Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

Reaping the Whirlwind

With a precursory sound of hurried breath and hurried feet, Mr
Pancks rushed into Arthur Clennam's Counting-house. The Inquest
was over, the letter was public, the Bank was broken, the other
model structures of straw had taken fire and were turned to smoke.
The admired piratical ship had blown up, in the midst of a vast
fleet of ships of all rates, and boats of all sizes; and on the
deep was nothing but ruin; nothing but burning hulls, bursting
magazines, great guns self-exploded tearing friends and neighbours
to pieces, drowning men clinging to unseaworthy spars and going
down every minute, spent swimmers floating dead, and sharks.

The usual diligence and order of the Counting-house at the Works
were overthrown. Unopened letters and unsorted papers lay strewn
about the desk. In the midst of these tokens of prostrated energy
and dismissed hope, the master of the Counting-house stood idle in
his usual place, with his arms crossed on the desk, and his head
bowed down upon them.

Mr Pancks rushed in and saw him, and stood still. In another
minute, Mr Pancks's arms were on the desk, and Mr Pancks's head was
bowed down upon them; and for some time they remained in these
attitudes, idle and silent, with the width of the little room
between them. Mr Pancks was the first to lift up his head and
speak.

'I persuaded you to it, Mr Clennam. I know it. Say what you will.

You can't say more to me than I say to myself. You can't say more
than I deserve.'

'O, Pancks, Pancks!' returned Clennam, 'don't speak of deserving.
What do I myself deserve!'

'Better luck,' said Pancks.

'I,' pursued Clennam, without attending to him, 'who have ruined my
partner! Pancks, Pancks, I have ruined Doyce! The honest, self-
helpful, indefatigable old man who has worked his way all through
his life; the man who has contended against so much disappointment,
and who has brought out of it such a good and hopeful nature; the
man I have felt so much for, and meant to be so true and useful to;
I have ruined him--brought him to shame and disgrace--ruined him,
ruined him!'

The agony into which the reflection wrought his mind was so
distressing to see, that Mr Pancks took hold of himself by the hair
of his head, and tore it in desperation at the spectacle.

'Reproach me!' cried Pancks. 'Reproach me, sir, or I'll do myself
an injury. Say,--You fool, you villain. Say,--Ass, how could you
do it; Beast, what did you mean by it! Catch hold of me somewhere.

Say something abusive to me!' All the time, Mr Pancks was tearing
at his tough hair in a most pitiless and cruel manner.

'If you had never yielded to this fatal mania, Pancks,'