixon had insisted on
coming with him to St。 Mildred's in the hope that country air might
benefit Marianne； who； in a confined lodging in London； was pining and
dwindling as her brothers and sisters had done before her。 Sebastian；
who liked to e