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diff --git a/1400-0.txt b/1400-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..968430a --- /dev/null +++ b/1400-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20402 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1400 *** + +[Illustration] + + + + +Great Expectations + +[1867 Edition] + +by Charles Dickens + + +Contents + + Chapter I. + Chapter II. + Chapter III. + Chapter IV. + Chapter V. + Chapter VI. + Chapter VII. + Chapter VIII. + Chapter IX. + Chapter X. + Chapter XI. + Chapter XII. + Chapter XIII. + Chapter XIV. + Chapter XV. + Chapter XVI. + Chapter XVII. + Chapter XVIII. + Chapter XIX. + Chapter XX. + Chapter XXI. + Chapter XXII. + Chapter XXIII. + Chapter XXIV. + Chapter XXV. + Chapter XXVI. + Chapter XXVII. + Chapter XXVIII. + Chapter XXIX. + Chapter XXX. + Chapter XXXI. + Chapter XXXII. + Chapter XXXIII. + Chapter XXXIV. + Chapter XXXV. + Chapter XXXVI. + Chapter XXXVII. + Chapter XXXVIII. + Chapter XXXIX. + Chapter XL. + Chapter XLI. + Chapter XLII. + Chapter XLIII. + Chapter XLIV. + Chapter XLV. + Chapter XLVI. + Chapter XLVII. + Chapter XLVIII. + Chapter XLIX. + Chapter L. + Chapter LI. + Chapter LII. + Chapter LIII. + Chapter LIV. + Chapter LV. + Chapter LVI. + Chapter LVII. + Chapter LVIII. + Chapter LIX. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Chapter I. + + +My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my +infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit +than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip. + +I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his +tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith. +As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of +either of them (for their days were long before the days of +photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were +unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on +my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man, +with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription, +“_Also Georgiana Wife of the Above_,” I drew a childish conclusion that +my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each +about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside +their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of +mine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that +universal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously +entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands +in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state +of existence. + +Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river +wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad +impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on +a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out +for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the +churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also +Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander, +Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the +aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness +beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates, +with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low +leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from +which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of +shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip. + +“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from +among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you +little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!” + +A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man +with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his +head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and +lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by +briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose +teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin. + +“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it, +sir.” + +“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!” + +“Pip, sir.” + +“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!” + +“Pip. Pip, sir.” + +“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!” + +I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the +alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church. + +The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and +emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. +When the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he +made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my +feet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high +tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously. + +[Illustration] + +“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you +ha’ got.” + +I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my +years, and not strong. + +“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake +of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!” + +I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the +tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it; +partly, to keep myself from crying. + +“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?” + +“There, sir!” said I. + +He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder. + +“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.” + +“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your +mother?” + +“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.” + +“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’ +you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?” + +“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, +sir.” + +“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg. + +After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to +my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he +could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine, +and mine looked most helplessly up into his. + +“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be +let to live. You know what a file is?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“And you know what wittles is?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a +greater sense of helplessness and danger. + +“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He +tilted me again. “You bring ’em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or +I’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again. + +I was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both +hands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright, +sir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.” + +He gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped +over its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright +position on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:— + +“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You +bring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and +you never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your +having seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall +be let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no +matter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore +out, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am. +There’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I +am a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has +a secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his +heart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide +himself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in +bed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think +himself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and +creep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man +from harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I +find it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what +do you say?” + +I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken +bits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in +the morning. + +“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man. + +I said so, and he took me down. + +“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you +remember that young man, and you get home!” + +“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered. + +“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I +wish I was a frog. Or a eel!” + +At the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his +arms,—clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,—and limped +towards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the +nettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked +in my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people, +stretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his +ankle and pull him in. + +When he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose +legs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When +I saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of +my legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on +again towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and +picking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into +the marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were +heavy or the tide was in. + +The marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped +to look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not +nearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long +angry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the +river I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the +prospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the +beacon by which the sailors steered,—like an unhooped cask upon a +pole,—an ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with +some chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was +limping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life, +and come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a +terrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their +heads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I +looked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of +him. But now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping. + + + + +Chapter II. + + +My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, +and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours +because she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find +out for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a +hard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her +husband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both +brought up by hand. + +She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general +impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe +was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth +face, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to +have somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild, +good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sort +of Hercules in strength, and also in weakness. + +My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing +redness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible +she washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall +and bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her +figure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in +front, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful +merit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this +apron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn +it at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken +it off, every day of her life. + +Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of +the dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When I +ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was +sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and +having confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment +I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, +sitting in the chimney corner. + +“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s +out now, making it a baker’s dozen.” + +“Is she?” + +“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.” + +At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat +round and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler +was a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled +frame. + +“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at +Tickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly +clearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at +it; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.” + +“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species +of child, and as no more than my equal. + +“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the +Ram-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Get +behind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.” + +I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open, +and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, +and applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by +throwing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad to +get hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly +fenced me up there with his great leg. + +“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her +foot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with +fret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you +was fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.” + +“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and +rubbing myself. + +“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been +to the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by +hand?” + +“You did,” said I. + +“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister. + +I whimpered, “I don’t know.” + +“_I_ don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may +truly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were. +It’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without +being your mother.” + +My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at +the fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the +mysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was +under to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me +in the avenging coals. + +“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard, +indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by, +had not said it at all. “You’ll drive _me_ to the churchyard betwixt +you, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without +me!” + +As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me +over his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and +calculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the +grievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his +right-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with +his blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times. + +My sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us, +that never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard +and fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, and +sometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she +took some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf, +in an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—using +both sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and +moulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a +final smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very +thick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the +loaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other. + +On the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. +I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful +acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew +Mrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my +larcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe. +Therefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of +my trousers. + +The effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I +found to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap +from the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water. +And it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In our +already-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his +good-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare +the way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each +other’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions. +To-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast +diminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but he +found me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my +untouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately +considered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had +best be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the +circumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at +me, and got my bread and butter down my leg. + +Joe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss +of appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he +didn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than +usual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like +a pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on +one side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw +that my bread and butter was gone. + +The wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of +his bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s +observation. + +“What’s the matter _now_?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup. + +“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious +remonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll +stick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.” + +“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before. + +“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do +it,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s +your elth.” + +By this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe, +and, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little +while against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking +guiltily on. + +“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of +breath, “you staring great stuck pig.” + +Joe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and +looked at me again. + +“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek, +and speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone, +“you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you, +any time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floor +between us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!” + +“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister. + +“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe, +with his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your +age—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never +see your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted +dead.” + +My sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying +nothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.” + +Some medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine +medicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard; +having a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the +best of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a +choice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like +a new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded +a pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater +comfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be +held in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to +swallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and +meditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from +myself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had +none before. + +Conscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in +the case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret +burden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great +punishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—I +never thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the +housekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keeping +one hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about +the kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then, +as the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the +voice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to +secrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until +to-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the +young man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his +hands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should +mistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and +liver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on +end with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s +ever did? + +It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with +a copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with +the load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the +load on _his_ leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the +bread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped +away, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom. + +“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final +warm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great +guns, Joe?” + +“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.” + +“What does that mean, Joe?” said I. + +Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, +“Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water. + +While Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my +mouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put +_his_ mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer, +that I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.” + +“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after +sunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re +firing warning of another.” + +“_Who’s_ firing?” said I. + +“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work, +“what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no +lies.” + +It was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be +told lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite +unless there was company. + +At this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost +pains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a +word that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to +Mrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe +wouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide, +and shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make +nothing of the word. + +“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know—if you +wouldn’t much mind—where the firing comes from?” + +“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean +that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!” + +“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!” + +Joe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.” + +“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I. + +“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me out +with her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him one +question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships, +right ’cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in our +country. + +“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” said +I, in a general way, and with quiet desperation. + +It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, +young fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badger +people’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had. +People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, +and forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by asking +questions. Now, you get along to bed!” + +I was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I went +upstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,—from Mrs. Joe’s thimble +having played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,—I +felt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks were +handy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by asking +questions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe. + +Since that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thought +that few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror. +No matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was in +mortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in +mortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortal +terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I had +no hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed me +at every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done on +requirement, in the secrecy of my terror. + +If I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself drifting +down the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly pirate +calling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed the +gibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there at +once, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had been +inclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must rob +the pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was no +getting a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must have +struck it out of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the very +pirate himself rattling his chains. + +As soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window was +shot with grey, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, +and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get +up, Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly supplied +than usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a hare +hanging up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my back +was half turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time for +selection, no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stole +some bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which I +tied up in my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), some +brandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I had +secretly used for making that intoxicating fluid, +Spanish-liquorice-water, up in my room: diluting the stone bottle from +a jug in the kitchen cupboard), a meat bone with very little on it, and +a beautiful round compact pork pie. I was nearly going away without the +pie, but I was tempted to mount upon a shelf, to look what it was that +was put away so carefully in a covered earthenware dish in a corner, +and I found it was the pie, and I took it in the hope that it was not +intended for early use, and would not be missed for some time. + +There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I +unlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. +Then I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at which +I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the +misty marshes. + + + + +Chapter III. + + +It was a rimy morning, and very damp. I had seen the damp lying on the +outside of my little window, as if some goblin had been crying there +all night, and using the window for a pocket-handkerchief. Now, I saw +the damp lying on the bare hedges and spare grass, like a coarser sort +of spiders’ webs; hanging itself from twig to twig and blade to blade. +On every rail and gate, wet lay clammy, and the marsh mist was so +thick, that the wooden finger on the post directing people to our +village—a direction which they never accepted, for they never came +there—was invisible to me until I was quite close under it. Then, as I +looked up at it, while it dripped, it seemed to my oppressed conscience +like a phantom devoting me to the Hulks. + +The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that +instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. +This was very disagreeable to a guilty mind. The gates and dikes and +banks came bursting at me through the mist, as if they cried as plainly +as could be, “A boy with somebody else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The +cattle came upon me with like suddenness, staring out of their eyes, +and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!” One black +ox, with a white cravat on,—who even had to my awakened conscience +something of a clerical air,—fixed me so obstinately with his eyes, and +moved his blunt head round in such an accusatory manner as I moved +round, that I blubbered out to him, “I couldn’t help it, sir! It wasn’t +for myself I took it!” Upon which he put down his head, blew a cloud of +smoke out of his nose, and vanished with a kick-up of his hind-legs and +a flourish of his tail. + +All this time, I was getting on towards the river; but however fast I +went, I couldn’t warm my feet, to which the damp cold seemed riveted, +as the iron was riveted to the leg of the man I was running to meet. I +knew my way to the Battery, pretty straight, for I had been down there +on a Sunday with Joe, and Joe, sitting on an old gun, had told me that +when I was ’prentice to him, regularly bound, we would have such Larks +there! However, in the confusion of the mist, I found myself at last +too far to the right, and consequently had to try back along the +river-side, on the bank of loose stones above the mud and the stakes +that staked the tide out. Making my way along here with all despatch, I +had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be very near the Battery, and +had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man +sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, +and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep. + +I thought he would be more glad if I came upon him with his breakfast, +in that unexpected manner, so I went forward softly and touched him on +the shoulder. He instantly jumped up, and it was not the same man, but +another man! + +And yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron +on his leg, and was lame, and hoarse, and cold, and was everything that +the other man was; except that he had not the same face, and had a flat +broad-brimmed low-crowned felt hat on. All this I saw in a moment, for +I had only a moment to see it in: he swore an oath at me, made a hit at +me,—it was a round weak blow that missed me and almost knocked himself +down, for it made him stumble,—and then he ran into the mist, stumbling +twice as he went, and I lost him. + +“It’s the young man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified +him. I dare say I should have felt a pain in my liver, too, if I had +known where it was. + +I was soon at the Battery after that, and there was the right +man,—hugging himself and limping to and fro, as if he had never all +night left off hugging and limping,—waiting for me. He was awfully +cold, to be sure. I half expected to see him drop down before my face +and die of deadly cold. