“The spectacle of those orbs,” says Mr. Venus, gazing upward with his hat tumbling off; “brings heavy on me her crushing words that she did not wish to regard herself nor yet to be regarded in that⁠—”

“I know! I know! You needn’t repeat ’em,” says Wegg, pressing his hand. “But think how those stars steady me in the cause of the right against some that shall be nameless. It isn’t that I bear malice. But see how they glisten with old remembrances! Old remembrances of what, sir?”

Mr. Venus begins drearily replying, “Of her words, in her own handwriting, that she does not wish to regard herself, nor yet⁠—” when Silas cuts him short with dignity.

“No, sir! Remembrances of Our House, of Master George, of Aunt Jane, of Uncle Parker, all laid waste! All offered up sacrifices to the minion of fortune and the worm of the hour!”