The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens by Thomas Hauser Page A

those who are so fresh from God bring us love.”
    Ruby stopped feeding, and Florence moved to put her down in the crate.
    â€œMay I hold her?” I asked.
    Florence handed me her daughter. I cradled the baby in my arms. Words are not powerful enough to describe my emotions of that moment.
    Ruby lay with her head upon my chest, her eyes trusting and wide, her soft cheek pressed against my heart. This child, as precious as any child born to rank and wealth, had a special grace about her. She clutched my shirt with a tiny hand, innocent of any knowledge beyond her immediate senses. I was completely at peacewith myself. Every agitation and care passed from my soul. If I had died then with that feeling in my heart, I would have been more fit for Heaven than at any time in my life before or since.
    â€œThe light of intelligence is in her eyes,” Christopher said. “I wish that she should be taught to read. There are times when I feel my want of learning very much.”
    Ruby fell asleep in my arms. Florence took her from me and set her down in the egg crate.
    â€œThere is not much cost to feeding her now. I just must keep my own condition strong. But before long, she will need more.”
    Night was approaching. I wanted to leave the slum before dark.
    â€œThere are several more questions I must ask. Do you know where I can find Lenora Pearce, the woman you knew as Lily?”
    Florence shook her head.
    â€œIf it comes to pass that Wingate is placed on trial, would you be willing to bear witness against him in a court of law?”
    â€œIt would give me something more to live for.”
    â€œI will do what I can.”
    â€œIt would be well if you could. Satan is in him. I ask myself at night some times if God is punishing me for giving myself to this man. I never walked the streets, but I was no better than those who do. Do you think I will suffer more in the afterlife for my wickedness?”
    â€œGod does not speak to me as he does to you, Miss Spriggs. But I believe that God is forgiving and understanding of all human conduct that flows from a personof tenderness. You should have no fear of what comes after the life that we know.”
    â€œIn my dreams, I know that is true. I was beautiful once. Or so men said. In my dreams, some times, I am still beautiful.”
    â€œWe must go now,” Christopher told me.
    He rose to lead me to the door. There was one thing more I wished to do. I reached into the pocket where I carried my coins and put them all in Florence’s hand.
    â€œFor Ruby.”
    â€œThank you. If there were more like you, there would be fewer like me. God bless you, Mr. Dickens.”

    Christopher led me out of the slum by the same passage we had travelled before. The sun was fading, and the streets were more ominous than earlier in the day. Men and women dressed in rags huddled together in anticipation of the night. They were of a class that works hard to stay alive, seeking no other destiny and having none.
    A wretched woman stood at the entrance to an alley. Her face was wrinkled, her few remaining teeth protruded over her lower lip, and her bones were starting through her skin. She was singing a song of sorts in the hope of wringing a few pence from a compassionate passerby. A mocking laugh at her trembling voice was all she gained.
    We passed a churchyard with straggling vegetation of the sort that springs up from damp and rubbish. No plant could have its natural growth as God designedit in that fetid bed. A new mound, not much longer than the body of an infant, had been freshly dug in the churchyard. Shrouds are not only for the old. They also wrap the young within their ghastly folds.
    My thoughts went to Ruby and who her father might be. I wondered what would happen to her as she grew older.
    Night came. The shadows were broad and black. Christopher lit an oil lamp that emitted a smokey yellow glow.
    Two women emerged from the shadows. One was haggard with a