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too, that +when I handed him the file and he laid it down on the grass, it +occurred to me he would have tried to eat it, if he had not seen my +bundle. He did not turn me upside down this time to get at what I had, +but left me right side upwards while I opened the bundle and emptied my +pockets. + +“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he. + +“Brandy,” said I. + +He was already handing mincemeat down his throat in the most curious +manner,—more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent +hurry, than a man who was eating it,—but he left off to take some of +the liquor. He shivered all the while so violently, that it was quite +as much as he could do to keep the neck of the bottle between his +teeth, without biting it off. + +“I think you have got the ague,” said I. + +“I’m much of your opinion, boy,” said he. + +“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the +meshes, and they’re dreadful aguish. Rheumatic too.” + +“I’ll eat my breakfast afore they’re the death of me,” said he. “I’d do +that, if I was going to be strung up to that there gallows as there is +over there, directly afterwards. I’ll beat the shivers so far, I’ll bet +you.” + +He was gobbling mincemeat, meatbone, bread, cheese, and pork pie, all +at once: staring distrustfully while he did so at the mist all round +us, and often stopping—even stopping his jaws—to listen. Some real or +fancied sound, some clink upon the river or breathing of beast upon the +marsh, now gave him a start, and he said, suddenly,— + +“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?” + +“No, sir! No!” + +“Nor giv’ no one the office to follow you?” + +“No!” + +“Well,” said he, “I believe you. You’d be but a fierce young hound +indeed, if at your time of life you could help to hunt a wretched +warmint hunted as near death and dunghill as this poor wretched warmint +is!” + +Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock, +and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over +his eyes. + +Pitying his desolation, and watching him as he gradually settled down +upon the pie, I made bold to say, “I am glad you enjoy it.” + +“Did you speak?” + +“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.” + +“Thankee, my boy. I do.” + +I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now +noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the +man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog. He +swallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast; +and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thought +there was danger in every direction of somebody’s coming to take the +pie away. He was altogether too unsettled in his mind over it, to +appreciate it comfortably I thought, or to have anybody to dine with +him, without making a chop with his jaws at the visitor. In all of +which particulars he was very like the dog. + +“I am afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” said I, timidly; after +a silence during which I had hesitated as to the politeness of making +the remark. “There’s no more to be got where that came from.” It was +the certainty of this fact that impelled me to offer the hint. + +“Leave any for him? Who’s him?” said my friend, stopping in his +crunching of pie-crust. + +“The young man. That you spoke of. That was hid with you.” + +“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, +yes! _He_ don’t want no wittles.” + +“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I. + +The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the keenest scrutiny and +the greatest surprise. + +“Looked? When?” + +“Just now.” + +“Where?” + +“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him nodding +asleep, and thought it was you.” + +He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his +first idea about cutting my throat had revived. + +“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling; +“and—and”—I was very anxious to put this delicately—“and with—the same +reason for wanting to borrow a file. Didn’t you hear the cannon last +night?” + +“Then there _was_ firing!” he said to himself. + +“I wonder you shouldn’t have been sure of that,” I returned, “for we +heard it up at home, and that’s farther away, and we were shut in +besides.” + +“Why, see now!” said he. “When a man’s alone on these flats, with a +light head and a light stomach, perishing of cold and want, he hears +nothin’ all night, but guns firing, and voices calling. Hears? He sees +the soldiers, with their red coats lighted up by the torches carried +afore, closing in round him. Hears his number called, hears himself +challenged, hears the rattle of the muskets, hears the orders ‘Make +ready! Present! Cover him steady, men!’ and is laid hands on—and +there’s nothin’! Why, if I see one pursuing party last night—coming up +in order, Damn ’em, with their tramp, tramp—I see a hundred. And as to +firing! Why, I see the mist shake with the cannon, arter it was broad +day,—But this man”; he had said all the rest, as if he had forgotten my +being there; “did you notice anything in him?” + +“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I +knew. + +“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek mercilessly, +with the flat of his hand. + +“Yes, there!” + +“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of +his grey jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down, like a +bloodhound. Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us hold of the file, +boy.” + +I indicated in what direction the mist had shrouded the other man, and +he looked up at it for an instant. But he was down on the rank wet +grass, filing at his iron like a madman, and not minding me or minding +his own leg, which had an old chafe upon it and was bloody, but which +he handled as roughly as if it had no more feeling in it than the file. +I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself +into this fierce hurry, and I was likewise very much afraid of keeping +away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice, +so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip off. The last I saw +of him, his head was bent over his knee and he was working hard at his +fetter, muttering impatient imprecations at it and at his leg. The last +I heard of him, I stopped in the mist to listen, and the file was still +going. + + + + +Chapter IV. + + +I fully expected to find a Constable in the kitchen, waiting to take me +up. But not only was there no Constable there, but no discovery had yet +been made of the robbery. Mrs. Joe was prodigiously busy in getting the +house ready for the festivities of the day, and Joe had been put upon +the kitchen doorstep to keep him out of the dust-pan,—an article into +which his destiny always led him, sooner or later, when my sister was +vigorously reaping the floors of her establishment. + +“And where the deuce ha’ _you_ been?” was Mrs. Joe’s Christmas +salutation, when I and my conscience showed ourselves. + +I said I had been down to hear the Carols. “Ah! well!” observed Mrs. +Joe. “You might ha’ done worse.” Not a doubt of that I thought. + +“Perhaps if I warn’t a blacksmith’s wife, and (what’s the same thing) a +slave with her apron never off, _I_ should have been to hear the +Carols,” said Mrs. Joe. “I’m rather partial to Carols, myself, and +that’s the best of reasons for my never hearing any.” + +Joe, who had ventured into the kitchen after me as the dustpan had +retired before us, drew the back of his hand across his nose with a +conciliatory air, when Mrs. Joe darted a look at him, and, when her +eyes were withdrawn, secretly crossed his two forefingers, and +exhibited them to me, as our token that Mrs. Joe was in a cross temper. +This was so much her normal state, that Joe and I would often, for +weeks together, be, as to our fingers, like monumental Crusaders as to +their legs. + +We were to have a superb dinner, consisting of a leg of pickled pork +and greens, and a pair of roast stuffed fowls. A handsome mince-pie had +been made yesterday morning (which accounted for the mincemeat not +being missed), and the pudding was already on the boil. These extensive +arrangements occasioned us to be cut off unceremoniously in respect of +breakfast; “for I ain’t,” said Mrs. Joe,—“I ain’t a-going to have no +formal cramming and busting and washing up now, with what I’ve got +before me, I promise you!” + +So, we had our slices served out, as if we were two thousand troops on +a forced march instead of a man and boy at home; and we took gulps of +milk and water, with apologetic countenances, from a jug on the +dresser. In the meantime, Mrs. Joe put clean white curtains up, and +tacked a new flowered flounce across the wide chimney to replace the +old one, and uncovered the little state parlour across the passage, +which was never uncovered at any other time, but passed the rest of the +year in a cool haze of silver paper, which even extended to the four +little white crockery poodles on the mantel-shelf, each with a black +nose and a basket of flowers in his mouth, and each the counterpart of +the other. Mrs. Joe was a very clean housekeeper, but had an exquisite +art of making her cleanliness more uncomfortable and unacceptable than +dirt itself. Cleanliness is next to Godliness, and some people do the +same by their religion. + +My sister, having so much to do, was going to church vicariously, that +is to say, Joe and I were going. In his working-clothes, Joe was a +well-knit characteristic-looking blacksmith; in his holiday clothes, he +was more like a scarecrow in good circumstances, than anything else. +Nothing that he wore then fitted him or seemed to belong to him; and +everything that he wore then grazed him. On the present festive +occasion he emerged from his room, when the blithe bells were going, +the picture of misery, in a full suit of Sunday penitentials. As to me, +I think my sister must have had some general idea that I was a young +offender whom an Accoucheur Policeman had taken up (on my birthday) and +delivered over to her, to be dealt with according to the outraged +majesty of the law. I was always treated as if I had insisted on being +born in opposition to the dictates of reason, religion, and morality, +and against the dissuading arguments of my best friends. Even when I +was taken to have a new suit of clothes, the tailor had orders to make +them like a kind of Reformatory, and on no account to let me have the +free use of my limbs. + +Joe and I going to church, therefore, must have been a moving spectacle +for compassionate minds. Yet, what I suffered outside was nothing to +what I underwent within. The terrors that had assailed me whenever Mrs. +Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to be +equalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands had +done. Under the weight of my wicked secret, I pondered whether the +Church would be powerful enough to shield me from the vengeance of the +terrible young man, if I divulged to that establishment. I conceived +the idea that the time when the banns were read and when the clergyman +said, “Ye are now to declare it!” would be the time for me to rise and +propose a private conference in the vestry. I am far from being sure +that I might not have astonished our small congregation by resorting to +this extreme measure, but for its being Christmas Day and no Sunday. + +Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr. Hubble +the wheelwright and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe’s uncle, +but Mrs. Joe appropriated him), who was a well-to-do cornchandler in +the nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour was +half-past one. When Joe and I got home, we found the table laid, and +Mrs. Joe dressed, and the dinner dressing, and the front door unlocked +(it never was at any other time) for the company to enter by, and +everything most splendid. And still, not a word of the robbery. + +The time came, without bringing with it any relief to my feelings, and +the company came. Mr. Wopsle, united to a Roman nose and a large +shining bald forehead, had a deep voice which he was uncommonly proud +of; indeed it was understood among his acquaintance that if you could +only give him his head, he would read the clergyman into fits; he +himself confessed that if the Church was “thrown open,” meaning to +competition, he would not despair of making his mark in it. The Church +not being “thrown open,” he was, as I have said, our clerk. But he +punished the Amens tremendously; and when he gave out the psalm,—always +giving the whole verse,—he looked all round the congregation first, as +much as to say, “You have heard my friend overhead; oblige me with your +opinion of this style!” + +I opened the door to the company,—making believe that it was a habit of +ours to open that door,—and I opened it first to Mr. Wopsle, next to +Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, and last of all to Uncle Pumblechook. N.B. _I_ was +not allowed to call him uncle, under the severest penalties. + +“Mrs. Joe,” said Uncle Pumblechook, a large hard-breathing middle-aged +slow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes, and sandy hair +standing upright on his head, so that he looked as if he had just been +all but choked, and had that moment come to, “I have brought you as the +compliments of the season—I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherry +wine—and I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of port wine.” + +Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty, with +exactly the same words, and carrying the two bottles like dumb-bells. +Every Christmas Day, Mrs. Joe replied, as she now replied, “O, Un—cle +Pum-ble—chook! This _is_ kind!” Every Christmas Day, he retorted, as he +now retorted, “It’s no more than your merits. And now are you all +bobbish, and how’s Sixpennorth of halfpence?” meaning me. + +We dined on these occasions in the kitchen, and adjourned, for the nuts +and oranges and apples to the parlour; which was a change very like +Joe’s change from his working-clothes to his Sunday dress. My sister +was uncommonly lively on the present occasion, and indeed was generally +more gracious in the society of Mrs. Hubble than in other company. I +remember Mrs. Hubble as a little curly sharp-edged person in sky-blue, +who held a conventionally juvenile position, because she had married +Mr. Hubble,—I don’t know at what remote period,—when she was much +younger than he. I remember Mr Hubble as a tough, high-shouldered, +stooping old man, of a sawdusty fragrance, with his legs +extraordinarily wide apart: so that in my short days I always saw some +miles of open country between them when I met him coming up the lane. + +Among this good company I should have felt myself, even if I hadn’t +robbed the pantry, in a false position. Not because I was squeezed in +at an acute angle of the tablecloth, with the table in my chest, and +the Pumblechookian elbow in my eye, nor because I was not allowed to +speak (I didn’t want to speak), nor because I was regaled with the +scaly tips of the drumsticks of the fowls, and with those obscure +corners of pork of which the pig, when living, had had the least reason +to be vain. No; I should not have minded that, if they would only have +left me alone. But they wouldn’t leave me alone. They seemed to think +the opportunity lost, if they failed to point the conversation at me, +every now and then, and stick the point into me. I might have been an +unfortunate little bull in a Spanish arena, I got so smartingly touched +up by these moral goads. + +It began the moment we sat down to dinner. Mr. Wopsle said grace with +theatrical declamation,—as it now appears to me, something like a +religious cross of the Ghost in Hamlet with Richard the Third,—and +ended with the very proper aspiration that we might be truly grateful. +Upon which my sister fixed me with her eye, and said, in a low +reproachful voice, “Do you hear that? Be grateful.” + +“Especially,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “be grateful, boy, to them which +brought you up by hand.” + +Mrs. Hubble shook her head, and contemplating me with a mournful +presentiment that I should come to no good, asked, “Why is it that the +young are never grateful?” This moral mystery seemed too much for the +company until Mr. Hubble tersely solved it by saying, “Naterally +wicious.” Everybody then murmured “True!” and looked at me in a +particularly unpleasant and personal manner. + +Joe’s station and influence were something feebler (if possible) when +there was company than when there was none. But he always aided and +comforted me when he could, in some way of his own, and he always did +so at dinner-time by giving me gravy, if there were any. There being +plenty of gravy to-day, Joe spooned into my plate, at this point, about +half a pint. + +A little later on in the dinner, Mr. Wopsle reviewed the sermon with +some severity, and intimated—in the usual hypothetical case of the +Church being “thrown open”—what kind of sermon _he_ would have given +them. After favouring them with some heads of that discourse, he +remarked that he considered the subject of the day’s homily, ill +chosen; which was the less excusable, he added, when there were so many +subjects “going about.” + +“True again,” said Uncle Pumblechook. “You’ve hit it, sir! Plenty of +subjects going about, for them that know how to put salt upon their +tails. That’s what’s wanted. A man needn’t go far to find a subject, if +he’s ready with his salt-box.” Mr. Pumblechook added, after a short +interval of reflection, “Look at Pork alone. There’s a subject! If you +want a subject, look at Pork!” + +“True, sir. Many a moral for the young,” returned Mr. Wopsle,—and I +knew he was going to lug me in, before he said it; “might be deduced +from that text.” + +(“You listen to this,” said my sister to me, in a severe parenthesis.) + +Joe gave me some more gravy. + +“Swine,” pursued Mr. Wopsle, in his deepest voice, and pointing his +fork at my blushes, as if he were mentioning my Christian name,—“swine +were the companions of the prodigal. The gluttony of Swine is put +before us, as an example to the young.” (I thought this pretty well in +him who had been praising up the pork for being so plump and juicy.) +“What is detestable in a pig is more detestable in a boy.” + +“Or girl,” suggested Mr. Hubble. + +“Of course, or girl, Mr. Hubble,” assented Mr. Wopsle, rather +irritably, “but there is no girl present.” + +“Besides,” said Mr. Pumblechook, turning sharp on me, “think what +you’ve got to be grateful for. If you’d been born a Squeaker—” + +“He _was_, if ever a child was,” said my sister, most emphatically. + +Joe gave me some more gravy. + +“Well, but I mean a four-footed Squeaker,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “If +you had been born such, would you have been here now? Not you—” + +“Unless in that form,” said Mr. Wopsle, nodding towards the dish. + +“But I don’t mean in that form, sir,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, who had +an objection to being interrupted; “I mean, enjoying himself with his +elders and betters, and improving himself with their conversation, and +rolling in the lap of luxury. Would he have been doing that? No, he +wouldn’t. And what would have been your destination?” turning on me +again. “You would have been disposed of for so many shillings according +to the market price of the article, and Dunstable the butcher would +have come up to you as you lay in your straw, and he would have whipped +you under his left arm, and with his right he would have tucked up his +frock to get a penknife from out of his waistcoat-pocket, and he would +have shed your blood and had your life. No bringing up by hand then. +Not a bit of it!” + +Joe offered me more gravy, which I was afraid to take. + +“He was a world of trouble to you, ma’am,” said Mrs. Hubble, +commiserating my sister. + +“Trouble?” echoed my sister; “trouble?” and then entered on a fearful +catalogue of all the illnesses I had been guilty of, and all the acts +of sleeplessness I had committed, and all the high places I had tumbled +from, and all the low places I had tumbled into, and all the injuries I +had done myself, and all the times she had wished me in my grave, and I +had contumaciously refused to go there. + +I think the Romans must have aggravated one another very much, with +their noses. Perhaps, they became the restless people they were, in +consequence. Anyhow, Mr. Wopsle’s Roman nose so aggravated me, during +the recital of my misdemeanours, that I should have liked to pull it +until he howled. But, all I had endured up to this time was nothing in +comparison with the awful feelings that took possession of me when the +pause was broken which ensued upon my sister’s recital, and in which +pause everybody had looked at me (as I felt painfully conscious) with +indignation and abhorrence. + +“Yet,” said Mr. Pumblechook, leading the company gently back to the +theme from which they had strayed, “Pork—regarded as biled—is rich, +too; ain’t it?” + +“Have a little brandy, uncle,” said my sister. + +O Heavens, it had come at last! He would find it was weak, he would say +it was weak, and I was lost! I held tight to the leg of the table under +the cloth, with both hands, and awaited my fate. + +My sister went for the stone bottle, came back with the stone bottle, +and poured his brandy out: no one else taking any. The wretched man +trifled with his glass,—took it up, looked at it through the light, put +it down,—prolonged my misery. All this time Mrs. Joe and Joe were +briskly clearing the table for the pie and pudding. + +I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. Always holding tight by the leg of the +table with my hands and feet, I saw the miserable creature finger his +glass playfully, take it up, smile, throw his head back, and drink the +brandy off. Instantly afterwards, the company were seized with +unspeakable consternation, owing to his springing to his feet, turning +round several times in an appalling spasmodic whooping-cough dance, and +rushing out at the door; he then became visible through the window, +violently plunging and expectorating, making the most hideous faces, +and apparently out of his mind. + +I held on tight, while Mrs. Joe and Joe ran to him. I didn’t know how I +had done it, but I had no doubt I had murdered him somehow. In my +dreadful situation, it was a relief when he was brought back, and +surveying the company all round as if _they_ had disagreed with him, +sank down into his chair with the one significant gasp, “Tar!” + +I had filled up the bottle from the tar-water jug. I knew he would be +worse by and by. I moved the table, like a Medium of the present day, +by the vigor of my unseen hold upon it. + +“Tar!” cried my sister, in amazement. “Why, how ever could Tar come +there?” + +But, Uncle Pumblechook, who was omnipotent in that kitchen, wouldn’t +hear the word, wouldn’t hear of the subject, imperiously waved it all +away with his hand, and asked for hot gin and water. My sister, who had +begun to be alarmingly meditative, had to employ herself actively in +getting the gin, the hot water, the sugar, and the lemon-peel, and +mixing them. For the time being at least, I was saved. I still held on +to the leg of the table, but clutched it now with the fervor of +gratitude. + +By degrees, I became calm enough to release my grasp and partake of +pudding. Mr. Pumblechook partook of pudding. All partook of pudding. +The course terminated, and Mr. Pumblechook had begun to beam under the +genial influence of gin and water. I began to think I should get over +the day, when my sister said to Joe, “Clean plates,—cold.” + +I clutched the leg of the table again immediately, and pressed it to my +bosom as if it had been the companion of my youth and friend of my +soul. I foresaw what was coming, and I felt that this time I really was +gone. + +“You must taste,” said my sister, addressing the guests with her best +grace—“you must taste, to finish with, such a delightful and delicious +present of Uncle Pumblechook’s!” + +Must they! Let them not hope to taste it! + +“You must know,” said my sister, rising, “it’s a pie; a savory pork +pie.” + +The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of +having deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said,—quite vivaciously, +all things considered,—“Well, Mrs. Joe, we’ll do our best endeavours; +let us have a cut at this same pie.” + +My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry. +I saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I saw reawakening appetite in +the Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I heard Mr. Hubble remark that “a bit +of savory pork pie would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do +no harm,” and I heard Joe say, “You shall have some, Pip.” I have never +been absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell of terror, +merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the company. I felt that +I could bear no more, and that I must run away. I released the leg of +the table, and ran for my life. + +But I ran no farther than the house door, for there I ran head-foremost +into a party of soldiers with their muskets, one of whom held out a +pair of handcuffs to me, saying, “Here you are, look sharp, come on!” + + + + +Chapter V. + + +The apparition of a file of soldiers ringing down the but-ends of their +loaded muskets on our door-step, caused the dinner-party to rise from +table in confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe re-entering the kitchen +empty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her wondering lament of +“Gracious goodness gracious me, what’s gone—with the—pie!” + +The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stood staring; at +which crisis I partially recovered the use of my senses. It was the +sergeant who had spoken to me, and he was now looking round at the +company, with his handcuffs invitingly extended towards them in his +right hand, and his left on my shoulder. + +“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but as I have +mentioned at the door to this smart young shaver,” (which he hadn’t), +“I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith.” + +“And pray what might you want with _him_?” retorted my sister, quick to +resent his being wanted at all. + +“Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “speaking for myself, I should +reply, the honour and pleasure of his fine wife’s acquaintance; +speaking for the king, I answer, a little job done.” + +This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; insomuch that Mr. +Pumblechook cried audibly, “Good again!” + +“You see, blacksmith,” said the sergeant, who had by this time picked +out Joe with his eye, “we have had an accident with these, and I find +the lock of one of ’em goes wrong, and the coupling don’t act pretty. +As they are wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye over +them?” + +Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job would +necessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would take nearer two +hours than one. “Will it? Then will you set about it at once, +blacksmith?” said the off-hand sergeant, “as it’s on his Majesty’s +service. And if my men can bear a hand anywhere, they’ll make +themselves useful.” With that, he called to his men, who came trooping +into the kitchen one after another, and piled their arms in a corner. +And then they stood about, as soldiers do; now, with their hands +loosely clasped before them; now, resting a knee or a shoulder; now, +easing a belt or a pouch; now, opening the door to spit stiffly over +their high stocks, out into the yard. + +All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw them, for I was +in an agony of apprehension. But beginning to perceive that the +handcuffs were not for me, and that the military had so far got the +better of the pie as to put it in the background, I collected a little +more of my scattered wits. + +“Would you give me the time?” said the sergeant, addressing himself to +Mr. Pumblechook, as to a man whose appreciative powers justified the +inference that he was equal to the time. + +“It’s just gone half past two.” + +“That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant, reflecting; “even if I was +forced to halt here nigh two hours, that’ll do. How far might you call +yourselves from the marshes, hereabouts? Not above a mile, I reckon?” + +“Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe. + +“That’ll do. We begin to close in upon ’em about dusk. A little before +dusk, my orders are. That’ll do.” + +“Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle, in a matter-of-course way. + +“Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They’re pretty well known to be out +on the marshes still, and they won’t try to get clear of ’em before +dusk. Anybody here seen anything of any such game?” + +Everybody, myself excepted, said no, with confidence. Nobody thought of +me. + +“Well!” said the sergeant, “they’ll find themselves trapped in a +circle, I expect, sooner than they count on. Now, blacksmith! If you’re +ready, his Majesty the King is.” + +Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his leather +apron on, and passed into the forge. One of the soldiers opened its +wooden windows, another lighted the fire, another turned to at the +bellows, the rest stood round the blaze, which was soon roaring. Then +Joe began to hammer and clink, hammer and clink, and we all looked on. + +The interest of the impending pursuit not only absorbed the general +attention, but even made my sister liberal. She drew a pitcher of beer +from the cask for the soldiers, and invited the sergeant to take a +glass of brandy. But Mr. Pumblechook said, sharply, “Give him wine, +Mum. I’ll engage there’s no tar in that:” so, the sergeant thanked him +and said that as he preferred his drink without tar, he would take +wine, if it was equally convenient. When it was given him, he drank his +Majesty’s health and compliments of the season, and took it all at a +mouthful and smacked his lips. + +“Good stuff, eh, sergeant?” said Mr. Pumblechook. + +“I’ll tell you something,” returned the sergeant; “I suspect that +stuff’s of _your_ providing.” + +Mr. Pumblechook, with a fat sort of laugh, said, “Ay, ay? Why?” + +“Because,” returned the sergeant, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re +a man that knows what’s what.” + +“D’ye think so?” said Mr. Pumblechook, with his former laugh. “Have +another glass!” + +“With you. Hob and nob,” returned the sergeant. “The top of mine to the +foot of yours,—the foot of yours to the top of mine,—Ring once, ring +twice,—the best tune on the Musical Glasses! Your health. May you live +a thousand years, and never be a worse judge of the right sort than you +are at the present moment of your life!” + +The sergeant tossed off his glass again and seemed quite ready for +another glass. I noticed that Mr. Pumblechook in his hospitality +appeared to forget that he had made a present of the wine, but took the +bottle from Mrs. Joe and had all the credit of handing it about in a +gush of joviality. Even I got some. And he was so very free of the wine +that he even called for the other bottle, and handed that about with +the same liberality, when the first was gone. + +As I watched them while they all stood clustering about the forge, +enjoying themselves so much, I thought what terrible good sauce for a +dinner my fugitive friend on the marshes was. They had not enjoyed +themselves a quarter so much, before the entertainment was brightened +with the excitement he furnished. And now, when they were all in lively +anticipation of “the two villains” being taken, and when the bellows +seemed to roar for the fugitives, the fire to flare for them, the smoke +to hurry away in pursuit of them, Joe to hammer and clink for them, and +all the murky shadows on the wall to shake at them in menace as the +blaze rose and sank, and the red-hot sparks dropped and died, the pale +afternoon outside almost seemed in my pitying young fancy to have +turned pale on their account, poor wretches. + +At last, Joe’s job was done, and the ringing and roaring stopped. As +Joe got on his coat, he mustered courage to propose that some of us +should go down with the soldiers and see what came of the hunt. Mr. +Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined, on the plea of a pipe and ladies’ +society; but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he was +agreeable, and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. We never should +have got leave to go, I am sure, but for Mrs. Joe’s curiosity to know +all about it and how it ended. As it was, she merely stipulated, “If +you bring the boy back with his head blown to bits by a musket, don’t +look to me to put it together again.” + +The sergeant took a polite leave of the ladies, and parted from Mr. +Pumblechook as from a comrade; though I doubt if he were quite as fully +sensible of that gentleman’s merits under arid conditions, as when +something moist was going. His men resumed their muskets and fell in. +Mr. Wopsle, Joe, and I, received strict charge to keep in the rear, and +to speak no word after we reached the marshes. When we were all out in +the raw air and were steadily moving towards our business, I +treasonably whispered to Joe, “I hope, Joe, we shan’t find them.” and +Joe whispered to me, “I’d give a shilling if they had cut and run, +Pip.” + +We were joined by no stragglers from the village, for the weather was +cold and threatening, the way dreary, the footing bad, darkness coming +on, and the people had good fires in-doors and were keeping the day. A +few faces hurried to glowing windows and looked after us, but none came +out. We passed the finger-post, and held straight on to the churchyard. +There we were stopped a few minutes by a signal from the sergeant’s +hand, while two or three of his men dispersed themselves among the +graves, and also examined the porch. They came in again without finding +anything, and then we struck out on the open marshes, through the gate +at the side of the churchyard. A bitter sleet came rattling against us +here on the east wind, and Joe took me on his back. + +Now that we were out upon the dismal wilderness where they little +thought I had been within eight or nine hours and