Chapter: When Mrs Flintwinch dreamed, she usually dreamed, unlike the son of her
old mistress, with her eyes shut. She had a curiously vivid dream that
night, and before she had left the son of her old mistress many hours.
In fact it was not at all like a dream; it was so very real in every
respect. It happened in this wise.

The bed-chamber occupied by Mr and Mrs Flintwinch was within a few paces
of that to which Mrs Clennam had been so long confined. It was not on
the same floor, for it was a room at the side of the house, which was
approached by a steep descent of a few odd steps, diverging from the
main staircase nearly opposite to Mrs Clennam's door. It could scarcely
be said to be within call, the walls, doors, and panelling of the old
place were so cumbrous; but it was within easy reach, in any undress,
      at any hour of the night, in any temperature. At the head of the bed
      and within a foot of Mrs Flintwinch's ear, was a bell, the line of which
      hung ready to Mrs Clennam's hand. Whenever this bell rang, up started
      Affery, and was in the sick room before she was awake.

      Having got her mistress into bed, lighted her lamp, and given her good
      night, Mrs Flintwinch went to roost as usual, saving that her lord had
      not yet appeared. It was her lord himself who became--unlike the
      last theme in the mind, according to the observation of most
      philosophers--the subject of Mrs Flintwinch's dream.

      It seemed to her that she awoke after sleeping some hours, and found
      Jeremiah not yet abed. That she looked at the candle she had left
      burning, and, measuring the time like King Alfred the Great, was
      confirmed by its wasted state in her belief that she had been asleep for
      some considerable period. That she arose thereupon, muffled herself up
      in a wrapper, put on her shoes, and went out on the staircase, much
      surprised, to look for Jeremiah.

      The staircase was as wooden and solid as need be, and Affery went
      straight down it without any of those deviations peculiar to dreams.
      She did not skim over it, but walked down it, and guided herself by the
      banisters on account of her candle having died out. In one corner of
      the hall, behind the house-door, there was a little waiting-room, like a
      well-shaft, with a long narrow window in it as if it had been ripped up.
      In this room, which was never used, a light was burning.

      Mrs Flintwinch crossed the hall, feeling its pavement cold to her
      stockingless feet, and peeped in between the rusty hinges on the door,
      which stood a little open. She expected to see Jeremiah fast asleep or
      in a fit, but he was calmly seated in a chair, awake, and in his usual
      health. But what--hey?--Lord forgive us!--Mrs Flintwinch muttered some
      ejaculation to this effect, and turned giddy.

      For, Mr Flintwinch awake, was watching Mr Flintwinch asleep. He sat on
      one side of the small table, looking keenly at himself on the other side
      with his chin sunk on his breast, snoring. The waking Flintwinch had his
      full front face presented to his wife; the sleeping Flintwinch was
      in profile. The waking Flintwinch was the old original; the sleeping
      Flintwinch was the double, just as she might have distinguished between
      a tangible object and its reflection in a glass, Affery made out this
      difference with her head going round and round.

      If she had had any doubt which was her own Jeremiah, it would have been
      resolved by his impatience. He looked about him for an offensive weapon,
      caught up the snuffers, and, before applying them to the cabbage-headed
      candle, lunged at the sleeper as though he would have run him through
      the body.

      'Who's that? What's the matter?' cried the sleeper, starting.

      Mr Flintwinch made a movement with the snuffers, as if he would have
      enforced silence on his companion by putting them down his throat; the
      companion, coming to himself, said, rubbing his eyes, 'I forgot where I
      was.'

      'You have been asleep,' snarled Jeremiah, referring to his watch, 'two
      hours. You said you would be rested enough if you had a short nap.'

      'I have had a short nap,' said Double.

      'Half-past two o'clock in the morning,' muttered Jeremiah. 'Where's your
      hat? Where's your coat? Where's the box?'

      'All here,' said Double, tying up his throat with sleepy carefulness in
      a shawl. 'Stop a minute. Now give me the sleeve--not that sleeve, the
      other one. Ha! I'm not as young as I was.' Mr Flintwinch had pulled
      him into his coat with vehement energy. 'You promised me a second glass
      after I was rested.'

      'Drink it!' returned Jeremiah, 'and--choke yourself, I was going
      to say--but go, I mean.' At the same time he produced the identical
      port-wine bottle, and filled a wine-glass.

      'Her port-wine, I believe?' said Double, tasting it as if he were in the
      Docks, with hours to spare. 'Her health.'

      He took a sip.

      'Your health!'

      He took another sip.

      'His health!'

      He took another sip.

      'And all friends round St Paul's.' He emptied and put down the
      wine-glass half-way through this ancient civic toast, and took up the
      box. It was an iron box some two feet square, which he carried under his
      arms pretty easily. Jeremiah watched his manner of adjusting it, with
      jealous eyes; tried it with his hands, to be sure that he had a firm
      hold of it; bade him for his life be careful what he was about; and then
      stole out on tiptoe to open the door for him. Affery, anticipating
      the last movement, was on the staircase. The sequence of things was
      so ordinary and natural, that, standing there, she could hear the door
      open, feel the night air, and see the stars outside.

      But now came the most remarkable part of the dream. She felt so afraid
      of her husband, that being on the staircase, she had not the power to
      retreat to her room (which she might easily have done before he had
              fastened the door), but stood there staring. Consequently when he came
      up the staircase to bed, candle in hand, he came full upon her. He
      looked astonished, but said not a word. He kept his eyes upon her, and
      kept advancing; and she, completely under his influence, kept retiring
      before him. Thus, she walking backward and he walking forward, they
      came into their own room. They were no sooner shut in there, than Mr
      Flintwinch took her by the throat, and shook her until she was black in
      the face.

      'Why, Affery, woman--Affery!' said Mr Flintwinch. 'What have you been
      dreaming of? Wake up, wake up! What's the matter?'

      'The--the matter, Jeremiah?' gasped Mrs Flintwinch, rolling her eyes.

      'Why, Affery, woman--Affery! You have been getting out of bed in your
      sleep, my dear! I come up, after having fallen asleep myself, below, and
      find you in your wrapper here, with the nightmare. Affery, woman,' said
      Mr Flintwinch, with a friendly grin on his expressive countenance, 'if
      you ever have a dream of this sort again, it'll be a sign of your being
      in want of physic. And I'll give you such a dose, old woman--such a
      dose!'

      Mrs Flintwinch thanked him and crept into bed.

 Affery goes to bed. Then she has what she thinks is a dream. She "dreams" that she goes downstairs and sees Flintwinch talking to himself - no, literally, talking to a double of himself. She totally freaks out and becomes sort of catatonic and paralyzed with fear. The double picks up an iron box and goes out the door. Flintwinch sees Affery on the stairs and pushes her back to the bedroom silently. Then he chokes the living daylights out of her, while shaking her awake. He tells her she's been having a nightmare and if she has another one, he's going to give her a big dose of medicine. You know, the beating-the-crap-out-of-you kind of medicine.