had seen both men +hiding, I considered for the first time, with great dread, if we should +come upon them, would my particular convict suppose that it was I who +had brought the soldiers there? He had asked me if I was a deceiving +imp, and he had said I should be a fierce young hound if I joined the +hunt against him. Would he believe that I was both imp and hound in +treacherous earnest, and had betrayed him? + +It was of no use asking myself this question now. There I was, on Joe’s +back, and there was Joe beneath me, charging at the ditches like a +hunter, and stimulating Mr. Wopsle not to tumble on his Roman nose, and +to keep up with us. The soldiers were in front of us, extending into a +pretty wide line with an interval between man and man. We were taking +the course I had begun with, and from which I had diverged in the mist. +Either the mist was not out again yet, or the wind had dispelled it. +Under the low red glare of sunset, the beacon, and the gibbet, and the +mound of the Battery, and the opposite shore of the river, were plain, +though all of a watery lead colour. + +With my heart thumping like a blacksmith at Joe’s broad shoulder, I +looked all about for any sign of the convicts. I could see none, I +could hear none. Mr. Wopsle had greatly alarmed me more than once, by +his blowing and hard breathing; but I knew the sounds by this time, and +could dissociate them from the object of pursuit. I got a dreadful +start, when I thought I heard the file still going; but it was only a +sheep-bell. The sheep stopped in their eating and looked timidly at us; +and the cattle, their heads turned from the wind and sleet, stared +angrily as if they held us responsible for both annoyances; but, except +these things, and the shudder of the dying day in every blade of grass, +there was no break in the bleak stillness of the marshes. + +The soldiers were moving on in the direction of the old Battery, and we +were moving on a little way behind them, when, all of a sudden, we all +stopped. For there had reached us on the wings of the wind and rain, a +long shout. It was repeated. It was at a distance towards the east, but +it was long and loud. Nay, there seemed to be two or more shouts raised +together,—if one might judge from a confusion in the sound. + +To this effect the sergeant and the nearest men were speaking under +their breath, when Joe and I came up. After another moment’s listening, +Joe (who was a good judge) agreed, and Mr. Wopsle (who was a bad judge) +agreed. The sergeant, a decisive man, ordered that the sound should not +be answered, but that the course should be changed, and that his men +should make towards it “at the double.” So we slanted to the right +(where the East was), and Joe pounded away so wonderfully, that I had +to hold on tight to keep my seat. + +It was a run indeed now, and what Joe called, in the only two words he +spoke all the time, “a Winder.” Down banks and up banks, and over +gates, and splashing into dikes, and breaking among coarse rushes: no +man cared where he went. As we came nearer to the shouting, it became +more and more apparent that it was made by more than one voice. +Sometimes, it seemed to stop altogether, and then the soldiers stopped. +When it broke out again, the soldiers made for it at a greater rate +than ever, and we after them. After a while, we had so run it down, +that we could hear one voice calling “Murder!” and another voice, +“Convicts! Runaways! Guard! This way for the runaway convicts!” Then +both voices would seem to be stifled in a struggle, and then would +break out again. And when it had come to this, the soldiers ran like +deer, and Joe too. + +The sergeant ran in first, when we had run the noise quite down, and +two of his men ran in close upon him. Their pieces were cocked and +levelled when we all ran in. + +“Here are both men!” panted the sergeant, struggling at the bottom of a +ditch. “Surrender, you two! and confound you for two wild beasts! Come +asunder!” + +Water was splashing, and mud was flying, and oaths were being sworn, +and blows were being struck, when some more men went down into the +ditch to help the sergeant, and dragged out, separately, my convict and +the other one. Both were bleeding and panting and execrating and +struggling; but of course I knew them both directly. + +“Mind!” said my convict, wiping blood from his face with his ragged +sleeves, and shaking torn hair from his fingers: “_I_ took him! _I_ +give him up to you! Mind that!” + +“It’s not much to be particular about,” said the sergeant; “it’ll do +you small good, my man, being in the same plight yourself. Handcuffs +there!” + +“I don’t expect it to do me any good. I don’t want it to do me more +good than it does now,” said my convict, with a greedy laugh. “I took +him. He knows it. That’s enough for me.” + +The other convict was livid to look at, and, in addition to the old +bruised left side of his face, seemed to be bruised and torn all over. +He could not so much as get his breath to speak, until they were both +separately handcuffed, but leaned upon a soldier to keep himself from +falling. + +“Take notice, guard,—he tried to murder me,” were his first words. + +“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not do +it? I took him, and giv’ him up; that’s what I done. I not only +prevented him getting off the marshes, but I dragged him here,—dragged +him this far on his way back. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this +villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me. Murder +him? Worth my while, too, to murder him, when I could do worse and drag +him back!” + +The other one still gasped, “He tried—he tried-to—murder me. Bear—bear +witness.” + +“Lookee here!” said my convict to the sergeant. “Single-handed I got +clear of the prison-ship; I made a dash and I done it. I could ha’ got +clear of these death-cold flats likewise—look at my leg: you won’t find +much iron on it—if I hadn’t made the discovery that _he_ was here. Let +_him_ go free? Let _him_ profit by the means as I found out? Let _him_ +make a tool of me afresh and again? Once more? No, no, no. If I had +died at the bottom there,” and he made an emphatic swing at the ditch +with his manacled hands, “I’d have held to him with that grip, that you +should have been safe to find him in my hold.” + +The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his +companion, repeated, “He tried to murder me. I should have been a dead +man if you had not come up.” + +“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy. “He’s a liar born, and +he’ll die a liar. Look at his face; ain’t it written there? Let him +turn those eyes of his on me. I defy him to do it.” + +The other, with an effort at a scornful smile, which could not, +however, collect the nervous working of his mouth into any set +expression, looked at the soldiers, and looked about at the marshes and +at the sky, but certainly did not look at the speaker. + +“Do you see him?” pursued my convict. “Do you see what a villain he is? +Do you see those grovelling and wandering eyes? That’s how he looked +when we were tried together. He never looked at me.” + +The other, always working and working his dry lips and turning his eyes +restlessly about him far and near, did at last turn them for a moment +on the speaker, with the words, “You are not much to look at,” and with +a half-taunting glance at the bound hands. At that point, my convict +became so frantically exasperated, that he would have rushed upon him +but for the interposition of the soldiers. “Didn’t I tell you,” said +the other convict then, “that he would murder me, if he could?” And any +one could see that he shook with fear, and that there broke out upon +his lips curious white flakes, like thin snow. + +“Enough of this parley,” said the sergeant. “Light those torches.” + +As one of the soldiers, who carried a basket in lieu of a gun, went +down on his knee to open it, my convict looked round him for the first +time, and saw me. I had alighted from Joe’s back on the brink of the +ditch when we came up, and had not moved since. I looked at him eagerly +when he looked at me, and slightly moved my hands and shook my head. I +had been waiting for him to see me that I might try to assure him of my +innocence. It was not at all expressed to me that he even comprehended +my intention, for he gave me a look that I did not understand, and it +all passed in a moment. But if he had looked at me for an hour or for a +day, I could not have remembered his face ever afterwards, as having +been more attentive. + +The soldier with the basket soon got a light, and lighted three or four +torches, and took one himself and distributed the others. It had been +almost dark before, but now it seemed quite dark, and soon afterwards +very dark. Before we departed from that spot, four soldiers standing in +a ring, fired twice into the air. Presently we saw other torches +kindled at some distance behind us, and others on the marshes on the +opposite bank of the river. “All right,” said the sergeant. “March.” + +We had not gone far when three cannon were fired ahead of us with a +sound that seemed to burst something inside my ear. “You are expected +on board,” said the sergeant to my convict; “they know you are coming. +Don’t straggle, my man. Close up here.” + +The two were kept apart, and each walked surrounded by a separate +guard. I had hold of Joe’s hand now, and Joe carried one of the +torches. Mr. Wopsle had been for going back, but Joe was resolved to +see it out, so we went on with the party. There was a reasonably good +path now, mostly on the edge of the river, with a divergence here and +there where a dike came, with a miniature windmill on it and a muddy +sluice-gate. When I looked round, I could see the other lights coming +in after us. The torches we carried dropped great blotches of fire upon +the track, and I could see those, too, lying smoking and flaring. I +could see nothing else but black darkness. Our lights warmed the air +about us with their pitchy blaze, and the two prisoners seemed rather +to like that, as they limped along in the midst of the muskets. We +could not go fast, because of their lameness; and they were so spent, +that two or three times we had to halt while they rested. + +After an hour or so of this travelling, we came to a rough wooden hut +and a landing-place. There was a guard in the hut, and they challenged, +and the sergeant answered. Then, we went into the hut, where there was +a smell of tobacco and whitewash, and a bright fire, and a lamp, and a +stand of muskets, and a drum, and a low wooden bedstead, like an +overgrown mangle without the machinery, capable of holding about a +dozen soldiers all at once. Three or four soldiers who lay upon it in +their great-coats were not much interested in us, but just lifted their +heads and took a sleepy stare, and then lay down again. The sergeant +made some kind of report, and some entry in a book, and then the +convict whom I call the other convict was drafted off with his guard, +to go on board first. + +My convict never looked at me, except that once. While we stood in the +hut, he stood before the fire looking thoughtfully at it, or putting up +his feet by turns upon the hob, and looking thoughtfully at them as if +he pitied them for their recent adventures. Suddenly, he turned to the +sergeant, and remarked,— + +“I wish to say something respecting this escape. It may prevent some +persons laying under suspicion alonger me.” + +“You can say what you like,” returned the sergeant, standing coolly +looking at him with his arms folded, “but you have no call to say it +here. You’ll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear about +it, before it’s done with, you know.” + +“I know, but this is another pint, a separate matter. A man can’t +starve; at least _I_ can’t. I took some wittles, up at the willage over +yonder,—where the church stands a’most out on the marshes.” + +“You mean stole,” said the sergeant. + +“And I’ll tell you where from. From the blacksmith’s.” + +“Halloa!” said the sergeant, staring at Joe. + +“Halloa, Pip!” said Joe, staring at me. + +“It was some broken wittles—that’s what it was—and a dram of liquor, +and a pie.” + +“Have you happened to miss such an article as a pie, blacksmith?” asked +the sergeant, confidentially. + +“My wife did, at the very moment when you came in. Don’t you know, +Pip?” + +“So,” said my convict, turning his eyes on Joe in a moody manner, and +without the least glance at me,—“so you’re the blacksmith, are you? +Than I’m sorry to say, I’ve eat your pie.” + +“God knows you’re welcome to it,—so far as it was ever mine,” returned +Joe, with a saving remembrance of Mrs. Joe. “We don’t know what you +have done, but we wouldn’t have you starved to death for it, poor +miserable fellow-creatur.—Would us, Pip?” + +The something that I had noticed before, clicked in the man’s throat +again, and he turned his back. The boat had returned, and his guard +were ready, so we followed him to the landing-place made of rough +stakes and stones, and saw him put into the boat, which was rowed by a +crew of convicts like himself. No one seemed surprised to see him, or +interested in seeing him, or glad to see him, or sorry to see him, or +spoke a word, except that somebody in the boat growled as if to dogs, +“Give way, you!” which was the signal for the dip of the oars. By the +light of the torches, we saw the black Hulk lying out a little way from +the mud of the shore, like a wicked Noah’s ark. Cribbed and barred and +moored by massive rusty chains, the prison-ship seemed in my young eyes +to be ironed like the prisoners. We saw the boat go alongside, and we +saw him taken up the side and disappear. Then, the ends of the torches +were flung hissing into the water, and went out, as if it were all over +with him. + + + + +Chapter VI. + + +My state of mind regarding the pilfering from which I had been so +unexpectedly exonerated did not impel me to frank disclosure; but I +hope it had some dregs of good at the bottom of it. + +I do not recall that I felt any tenderness of conscience in reference +to Mrs. Joe, when the fear of being found out was lifted off me. But I +loved Joe,—perhaps for no better reason in those early days than +because the dear fellow let me love him,—and, as to him, my inner self +was not so easily composed. It was much upon my mind (particularly when +I first saw him looking about for his file) that I ought to tell Joe +the whole truth. Yet I did not, and for the reason that I mistrusted +that if I did, he would think me worse than I was. The fear of losing +Joe’s confidence, and of thenceforth sitting in the chimney corner at +night staring drearily at my forever lost companion and friend, tied up +my tongue. I morbidly represented to myself that if Joe knew it, I +never afterwards could see him at the fireside feeling his fair +whisker, without thinking that he was meditating on it. That, if Joe +knew it, I never afterwards could see him glance, however casually, at +yesterday’s meat or pudding when it came on to-day’s table, without +thinking that he was debating whether I had been in the pantry. That, +if Joe knew it, and at any subsequent period of our joint domestic life +remarked that his beer was flat or thick, the conviction that he +suspected tar in it, would bring a rush of blood to my face. In a word, +I was too cowardly to do what I knew to be right, as I had been too +cowardly to avoid doing what I knew to be wrong. I had had no +intercourse with the world at that time, and I imitated none of its +many inhabitants who act in this manner. Quite an untaught genius, I +made the discovery of the line of action for myself. + +As I was sleepy before we were far away from the prison-ship, Joe took +me on his back again and carried me home. He must have had a tiresome +journey of it, for Mr. Wopsle, being knocked up, was in such a very bad +temper that if the Church had been thrown open, he would probably have +excommunicated the whole expedition, beginning with Joe and myself. In +his lay capacity, he persisted in sitting down in the damp to such an +insane extent, that when his coat was taken off to be dried at the +kitchen fire, the circumstantial evidence on his trousers would have +hanged him, if it had been a capital offence. + +By that time, I was staggering on the kitchen floor like a little +drunkard, through having been newly set upon my feet, and through +having been fast asleep, and through waking in the heat and lights and +noise of tongues. As I came to myself (with the aid of a heavy thump +between the shoulders, and the restorative exclamation “Yah! Was there +ever such a boy as this!” from my sister,) I found Joe telling them +about the convict’s confession, and all the visitors suggesting +different ways by which he had got into the pantry. Mr. Pumblechook +made out, after carefully surveying the premises, that he had first got +upon the roof of the forge, and had then got upon the roof of the +house, and had then let himself down the kitchen chimney by a rope made +of his bedding cut into strips; and as Mr. Pumblechook was very +positive and drove his own chaise-cart—over everybody—it was agreed +that it must be so. Mr. Wopsle, indeed, wildly cried out, “No!” with +the feeble malice of a tired man; but, as he had no theory, and no coat +on, he was unanimously set at naught,—not to mention his smoking hard +behind, as he stood with his back to the kitchen fire to draw the damp +out: which was not calculated to inspire confidence. + +This was all I heard that night before my sister clutched me, as a +slumberous offence to the company’s eyesight, and assisted me up to bed +with such a strong hand that I seemed to have fifty boots on, and to be +dangling them all against the edges of the stairs. My state of mind, as +I have described it, began before I was up in the morning, and lasted +long after the subject had died out, and had ceased to be mentioned +saving on exceptional occasions. + + + + +Chapter VII. + + +At the time when I stood in the churchyard reading the family +tombstones, I had just enough learning to be able to spell them out. My +construction even of their simple meaning was not very correct, for I +read “wife of the Above” as a complimentary reference to my father’s +exaltation to a better world; and if any one of my deceased relations +had been referred to as “Below,” I have no doubt I should have formed +the worst opinions of that member of the family. Neither were my +notions of the theological positions to which my Catechism bound me, at +all accurate; for, I have a lively remembrance that I supposed my +declaration that I was to “walk in the same all the days of my life,” +laid me under an obligation always to go through the village from our +house in one particular direction, and never to vary it by turning down +by the wheelwright’s or up by the mill. + +When I was old enough, I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and until I +could assume that dignity I was not to be what Mrs. Joe called +“Pompeyed,” or (as I render it) pampered. Therefore, I was not only +odd-boy about the forge, but if any neighbour happened to want an extra +boy to frighten birds, or pick up stones, or do any such job, I was +favoured with the employment. In order, however, that our superior +position might not be compromised thereby, a money-box was kept on the +kitchen mantel-shelf, into which it was publicly made known that all my +earnings were dropped. I have an impression that they were to be +contributed eventually towards the liquidation of the National Debt, +but I know I had no hope of any personal participation in the treasure. + +Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt kept an evening school in the village; that is +to say, she was a ridiculous old woman of limited means and unlimited +infirmity, who used to go to sleep from six to seven every evening, in +the society of youth who paid two pence per week each, for the +improving opportunity of seeing her do it. She rented a small cottage, +and Mr. Wopsle had the room upstairs, where we students used to +overhear him reading aloud in a most dignified and terrific manner, and +occasionally bumping on the ceiling. There was a fiction that Mr. +Wopsle “examined” the scholars once a quarter. What he did on those +occasions was to turn up his cuffs, stick up his hair, and give us Mark +Antony’s oration over the body of Caesar. This was always followed by +Collins’s Ode on the Passions, wherein I particularly venerated Mr. +Wopsle as Revenge throwing his blood-stained sword in thunder down, and +taking the War-denouncing trumpet with a withering look. It was not +with me then, as it was in later life, when I fell into the society of +the Passions, and compared them with Collins and Wopsle, rather to the +disadvantage of both gentlemen. + +Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt, besides keeping this Educational Institution, +kept in the same room—a little general shop. She had no idea what stock +she had, or what the price of anything in it was; but there was a +little greasy memorandum-book kept in a drawer, which served as a +Catalogue of Prices, and by this oracle Biddy arranged all the shop +transactions. Biddy was Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt’s granddaughter; I +confess myself quite unequal to the working out of the problem, what +relation she was to Mr. Wopsle. She was an orphan like myself; like me, +too, had been brought up by hand. She was most noticeable, I thought, +in respect of her extremities; for, her hair always wanted brushing, +her hands always wanted washing, and her shoes always wanted mending +and pulling up at heel. This description must be received with a +week-day limitation. On Sundays, she went to church elaborated. + +Much of my unassisted self, and more by the help of Biddy than of Mr. +Wopsle’s great-aunt, I struggled through the alphabet as if it had been +a bramble-bush; getting considerably worried and scratched by every +letter. After that I fell among those thieves, the nine figures, who +seemed every evening to do something new to disguise themselves and +baffle recognition. But, at last I began, in a purblind groping way, to +read, write, and cipher, on the very smallest scale. + +One night I was sitting in the chimney corner with my slate, expending +great efforts on the production of a letter to Joe. I think it must +have been a full year after our hunt upon the marshes, for it was a +long time after, and it was winter and a hard frost. With an alphabet +on the hearth at my feet for reference, I contrived in an hour or two +to print and smear this epistle:— + +“MI DEER JO i OPE U R KRWITE WELL i OPE i SHAL SON B HABELL 4 2 TEEDGE +U JO AN THEN WE SHORL B SO GLODD AN WEN i M PRENGTD 2 U JO WOT LARX AN +BLEVE ME INF XN PIP.” + + +There was no indispensable necessity for my communicating with Joe by +letter, inasmuch as he sat beside me and we were alone. But I delivered +this written communication (slate and all) with my own hand, and Joe +received it as a miracle of erudition. + +“I say, Pip, old chap!” cried Joe, opening his blue eyes wide, “what a +scholar you are! An’t you?” + +“I should like to be,” said I, glancing at the slate as he held it; +with a misgiving that the writing was rather hilly. + +“Why, here’s a J,” said Joe, “and a O equal to anythink! Here’s a J and +a O, Pip, and a J-O, Joe.” + +[Illustration] + +I had never heard Joe read aloud to any greater extent than this +monosyllable, and I had observed at church last Sunday, when I +accidentally held our Prayer-Book upside down, that it seemed to suit +his convenience quite as well as if it had been all right. Wishing to +embrace the present occasion of finding out whether in teaching Joe, I +should have to begin quite at the beginning, I said, “Ah! But read the +rest, Jo.” + +“The rest, eh, Pip?” said Joe, looking at it with a slow, searching +eye, “One, two, three. Why, here’s three Js, and three Os, and three +J-O, Joes in it, Pip!” + +I leaned over Joe, and, with the aid of my forefinger read him the +whole letter. + +“Astonishing!” said Joe, when I had finished. “You ARE a scholar.” + +“How do you spell Gargery, Joe?” I asked him, with a modest patronage. + +“I don’t spell it at all,” said Joe. + +“But supposing you did?” + +“It _can’t_ be supposed,” said Joe. “Tho’ I’m uncommon fond of reading, +too.” + +“Are you, Joe?” + +“On-common. Give me,” said Joe, “a good book, or a good newspaper, and +sit me down afore a good fire, and I ask no better. Lord!” he +continued, after rubbing his knees a little, “when you _do_ come to a J +and a O, and says you, ‘Here, at last, is a J-O, Joe,’ how interesting +reading is!” + +I derived from this, that Joe’s education, like Steam, was yet in its +infancy. Pursuing the subject, I inquired,— + +“Didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?” + +“No, Pip.” + +“Why didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?” + +“Well, Pip,” said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to his +usual occupation when he was thoughtful, of slowly raking the fire +between the lower bars; “I’ll tell you. My father, Pip, he were given +to drink, and when he were overtook with drink, he hammered away at my +mother, most onmerciful. It were a’most the only hammering he did, +indeed, ’xcepting at myself. And he hammered at me with a wigor only to +be equalled by the wigor with which he didn’t hammer at his +anwil.—You’re a listening and understanding, Pip?” + +“Yes, Joe.” + +“Consequence, my mother and me we ran away from my father several +times; and then my mother she’d go out to work, and she’d say, “Joe,” +she’d say, “now, please God, you shall have some schooling, child,” and +she’d put me to school. But my father were that good in his hart that +he couldn’t abear to be without us. So, he’d come with a most +tremenjous crowd and make such a row at the doors of the houses where +we was, that they used to be obligated to have no more to do with us +and to give us up to him. And then he took us home and hammered us. +Which, you see, Pip,” said Joe, pausing in his meditative raking of the +fire, and looking at me, “were a drawback on my learning.” + +“Certainly, poor Joe!” + +“Though mind you, Pip,” said Joe, with a judicial touch or two of the +poker on the top bar, “rendering unto all their doo, and maintaining +equal justice betwixt man and man, my father were that good in his +hart, don’t you see?” + +I didn’t see; but I didn’t say so. + +“Well!” Joe pursued, “somebody must keep the pot a-biling, Pip, or the +pot won’t bile, don’t you know?” + +I saw that, and said so. + +“Consequence, my father didn’t make objections to my going to work; so +I went to work at my present calling, which were his too, if he would +have followed it, and I worked tolerable hard, I assure _you_, Pip. In +time I were able to keep him, and I kep him till he went off in a +purple leptic fit. And it were my intentions to have had put upon his +tombstone that, Whatsume’er the failings on his part, Remember reader +he were that good in his heart.” + +Joe recited this couplet with such manifest pride and careful +perspicuity, that I asked him if he had made it himself. + +“I made it,” said Joe, “my own self. I made it in a moment. It was like +striking out a horseshoe complete, in a single blow. I never was so +much surprised in all my life,—couldn’t credit my own ed,—to tell you +the truth, hardly believed it _were_ my own ed. As I was saying, Pip, +it were my intentions to have had it cut over him; but poetry costs +money, cut it how you will, small or large, and it were not done. Not +to mention bearers, all the money that could be spared were wanted for +my mother. She were in poor elth, and quite broke. She weren’t long of +following, poor soul, and her share of peace come round at last.” + +Joe’s blue eyes turned a little watery; he rubbed first one of them, +and then the other, in a most uncongenial and uncomfortable manner, +with the round knob on the top of the poker. + +“It were but lonesome then,” said Joe, “living here alone, and I got +acquainted with your sister. Now, Pip,”—Joe looked firmly at me as if +he knew I was not going to agree with him;—“your sister is a fine +figure of a woman.” + +I could not help looking at the fire, in an obvious state of doubt. + +“Whatever family opinions, or whatever the world’s opinions, on that +subject may be, Pip, your sister is,” Joe tapped the top bar with the +poker after every word following, “a-fine-figure—of—a—woman!” + +I could think of nothing better to say than “I am glad you think so, +Joe.” + +“So am I,” returned Joe, catching me up. “_I_ am glad I think so, Pip. +A little redness or a little matter of Bone, here or there, what does +it signify to Me?” + +I sagaciously observed, if it didn’t signify to him, to whom did it +signify? + +“Certainly!” assented Joe. “That’s it. You’re right, old chap! When I +got acquainted with your sister, it were the talk how she was bringing +you up by hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and I said, +along with all the folks. As to you,” Joe pursued with a countenance +expressive of seeing something very nasty indeed, “if you could have +been aware how small and flabby and mean you was, dear me, you’d have +formed the most contemptible opinion of yourself!” + +Not exactly relishing this, I said, “Never mind me, Joe.” + +“But I did mind you, Pip,” he returned with tender simplicity. “When I +offered to your sister to keep company, and to be asked in church at +such times as she was willing and ready to come to the forge, I said to +her, ‘And bring the poor little child. God bless the poor little +child,’ I said to your sister, ‘there’s room for _him_ at the forge!’” + +I broke out crying and begging pardon, and hugged Joe round the neck: +who dropped the poker to hug me, and to say, “Ever the best of friends; +an’t us, Pip? Don’t cry, old chap!” + +When this little interruption was over, Joe resumed:— + +“Well, you see, Pip, and here we are! That’s about where it lights; +here we are! Now, when you take me in hand in my learning, Pip (and I +tell you beforehand I am awful dull, most awful dull), Mrs. Joe mustn’t +see too much of what we’re up to. It must be done, as I may say, on the +sly. And why on the sly? I’ll tell you why, Pip.” + +He had taken up the poker again; without which, I doubt if he could +have proceeded in his demonstration. + +“Your sister is given to government.” + +“Given to government, Joe?” I was startled, for I had some shadowy idea +(and I am afraid I must add, hope) that Joe had divorced her in a +favour of the Lords of the Admiralty, or Treasury. + +“Given to government,” said Joe. “Which I meantersay the government of +you and myself.” + +“Oh!” + +“And she an’t over partial to having scholars on the premises,” Joe +continued, “and in partickler would not be over partial to my being a +scholar, for fear as I might rise. Like a sort of rebel, don’t you +see?” + +I was going to retort with an inquiry, and had got as far as “Why—” +when Joe stopped me. + +“Stay a bit. I know what you’re a-going to say, Pip; stay a bit! I +don’t deny that your sister comes the Mo-gul over us, now and again. I +don’t deny that she do throw us back-falls, and that she do drop down +upon us heavy. At such times as when your sister is on the Ram-page, +Pip,” Joe sank his voice to a whisper and glanced at the door, “candour +compels fur to admit that she is a Buster.” + +Joe pronounced this word, as if it began with at least twelve capital +Bs. + +“Why don’t I rise? That were your observation when I broke it off, +Pip?” + +“Yes, Joe.” + +“Well,” said Joe, passing the poker into his left hand, that he might +feel his whisker; and I had no hope of him whenever he took to that +placid occupation; “your sister’s a master-mind. A master-mind.” + +“What’s that?” I asked, in some hope of bringing him to a stand. But +Joe was readier with his definition than I had expected, and completely +stopped me by arguing circularly, and answering with a fixed look, +“Her.” + +“And I ain’t a master-mind,” Joe resumed, when he had unfixed his look, +and got back to his whisker. “And last of all, Pip,—and this I want to +say very serious to you, old chap,—I see so much in my poor mother, of +a woman drudging and slaving and breaking her honest hart and never +getting no peace in her mortal days, that I’m dead afeerd of going +wrong in the way of not doing what’s right by a woman, and I’d fur +rather of the two go wrong the t’other way, and be a little +ill-conwenienced myself. I wish it was only me that got put out, Pip; I +wish there warn’t no Tickler for you, old chap; I wish I could take it +all on myself; but this is the up-and-down-and-straight on it, Pip, and +I hope you’ll overlook shortcomings.” + +Young as I was, I believe that I dated a new admiration of Joe from +that night. We were equals afterwards, as we had been before; but, +afterwards at quiet times when I sat looking at Joe and thinking about +him, I had a new sensation of feeling conscious that I was looking up +to Joe in my heart. + +“However,” said Joe, rising to replenish the fire; “here’s the +Dutch-clock a-working himself up to being equal to strike Eight of ’em, +and she’s not come home yet! I hope Uncle Pumblechook’s mare mayn’t +have set a forefoot on a piece o’ ice, and gone down.” + +Mrs. Joe made occasional trips with Uncle Pumblechook on market-days, +to assist him in buying such household stuffs and goods as required a +woman’s judgment; Uncle Pumblechook being a bachelor and reposing no +confidences in his domestic servant. This was market-day, and Mrs. Joe +was out on one of these expeditions. + +Joe made the fire and swept the hearth, and then we went to the door to +listen for the chaise-cart. It was a dry cold night, and the wind blew +keenly, and the frost was white and hard. A man would die to-night of +lying out on the marshes, I thought. And then I looked at the stars, +and considered how awful it would be for a man to turn his face up to +them as he froze to death, and see no help or pity in all the +glittering multitude. + +“Here comes the mare,” said Joe, “ringing like a peal of bells!” + +The sound of her iron shoes upon the hard road was quite musical, as +she came along at a much brisker trot than usual. We got a chair out, +ready for Mrs. Joe’s alighting, and stirred up the fire that they might +see a bright window, and took a final survey of the kitchen that +nothing might be out of its place. When we had completed these +preparations, they drove up, wrapped to the eyes. Mrs. Joe was soon +landed, and Uncle Pumblechook was soon down too, covering the mare with +a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen, carrying so much cold air +in with us that it seemed to drive all the heat out of the fire. + +“Now,” said Mrs. Joe, unwrapping herself with haste and excitement, and +throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders where it hung by the strings, +“if this boy ain’t grateful this night, he never will be!” + +I looked as grateful as any boy possibly could, who was wholly +uninformed why he ought to assume that expression. + +“It’s only to be hoped,” said my sister, “that he won’t be Pompeyed. +But I have my fears.” + +“She ain’t in that line, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “She knows +better.” + +She? I looked at Joe, making the motion with my lips and eyebrows, +“She?” Joe looked at me, making the motion with _his_ lips and +eyebrows, “She?” My sister catching him in the act, he drew the back of +his hand across his nose with his usual conciliatory air on such +occasions, and looked at her. + +“Well?” said my sister, in her snappish way. “What are you staring at? +Is the house afire?” + +“—Which some individual,” Joe politely hinted, “mentioned—she.” + +“And she is a she, I suppose?” said my sister. “Unless you call Miss +Havisham a he. And I doubt if even you’ll go so far as that.” + +“Miss Havisham, up town?” said Joe. + +“Is there any Miss Havisham down town?” returned my sister. + +“She wants this boy to go and play there. And of course he’s going. And +he had better play there,” said my sister, shaking her head at me as an +encouragement to be extremely light and sportive, “or I’ll work him.” + +I had heard of Miss Havisham up town,—everybody for miles round had +heard of Miss Havisham up town,—as an immensely rich and grim lady who +lived in a large and dismal house barricaded against robbers, and who +led a life of seclusion. + +“Well to be sure!” said Joe, astounded. “I wonder how she come to know +Pip!” + +“Noodle!” cried my sister. “Who said she knew him?” + +“—Which some individual,” Joe again politely hinted, “mentioned that +she wanted him to go and play there.” + +“And couldn’t she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and +play there? Isn’t it just barely possible that Uncle Pumblechook may be +a tenant of hers, and that he may sometimes—we won’t say quarterly or +half-yearly, for that would be requiring too much of you—but +sometimes—go there to pay his rent? And couldn’t she then ask Uncle +Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? And couldn’t +Uncle Pumblechook, being always considerate and thoughtful for +us—though you may not think it, Joseph,” in a tone of the deepest +reproach, as if he were the most callous of nephews, “then mention this +boy, standing Prancing here”—which I solemnly declare I was not +doing—“that I have for ever been a willing slave to?” + +“Good again!” cried Uncle Pumblechook. “Well put! Prettily pointed! +Good indeed! Now Joseph, you know the case.” + +“No, Joseph,” said my sister, still in a reproachful manner, while Joe +apologetically drew the back of his hand across and across his nose, +“you do not yet—though you may not think it—know the case. You may +consider that you do, but you do _not_, Joseph. For you do not know +that Uncle Pumblechook, being sensible that for anything we can tell, +this boy’s fortune may be made by his going to Miss Havisham’s, has +offered to take him into town to-night in his own chaise-cart, and to +keep him to-night, and to take him with his own hands to Miss +Havisham’s to-morrow morning. And Lor-a-mussy me!” cried my sister, +casting off her bonnet in sudden desperation, “here I stand talking to +mere Mooncalfs, with Uncle Pumblechook waiting, and the mare catching +cold at the door, and the boy grimed with crock and dirt from the hair +of his head to the sole of his foot!” + +With that, she pounced upon me, like an eagle on a lamb, and my face +was squeezed into wooden bowls in sinks, and my head was put under taps +of water-butts, and I was soaped, and kneaded, and towelled, and +thumped, and harrowed, and rasped, until I really was quite beside +myself. (I may here remark that I suppose myself to be better +acquainted than any living authority, with the ridgy effect of a +wedding-ring, passing unsympathetically over the human countenance.) + +When my ablutions were completed, I was put into clean linen of the +stiffest character, like a young penitent into sackcloth, and was +trussed up in my tightest and fearfullest suit. I was then delivered +over to Mr. Pumblechook, who formally received me as if he were the +Sheriff, and who let off upon me the speech that I knew he had been +dying to make all along: “Boy, be forever grateful to all friends, but +especially unto them which brought you up by hand!” + +“Good-bye, Joe!” + +“God bless you, Pip, old chap!” + +I had never parted from him before, and what with my feelings and what +with soapsuds, I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. But +they twinkled out one by one, without throwing any light on the +questions why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham’s, and what +on earth I was expected to play at. + + + + +Chapter VIII. + + +Mr. Pumblechook’s premises in the High Street of the market town, were +of a peppercorny and farinaceous character, as the premises of a +cornchandler and seedsman should be. It appeared to me that he must be +a very happy man indeed, to have so many little drawers in his shop; +and I wondered when I peeped into one or two on the lower tiers, and +saw the tied-up brown paper packets inside, whether the flower-seeds +and bulbs ever wanted of a fine day to break out of those jails, and +bloom. + +It was in the early morning after my arrival that I entertained this +speculation. On the previous night, I had been sent straight to bed in +an attic with a sloping roof, which was so low in the corner where the +bedstead was, that I calculated the tiles as being within a foot of my +eyebrows. In the same early morning, I discovered a singular affinity +between seeds and corduroys. Mr. Pumblechook wore corduroys, and so did +his shopman; and somehow, there was a general air and flavour about the +corduroys, so much in the nature of seeds, and a general air and +flavour about the seeds, so much in the nature of corduroys, that I +hardly knew which was which. The same opportunity served me for +noticing that Mr. Pumblechook appeared to conduct his business by +looking across the street at the saddler, who appeared to transact +_his_ business by keeping his eye on the coachmaker, who appeared to +get on in life by putting his hands in his pockets and contemplating +the baker, who in his turn folded his arms and stared at the grocer, +who stood at his door and yawned at the chemist. The watchmaker, always +poring over a little desk with a magnifying-glass at his eye, and +always inspected by a group of smock-frocks poring over him through the +glass of his shop-window, seemed to be about the only person in the +High Street whose trade engaged his attention. + +Mr. Pumblechook and I breakfasted at eight o’clock in the parlour +behind the shop, while the shopman took his mug of tea and hunch of +bread and butter on a sack of peas in the front premises. I considered +Mr. Pumblechook wretched company. Besides being possessed by my +sister’s idea that a mortifying and penitential character ought to be +imparted to my diet,—besides giving me as much crumb as possible in +combination with as little butter, and putting such a quantity of warm +water into my milk that it would have been more candid to have left the +milk out altogether,—his conversation consisted of nothing but +arithmetic. On my politely bidding him Good-morning, he said, +pompously, “Seven times nine, boy?” And how should _I_ be able to +answer, dodged in that way, in a strange place, on an empty stomach! I +was hungry, but before I had swallowed a morsel, he began a running sum +that lasted all through the breakfast. “Seven?” “And four?” “And +eight?” “And six?” “And two?” “And ten?” And so on. And after each +figure was disposed of, it was as much as I could do to get a bite or a +sup, before the next came; while he sat at his ease guessing nothing, +and eating bacon and hot roll, in (if I may be allowed the expression) +a gorging and gormandizing manner. + +For such reasons, I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started +for Miss Havisham’s; though I was not at all at my ease regarding the +manner in which I should acquit myself under that lady’s roof. Within a +quarter of an hour we came to Miss Havisham’s house, which was of old +brick, and dismal, and had a great many iron bars to it. Some of the +windows had been walled up; of those that remained, all the lower were +rustily barred. There was a courtyard in front, and that was barred; so +we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until some one should come to +open it. While we waited at the gate, I peeped in (even then Mr. +Pumblechook said, “And fourteen?” but I pretended not to hear him), and +saw that at the side of the house there was a large brewery. No brewing +was going on in it, and none seemed to have gone on for a long long +time. + +A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded “What name?” To which +my conductor replied, “Pumblechook.” The voice returned, “Quite right,” +and the window was shut again, and a young lady came across the +court-yard, with keys in her hand. + +“This,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “is Pip.” + +“This is Pip, is it?” returned the young lady, who was very pretty and +seemed very proud; “come in, Pip.” + +Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him with the gate. + +“Oh!” she said. “Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?” + +“If Miss Havisham wished to see me,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, +discomfited. + +“Ah!” said the girl; “but you see she don’t.” + +She said it so finally, and in such an undiscussible way, that Mr. +Pumblechook, though in a condition of ruffled dignity, could not +protest. But he eyed me severely,—as if _I_ had done anything to +him!—and departed with the words reproachfully delivered: “Boy! Let +your behaviour here be a credit unto them which brought you up by +hand!” I was not free from apprehension that he would come back to +propound through the gate, “And sixteen?” But he didn’t. + +My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the courtyard. +It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The +brewery buildings had a little lane of communication with it, and the +wooden gates of that lane stood open, and all the brewery beyond stood +open, away to the high enclosing wall; and all was empty and disused. +The cold wind seemed to blow colder there than outside the gate; and it +made a shrill noise in howling in and out at the open sides of the +brewery, like the noise of wind in the rigging of a ship at sea. + +She saw me looking at it, and she said, “You could drink without hurt +all the strong beer that’s brewed there now, boy.” + +“I should think I could, miss,” said I, in a shy way. + +“Better not try to brew beer there now, or it would turn out sour, boy; +don’t you think so?” + +“It looks like it, miss.” + +“Not that anybody means to try,” she added, “for that’s all done with, +and the place will stand as idle as it is till it falls. As to strong +beer, there’s enough of it in the cellars already, to drown the Manor +House.” + +[Illustration] + +“Is that the name of this house, miss?” + +“One of its names, boy.” + +“It has more than one, then, miss?” + +“One more. Its other name was Satis; which is Greek, or Latin, or +Hebrew, or all three—or all one to me—for enough.” + +“Enough House,” said I; “that’s a curious name, miss.” + +“Yes,” she replied; “but it meant more than it said. It meant, when it +was given, that whoever had this house could want nothing else. They +must have been easily satisfied in those days, I should think. But +don’t loiter, boy.” + +Though she called me “boy” so often, and with a carelessness that was +far from complimentary, she was of about my own age. She seemed much +older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and +self-possessed; and she was as scornful of me as if she had been +one-and-twenty, and a queen. + +We went into the house by a side door, the great front entrance had two +chains across it outside,—and the first thing I noticed was, that the +passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there. +She took it up, and we went through more passages and up a staircase, +and still it was all dark, and only the candle lighted us. + +At last we came to the door of a room, and she said, “Go in.” + +I answered, more in shyness than politeness, “After you, miss.” + +To this she returned: “Don’t be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in.” +And scornfully walked away, and—what was worse—took the candle with +her. + +This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, the only +thing to be done being to knock at the door, I knocked, and was told +from within to enter. I entered, therefore, and found myself in a +pretty large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of +daylight was to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed +from the furniture, though much of it was of forms and uses then quite +unknown to me. But prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded +looking-glass, and that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady’s +dressing-table. + +Whether I should have made out this object so soon if there had been no +fine lady sitting at it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an elbow +resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the +strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see. + +She was dressed in rich materials,—satins, and lace, and silks,—all of +white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil dependent +from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was +white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and +some other jewels lay sparkling on the table. Dresses, less splendid +than the dress she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. +She had not quite finished dressing, for she had but one shoe on,—the +other was on the table near her hand,—her veil was but half arranged, +her watch and chain were not put on, and some lace for her bosom lay +with those trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves, and some +flowers, and a Prayer-Book all confusedly heaped about the +looking-glass. + +It was not in the first few moments that I saw all these things, though +I saw more of them in the first moments than might be supposed. But I +saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been +white long ago, and had lost its lustre and was faded and yellow. I saw +that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress, and +like the flowers, and had no brightness left but the brightness of her +sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been put upon the rounded figure +of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose had +shrunk to skin and bone. Once, I had been taken to see some ghastly +waxwork at the Fair, representing I know not what impossible personage +lying in state. Once, I had been taken to one of our old marsh churches +to see a skeleton in the ashes of a rich dress that had been dug out of +a vault under the church pavement. Now, waxwork and skeleton seemed to +have dark eyes that moved and looked at me. I should have cried out, if +I could. + +“Who is it?” said the lady at the table. + +“Pip, ma’am.” + +“Pip?” + +“Mr. Pumblechook’s boy, ma’am. Come—to play.” + +“Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close.” + +It was when I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, that I took note of +the surrounding objects in detail, and saw that her watch had stopped +at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at +twenty minutes to nine. + +“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of a woman who +has never seen the sun since you were born?” + +I regret to state that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie +comprehended in the answer “No.” + +“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hands, one upon +the other, on her left side. + +“Yes, ma’am.” (It made me think of the young man.) + +“What do I touch?” + +“Your heart.” + +“Broken!” + +She uttered the word with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, and +with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it. Afterwards she kept +her hands there for a little while, and slowly took them away as if +they were heavy. + +“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want diversion, and I have done +with men and women. Play.” + +I think it will be conceded by my most disputatious reader, that she +could hardly have directed an unfortunate boy to do anything in the +wide world more difficult to be done under the circumstances. + +“I sometimes have sick fancies,” she went on, “and I have a sick fancy +that I want to see some play. There, there!” with an impatient movement +of the fingers of her right hand; “play, play, play!” + +For a moment, with the fear of my sister’s working me before my eyes, I +had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed +character of Mr. Pumblechook’s chaise-cart. But I felt myself so +unequal to the performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss +Havisham in what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, inasmuch as +she said, when we had taken a good look at each other,— + +“Are you sullen and obstinate?” + +“No, ma’am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can’t play just +now. If you complain of me I shall get into trouble with my sister, so +I would do it if I could; but it’s so new here, and so strange, and so +fine,—and melancholy—.” I stopped, fearing I might say too much, or had +already said it, and we took another look at each other. + +Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the +dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in +the looking-glass. + +“So new to him,” she muttered, “so old to me; so strange to him, so +familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella.” + +As she was still looking at the reflection of herself, I thought she +was still talking to herself, and kept quiet. + +“Call Estella,” she repeated, flashing a look at me. “You can do that. +Call Estella. At the door.” + +To stand in the dark in a mysterious passage of an unknown house, +bawling Estella to a scornful young lady neither visible nor +responsive, and feeling it a dreadful liberty so to roar out her name, +was almost as bad as playing to order. But she answered at last, and +her light came along the dark passage like a star. + +Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close, and took up a jewel from the +table, and tried its effect upon her fair young bosom and against her +pretty brown hair. “Your own, one day, my dear, and you will use it +well. Let me see you play cards with this boy.” + +“With this boy? Why, he is a common labouring-boy!” + +I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer,—only it seemed so +unlikely,—“Well? You can break his heart.” + +“What do you play, boy?” asked Estella of myself, with the greatest +disdain. + +“Nothing but beggar my neighbour, miss.” + +“Beggar him,” said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards. + +It was then I began to understand that everything in the room had +stopped, like the watch and the clock, a long time ago. I noticed that +Miss Havisham put down the jewel exactly on the spot from which she had +taken it up. As Estella dealt the cards, I glanced at the +dressing-table again, and saw that the shoe upon it, once white, now +yellow, had never been worn. I glanced down at the foot from which the +shoe was absent, and saw that the silk stocking on it, once white, now +yellow, had been trodden ragged. Without this arrest of everything, +this standing still of all the pale decayed objects, not even the +withered bridal dress on the collapsed form could have looked so like +grave-clothes, or the long veil so like a shroud. + +So she sat, corpse-like, as we played at cards; the frillings and +trimmings on her bridal dress, looking like earthy paper. I knew +nothing then of the discoveries that are occasionally made of bodies +buried in ancient times, which fall to powder in the moment of being +distinctly seen; but, I have often thought since, that she must have +looked as if the admission of the natural light of day would have +struck her to dust. + +“He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy!” said Estella with disdain, +before our first game was out. “And what coarse hands he has! And what +thick boots!” + +I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before; but I began to +consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so +strong, that it became infectious, and I caught it. + +She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt, as was only natural, when I +knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong; and she denounced me for +a stupid, clumsy labouring-boy. + +“You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked +on. “She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. What +do you think of her?” + +“I don’t like to say,” I stammered. + +“Tell me in my ear,” said Miss Havisham, bending down. + +“I think she is very proud,” I replied, in a whisper. + +“Anything else?” + +“I think she is very pretty.” + +“Anything else?” + +“I think she is very insulting.” (She was looking at me then with a +look of supreme aversion.) + +“Anything else?” + +“I think I should like to go home.” + +“And never see her again, though she is so pretty?” + +“I am not sure that I shouldn’t like to see her again, but I should +like to go home now.” + +“You shall go soon,” said Miss Havisham, aloud. “Play the game out.” + +Saving for the one weird smile at first, I should have felt almost sure +that Miss Havisham’s face could not smile. It had dropped into a +watchful and brooding expression,—most likely when all the things about +her had become transfixed,—and it looked as if nothing could ever lift +it up again. Her chest had dropped, so that she stooped; and her voice +had dropped, so that she spoke low, and with a dead lull upon her; +altogether, she had the appearance of having dropped body and soul, +within and without, under the weight of a crushing blow. + +I played the game to an end with Estella, and she beggared me. She +threw the cards down on the table when she had won them all, as if she +despised them for having been won of me. + +“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham. “Let me think.” + +I was beginning to remind her that to-day was Wednesday, when she +checked me with her former impatient movement of the fingers of her +right hand. + +“There, there! I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of +weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?” + +“Yes, ma’am.” + +“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him +roam and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.” + +I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she +stood it in the place where we had found it. Until she opened the side +entrance, I had fancied, without thinking about it, that it must +necessarily be night-time. The rush of the daylight quite confounded +me, and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange +room many hours. + +“You are to wait here, you boy,” said Estella; and disappeared and +closed the door. + +I took the opportunity of being alone in the courtyard to look at my +coarse hands and my common boots. My opinion of those accessories was +not favourable. They had never troubled me before, but they troubled me +now, as vulgar appendages. I determined to ask Joe why he had ever +taught me to call those picture-cards Jacks, which ought to be called +knaves. I wished Joe had been rather more genteelly brought up, and +then I should have been so too. + +She came back, with some bread and meat and a little mug of beer. She +put the mug down on the stones of the yard, and gave me the bread and +meat without looking at me, as insolently as if I were a dog in +disgrace. I was so humiliated, hurt, spurned, offended, angry, sorry,—I +cannot hit upon the right name for the smart—God knows what its name +was,—that tears started to my eyes. The moment they sprang there, the +girl looked at me with a quick delight in having been the cause of +them. This gave me power to keep them back and to look at her: so, she +gave a contemptuous toss—but with a sense, I thought, of having made +too sure that I was so wounded—and left me. + +But when she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face +in, and got behind one of the gates in the brewery-lane, and leaned my +sleeve against the wall there, and leaned my forehead on it and cried. +As I cried, I kicked the wall, and took a hard twist at my hair; so +bitter were my feelings, and so sharp was the smart without a name, +that needed counteraction. + +My sister’s bringing up had made me sensitive. In the little world in +which children have their existence whosoever brings them up, there is +nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt as injustice. It may be +only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is +small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many +hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter. Within +myself, I had sustained, from my babyhood, a perpetual conflict with +injustice. I had known, from the time when I could speak, that my +sister, in her capricious and violent coercion, was unjust to me. I had +cherished a profound conviction that her bringing me up by hand gave +her no right to bring me up by jerks. Through all my punishments, +disgraces, fasts, and vigils, and other penitential performances, I had +nursed this assurance; and to my communing so much with it, in a +solitary and unprotected way, I in great part refer the fact that I was +morally timid and very sensitive. + +I got rid of my injured feelings for the time by kicking them into the +brewery wall, and twisting them out of my hair, and then I smoothed my +face with my sleeve, and came from behind the gate. The bread and meat +were acceptable, and the beer was warming and tingling, and I was soon +in spirits to look about me. + +To be sure, it was a deserted place, down to the pigeon-house in the +brewery-yard, which had been blown crooked on its pole by some high +wind, and would have made the pigeons think themselves at sea, if there +had been any pigeons there to be rocked by it. But there were no +pigeons in the dove-cot, no horses in the stable, no pigs in the sty, +no malt in the storehouse, no smells of grains and beer in the copper +or the vat. All the uses and scents of the brewery might have +evaporated with its last reek of smoke. In a by-yard, there was a +wilderness of empty casks, which had a certain sour remembrance of +better days lingering about them; but it was too sour to be accepted as +a sample of the beer that was gone,—and in this respect I remember +those recluses as being like most others. + +Behind the furthest end of the brewery, was a rank garden with an old +wall; not so high but that I could struggle up and hold on long enough +to look over it, and see that the rank garden was the garden of the +house, and that it was overgrown with tangled weeds, but that there was +a track upon the green and yellow paths, as if some one sometimes +walked there, and that Estella was walking away from me even then. But +she seemed to be everywhere. For when I yielded to the temptation +presented by the casks, and began to walk on them, I saw _her_ walking +on them at the end of the yard of casks. She had her back towards me, +and held her pretty brown hair spread out in her two hands, and never +looked round, and passed out of my view directly. So, in the brewery +itself,—by which I mean the large paved lofty place in which they used +to make the beer, and where the brewing utensils still were. When I +first went into it, and, rather oppressed by its gloom, stood near the +door looking about me, I saw her pass among the extinguished fires, and +ascend some light iron stairs, and go out by a gallery high overhead, +as if she were going out into the sky. + +It was in this place, and at this moment, that a strange thing happened +to my fancy. I thought it a strange thing then, and I thought it a +stranger thing long afterwards. I turned my eyes—a little dimmed by +looking up at the frosty light—towards a great wooden beam in a low +nook of the building near me on my right hand, and I saw a figure +hanging there by the neck. A figure all in yellow white, with but one +shoe to the feet; and it hung so, that I could see that the faded +trimmings of the dress were like earthy paper, and that the face was +Miss Havisham’s, with a movement going over the whole countenance as if +she were trying to call to me. In the terror of seeing the figure, and +in the terror of being certain that it had not been there a moment +before, I at first ran from it, and then ran towards it. And my terror +was greatest of all when I found no figure there. + +Nothing less than the frosty light of the cheerful sky, the sight of +people passing beyond the bars of the court-yard gate, and the reviving +influence of the rest of the bread and meat and beer, would have +brought me round. Even with those aids, I might not have come to myself +as soon as I did, but that I saw Estella approaching with the keys, to +let me out. She would have some fair reason for looking down upon me, I +thought, if she saw me frightened; and she would have no fair reason. + +She gave me a triumphant glance in passing me, as if she rejoiced that +my hands were so coarse and my boots were so thick, and she opened the +gate, and stood holding it. I was passing out without looking at her, +when she touched me with a taunting hand. + +“Why don’t you cry?” + +“Because I don’t want to.” + +“You do,” said she. “You have been crying till you are half blind, and +you are near crying again now.” + +She laughed contemptuously, pushed me out, and locked the gate upon me. +I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook’s, and was immensely relieved to +find him not at home. So, leaving word with the shopman on what day I +was wanted at Miss Havisham’s again, I set off on the four-mile walk to +our forge; pondering, as I went along, on all I had seen, and deeply +revolving that I was a common labouring-boy; that my hands were coarse; +that my boots were thick; that I had fallen into a despicable habit of +calling knaves Jacks; that I was much more ignorant than I had +considered myself last night, and generally that I was in a low-lived +bad way. + + + + +Chapter IX. + + +When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss +Havisham’s, and asked a number of questions. And I soon found myself +getting heavily bumped from behind in the nape of the neck and the +small of the back, and having my face ignominiously shoved against the +kitchen wall, because I did not answer those questions at sufficient +length. + +If a dread of not being understood be hidden in the breasts of other +young people to anything like the extent to which it used to be hidden +in mine,—which I consider probable, as I have no particular reason to +suspect myself of having been a monstrosity,—it is the key to many +reservations. I felt convinced that if I described Miss Havisham’s as +my eyes had seen it, I should not be understood. Not only that, but I +felt convinced that Miss Havisham too would not be understood; and +although she was perfectly incomprehensible to me, I entertained an +impression that there would be something coarse and treacherous in my +dragging her as she really was (to say nothing of Miss Estella) before +the contemplation of Mrs. Joe. Consequently, I said as little as I +could, and had my face shoved against the kitchen wall. + +The worst of it was that that bullying old Pumblechook, preyed upon by +a devouring curiosity to be informed of all I had seen and heard, came +gaping over in his chaise-cart at tea-time, to have the details +divulged to him. And the mere sight of the torment, with his fishy eyes +and mouth open, his sandy hair inquisitively on end, and his waistcoat +heaving with windy arithmetic, made me vicious in my reticence. + +“Well, boy,” Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the +chair of honour by the fire. “How did you get on up town?” + +I answered, “Pretty well, sir,” and my sister shook her fist at me. + +“Pretty well?” Mr. Pumblechook repeated. “Pretty well is no answer. +Tell us what you mean by pretty well, boy?” + +Whitewash on the forehead hardens the brain into a state of obstinacy +perhaps. Anyhow, with whitewash from the wall on my forehead, my +obstinacy was adamantine. I reflected for some time, and then answered +as if I had discovered a new idea, “I mean pretty well.” + +My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me,—I +had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge,—when Mr. +Pumblechook interposed with “No! Don’t lose your temper. Leave this lad +to me, ma’am; leave this lad to me.” Mr. Pumblechook then turned me +towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said,— + +“First (to get our thoughts in order): Forty-three pence?” + +I calculated the consequences of replying “Four Hundred Pound,” and +finding them against me, went as near the answer as I could—which was +somewhere about eightpence off. Mr. Pumblechook then put me through my +pence-table from “twelve pence make one shilling,” up to “forty pence +make three and fourpence,” and then triumphantly demanded, as if he had +done for me, “_Now!_ How much is forty-three pence?” To which I +replied, after a long interval of reflection, “I don’t know.” And I was +so aggravated that I almost doubt if I did know. + +Mr. Pumblechook worked his head like a screw to screw it out of me, and +said, “Is forty-three pence seven and sixpence three fardens, for +instance?” + +“Yes!” said I. And although my sister instantly boxed my ears, it was +highly gratifying to me to see that the answer spoilt his joke, and +brought him to a dead stop. + +“Boy! What like is Miss Havisham?” Mr. Pumblechook began again when he +had recovered; folding his arms tight on his chest and applying the +screw. + +“Very tall and dark,” I told him. + +“Is she, uncle?” asked my sister. + +Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which I at once inferred that he +had never seen Miss Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind. + +“Good!” said Mr. Pumblechook conceitedly. (“This is the way to have +him! We are beginning to hold our own, I think, Mum?”) + +“I am sure, uncle,” returned Mrs. Joe, “I wish you had him always; you +know so well how to deal with him.” + +“Now, boy! What was she a-doing of, when you went in today?” asked Mr. +Pumblechook. + +“She was sitting,” I answered, “in a black velvet coach.” + +Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another—as they well +might—and both repeated, “In a black velvet coach?” + +“Yes,” said I. “And Miss Estella—that’s her niece, I think—handed her +in cake and wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate. And we all had +cake and wine on gold plates. And I got up behind the coach to eat +mine, because she told me to.” + +“Was anybody else there?” asked Mr. Pumblechook. + +“Four dogs,” said I. + +“Large or small?” + +“Immense,” said I. “And they fought for veal-cutlets out of a silver +basket.” + +Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another again, in utter +amazement. I was perfectly frantic,—a reckless witness under the +torture,—and would have told them anything. + +“Where _was_ this coach, in the name of gracious?” asked my sister. + +“In Miss Havisham’s room.” They stared again. “But there weren’t any +horses to it.” I added this saving clause, in the moment of rejecting +four richly caparisoned coursers which I had had wild thoughts of +harnessing. + +“Can this be possible, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe. “What can the boy mean?” + +“I’ll tell you, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “My opinion is, it’s a +sedan-chair. She’s flighty, you know,—very flighty,—quite flighty +enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair.” + +“Did you ever see her in it, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe. + +“How could I,” he returned, forced to the admission, “when I never see +her in my life? Never clapped eyes upon her!” + +“Goodness, uncle! And yet you have spoken to her?” + +“Why, don’t you know,” said Mr. Pumblechook, testily, “that when I have +been there, I have been took up to the outside of her door, and the +door has stood ajar, and she has spoke to me that way. Don’t say you +don’t know _that_, Mum. Howsever, the boy went there to play. What did +you play at, boy?” + +“We played with flags,” I said. (I beg to observe that I think of +myself with amazement, when I recall the lies I told on this occasion.) + +“Flags!” echoed my sister. + +“Yes,” said I. “Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and +Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out +at the coach-window. And then we all waved our swords and hurrahed.” + +“Swords!” repeated my sister. “Where did you get swords from?” + +“Out of a cupboard,” said I. “And I saw pistols in it,—and jam,—and +pills. And there was no daylight in the room, but it was all lighted up +with candles.” + +“That’s true, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook, with a grave nod. “That’s the +state of the case, for that much I’ve seen myself.” And then they both +stared at me, and I, with an obtrusive show of artlessness on my +countenance, stared at them, and plaited the right leg of my trousers +with my right hand. + +If they had asked me any more questions, I should undoubtedly have +betrayed myself, for I was even then on the point of mentioning that +there was a balloon in the yard, and should have hazarded the statement +but for my invention being divided between that phenomenon and a bear +in the brewery. They were so much occupied, however, in discussing the +marvels I had already presented for their consideration, that I +escaped. The subject still held them when Joe came in from his work to +have a cup of tea. To whom my sister, more for the relief of her own +mind than for the gratification of his, related my pretended +experiences. + +Now, when I saw Joe open his blue eyes and roll them all round the +kitchen in helpless amazement, I was overtaken by penitence; but only +as regarded him,—not in the least as regarded the other two. Towards +Joe, and Joe only, I considered myself a young monster, while they sat +debating what results would come to me from Miss Havisham’s +acquaintance and favour. They had no doubt that Miss Havisham would “do +something” for me; their doubts related to the form that something +would take. My sister stood out for “property.” Mr. Pumblechook was in +favour of a handsome premium for binding me apprentice to some genteel +trade,—say, the corn and seed trade, for instance. Joe fell into the +deepest disgrace with both, for offering the bright suggestion that I +might only be presented with one of the dogs who had fought for the +veal-cutlets. “If a fool’s head can’t express better opinions than +that,” said my sister, “and you have got any work to do, you had better +go and do it.” So he went. + +After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing +up, I stole into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had +done for the night. Then I said, “Before the fire goes out, Joe, I +should like to tell you something.” + +“Should you, Pip?” said Joe, drawing his shoeing-stool near the forge. +“Then tell us. What is it, Pip?” + +“Joe,” said I, taking hold of his rolled-up shirt sleeve, and twisting +it between my finger and thumb, “you remember all that about Miss +Havisham’s?” + +“Remember?” said Joe. “I believe you! Wonderful!” + +“It’s a terrible thing, Joe; it ain’t true.” + +“What are you telling of, Pip?” cried Joe, falling back in the greatest +amazement. “You don’t mean to say it’s—” + +“Yes I do; it’s lies, Joe.” + +“But not all of it? Why sure you don’t mean to say, Pip, that there was +no black welwet co—eh?” For, I stood shaking my head. “But at least +there was dogs, Pip? Come, Pip,” said Joe, persuasively, “if there +warn’t no weal-cutlets, at least there was dogs?” + +“No, Joe.” + +“A dog?” said Joe. “A puppy? Come?” + +“No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind.” + +As I fixed my eyes hopelessly on Joe, Joe contemplated me in dismay. +“Pip, old chap! This won’t do, old fellow! I say! Where do you expect +to go to?” + +“It’s terrible, Joe; ain’t it?” + +“Terrible?” cried Joe. “Awful! What possessed you?” + +“I don’t know what possessed me, Joe,” I replied, letting his shirt +sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; +“but I wish you hadn’t taught me to call Knaves at cards Jacks; and I +wish my boots weren’t so thick nor my hands so coarse.” + +And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable, and that I hadn’t been +able to explain myself to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, who were so rude to +me, and that there had been a beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s +who was dreadfully proud, and that she had said I was common, and that +I knew I was common, and that I wished I was not common, and that the +lies had come of it somehow, though I didn’t know how. + +This was a case of metaphysics, at least as difficult for Joe to deal +with as for me. But Joe took the case altogether out of the region of +metaphysics, and by that means vanquished it. + +“There’s one thing you may be sure of, Pip,” said Joe, after some +rumination, “namely, that lies is lies. Howsever they come, they didn’t +ought to come, and they come from the father of lies, and work round to +the same. Don’t you tell no more of ’em, Pip. _That_ ain’t the way to +get out of being common, old chap. And as to being common, I don’t make +it out at all clear. You are oncommon in some things. You’re oncommon +small. Likewise you’re a oncommon scholar.” + +“No, I am ignorant and backward, Joe.” + +“Why, see what a letter you wrote last night! Wrote in print even! I’ve +seen letters—Ah! and from gentlefolks!—that I’ll swear weren’t wrote in +print,” said Joe. + +“I have learnt next to nothing, Joe. You think much of me. It’s only +that.” + +“Well, Pip,” said Joe, “be it so or be it son’t, you must be a common +scholar afore you can be a oncommon one, I should hope! The king upon +his throne, with his crown upon his ed, can’t sit and write his acts of +Parliament in print, without having begun, when he were a unpromoted +Prince, with the alphabet.—Ah!” added Joe, with a shake of the head +that was full of meaning, “and begun at A too, and worked his way to Z. +And _I_ know what that is to do, though I can’t say I’ve exactly done +it.” + +There was some hope in this piece of wisdom, and it rather encouraged +me. + +“Whether common ones as to callings and earnings,” pursued Joe, +reflectively, “mightn’t be the better of continuing for to keep company +with common ones, instead of going out to play with oncommon +ones,—which reminds me to hope that there were a flag, perhaps?” + +“No, Joe.” + +“(I’m sorry there weren’t a flag, Pip). Whether that might be or +mightn’t be, is a thing as can’t be looked into now, without putting +your sister on the Rampage; and that’s a thing not to be thought of as +being done intentional. Lookee here, Pip, at what is said to you by a +true friend. Which this to you the true friend say. If you can’t get to +be oncommon through going straight, you’ll never get to do it through +going crooked. So don’t tell no more on ’em, Pip, and live well and die +happy.” + +“You are not angry with me, Joe?” + +“No, old chap. But bearing in mind that them were which I meantersay of +a stunning and outdacious sort,—alluding to them which bordered on +weal-cutlets and dog-fighting,—a sincere well-wisher would adwise, Pip, +their being dropped into your meditations, when you go upstairs to bed. +That’s all, old chap, and don’t never do it no more.” + +When I got up to my little room and said my prayers, I did not forget +Joe’s recommendation, and yet my young mind was in that disturbed and +unthankful state, that I thought long after I laid me down, how common +Estella would consider Joe, a mere blacksmith; how thick his boots, and +how coarse his hands. I thought how Joe and my sister were then sitting +in the kitchen, and how I had come up to bed from the kitchen, and how +Miss Havisham and Estella never sat in a kitchen, but were far above +the level of such common doings. I fell asleep recalling what I “used +to do” when I was at Miss Havisham’s; as though I had been there weeks +or months, instead of hours; and as though it were quite an old subject +of remembrance, instead of one that had arisen only that day. + +That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it +is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, +and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read +this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of +thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the +formation of the first link on one memorable day. + + + + +Chapter X. + + +The felicitous idea occurred to me a morning or two later when I woke, +that the best step I could take towards making myself uncommon was to +get out of Biddy everything she knew. In pursuance of this luminous +conception I mentioned to Biddy when I went to Mr. Wopsle’s +great-aunt’s at night, that I had a particular reason for wishing to +get on in life, and that I should feel very much obliged to her if she +would impart all her learning to me. Biddy, who was the most obliging +of girls, immediately said she would, and indeed began to carry out her +promise within five minutes. + +The Educational scheme or Course established by Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt +may be resolved into the following synopsis. The pupils ate apples and +put straws down one another’s backs, until Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt +collected her energies, and made an indiscriminate totter at them with +a birch-rod. After receiving the charge with every mark of derision, +the pupils formed in line and buzzingly passed a ragged book from hand +to hand. The book had an alphabet in it, some figures and tables, and a +little spelling,—that is to say, it had had once. As soon as this +volume began to circulate, Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt fell into a state of +coma, arising either from sleep or a rheumatic paroxysm. The pupils +then entered among themselves upon a competitive examination on the +subject of Boots, with the view of ascertaining who could tread the +hardest upon whose toes. This mental exercise lasted until Biddy made a +rush at them and distributed three defaced Bibles (shaped as if they +had been unskilfully cut off the chump end of something), more +illegibly printed at the best than any curiosities of literature I have +since met with, speckled all over with ironmould, and having various +specimens of the insect world smashed between their leaves. This part +of the Course was usually lightened by several single combats between +Biddy and refractory students. When the fights were over, Biddy gave +out the number of a page, and then we all read aloud what we could,—or +what we couldn’t—in a frightful chorus; Biddy leading with a high, +shrill, monotonous voice, and none of us having the least notion of, or +reverence for, what we were reading about. When this horrible din had +lasted a certain time, it mechanically awoke Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt, +who staggered at a boy fortuitously, and pulled his ears. This was +understood to terminate the Course for the evening, and we emerged into +the air with shrieks of intellectual victory. It is fair to remark that +there was no prohibition against any pupil’s entertaining himself with +a slate or even with the ink (when there was any), but that it was not +easy to pursue that branch of study in the winter season, on account of +the little general shop in which the classes were holden—and which was +also Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt’s sitting-room and bedchamber—being but +faintly illuminated through the agency of one low-spirited dip-candle +and no snuffers. + +It appeared to me that it would take time to become uncommon, under +these circumstances: nevertheless, I resolved to try it, and that very +evening Biddy entered on our special agreement, by imparting some +information from her little catalogue of Prices, under the head of +moist sugar, and lending me, to copy at home, a large old English D +which she had imitated from the heading of some newspaper, and which I +supposed, until she told me what it was, to be a design for a buckle. + +Of course there was a public-house in the village, and of course Joe +liked sometimes to smoke his pipe there. I had received strict orders +from my sister to call for him at the Three Jolly Bargemen, that +evening, on my way from school, and bring him home at my peril. To the +Three Jolly Bargemen, therefore, I directed my steps. + +There was a bar at the Jolly Bargemen, with some alarmingly long chalk +scores in it on the wall at the side of the door, which seemed to me to +be never paid off. They had been there ever since I could remember, and +had grown more than I had. But there was a quantity of chalk about our +country, and perhaps the people neglected no opportunity of turning it +to account. + +It being Saturday night, I found the landlord looking rather grimly at +these records; but as my business was with Joe and not with him, I +merely wished him good evening, and passed into the common room at the +end of the passage, where there was a bright large kitchen fire, and +where Joe was smoking his pipe in company with Mr. Wopsle and a +stranger. Joe greeted me as usual with “Halloa, Pip, old chap!” and the +moment he said that, the stranger turned his head and looked at me. + +He was a secret-looking man whom I had never seen before. His head was +all on one side, and one of his eyes was half shut up, as if he were +taking aim at something with an invisible gun. He had a pipe in his +mouth, and he took it out, and, after slowly blowing all his smoke away +and looking hard at me all the time, nodded. So, I nodded, and then he +nodded again, and made room on the settle beside him that I might sit +down there. + +But as I was used to sit beside Joe whenever I entered that place of +resort, I said “No, thank you, sir,” and fell into the space Joe made +for me on the opposite settle. The strange man, after glancing at Joe, +and seeing that his attention was otherwise engaged, nodded to me again +when I had taken my seat, and then rubbed his leg—in a very odd way, as +it struck me. + +“You was saying,” said the strange man, turning to Joe, “that you was a +blacksmith.” + +“Yes. I said it, you know,” said Joe. + +“What’ll you drink, Mr.—? You didn’t mention your name, by the bye.” + +Joe mentioned it now, and the strange man called him by it. “What’ll +you drink, Mr. Gargery? At my expense? To top up with?” + +“Well,” said Joe, “to tell you the truth, I ain’t much in the habit of +drinking at anybody’s expense but my own.” + +“Habit? No,” returned the stranger, “but once and away, and on a +Saturday night too. Come! Put a name to it, Mr. Gargery.” + +“I wouldn’t wish to be stiff company,” said Joe. “Rum.” + +“Rum,” repeated the stranger. “And will the other gentleman originate a +sentiment.” + +“Rum,” said Mr. Wopsle. + +“Three Rums!” cried the stranger, calling to the landlord. “Glasses +round!” + +“This other gentleman,” observed Joe, by way of introducing Mr. Wopsle, +“is a gentleman that you would like to hear give it out. Our clerk at +church.” + +“Aha!” said the stranger, quickly, and cocking his eye at me. “The +lonely church, right out on the marshes, with graves round it!” + +“That’s it,” said Joe. + +The stranger, with a comfortable kind of grunt over his pipe, put his +legs up on the settle that he had to himself. He wore a flapping +broad-brimmed traveller’s hat, and under it a handkerchief tied over +his head in the manner of a cap: so that he showed no hair. As he +looked at the fire, I thought I saw a cunning expression, followed by a +half-laugh, come into his face. + +“I am not acquainted with this country, gentlemen, but it seems a +solitary country towards the river.” + +“Most marshes is solitary,” said Joe. + +“No doubt, no doubt. Do you find any gypsies, now, or tramps, or +vagrants of any sort, out there?” + +“No,” said Joe; “none but a runaway convict now and then. And we don’t +find _them_, easy. Eh, Mr. Wopsle?” + +Mr. Wopsle, with a majestic remembrance of old discomfiture, assented; +but not warmly. + +“Seems you have been out after such?” asked the stranger. + +“Once,” returned Joe. “Not that we wanted to take them, you understand; +we went out as lookers on; me, and Mr. Wopsle, and Pip. Didn’t us, +Pip?” + +“Yes, Joe.” + +The stranger looked at me again,—still cocking his eye, as if he were +expressly taking aim at me with his invisible gun,—and said, “He’s a +likely young parcel of bones that. What is it you call him?” + +“Pip,” said Joe. + +“Christened Pip?” + +“No, not christened Pip.” + +“Surname Pip?” + +“No,” said Joe, “it’s a kind of family name what he gave himself when a +infant, and is called by.” + +“Son of yours?” + +“Well,” said Joe, meditatively, not, of course, that it could be in +anywise necessary to consider about it, but because it was the way at +the Jolly Bargemen to seem to consider deeply about everything that was +discussed over pipes,—“well—no. No, he ain’t.” + +“Nevvy?” said the strange man. + +“Well,” said Joe, with the same appearance of profound cogitation, “he +is not—no, not to deceive you, he is _not_—my nevvy.” + +“What the Blue Blazes is he?” asked the stranger. Which appeared to me +to be an inquiry of unnecessary strength. + +Mr. Wopsle struck in upon that; as one who knew all about +relationships, having professional occasion to bear in mind what female +relations a man might not marry; and expounded the ties between me and +Joe. Having his hand in, Mr. Wopsle finished off with a most +terrifically snarling passage from Richard the Third, and seemed to +think he had done quite enough to account for it when he added, “—as +the poet says.” + +And here I may remark that when Mr. Wopsle referred to me, he +considered it a necessary part of such reference to rumple my hair and +poke it into my eyes. I cannot conceive why everybody of his standing +who visited at our house should always have put me through the same +inflammatory process under similar circumstances. Yet I do not call to +mind that I was ever in my earlier youth the subject of remark in our +social family circle, but some large-handed person took some such +ophthalmic steps to patronise me. + +All this while, the strange man looked at nobody but me, and looked at +me as if he were determined to have a shot at me at last, and bring me +down. But he said nothing after offering his Blue Blazes observation, +until the glasses of rum and water were brought; and then he made his +shot, and a most extraordinary shot it was. + +It was not a verbal remark, but a proceeding in dumb-show, and was +pointedly addressed to me. He stirred his rum and water pointedly at +me, and he tasted his rum and water pointedly at me. And he stirred it +and he tasted it; not with a spoon that was brought to him, but _with a +file_. + +He did this so that nobody but I saw the file; and when he had done it +he wiped the file and put it in a breast-pocket. I knew it to be Joe’s +file, and I knew that he knew my convict, the moment I saw the +instrument. I sat gazing at him, spell-bound. But he now reclined on +his settle, taking very little notice of me, and talking principally +about turnips. + +There was a delicious sense of cleaning-up and making a quiet pause +before going on in life afresh, in our village on Saturday nights, +which stimulated Joe to dare to stay out half an hour longer on +Saturdays than at other times. The half-hour and the rum and water +running out together, Joe got up to go, and took me by the hand. + +“Stop half a moment, Mr. Gargery,” said the strange man. “I think I’ve +got a bright new shilling somewhere in my pocket, and if I have, the +boy shall have it.” + +He looked it out from a handful of small change, folded it in some +crumpled paper, and gave it to me. “Yours!” said he. “Mind! Your own.” + +I thanked him, staring at him far beyond the bounds of good manners, +and holding tight to Joe. He gave Joe good-night, and he gave Mr. +Wopsle good-night (who went out with us), and he gave me only a look +with his aiming eye,—no, not a look, for he shut it up, but wonders may +be done with an eye by hiding it. + +On the way home, if I had been in a humour for talking, the talk must +have been all on my side, for Mr. Wopsle parted from us at the door of +the Jolly Bargemen, and Joe went all the way home with his mouth wide +open, to rinse the rum out with as much air as possible. But I was in a +manner stupefied by this turning up of my old misdeed and old +acquaintance, and could think of nothing else. + +My sister was not in a very bad temper when we presented ourselves in +the kitchen, and Joe was encouraged by that unusual circumstance to +tell her about the bright shilling. “A bad un, I’ll be bound,” said +Mrs. Joe triumphantly, “or he wouldn’t have given it to the boy! Let’s +look at it.” + +I took it out of the paper, and it proved to be a good one. “But what’s +this?” said Mrs. Joe, throwing down the shilling and catching up the +paper. “Two One-Pound notes?” + +Nothing less than two fat sweltering one-pound notes that seemed to +have been on terms of the warmest intimacy with all the cattle-markets +in the county. Joe caught up his hat again, and ran with them to the +Jolly Bargemen to restore them to their owner. While he was gone, I sat +down on my usual stool and looked vacantly at my sister, feeling pretty +sure that the man would not be there. + +Presently, Joe came back, saying that the man was gone, but that he, +Joe, had left word at the Three Jolly Bargemen concerning the notes. +Then my sister sealed them up in a piece of paper, and put them under +some dried rose-leaves in an ornamental teapot on the top of a press in +the state parlour. There they remained, a nightmare to me, many and +many a night and day. + +I had sadly broken sleep when I got to bed, through thinking of the +strange man taking aim at me with his invisible gun, and of the +guiltily coarse and common thing it was, to be on secret terms of +conspiracy with convicts,—a feature in my low career that I had +previously forgotten. I was haunted by the file too. A dread possessed +me that when I least expected it, the file would reappear. I coaxed +myself to sleep by thinking of Miss Havisham’s, next Wednesday; and in +my sleep I saw the file coming at me out of a door, without seeing who +held it, and I screamed myself awake. + + + + +Chapter XI. + + +At the appointed time I returned to Miss Havisham’s, and my hesitating +ring at the gate brought out Estella. She locked it after admitting me, +as she had done before, and again preceded me into the dark passage +where her candle stood. She took no notice of me until she had the +candle in her hand, when she looked over her shoulder, superciliously +saying, “You are to come this way to-day,” and took me to quite another +part of the house. + +The passage was a long one, and seemed to pervade the whole square +basement of the Manor House. We traversed but one side of the square, +however, and at the end of it she stopped, and put her candle down and +opened a door. Here, the daylight reappeared, and I found myself in a +small paved courtyard, the opposite side of which was formed by a +detached dwelling-house, that looked as if it had once belonged to the +manager or head clerk of the extinct brewery. There was a clock in the +outer wall of this house. Like the clock in Miss Havisham’s room, and +like Miss Havisham’s watch, it had stopped at twenty minutes to nine. + +We went in at the door, which stood open, and into a gloomy room with a +low ceiling, on the ground-floor at the back. There was some company in +the room, and Estella said to me as she joined it, “You are to go and +stand there boy, till you are wanted.” “There”, being the window, I +crossed to it, and stood “there,” in a very uncomfortable state of +mind, looking out. + +It opened to the ground, and looked into a most miserable corner of the +neglected garden, upon a rank ruin of cabbage-stalks, and one box-tree +that had been clipped round long ago, like a pudding, and had a new +growth at the top of it, out of shape and of a different colour, as if +that part of the pudding had stuck to the saucepan and got burnt. This +was my homely thought, as I contemplated the box-tree. There had been +some light snow, overnight, and it lay nowhere else to my knowledge; +but, it had not quite melted from the cold shadow of this bit of +garden, and the wind caught it up in little eddies and threw it at the +window, as if it pelted me for coming there. + +I divined that my coming had stopped conversation in the room, and that +its other occupants were looking at me. I could see nothing of the room +except the shining of the fire in the window-glass, but I stiffened in +all my joints with the consciousness that I was under close inspection. + +There were three ladies in the room and one gentleman. Before I had +been standing at the window five minutes, they somehow conveyed to me +that they were all toadies and humbugs, but that each of them pretended +not to know that the others were toadies and humbugs: because the +admission that he or she did know it, would have made him or her out to +be a toady and humbug. + +They all had a listless and dreary air of waiting somebody’s pleasure, +and the most talkative of the ladies had to speak quite rigidly to +repress a yawn. This lady, whose name was Camilla, very much reminded +me of my sister, with the difference that she was older, and (as I +found when I caught sight of her) of a blunter cast of features. +Indeed, when I knew her better I began to think it was a Mercy she had +any features at all, so very blank and high was the dead wall of her +face. + +“Poor dear soul!” said this lady, with an abruptness of manner quite my +sister’s. “Nobody’s enemy but his own!” + +“It would be much more commendable to be somebody else’s enemy,” said +the gentleman; “far more natural.” + +“Cousin Raymond,” observed another lady, “we are to love our +neighbour.” + +“Sarah Pocket,” returned Cousin Raymond, “if a man is not his own +neighbour, who is?” + +Miss Pocket laughed, and Camilla laughed and said (checking a yawn), +“The idea!” But I thought they seemed to think it rather a good idea +too. The other lady, who had not spoken yet, said gravely and +emphatically, “_Very_ true!” + +“Poor soul!” Camilla presently went on (I knew they had all been +looking at me in the mean time), “he is so very strange! Would anyone +believe that when Tom’s wife died, he actually could not be induced to +see the importance of the children’s having the deepest of trimmings to +their mourning? ‘Good Lord!’ says he, ‘Camilla, what can it signify so +long as the poor bereaved little things are in black?’ So like Matthew! +The idea!” + +“Good points in him, good points in him,” said Cousin Raymond; “Heaven +forbid I should deny good points in him; but he never had, and he never +will have, any sense of the proprieties.” + +“You know I was obliged,” said Camilla,—“I was obliged to be firm. I +said, ‘It WILL NOT DO, for the credit of the family.’ I told him that, +without deep trimmings, the family was disgraced. I cried about it from +breakfast till dinner. I injured my digestion. And at last he flung out +in his violent way, and said, with a D, ‘Then do as you like.’ Thank +Goodness it will always be a consolation to me to know that I instantly +went out in a pouring rain and bought the things.” + +“_He_ paid for them, did he not?” asked Estella. + +“It’s not the question, my dear child, who paid for them,” returned +Camilla. “_I_ bought them. And I shall often think of that with peace, +when I wake up in the night.” + +The ringing of a distant bell, combined with the echoing of some cry or +call along the passage by which I had come, interrupted the +conversation and caused Estella to say to me, “Now, boy!” On my turning +round, they all looked at me with the utmost contempt, and, as I went +out, I heard Sarah Pocket say, “Well I am sure! What next!” and Camilla +add, with indignation, “Was there ever such a fancy! The i-d_e_-a!” + +As we were going with our candle along the dark passage, Estella +stopped all of a sudden, and, facing round, said in her taunting +manner, with her face quite close to mine,— + +“Well?” + +“Well, miss?” I answered, almost falling over her and checking myself. + +She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her. + +“Am I pretty?” + +“Yes; I think you are very pretty.” + +“Am I insulting?” + +“Not so much so as you were last time,” said I. + +“Not so much so?” + +“No.” + +She fired when she asked the last question, and she slapped my face +with such force as she had, when I answered it. + +“Now?” said she. “You little coarse monster, what do you think of me +now?” + +“I shall not tell you.” + +“Because you are going to tell upstairs. Is that it?” + +“No,” said I, “that’s not it.” + +“Why don’t you cry again, you little wretch?” + +“Because I’ll never cry for you again,” said I. Which was, I suppose, +as false a declaration as ever was made; for I was inwardly crying for +her then, and I know what I know of the pain she cost me afterwards. + +We went on our way upstairs after this episode; and, as we were going +up, we met a gentleman groping his way down. + +“Whom have we here?” asked the gentleman, stopping and looking at me. + +“A boy,” said Estella. + +He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an +exceedingly large head, and a corresponding large hand. He took my chin +in his large hand and turned up my face to have a look at me by the +light of the candle. He was prematurely bald on the top of his head, +and had bushy black eyebrows that wouldn’t lie down but stood up +bristling. His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were +disagreeably sharp and suspicious. He had a large watch-chain, and +strong black dots where his beard and whiskers would have been if he +had let them. He was nothing to me, and I could have had no foresight +then, that he ever would be anything to me, but it happened that I had +this opportunity of observing him well. + +“Boy of the neighbourhood? Hey?” said he. + +“Yes, sir,” said I. + +“How do _you_ come here?” + +“Miss Havisham sent for me, sir,” I explained. + +“Well! Behave yourself. I have a pretty large experience of boys, and +you’re a bad set of fellows. Now mind!” said he, biting the side of his +great forefinger as he frowned at me, “you behave yourself!” + +With those words, he released me—which I was glad of, for his hand +smelt of scented soap—and went his way downstairs. I wondered whether +he could be a doctor; but no, I thought; he couldn’t be a doctor, or he +would have a quieter and more persuasive manner. There was not much +time to consider the subject, for we were soon in Miss Havisham’s room, +where she and everything else were just as I had left them. Estella +left me standing near the door, and I stood there until Miss Havisham +cast her eyes upon me from the dressing-table. + +“So!” she said, without being startled or surprised: “the days have +worn away, have they?” + +“Yes, ma’am. To-day is—” + +“There, there, there!” with the impatient movement of her fingers. “I +don’t want to know. Are you ready to play?” + +I was obliged to answer in some confusion, “I don’t think I am, ma’am.” + +“Not at cards again?” she demanded, with a searching look. + +“Yes, ma’am; I could do that, if I was wanted.” + +“Since this house strikes you old and grave, boy,” said Miss Havisham, +impatiently, “and you are unwilling to play, are you willing to work?” + +I could answer this inquiry with a better heart than I had been able to +find for the other question, and I said I was quite willing. + +“Then go into that opposite room,” said she, pointing at the door +behind me with her withered hand, “and wait there till I come.” + +I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. +From that room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had +an airless smell that was oppressive. A fire had been lately kindled in +the damp old-fashioned grate, and it was more disposed to go out than +to burn up, and the reluctant smoke which hung in the room seemed +colder than the clearer air,—like our own marsh mist. Certain wintry +branches of candles on the high chimney-piece faintly lighted the +chamber; or it would be more expressive to say, faintly troubled its +darkness. It was spacious, and I dare say had once been handsome, but +every discernible thing in it was covered with dust and mould, and +dropping to pieces. The most prominent object was a long table with a +tablecloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in preparation when the +house and the clocks all stopped together. An epergne or centre-piece +of some kind was in the middle of this cloth; it was so heavily +overhung with cobwebs that its form was quite undistinguishable; and, +as I looked along the yellow expanse out of which I remember its +seeming to grow, like a black fungus, I saw speckle-legged spiders with +blotchy bodies running home to it, and running out from it, as if some +circumstances of the greatest public importance had just transpired in +the spider community. + +I heard the mice too, rattling behind the panels, as if the same +occurrence were important to their interests. But the black beetles +took no notice of the agitation, and groped about the hearth in a +ponderous elderly way, as if they were short-sighted and hard of +hearing, and not on terms with one another. + +These crawling things had fascinated my attention, and I was watching +them from a distance, when Miss Havisham laid a hand upon my shoulder. +In her other hand she had a crutch-headed stick on which she leaned, +and she looked like the Witch of the place. + +“This,” said she, pointing to the long table with her stick, “is where +I will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here.” + +With some vague misgiving that she might get upon the table then and +there and die at once, the complete realisation of the ghastly waxwork +at the Fair, I shrank under her touch. + +“What do you think that is?” she asked me, again pointing with her +stick; “that, where those cobwebs are?” + +“I can’t guess what it is, ma’am.” + +“It’s a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine!” + +She looked all round the room in a glaring manner, and then said, +leaning on me while her hand twitched my shoulder, “Come, come, come! +Walk me, walk me!” + +I made out from this, that the work I had to do, was to walk Miss +Havisham round and round the room. Accordingly, I started at once, and +she leaned upon my shoulder, and we went away at a pace that might have +been an imitation (founded on my first impulse under that roof) of Mr. +Pumblechook’s chaise-cart. + +She was not physically strong, and after a little time said, “Slower!” +Still, we went at an impatient fitful speed, and as we went, she +twitched the hand upon my shoulder, and worked her mouth, and led me to +believe that we were going fast because her thoughts went fast. After a +while she said, “Call Estella!” so I went out on the landing and roared +that name as I had done on the previous occasion. When her light +appeared, I returned to Miss Havisham, and we started away again round +and round the room. + +If only Estella had come to be a spectator of our proceedings, I should +have felt sufficiently discontented; but as she brought with her the +three ladies and the gentleman whom I had seen below, I didn’t know +what to do. In my politeness, I would have stopped; but Miss Havisham +twitched my shoulder, and we posted on,—with a shame-faced +consciousness on my part that they would think it was all my doing. + +“Dear Miss Havisham,” said Miss Sarah Pocket. “How well you look!” + +“I do not,” returned Miss Havisham. “I am yellow skin and bone.” + +Camilla brightened when Miss Pocket met with this rebuff; and she +murmured, as she plaintively contemplated Miss Havisham, “Poor dear +soul! Certainly not to be expected to look well, poor thing. The idea!” + +“And how are _you_?” said Miss Havisham to Camilla. As we were close to +Camilla then, I would have stopped as a matter of course, only Miss +Havisham wouldn’t stop. We swept on, and I felt that I was highly +obnoxious to Camilla. + +“Thank you, Miss Havisham,” she returned, “I am as well as can be +expected.” + +“Why, what’s the matter with you?” asked Miss Havisham, with exceeding +sharpness. + +“Nothing worth mentioning,” replied Camilla. “I don’t wish to make a +display of my feelings, but I have habitually thought of you more in +the night than I am quite equal to.” + +“Then don’t think of me,” retorted Miss Havisham. + +“Very easily said!” remarked Camilla, amiably repressing a sob, while a +hitch came into her upper lip, and her tears overflowed. “Raymond is a +witness what ginger and sal volatile I am obliged to take in the night. +Raymond is a witness what nervous jerkings I have in my legs. Chokings +and nervous jerkings, however, are nothing new to me when I think with +anxiety of those I love. If I could be less affectionate and sensitive, +I should have a better digestion and an iron set of nerves. I am sure I +wish it could be so. But as to not thinking of you in the night—The +idea!” Here, a burst of tears. + +The Raymond referred to, I understood to be the gentleman present, and +him I understood to be Mr. Camilla. He came to the rescue at this +point, and said in a consolatory and complimentary voice, “Camilla, my +dear, it is well known that your family feelings are gradually +undermining you to the extent of making one of your legs shorter than +the other.” + +“I am not aware,” observed the grave lady whose voice I had heard but +once, “that to think of any person is to make a great claim upon that +person, my dear.” + +Miss Sarah Pocket, whom I now saw to be a little dry, brown, corrugated +old woman, with a small face that might have been made of +walnut-shells, and a large mouth like a cat’s without the whiskers, +supported this position by saying, “No, indeed, my dear. Hem!” + +“Thinking is easy enough,” said the grave lady. + +“What is easier, you know?” assented Miss Sarah Pocket. + +“Oh, yes, yes!” cried Camilla, whose fermenting feelings appeared to +rise from her legs to her bosom. “It’s all very true! It’s a weakness +to be so affectionate, but I can’t help it. No doubt my health would be +much better if it was otherwise, still I wouldn’t change my disposition +if I could. It’s the cause of much suffering, but it’s a consolation to +know I possess it, when I wake up in the night.” Here another burst of +feeling. + +Miss Havisham and I had never stopped all this time, but kept going +round and round the room; now brushing against the skirts of the +visitors, now giving them the whole length of the dismal chamber. + +“There’s Matthew!” said Camilla. “Never mixing with any natural ties, +never coming here to see how Miss Havisham is! I have taken to the sofa +with my staylace cut, and have lain there hours insensible, with my +head over the side, and my hair all down, and my feet I don’t know +where—” + +(“Much higher than your head, my love,” said Mr. Camilla.) + +“I have gone off into that state, hours and hours, on account of +Matthew’s strange and inexplicable conduct, and nobody has thanked me.” + +“Really I must say I should think not!” interposed the grave lady. + +“You see, my dear,” added Miss Sarah Pocket (a blandly vicious +personage), “the question to put to yourself is, who did you expect to +thank you, my love?” + +“Without expecting any thanks, or anything of the sort,” resumed +Camilla, “I have remained in that state, hours and hours, and Raymond +is a witness of the extent to which I have choked, and what the total +inefficacy of ginger has been, and I have been heard at the piano-forte +tuner’s across the street, where the poor mistaken children have even +supposed it to be pigeons cooing at a distance,—and now to be told—” +Here Camilla put her hand to her throat, and began to be quite chemical +as to the formation of new combinations there. + +When this same Matthew was mentioned, Miss Havisham stopped me and +herself, and stood looking at the speaker. This change had a great +influence in bringing Camilla’s chemistry to a sudden end. + +“Matthew will come and see me at last,” said Miss Havisham, sternly, +“when I am laid on that table. That will be his place,—there,” striking +the table with her stick, “at my head! And yours will be there! And +your husband’s there! And Sarah Pocket’s there! And Georgiana’s there! +Now you all know where to take your stations when you come to feast +upon me. And now go!” + +At the mention of each name, she had struck the table with her stick in +a new place. She now said, “Walk me, walk me!” and we went on again. + +“I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” exclaimed Camilla, “but comply +and depart. It’s something to have seen the object of one’s love and +duty for even so short a time. I shall think of it with a melancholy +satisfaction when I wake up in the night. I wish Matthew could have +that comfort, but he sets it at defiance. I am determined not to make a +display of my feelings, but it’s very hard to be told one wants to +feast on one’s relations,—as if one was a Giant,—and to be told to go. +The bare idea!” + +Mr. Camilla interposing, as Mrs. Camilla laid her hand upon her heaving +bosom, that lady assumed an unnatural fortitude of manner which I +supposed to be expressive of an intention to drop and choke when out of +view, and kissing her hand to Miss Havisham, was escorted forth. Sarah +Pocket and Georgiana contended who should remain last; but Sarah was +too knowing to be outdone, and ambled round Georgiana with that artful +slipperiness that the latter was obliged to take precedence. Sarah +Pocket then made her separate effect of departing with, “Bless you, +Miss Havisham dear!” and with a smile of forgiving pity on her +walnut-shell countenance for the weaknesses of the rest. + +While Estella was away lighting them down, Miss Havisham still walked +with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At last she +stopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it +some seconds,— + +“This is my birthday, Pip.” + +I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick. + +“I don’t suffer it to be spoken of. I don’t suffer those who were here +just now, or any one to speak of it. They come here on the day, but +they dare not refer to it.” + +Of course _I_ made no further effort to refer to it. + +“On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of +decay,” stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the +table, but not touching it, “was brought here. It and I have worn away +together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of +mice have gnawed at me.” + +She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking +at the table; she in her once white dress, all yellow and withered; the +once white cloth all yellow and withered; everything around in a state +to crumble under a touch. + +“When the ruin is complete,” said she, with a ghastly look, “and when +they lay me dead, in my bride’s dress on the bride’s table,—which shall +be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him,—so much the +better if it is done on this day!” + +She stood looking at the table as if she stood looking at her own +figure lying there. I remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too +remained quiet. It seemed to me that we continued thus for a long time. +In the heavy air of the room, and the heavy darkness that brooded in +its remoter corners, I even had an alarming fancy that Estella and I +might presently begin to decay. + +At length, not coming out of her distraught state by degrees, but in an +instant, Miss Havisham said, “Let me see you two play cards; why have +you not begun?” With that, we returned to her room, and sat down as +before; I was beggared, as before; and again, as before, Miss Havisham +watched us all the time, directed my attention to Estella’s beauty, and +made me notice it the more by trying her jewels on Estella’s breast and +hair. + +Estella, for her part, likewise treated me as before, except that she +did not condescend to speak. When we had played some half-dozen games, +a day was appointed for my return, and I was taken down into the yard +to be fed in the former dog-like manner. There, too, I was again left +to wander about as I liked. + +It is not much to the purpose whether a gate in that garden wall which +I had scrambled up to peep over on the last occasion was, on that last +occasion, open or shut. Enough that I saw no gate then, and that I saw +one now. As it stood open, and as I knew that Estella had let the +visitors out,—for she had returned with the keys in her hand,—I +strolled into the garden, and strolled all over it. It was quite a +wilderness, and there were old melon-frames and cucumber-frames in it, +which seemed in their decline to have produced a spontaneous growth of +weak attempts at pieces of old hats and boots, with now and then a +weedy offshoot into the likeness of a battered saucepan. + +When I had exhausted the garden and a greenhouse with nothing in it but +a fallen-down grape-vine and some bottles, I found myself in the dismal +corner upon which I had looked out of the window. Never questioning for +a moment that the house was now empty, I looked in at another window, +and found myself, to my great surprise, exchanging a broad stare with a +pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair. + +This pale young gentleman quickly disappeared, and reappeared beside +me. He had been at his books when I had found myself staring at him, +and I now saw that he was inky. + +“Halloa!” said he, “young fellow!” + +Halloa being a general observation which I had usually observed to be +best answered by itself, _I_ said, “Halloa!” politely omitting young +fellow. + +“Who let _you_ in?” said he. + +“Miss Estella.” + +“Who gave you leave to prowl about?” + +“Miss Estella.” + +“Come and fight,” said the pale young gentleman. + +What could I do but follow him? I have often asked myself the question +since; but what else could I do? His manner was so final, and I was so +astonished, that I followed where he led, as if I had been under a +spell. + +“Stop a minute, though,” he said, wheeling round before we had gone +many paces. “I ought to give you a reason for fighting, too. There it +is!” In a most irritating manner he instantly slapped his hands against +one another, daintily flung one of his legs up behind him, pulled my +hair, slapped his hands again, dipped his head, and butted it into my +stomach. + +The bull-like proceeding last mentioned, besides that it was +unquestionably to be regarded in the light of a liberty, was +particularly disagreeable just after bread and meat. I therefore hit +out at him and was going to hit out again, when he said, “Aha! Would +you?” and began dancing backwards and forwards in a manner quite +unparalleled within my limited experience. + +“Laws of the game!” said he. Here, he skipped from his left leg on to +his right. “Regular rules!” Here, he skipped from his right leg on to +his left. “Come to the ground, and go through the preliminaries!” Here, +he dodged backwards and forwards, and did all sorts of things while I +looked helplessly at him. + +I was secretly afraid of him when I saw him so dexterous; but I felt +morally and physically convinced that his light head of hair could have +had no business in the pit of my stomach, and that I had a right to +consider it irrelevant when so obtruded on my attention. Therefore, I +followed him without a word, to a retired nook of the garden, formed by +the junction of two walls and screened by some rubbish. On his asking +me if I was satisfied with the ground, and on my replying Yes, he +begged my leave to absent himself for a moment, and quickly returned +with a bottle of water and a sponge dipped in vinegar. “Available for +both,” he said, placing these against the wall. And then fell to +pulling off, not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a +manner at once light-hearted, business-like, and bloodthirsty. + +Although he did not look very healthy,—having pimples on his face, and +a breaking out at his mouth,—these dreadful preparations quite appalled +me. I judged him to be about my own age, but he was much taller, and he +had a way of spinning himself about that was full of appearance. For +the rest, he was a young gentleman in a grey suit (when not denuded for +battle), with his elbows, knees, wrists, and heels considerably in +advance of the rest of him as to development. + +My heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every +demonstration of mechanical nicety, and eyeing my anatomy as if he were +minutely choosing his bone. I never have been so surprised in my life, +as I was when I let out the first blow, and saw him lying on his back, +looking up at me with a bloody nose and his face exceedingly +fore-shortened. + +But, he was on his feet directly, and after sponging himself with a +great show of dexterity began squaring again. The second greatest +surprise I have ever had in my life was seeing him on his back again, +looking up at me out of a black eye. + +His spirit inspired me with great respect. He seemed to have no +strength, and he never once hit me hard, and he was always knocked +down; but he would be up again in a moment, sponging himself or +drinking out of the water-bottle, with the greatest satisfaction in +seconding himself according to form, and then came at me with an air +and a show that made me believe he really was going to do for me at +last. He got heavily bruised, for I am sorry to record that the more I +hit him, the harder I hit him; but he came up again and again and +again, until at last he got a bad fall with the back of his head +against the wall. Even after that crisis in our affairs, he got up and +turned round and round confusedly a few times, not knowing where I was; +but finally went on his knees to his sponge and threw it up: at the +same time panting out, “That means you have won.” + +He seemed so brave and innocent, that although I had not proposed the +contest, I felt but a gloomy satisfaction in my victory. Indeed, I go +so far as to hope that I regarded myself while dressing as a species of +savage young wolf or other wild beast. However, I got dressed, darkly +wiping my sanguinary face at intervals, and I said, “Can I help you?” +and he said “No thankee,” and I said “Good afternoon,” and _he_ said +“Same to you.” + +When I got into the courtyard, I found Estella waiting with the keys. +But she neither asked me where I had been, nor why I had kept her +waiting; and there was a bright flush upon her face, as though +something had happened to delight her. Instead of going straight to the +gate, too, she stepped back into the passage, and beckoned me. + +“Come here! You may kiss me, if you like.” + +I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. I think I would have gone +through a great deal to kiss her cheek. But I felt that the kiss was +given to the coarse common boy as a piece of money might have been, and +that it was worth nothing. + +What with the birthday visitors, and what with the cards, and what with +the fight, my stay had lasted so long, that when I neared home the +light on the spit of sand off the point on the marshes was gleaming +against a black night-sky, and Joe’s furnace was flinging a path of +fire across the road. + + + + +Chapter XII. + + +My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman. +The more I thought of the fight, and recalled the pale young gentleman +on his back in various stages of puffy and incrimsoned countenance, the +more certain it appeared that something would be done to me. I felt +that the pale young gentleman’s blood was on my head, and that the Law +would avenge it. Without having any definite idea of the penalties I +had incurred, it was clear to me that village boys could not go +stalking about the country, ravaging the houses of gentlefolks and +pitching into the studious youth of England, without laying themselves +open to severe punishment. For some days, I even kept close at home, +and looked out at the kitchen door with the greatest caution and +trepidation before going on an errand, lest the officers of the County +Jail should pounce upon me. The pale young gentleman’s nose had stained +my trousers, and I tried to wash out that evidence of my guilt in the +dead of night. I had cut my knuckles against the pale young gentleman’s +teeth, and I twisted my imagination into a thousand tangles, as I +devised incredible ways of accounting for that damnatory circumstance +when I should be haled before the Judges. + +When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of +violence, my terrors reached their height. Whether myrmidons of +Justice, especially sent down from London, would be lying in ambush +behind the gate;—whether Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal +vengeance for an outrage done to her house, might rise in those +grave-clothes of hers, draw a pistol, and shoot me dead:—whether +suborned boys—a numerous band of mercenaries—might be engaged to fall +upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more;—it was high +testimony to my confidence in the spirit of the pale young gentleman, +that I never imagined _him_ accessory to these retaliations; they +always came into my mind as the acts of injudicious relatives of his, +goaded on by the state of his visage and an indignant sympathy with the +family features. + +However, go to Miss Havisham’s I must, and go I did. And behold! +nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, +and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I +found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in +at the windows of the detached house; but my view was suddenly stopped +by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless. Only in the corner +where the combat had taken place could I detect any evidence of the +young gentleman’s existence. There were traces of his gore in that +spot, and I covered them with garden-mould from the eye of man. + +On the broad landing between Miss Havisham’s own room and that other +room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair,—a +light chair on wheels, that you pushed from behind. It had been placed +there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular +occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired +of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and +across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over +again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as +long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general +mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled +that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, +and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten +months. + +As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more +to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I +going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I +believed; and I enlarged upon my knowing nothing and wanting to know +everything, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that +desirable end. But she did not; on the contrary, she seemed to prefer +my being ignorant. Neither did she ever give me any money,—or anything +but my daily dinner,—nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my +services. + +Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told +me I might kiss her again. Sometimes, she would coldly tolerate me; +sometimes, she would condescend to me; sometimes, she would be quite +familiar with me; sometimes, she would tell me energetically that she +hated me. Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we +were alone, “Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?” And when I said +yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when +we played at cards Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish +of Estella’s moods, whatever they were. And sometimes, when her moods +were so many and so contradictory of one another that I was puzzled +what to say or do, Miss Havisham would embrace her with lavish +fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like “Break their +hearts my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!” + +There was a song Joe used to hum fragments of at the forge, of which +the burden was Old Clem. This was not a very ceremonious way of +rendering homage to a patron saint, but I believe Old Clem stood in +that relation towards smiths. It was a song that imitated the measure +of beating upon iron, and was a mere lyrical excuse for the +introduction of Old Clem’s respected name. Thus, you were to hammer +boys round—Old Clem! With a thump and a sound—Old Clem! Beat it out, +beat it out—Old Clem! With a clink for the stout—Old Clem! Blow the +fire, blow the fire—Old Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher—Old Clem! +One day soon after the appearance of the chair, Miss Havisham suddenly +saying to me, with the impatient movement of her fingers, “There, +there, there! Sing!” I was surprised into crooning this ditty as I +pushed her over the floor. It happened so to catch her fancy that she +took it up in a low brooding voice as if she were singing in her sleep. +After that, it became customary with us to have it as we moved about, +and Estella would often join in; though the whole strain was so +subdued, even when there were three of us, that it made less noise in +the grim old house than the lightest breath of wind. + +What could I become with these surroundings? How could my character +fail to be influenced by them? Is it to be wondered at if my thoughts +were dazed, as my eyes were, when I came out into the natural light +from the misty yellow rooms? + +Perhaps I might have told Joe about the pale young gentleman, if I had +not previously been betrayed into those enormous inventions to which I +had confessed. Under the circumstances, I felt that Joe could hardly +fail to discern in the pale young gentleman, an appropriate passenger +to be put into the black velvet coach; therefore, I said nothing of +him. Besides, that shrinking from having Miss Havisham and Estella +discussed, which had come upon me in the beginning, grew much more +potent as time went on. I reposed complete confidence in no one but +Biddy; but I told poor Biddy everything. Why it came natural to me to +do so, and why Biddy had a deep concern in everything I told her, I did +not know then, though I think I know now. + +Meanwhile, councils went on in the kitchen at home, fraught with almost +insupportable aggravation to my exasperated spirit. That ass, +Pumblechook, used often to come over of a night for the purpose of +discussing my prospects with my sister; and I really do believe (to +this hour with less penitence than I ought to feel), that if these +hands could have taken a linchpin out of his chaise-cart, they would +have done it. The miserable man was a man of that confined stolidity of +mind, that he could not discuss my prospects without having me before +him,—as it were, to operate upon,—and he would drag me up from my stool +(usually by the collar) where I was quiet in a corner, and, putting me +before the fire as if I were going to be cooked, would begin by saying, +“Now, Mum, here is this boy! Here is this boy which you brought up by +hand. Hold up your head, boy, and be forever grateful unto them which +so did do. Now, Mum, with respections to this boy!” And then he would +rumple my hair the wrong way,—which from my earliest remembrance, as +already hinted, I have in my soul denied the right of any +fellow-creature to do,—and would hold me before him by the sleeve,—a +spectacle of imbecility only to be equalled by himself. + +Then, he and my sister would pair off in such nonsensical speculations +about Miss Havisham, and about what she would do with me and for me, +that I used to want—quite painfully—to burst into spiteful tears, fly +at Pumblechook, and pummel him all over. In these dialogues, my sister +spoke to me as if she were morally wrenching one of my teeth out at +every reference; while Pumblechook himself, self-constituted my patron, +would sit supervising me with a depreciatory eye, like the architect of +my fortunes who thought himself engaged on a very unremunerative job. + +In these discussions, Joe bore no part. But he was often talked at, +while they were in progress, by reason of Mrs. Joe’s perceiving that he +was not favourable to my being taken from the forge. I was fully old +enough now to be apprenticed to Joe; and when Joe sat with the poker on +his knees thoughtfully raking out the ashes between the lower bars, my +sister would so distinctly construe that innocent action into +opposition on his part, that she would dive at him, take the poker out +of his hands, shake him, and put it away. There was a most irritating +end to every one of these debates. All in a moment, with nothing to +lead up to it, my sister would stop herself in a yawn, and catching +sight of me as it were incidentally, would swoop upon me with, “Come! +there’s enough of _you_! _You_ get along to bed; _you_’ve given trouble +enough for one night, I hope!” As if I had besought them as a favour to +bother my life out. + +We went on in this way for a long time, and it seemed likely that we +should continue to go on in this way for a long time, when one day Miss +Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my +shoulder; and said with some displeasure,— + +“You are growing tall, Pip!” + +I thought it best to hint, through the medium of a meditative look, +that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no +control. + +She said no more at the time; but she presently stopped and looked at +me again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and +moody. On the next day of my attendance, when our usual exercise was +over, and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a +movement of her impatient fingers:— + +“Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours.” + +“Joe Gargery, ma’am.” + +“Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?” + +“Yes, Miss Havisham.” + +“You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with +you, and bring your indentures, do you think?” + +I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honour to be +asked. + +“Then let him come.” + +“At any particular time, Miss Havisham?” + +“There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come +along with you.” + +When I got home at night, and delivered this message for Joe, my sister +“went on the Rampage,” in a more alarming degree than at any previous +period. She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats +under our feet, and how we dared to use her so, and what company we +graciously thought she _was_ fit for? When she had exhausted a torrent +of such inquiries, she threw a candlestick at Joe, burst into a loud +sobbing, got out the dustpan,—which was always a very bad sign,—put on +her coarse apron, and began cleaning up to a terrible extent. Not +satisfied with a dry cleaning, she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush, +and cleaned us out of house and home, so that we stood shivering in the +back-yard. It was ten o’clock at night before we ventured to creep in +again, and then she asked Joe why he hadn’t married a Negress Slave at +once? Joe offered no answer, poor fellow, but stood feeling his whisker +and looking dejectedly at me, as if he thought it really might have +been a better speculation. + + + + +Chapter XIII. + + +It was a trial to my feelings, on the next day but one, to see Joe +arraying himself in his Sunday clothes to accompany me to Miss +Havisham’s. However, as he thought his court-suit necessary to the +occasion, it was not for me to tell him that he looked far better in +his working-dress; the rather, because I knew he made himself so +dreadfully uncomfortable, entirely on my account, and that it was for +me he pulled up his shirt-collar so very high behind, that it made the +hair on the crown of his head stand up like a tuft of feathers. + +At breakfast-time my sister declared her intention of going to town +with us, and being left at Uncle Pumblechook’s and called for “when we +had done with our fine ladies”—a way of putting the case, from which +Joe appeared inclined to augur the worst. The forge was shut up for the +day, and Joe inscribed in chalk upon the door (as it was his custom to +do on the very rare occasions when he was not at work) the monosyllable +HOUT, accompanied by a sketch of an arrow supposed to be flying in the +direction he had taken. + +We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver +bonnet, and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited +Straw, a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella, though it was +a fine bright day. I am not quite clear whether these articles were +carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but I rather think they were +displayed as articles of property,—much as Cleopatra or any other +sovereign lady on the Rampage might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or +procession. + +When we came to Pumblechook’s, my sister bounced in and left us. As it +was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham’s house. +Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe +took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands; +as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to +half a quarter of an ounce. + +Estella took no notice of either of us, but led us the way that I knew +so well. I followed next to her, and Joe came last. When I looked back +at Joe in the long passage, he was still weighing his hat with the +greatest care, and was coming after us in long strides on the tips of +his toes. + +Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff +and conducted him into Miss Havisham’s presence. She was seated at her +dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately. + +“Oh!” said she to Joe. “You are the husband of the sister of this boy?” + +I could hardly have imagined dear old Joe looking so unlike himself or +so like some extraordinary bird; standing as he did speechless, with +his tuft of feathers ruffled, and his mouth open as if he wanted a +worm. + +“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham, “of the sister of this +boy?” + +It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview, Joe persisted +in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham. + +“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe now observed in a manner that was at +once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great +politeness, “as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time +what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man.” + +“Well!” said Miss Havisham. “And you have reared the boy, with the +intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?” + +“You know, Pip,” replied Joe, “as you and me were ever friends, and it +were looked for’ard to betwixt us, as being calc’lated to lead to +larks. Not but what, Pip, if you had ever made objections to the +business,—such as its being open to black and sut, or such-like,—not +but what they would have been attended to, don’t you see?” + +“Has the boy,” said Miss Havisham, “ever made any objection? Does he +like the trade?” + +“Which it is well beknown to yourself, Pip,” returned Joe, +strengthening his former mixture of argumentation, confidence, and +politeness, “that it were the wish of your own hart.” (I saw the idea +suddenly break upon him that he would adapt his epitaph to the +occasion, before he went on to say) “And there weren’t no objection on +your part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!” + +It was quite in vain for me to endeavour to make him sensible that he +ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to +him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite, he +persisted in being to Me. + +“Have you brought his indentures with you?” asked Miss Havisham. + +“Well, Pip, you know,” replied Joe, as if that were a little +unreasonable, “you yourself see me put ’em in my ’at, and therefore you +know as they are here.” With which he took them out, and gave them, not +to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good +fellow,—I _know_ I was ashamed of him,—when I saw that Estella stood at +the back of Miss Havisham’s chair, and that her eyes laughed +mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to +Miss Havisham. + +“You expected,” said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, “no +premium with the boy?” + +“Joe!” I remonstrated, for he made no reply at all. “Why don’t you +answer—” + +“Pip,” returned Joe, cutting me short as if he were hurt, “which I +meantersay that were not a question requiring a answer betwixt yourself +and me, and which you know the answer to be full well No. You know it +to be No, Pip, and wherefore should I say it?” + +Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was +better than I had thought possible, seeing what he was there; and took +up a little bag from the table beside her. + +“Pip has earned a premium here,” she said, “and here it is. There are +five-and-twenty guineas in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip.” + +As if he were absolutely out of his mind with the wonder awakened in +him by her strange figure and the strange room, Joe, even at this pass, +persisted in addressing me. + +“This is wery liberal on your part, Pip,” said Joe, “and it is as such +received and grateful welcome, though never looked for, far nor near, +nor nowheres. And now, old chap,” said Joe, conveying to me a +sensation, first of burning and then of freezing, for I felt as if that +familiar expression were applied to Miss Havisham,—“and now, old chap, +may we do our duty! May you and me do our duty, both on us, by one and +another, and by them which your liberal present—have-conweyed—to be—for +the satisfaction of mind-of—them as never—” here Joe showed that he +felt he had fallen into frightful difficulties, until he triumphantly +rescued himself with the words, “and from myself far be it!” These +words had such a round and convincing sound for him that he said them +twice. + +“Good-bye, Pip!” said Miss Havisham. “Let them out, Estella.” + +“Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?” I asked. + +“No. Gargery is your master now. Gargery! One word!” + +Thus calling him back as I went out of the door, I heard her say to Joe +in a distinct emphatic voice, “The boy has been a good boy here, and +that is his reward. Of course, as an honest man, you will expect no +other and no more.” + +How Joe got out of the room, I have never been able to determine; but I +know that when he did get out he was steadily proceeding upstairs +instead of coming down, and was deaf to all remonstrances until I went +after him and laid hold of him. In another minute we were outside the +gate, and it was locked, and Estella was gone. When we stood in the +daylight alone again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to me, +“Astonishing!” And there he remained so long saying, “Astonishing” at +intervals, so often, that I began to think his senses were never coming +back. At length he prolonged his remark into “Pip, I do assure _you_ +this is as-TON-ishing!” and so, by degrees, became conversational and +able to walk away. + +I have reason to think that Joe’s intellects were brightened by the +encounter they had passed through, and that on our way to Pumblechook’s +he invented a subtle and deep design. My reason is to be found in what +took place in Mr. Pumblechook’s parlour: where, on our presenting +ourselves, my sister sat in conference with that detested seedsman. + +“Well?” cried my sister, addressing us both at once. “And what’s +happened to _you_? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor +society as this, I am sure I do!” + +“Miss Havisham,” said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of +remembrance, “made it wery partick’ler that we should give her—were it +compliments or respects, Pip?” + +“Compliments,” I said. + +“Which that were my own belief,” answered Joe; “her compliments to Mrs. +J. Gargery—” + +“Much good they’ll do me!” observed my sister; but rather gratified +too. + +“And wishing,” pursued Joe, with another fixed look at me, like another +effort of remembrance, “that the state of Miss Havisham’s elth were +sitch as would have—allowed, were it, Pip?” + +“Of her having the pleasure,” I added. + +“Of ladies’ company,” said Joe. And drew a long breath. + +“Well!” cried my sister, with a mollified glance at Mr. Pumblechook. +“She might have had the politeness to send that message at first, but +it’s better late than never. And what did she give young Rantipole +here?” + +“She giv’ him,” said Joe, “nothing.” + +Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on. + +“What she giv’,” said Joe, “she giv’ to his friends. ‘And by his +friends,’ were her explanation, ‘I mean into the hands of his sister +Mrs. J. Gargery.’ Them were her words; ‘Mrs. J. Gargery.’ She mayn’t +have know’d,” added Joe, with an appearance of reflection, “whether it +were Joe, or Jorge.” + +My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden +arm-chair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all +about it beforehand. + +“And how much have you got?” asked my sister, laughing. Positively +laughing! + +“What would present company say to ten pound?” demanded Joe. + +“They’d say,” returned my sister, curtly, “pretty well. Not too much, +but pretty well.” + +“It’s more than that, then,” said Joe. + +That fearful Impostor, Pumblechook, immediately nodded, and said, as he +rubbed the arms of his chair, “It’s more than that, Mum.” + +“Why, you don’t mean to say—” began my sister. + +“Yes I do, Mum,” said Pumblechook; “but wait a bit. Go on, Joseph. Good +in you! Go on!” + +“What would present company say,” proceeded Joe, “to twenty pound?” + +“Handsome would be the word,” returned my sister. + +“Well, then,” said Joe, “It’s more than twenty pound.” + +That abject hypocrite, Pumblechook, nodded again, and said, with a +patronizing laugh, “It’s more than that, Mum. Good again! Follow her +up, Joseph!” + +“Then to make an end of it,” said Joe, delightedly handing the bag to +my sister; “it’s five-and-twenty pound.” + +“It’s five-and-twenty pound, Mum,” echoed that basest of swindlers, +Pumblechook, rising to shake hands with her; “and it’s no more than +your merits (as I said when my opinion was asked), and I wish you joy +of the money!” + +If the villain had stopped here, his case would have been sufficiently +awful, but he blackened his guilt by proceeding to take me into +custody, with a right of patronage that left all his former criminality +far behind. + +“Now you see, Joseph and wife,” said Pumblechook, as he took me by the +arm above the elbow, “I am one of them that always go right through +with what they’ve begun. This boy must be bound, out of hand. That’s +_my_ way. Bound out of hand.” + +“Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook,” said my sister (grasping the +money), “we’re deeply beholden to you.” + +“Never mind me, Mum,” returned that diabolical cornchandler. “A +pleasure’s a pleasure all the world over. But this boy, you know; we +must have him bound. I said I’d see to it—to tell you the truth.” + +The Justices were sitting in the Town Hall near at hand, and we at once +went over to have me bound apprentice to Joe in the Magisterial +presence. I say we went over, but I was pushed over by Pumblechook, +exactly as if I had that moment picked a pocket or fired a rick; +indeed, it was the general impression in Court that I had been taken +red-handed; for, as Pumblechook shoved me before him through the crowd, +I heard some people say, “What’s he done?” and others, “He’s a young +’un, too, but looks bad, don’t he?” One person of mild and benevolent +aspect even gave me a tract ornamented with a woodcut of a malevolent +young man fitted up with a perfect sausage-shop of fetters, and +entitled TO BE READ IN MY CELL. + +The Hall was a queer place, I thought, with higher pews in it than a +church,—and with people hanging over the pews looking on,—and with +mighty Justices (one with a powdered head) leaning back in chairs, with +folded arms, or taking snuff, or going to sleep, or writing, or reading +the newspapers,—and with some shining black portraits on the walls, +which my unartistic eye regarded as a composition of hardbake and +sticking-plaster. Here, in a corner my indentures were duly signed and +attested, and I was “bound”; Mr. Pumblechook holding me all the while +as if we had looked in on our way to the scaffold, to have those little +preliminaries disposed of. + +When we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had been +put into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publicly +tortured, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends were +merely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook’s. And there my +sister became so excited by the twenty-five guineas, that nothing would +serve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall at the Blue +Boar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bring +the Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle. + +It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it +inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the whole +company, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make it +worse, they all asked me from time to time,—in short, whenever they had +nothing else to do,—why I didn’t enjoy myself? And what could I +possibly do then, but say I _was_ enjoying myself,—when I wasn’t! + +However, they were grown up and had their own way, and they made the +most of it. That swindling Pumblechook, exalted into the beneficent +contriver of the whole occasion, actually took the top of the table; +and, when he addressed them on the subject of my being bound, and had +fiendishly congratulated them on my being liable to imprisonment if I +played at cards, drank strong liquors, kept late hours or bad company, +or indulged in other vagaries which the form of my indentures appeared +to contemplate as next to inevitable, he placed me standing on a chair +beside him to illustrate his remarks. + +My only other remembrances of the great festival are, That they +wouldn’t let me go to sleep, but whenever they saw me dropping off, +woke me up and told me to enjoy myself. That, rather late in the +evening Mr. Wopsle gave us Collins’s ode, and threw his bloodstained +sword in thunder down, with such effect, that a waiter came in and +said, “The Commercials underneath sent up their compliments, and it +wasn’t the Tumblers’ Arms.” That, they were all in excellent spirits on +the road home, and sang, O Lady Fair! Mr. Wopsle taking the bass, and +asserting with a tremendously strong voice (in reply to the inquisitive +bore who leads that piece of music in a most impertinent manner, by +wanting to know all about everybody’s private affairs) that _he_ was +the man with his white locks flowing, and that he was upon the whole +the weakest pilgrim going. + +Finally, I remember that when I got into my little bedroom, I was truly +wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like +Joe’s trade. I had liked it once, but once was not now. + + + + +Chapter XIV. + + +It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. There may be +black ingratitude in the thing, and the punishment may be retributive +and well deserved; but that it is a miserable thing, I can testify. + +Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister’s +temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had +believed in the best parlour as a most elegant saloon; I had believed +in the front door, as a mysterious portal of the Temple of State whose +solemn opening was attended with a sacrifice of roast fowls; I had +believed in the kitchen as a chaste though not magnificent apartment; I +had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and +independence. Within a single year all this was changed. Now it was all +coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella +see it on any account. + +How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, +how much Miss Havisham’s, how much my sister’s, is now of no moment to +me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. Well +or ill done, excusably or inexcusably, it was done. + +Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my +shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe’s ’prentice, I should be +distinguished and happy. Now the reality was in my hold, I only felt +that I was dusty with the dust of small-coal, and that I had a weight +upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. There have +been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I +have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its +interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance +any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my +way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly +entered road of apprenticeship to Joe. + +I remember that at a later period of my “time,” I used to stand about +the churchyard on Sunday evenings when night was falling, comparing my +own perspective with the windy marsh view, and making out some likeness +between them by thinking how flat and low both were, and how on both +there came an unknown way and a dark mist and then the sea. I was quite +as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that +after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe +while my indentures lasted. It is about the only thing I _am_ glad to +know of myself in that connection. + +For, though it includes what I proceed to add, all the merit of what I +proceed to add was Joe’s. It was not because I was faithful, but +because Joe was faithful, that I never ran away and went for a soldier +or a sailor. It was not because I had a strong sense of the virtue of +industry, but because Joe had a strong sense of the virtue of industry, +that I worked with tolerable zeal against the grain. It is not possible +to know how far the influence of any amiable honest-hearted duty-doing +man flies out into the world; but it is very possible to know how it +has touched one’s self in going by, and I know right well that any good +that intermixed itself with my apprenticeship came of plain contented +Joe, and not of restlessly aspiring discontented me. + +What I wanted, who can say? How can _I_ say, when I never knew? What I +dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I, being at my grimiest and +commonest, should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of +the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she +would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing +the coarsest part of my work, and would exult over me and despise me. +Often after dark, when I was pulling the bellows for Joe, and we were +singing Old Clem, and when the thought how we used to sing it at Miss +Havisham’s would seem to show me Estella’s face in the fire, with her +pretty hair fluttering in the wind and her eyes scorning me,—often at +such a time I would look towards those panels of black night in the +wall which the wooden windows then were, and would fancy that I saw her +just drawing her face away, and would believe that she had come at +last. + +After that, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would +have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of +home than ever, in my own ungracious breast. + + + + +Chapter XV. + + +As I was getting too big for Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt’s room, my +education under that preposterous female terminated. Not, however, +until Biddy had imparted to me everything she knew, from the little +catalogue of prices, to a comic song she had once bought for a +half-penny. Although the only coherent part of the latter piece of +literature were the opening lines, + + When I went to Lunnon town sirs, + Too rul loo rul + Too rul loo rul + Wasn’t I done very brown sirs? + Too rul loo rul + Too rul loo rul + + +—still, in my desire to be wiser, I got this composition by heart with +the utmost gravity; nor do I recollect that I questioned its merit, +except that I thought (as I still do) the amount of Too rul somewhat in +excess of the poetry. In my hunger for information, I made proposals to +Mr. Wopsle to bestow some intellectual crumbs upon me, with which he +kindly complied. As it turned out, however, that he only wanted me for +a dramatic lay-figure, to be contradicted and embraced and wept over +and bullied and clutched and stabbed and knocked about in a variety of +ways, I soon declined that course of instruction; though not until Mr. +Wopsle in his poetic fury had severely mauled me. + +Whatever I acquired, I tried to impart to Joe. This statement sounds so +well, that I cannot in my conscience let it pass unexplained. I wanted +to make Joe less ignorant and common, that he might be worthier of my +society and less open to Estella’s reproach. + +The old Battery out on the marshes was our place of study, and a broken +slate and a short piece of slate-pencil were our educational +implements: to which Joe always added a pipe of tobacco. I never knew +Joe to remember anything from one Sunday to another, or to acquire, +under my tuition, any piece of information whatever. Yet he would smoke +his pipe at the Battery with a far more sagacious air than anywhere +else,—even with a learned air,—as if he considered himself to be +advancing immensely. Dear fellow, I hope he did. + +It was pleasant and quiet, out there with the sails on the river +passing beyond the earthwork, and sometimes, when the tide was low, +looking as if they belonged to sunken ships that were still sailing on +at the bottom of the water. Whenever I watched the vessels standing out +to sea with their white sails spread, I somehow thought of Miss +Havisham and Estella; and whenever the light struck aslant, afar off, +upon a cloud or sail or green hillside or water-line, it was just the +same.—Miss Havisham and Estella and the strange house and the strange +life appeared to have something to do with everything that was +picturesque. + +One Sunday when Joe, greatly enjoying his pipe, had so plumed himself +on being “most awful dull,” that I had given him up for the day, I lay +on the earthwork for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying +traces of Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky +and in the water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought +concerning them that had been much in my head. + +“Joe,” said I; “don’t you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?” + +“Well, Pip,” returned Joe, slowly considering. “What for?” + +“What for, Joe? What is any visit made for?” + +“There is some wisits p’r’aps,” said Joe, “as for ever remains open to +the question, Pip. But in regard to wisiting Miss Havisham. She might +think you wanted something,—expected something of her.” + +“Don’t you think I might say that I did not, Joe?” + +“You might, old chap,” said Joe. “And she might credit it. Similarly +she mightn’t.” + +Joe felt, as I did, that he had made a point there, and he pulled hard +at his pipe to keep himself from weakening it by repetition. + +“You see, Pip,” Joe pursued, as soon as he was past that danger, “Miss +Havisham done the handsome thing by you. When Miss Havisham done the +handsome thing by you, she called me back to say to me as that were +all.” + +“Yes, Joe. I heard her.” + +“ALL,” Joe repeated, very emphatically. + +“Yes, Joe. I tell you, I heard her.” + +“Which I meantersay, Pip, it might be that her meaning were,—Make a end +on it!—As you was!—Me to the North, and you to the South!—Keep in +sunders!” + +I had thought of that too, and it was very far from comforting to me to +find that he had thought of it; for it seemed to render it more +probable. + +“But, Joe.” + +“Yes, old chap.” + +“Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day +of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after +her, or shown that I remember her.” + +“That’s true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes +all four round,—and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four +round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total wacancy of +hoofs—” + +“I don’t mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don’t mean a present.” + +But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon +it. “Or even,” said he, “if you was helped to knocking her up a new +chain for the front door,—or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws +for general use,—or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork +when she took her muffins,—or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such +like—” + +“I don’t mean any present at all, Joe,” I interposed. + +“Well,” said Joe, still harping on it as though I had particularly +pressed it, “if I was yourself, Pip, I wouldn’t. No, I would _not_. For +what’s a door-chain when she’s got one always up? And shark-headers is +open to misrepresentations. And if it was a toasting-fork, you’d go +into brass and do yourself no credit. And the oncommonest workman can’t +show himself oncommon in a gridiron,—for a gridiron IS a gridiron,” +said Joe, steadfastly impressing it upon me, as if he were endeavouring +to rouse me from a fixed delusion, “and you may haim at what you like, +but a gridiron it will come out, either by your leave or again your +leave, and you can’t help yourself—” + +“My dear Joe,” I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, “don’t +go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any +present.” + +“No, Pip,” Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all +along; “and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip.” + +“Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack +just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I +would go uptown and make a call on Miss Est—Havisham.” + +“Which her name,” said Joe, gravely, “ain’t Estavisham, Pip, unless she +have been rechris’ened.” + +“I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, +Joe?” + +In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of +it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received +with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a +visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for +a favour received, then this experimental trip should have no +successor. By these conditions I promised to abide. + +Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He +pretended that his Christian name was Dolge,—a clear Impossibility,—but +he was a fellow of that obstinate disposition that I believe him to +have been the prey of no delusion in this particular, but wilfully to +have imposed that name upon the village as an affront to its +understanding. He was a broadshouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of +great strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even +seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by +mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his +dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the +Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention +of ever coming back. He lodged at a sluice-keeper’s out on the marshes, +and on working-days would come slouching from his hermitage, with his +hands in his pockets and his dinner loosely tied in a bundle round his +neck and dangling on his back. On Sundays he mostly lay all day on the +sluice-gates, or stood against ricks and barns. He always slouched, +locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or +otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half-resentful, +half-puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had was, that it +was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking. + +This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and +timid, he gave me to understand that the Devil lived in a black corner +of the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was +necessary to make up the fire, once in seven years, with a live boy, +and that I might consider myself fuel. When I became Joe’s ’prentice, +Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace +him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, +or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he +always beat his sparks in my direction, and that whenever I sang Old +Clem, he came in out of time. + +Dolge Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of +my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just +got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by +and by he said, leaning on his hammer,— + +“Now, master! Sure you’re not a-going to favour only one of us. If +Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick.” I suppose he +was about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an +ancient person. + +“Why, what’ll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?” said Joe. + +“What’ll _I_ do with it! What’ll _he_ do with it? I’ll do as much with +it as _him_,” said Orlick. + +“As to Pip, he’s going up town,” said Joe. + +“Well then, as to Old Orlick, _he_’s a-going up town,” retorted that +worthy. “Two can go up town. Tain’t only one wot can go up town. + +“Don’t lose your temper,” said Joe. + +“Shall if I like,” growled Orlick. “Some and their uptowning! Now, +master! Come. No favouring in this shop. Be a man!” + +The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was +in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot +bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, +whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out,—as if +it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spirting blood,—and +finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and +he again leaned on his hammer,— + +“Now, master!” + +“Are you all right now?” demanded Joe. + +“Ah! I am all right,” said gruff Old Orlick. + +“Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men,” said +Joe, “let it be a half-holiday for all.” + +My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing,—she was +a most unscrupulous spy and listener,—and she instantly looked in at +one of the windows. + +“Like you, you fool!” said she to Joe, “giving holidays to great idle +hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in +that way. I wish _I_ was his master!” + +“You’d be everybody’s master, if you durst,” retorted Orlick, with an +ill-favoured grin. + +(“Let her alone,” said Joe.) + +“I’d be a match for all noodles and all rogues,” returned my sister, +beginning to work herself into a mighty rage. “And I couldn’t be a +match for the noodles, without being a match for your master, who’s the +dunder-headed king of the noodles. And I couldn’t be a match for the +rogues, without being a match for you, who are the blackest-looking and +the worst rogue between this and France. Now!” + +“You’re a foul shrew, Mother Gargery,” growled the journeyman. “If that +makes a judge of rogues, you ought to be a good’un.” + +(“Let her alone, will you?” said Joe.) + +“What did you say?” cried my sister, beginning to scream. “What did you +say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, +with my husband standing by? Oh! oh! oh!” Each of these exclamations +was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of +all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for +her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she +consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself +into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; “what was the +name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? Oh! Hold +me! Oh!” + +“Ah-h-h!” growled the journeyman, between his teeth, “I’d hold you, if +you was my wife. I’d hold you under the pump, and choke it out of you.” + +(“I tell you, let her alone,” said Joe.) + +“Oh! To hear him!” cried my sister, with a clap of her hands and a +scream together,—which was her next stage. “To hear the names he’s +giving me! That Orlick! In my own house! Me, a married woman! With my +husband standing by! Oh! Oh!” Here my sister, after a fit of clappings +and screamings, beat her hands upon her bosom and upon her knees, and +threw her cap off, and pulled her hair down,—which were the last stages +on her road to frenzy. Being by this time a perfect Fury and a complete +success, she made a dash at the door which I had fortunately locked. + +What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical +interruptions, but stand up to his journeyman, and ask him what he +meant by interfering betwixt himself and Mrs. Joe; and further whether +he was man enough to come on? Old Orlick felt that the situation +admitted of nothing less than coming on, and was on his defence +straightway; so, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt +aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in +that neighbourhood could stand uplong against Joe, I never saw the man. +Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young +gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come +out of it. Then Joe unlocked the door and picked up my sister, who had +dropped insensible at the window (but who had seen the fight first, I +think), and who was carried into the house and laid down, and who was +recommended to revive, and would do nothing but struggle and clench her +hands in Joe’s hair. Then came that singular calm and silence which +succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have +always connected with such a lull,—namely, that it was Sunday, and +somebody was dead,—I went upstairs to dress myself. + +[Illustration] + +When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any +other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick’s nostrils, +which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared +from the Jolly Bargemen, and they were sharing it by turns in a +peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence +on Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting +observation that might do me good, “On the Rampage, Pip, and off the +Rampage, Pip:—such is Life!” + +With what absurd emotions (for we think the feelings that are very +serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to +Miss Havisham’s, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed +the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I +debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should +undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back. + +Miss Sarah Pocket came to the gate. No Estella. + +“How, then? You here again?” said Miss Pocket. “What do you want?” + +When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah +evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my +business. But unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, +and presently brought the sharp message that I was to “come up.” + +Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone. + +“Well?” said she, fixing her eyes upon me. “I hope you want nothing? +You’ll get nothing.” + +“No indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing +very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you.” + +“There, there!” with the old restless fingers. “Come now and then; come +on your birthday.—Ay!” she cried suddenly, turning herself and her +chair towards me, “You are looking round for Estella? Hey?” + +I had been looking round,—in fact, for Estella,—and I stammered that I +hoped she was well. + +“Abroad,” said Miss Havisham; “educating for a lady; far out of reach; +prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you +have lost her?” + +There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last +words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a +loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by +dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the +walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my +home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by +_that_ motion. + +As I was loitering along the High Street, looking in disconsolately at +the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman, +who should come out of the bookshop but Mr. Wopsle. Mr. Wopsle had in +his hand the affecting tragedy of George Barnwell, in which he had that +moment invested sixpence, with the view of heaping every word of it on +the head of Pumblechook, with whom he was going to drink tea. No sooner +did he see me, than he appeared to consider that a special Providence +had put a ’prentice in his way to be read at; and he laid hold of me, +and insisted on my accompanying him to the Pumblechookian parlour. As I +knew it would be miserable at home, and as the nights were dark and the +way was dreary, and almost any companionship on the road was better +than none, I made no great resistance; consequently, we turned into +Pumblechook’s just as the street and the shops were lighting up. + +As I never assisted at any other representation of George Barnwell, I +don’t know how long it may usually take; but I know very well that it +took until half-past nine o’ clock that night, and that when Mr. Wopsle +got into Newgate, I thought he never would go to the scaffold, he +became so much slower than at any former period of his disgraceful +career. I thought it a little too much that he should complain of being +cut short in his flower after all, as if he had not been running to +seed, leaf after leaf, ever since his course began. This, however, was +a mere question of length and wearisomeness. What stung me, was the +identification of the whole affair with my unoffending self. When +Barnwell began to go wrong, I declare that I felt positively +apologetic, Pumblechook’s indignant stare so taxed me with it. Wopsle, +too, took pains to present me in the worst light. At once ferocious and +maudlin, I was made to murder my uncle with no extenuating +circumstances whatever; Millwood put me down in argument, on every +occasion; it became sheer monomania in my master’s daughter to care a +button for me; and all I can say for my gasping and procrastinating +conduct on the fatal morning, is, that it was worthy of the general +feebleness of my character. Even after I was happily hanged and Wopsle +had closed the book, Pumblechook sat staring at me, and shaking his +head, and saying, “Take warning, boy, take warning!” as if it were a +well-known fact that I contemplated murdering a near relation, provided +I could only induce one to have the weakness to become my benefactor. + +It was a very dark night when it was all over, and when I set out with +Mr. Wopsle on the walk home. Beyond town, we found a heavy mist out, +and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of +the lamp’s usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance +on the fog. We were noticing this, and saying how that the mist rose +with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when we +came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house. + +“Halloa!” we said, stopping. “Orlick there?” + +“Ah!” he answered, slouching out. “I was standing by a minute, on the +chance of company.” + +“You are late,” I remarked. + +Orlick not unnaturally answered, “Well? And _you_’re late.” + +“We have been,” said Mr. Wopsle, exalted with his late performance,—“we +have been indulging, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening.” + +Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we all +went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spending +his half-holiday up and down town? + +“Yes,” said he, “all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn’t see +you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By the by, the guns +is going again.” + +“At the Hulks?” said I. + +“Ay! There’s some of the birds flown from the cages. The guns have been +going since dark, about. You’ll hear one presently.” + +In effect, we had not walked many yards further, when the +well-remembered boom came towards us, deadened by the mist, and heavily +rolled away along the low grounds by the river, as if it were pursuing +and threatening the fugitives. + +“A good night for cutting off in,” said Orlick. “We’d be puzzled how to +bring down a jail-bird on the wing, to-night.” + +The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in +silence. Mr. Wopsle, as the ill-requited uncle of the evening’s +tragedy, fell to meditating aloud in his garden at Camberwell. Orlick, +with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was very +dark, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along. Now and then, the +sound of the signal cannon broke upon us again, and again rolled +sulkily along the course of the river. I kept myself to myself and my +thoughts. Mr. Wopsle died amiably at Camberwell, and exceedingly game +on Bosworth Field, and in the greatest agonies at Glastonbury. Orlick +sometimes growled, “Beat it out, beat it out,—Old Clem! With a clink +for the stout,—Old Clem!” I thought he had been drinking, but he was +not drunk. + +Thus, we came to the village. The way by which we approached it took us +past the Three Jolly Bargemen, which we were surprised to find—it being +eleven o’clock—in a state of commotion, with the door wide open, and +unwonted lights that had been hastily caught up and put down scattered +about. Mr. Wopsle dropped in to ask what was the matter (surmising that +a convict had been taken), but came running out in a great hurry. + +“There’s something wrong,” said he, without stopping, “up at your +place, Pip. Run all!” + +“What is it?” I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side. + +“I can’t quite understand. The house seems to have been violently +entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by convicts. Somebody has +been attacked and hurt.” + +We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no +stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole +village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there +was Joe, and there were a group of women, all on the floor in the midst +of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, +and so I became aware of my sister,—lying without sense or movement on +the bare boards where she had been knocked down by a tremendous blow on +the back of the head, dealt by some unknown hand when her face was +turned towards the fire,—destined never to be on the Rampage again, +while she was the wife of Joe. + + + + +Chapter XVI. + + +With my head full of George Barnwell, I was at first disposed to +believe that _I_ must have had some hand in the attack upon my sister, +or at all events that as her near relation, popularly known to be under +obligations to her, I was a more legitimate object of suspicion than +any one else. But when, in the clearer light of next morning, I began +to reconsider the matter and to hear it discussed around me on all +sides, I took another view of the case, which was more reasonable. + +Joe had been at the Three Jolly Bargemen, smoking his pipe, from a +quarter after eight o’clock to a quarter before ten. While he was +there, my sister had been seen standing at the kitchen door, and had +exchanged Good Night with a farm-labourer going home. The man could not +be more particular as to the time at which he saw her (he got into +dense confusion when he tried to be), than that it must have been +before nine. When Joe went home at five minutes before ten, he found +her struck down on the floor, and promptly called in assistance. The +fire had not then burnt unusually low, nor was the snuff of the candle +very long; the candle, however, had been blown out. + +Nothing had been taken away from any part of the house. Neither, beyond +the blowing out of the candle,—which stood on a table between the door +and my sister, and was behind her when she stood facing the fire and +was struck,—was there any disarrangement of the kitchen, excepting such +as she herself had made, in falling and bleeding. But, there was one +remarkable piece of evidence on the spot. She had been struck with +something blunt and heavy, on the head and spine; after the blows were +dealt, something heavy had been thrown down at her with considerable +violence, as she lay on her face. And on the ground beside her, when +Joe picked her up, was a convict’s leg-iron which had been filed +asunder. + +Now, Joe, examining this iron with a smith’s eye, declared it to have +been filed asunder some time ago. The hue and cry going off to the +Hulks, and people coming thence to examine the iron, Joe’s opinion was +corroborated. They did not undertake to say when it had left the +prison-ships to which it undoubtedly had once belonged; but they +claimed to know for certain that that particular manacle had not been +worn by either of the two convicts who had escaped last night. Further, +one of those two was already retaken, and had not freed himself of his +iron. + +Knowing what I knew, I set up an inference of my own here. I believed +the iron to be my convict’s iron,—the iron I had seen and heard him +filing at, on the marshes,—but my mind did not accuse him of having put +it to its latest use. For I believed one of two other persons to have +become possessed of it, and to have turned it to this cruel account. +Either Orlick, or the strange man who had shown me the file. + +Now, as to Orlick; he had gone to town exactly as he told us when we +picked him up at the turnpike, he had been seen about town all the +evening, he had been in divers companies in several public-houses, and +he had come back with myself and Mr. Wopsle. There was nothing against +him, save the quarrel; and my sister had quarrelled with him, and with +everybody else about her, ten thousand times. As to the strange man; if +he had come back for his two bank-notes there could have been no +dispute about them, because my sister was fully prepared to restore +them. Besides, there had been no altercation; the assailant had come in +so silently and suddenly, that she had been felled before she could +look round. + +It was horrible to think that I had provided the weapon, however +undesignedly, but I could hardly think otherwise. I suffered +unspeakable trouble while I considered and reconsidered whether I +should at last dissolve that spell of my childhood and tell Joe all the +story. For months afterwards, I every day settled the question finally +in the negative, and reopened and reargued it next morning. The +contention came, after all, to this;—the secret was such an old one +now, had so grown into me and become a part of myself, that I could not +tear it away. In addition to the dread that, having led up to so much +mischief, it would be now more likely than ever to alienate Joe from me +if he believed it, I had a further restraining dread that he would not +believe it, but would assort it with the fabulous dogs and veal-cutlets +as a monstrous invention. However, I temporized with myself, of +course—for, was I not wavering between right and wrong, when the thing +is always done?—and resolved to make a full disclosure if I should see +any such new occasion as a new chance of helping in the discovery of +the assailant. + +The Constables and the Bow Street men from London—for, this happened in +the days of the extinct red-waistcoated police—were about the house for +a week or two, and did pretty much what I have heard and read of like +authorities doing in other such cases. They took up several obviously +wrong people, and they ran their heads very hard against wrong ideas, +and persisted in trying to fit the circumstances to the ideas, instead +of trying to extract ideas from the circumstances. Also, they stood +about the door of the Jolly Bargemen, with knowing and reserved looks +that filled the whole neighbourhood with admiration; and they had a +mysterious manner of taking their drink, that was almost as good as +taking the culprit. But not quite, for they never did it. + +Long after these constitutional powers had dispersed, my sister lay +very ill in bed. Her sight was disturbed, so that she saw objects +multiplied, and grasped at visionary teacups and wineglasses instead of +the realities; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and +her speech was unintelligible. When, at last, she came round so far as +to be helped downstairs, it was still necessary to keep my slate always +by her, that she might indicate in writing what she could not indicate +in speech. As she was (very bad handwriting apart) a more than +indifferent speller, and as Joe was a more than indifferent reader, +extraordinary complications arose between them which I was always +called in to solve. The administration of mutton instead of medicine, +the substitution of Tea for Joe, and the baker for bacon, were among +the mildest of my own mistakes. + +However, her temper was greatly improved, and she was patient. A +tremulous uncertainty of the action of all her limbs soon became a part +of her regular state, and afterwards, at intervals of two or three +months, she would often put her hands to her head, and would then +remain for about a week at a time in some gloomy aberration of mind. We +were at a loss to find a suitable attendant for her, until a +circumstance happened conveniently to relieve us. Mr. Wopsle’s +great-aunt conquered a confirmed habit of living into which she had +fallen, and Biddy became a part of our establishment. + +It may have been about a month after my sister’s reappearance in the +kitchen, when Biddy came to us with a small speckled box containing the +whole of her worldly effects, and became a blessing to the household. +Above all, she was a blessing to Joe, for the dear old fellow was sadly +cut up by the constant contemplation of the wreck of his wife, and had +been accustomed, while attending on her of an evening, to turn to me +every now and then and say, with his blue eyes moistened, “Such a fine +figure of a woman as she once were, Pip!” Biddy instantly taking the +cleverest charge of her as though she had studied her from infancy; Joe +became able in some sort to appreciate the greater quiet of his life, +and to get down to the Jolly Bargemen now and then for a change that +did him good. It was characteristic of the police people that they had +all more or less suspected poor Joe (though he never knew it), and that +they had to a man concurred in regarding him as one of the deepest +spirits they had ever encountered. + +Biddy’s first triumph in her new office, was to solve a difficulty that +had completely vanquished me. I had tried hard at it, but had made +nothing of it. Thus it was:— + +Again and again and again, my sister had traced upon the slate, a +character that looked like a curious T, and then with the utmost +eagerness had called our attention to it as something she particularly +wanted. I had in vain tried everything producible that began with a T, +from tar to toast and tub. At length it had come into my head that the +sign looked like a hammer, and on my lustily calling that word in my +sister’s ear, she had begun to hammer on the table and had expressed a +qualified assent. Thereupon, I had brought in all our hammers, one +after another, but without avail. Then I bethought me of a crutch, the +shape being much the same, and I borrowed one in the village, and +displayed it to my sister with considerable confidence. But she shook +her head to that extent when she was shown it, that we were terrified +lest in her weak and shattered state she should dislocate her neck. + +When my sister found that Biddy was very quick to understand her, this +mysterious sign reappeared on the slate. Biddy looked thoughtfully at +it, heard my explanation, looked thoughtfully at my sister, looked +thoughtfully at Joe (who was always represented on the slate by his +initial letter), and ran into the forge, followed by Joe and me. + +“Why, of course!” cried Biddy, with an exultant face. “Don’t you see? +It’s _him_!” + +Orlick, without a doubt! She had lost his name, and could only signify +him by his hammer. We told him why we wanted him to come into the +kitchen, and he slowly laid down his hammer, wiped his brow with his +arm, took another wipe at it with his apron, and came slouching out, +with a curious loose vagabond bend in the knees that strongly +distinguished him. + +I confess that I expected to see my sister denounce him, and that I was +disappointed by the different result. She manifested the greatest +anxiety to be on good terms with him, was evidently much pleased by his +being at length produced, and motioned that she would have him given +something to drink. She watched his countenance as if she were +particularly wishful to be assured that he took kindly to his +reception, she showed every possible desire to conciliate him, and +there was an air of humble propitiation in all she did, such as I have +seen pervade the bearing of a child towards a hard master. After that +day, a day rarely passed without her drawing the hammer on her slate, +and without Orlick’s slouching in and standing doggedly before her, as +if he knew no more than I did what to make of it. + + + + +Chapter XVII. + + +I now fell into a regular routine of apprenticeship life, which was +varied beyond the limits of the village and the marshes, by no more +remarkable circumstance than the arrival of my birthday and my paying +another visit to Miss Havisham. I found Miss Sarah Pocket still on duty +at the gate; I found Miss Havisham just as I had left her, and she +spoke of Estella in the very same way, if not in the very same words. +The interview lasted but a few minutes, and she gave me a guinea when I +was going, and told me to come again on my next birthday. I may mention +at once that this became an annual custom. I tried to decline taking +the guinea on the first occasion, but with no better effect than +causing her to ask me very angrily, if I expected more? Then, and after +that, I took it. + +So unchanging was the dull old house, the yellow light in the darkened +room, the faded spectre in the chair by the dressing-table glass, that +I felt as if the stopping of the clocks had stopped Time in that +mysterious place, and, while I and everything else outside it grew +older, it stood still. Daylight never entered the house as to my +thoughts and remembrances of it, any more than as to the actual fact. +It bewildered me, and under its influence I continued at heart to hate +my trade and to be ashamed of home. + +Imperceptibly I became conscious of a change in Biddy, however. Her +shoes came up at the heel, her hair grew bright and neat, her hands +were always clean. She was not beautiful,—she was common, and could not +be like Estella,—but she was pleasant and wholesome and sweet-tempered. +She had not been with us more than a year (I remember her being newly +out of mourning at the time it struck me), when I observed to myself +one evening that she had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes +that were very pretty and very good. + +It came of my lifting up my own eyes from a task I was poring +at—writing some passages from a book, to improve myself in two ways at +once by a sort of stratagem—and seeing Biddy observant of what I was +about. I laid down my pen, and Biddy stopped in her needlework without +laying it down. + +“Biddy,” said I, “how do you manage it? Either I am very stupid, or you +are very clever.” + +“What is it that I manage? I don’t know,” returned Biddy, smiling. + +She managed our whole domestic life, and wonderfully too; but I did not +mean that, though that made what I did mean more surprising. + +“How do you manage, Biddy,” said I, “to learn everything that I learn, +and always to keep up with me?” I was beginning to be rather vain of my +knowledge, for I spent my birthday guineas on it, and set aside the +greater part of my pocket-money for similar investment; though I have +no doubt, now, that the little I knew was extremely dear at the price. + +“I might as well ask you,” said Biddy, “how _you_ manage?” + +“No; because when I come in from the forge of a night, any one can see +me turning to at it. But you never turn to at it, Biddy.” + +“I suppose I must catch it like a cough,” said Biddy, quietly; and went +on with her sewing. + +Pursuing my idea as I leaned back in my wooden chair, and looked at +Biddy sewing away with her head on one side, I began to think her +rather an extraordinary girl. For I called to mind now, that she was +equally accomplished in the terms of our trade, and the names of our +different sorts of work, and our various tools. In short, whatever I +knew, Biddy knew. Theoretically, she was already as good a blacksmith +as I, or better. + +“You are one of those, Biddy,” said I, “who make the most of every +chance. You never had a chance before you came here, and see how +improved you are!” + +Biddy looked at me for an instant, and went on with her sewing. “I was +your first teacher though; wasn’t I?” said she, as she sewed. + +“Biddy!” I exclaimed, in amazement. “Why, you are crying!” + +“No I am not,” said Biddy, looking up and laughing. “What put that in +your head?” + +What could have put it in my head but the glistening of a tear as it +dropped on her work? I sat silent, recalling what a drudge she had been +until Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt successfully overcame that bad habit of +living, so highly desirable to be got rid of by some people. I recalled +the hopeless circumstances by which she had been surrounded in the +miserable little shop and the miserable little noisy evening school, +with that miserable old bundle of incompetence always to be dragged and +shouldered. I reflected that even in those untoward times there must +have been latent in Biddy what was now developing, for, in my first +uneasiness and discontent I had turned to her for help, as a matter of +course. Biddy sat quietly sewing, shedding no more tears, and while I +looked at her and thought about it all, it occurred to me that perhaps +I had not been sufficiently grateful to Biddy. I might have been too +reserved, and should have patronised her more (though I did not use +that precise word in my meditations) with my confidence. + +“Yes, Biddy,” I observed, when I had done turning it over, “you were my +first teacher, and that at a time when we little thought of ever being +together like this, in this kitchen.” + +“Ah, poor thing!” replied Biddy. It was like her self-forgetfulness to +transfer the remark to my sister, and to get up and be busy about her, +making her more comfortable; “that’s sadly true!” + +“Well!” said I, “we must talk together a little more, as we used to do. +And I must consult you a little more, as I used to do. Let us have a +quiet walk on the marshes next Sunday, Biddy, and a long chat.” + +My sister was never left alone now; but Joe more than readily undertook +the care of her on that Sunday afternoon, and Biddy and I went out +together. It was summer-time, and lovely weather. When we had passed +the village and the church and the churchyard, and were out on the +marshes and began to see the sails of the ships as they sailed on, I +began to combine Miss Havisham and Estella with the prospect, in my +usual way. When we came to the river-side and sat down on the bank, +with the water rippling at our feet, making it all more quiet than it +would have been without that sound, I resolved that it was a good time +and place for the admission of Biddy into my inner confidence. + +“Biddy,” said I, after binding her to secrecy, “I want to be a +gentleman.” + +“O, I wouldn’t, if I was you!” she returned. “I don’t think it would +answer.” + +“Biddy,” said I, with some severity, “I have particular reasons for +wanting to be a gentleman.” + +“You know best, Pip; but don’t you think you are happier as you are?” + +“Biddy,” I exclaimed, impatiently, “I am not at all happy as I am. I am +disgusted with my calling and with my life. I have never taken to +either, since I was bound. Don’t be absurd.” + +“Was I absurd?” said Biddy, quietly raising her eyebrows; “I am sorry +for that; I didn’t mean to be. I only want you to do well, and to be +comfortable.” + +“Well, then, understand once for all that I never shall or can be +comfortable—or anything but miserable—there, Biddy!—unless I can lead a +very different sort of life from the life I lead now.” + +“That’s a pity!” said Biddy, shaking her head with a sorrowful air. + +Now, I too had so often thought it a pity, that, in the singular kind +of quarrel with myself which I was always carrying on, I was half +inclined to shed tears of vexation and distress when Biddy gave +utterance to her sentiment and my own. I told her she was right, and I +knew it was much to be regretted, but still it was not to be helped. + +“If I could have settled down,” I said to Biddy, plucking up the short +grass within reach, much as I had once upon a time pulled my feelings +out of my hair and kicked them into the brewery wall,—“if I could have +settled down and been but half as fond of the forge as I was when I was +little, I know it would have been much better for me. You and I and Joe +would have wanted nothing then, and Joe and I would perhaps have gone +partners when I was out of my time, and I might even have grown up to +keep company with you, and we might have sat on this very bank on a +fine Sunday, quite different people. I should have been good enough for +_you_; shouldn’t I, Biddy?” + +Biddy sighed as she looked at the ships sailing on, and returned for +answer, “Yes; I am not over-particular.” It scarcely sounded +flattering, but I knew she meant well. + +“Instead of that,” said I, plucking up more grass and chewing a blade +or two, “see how I am going on. Dissatisfied, and uncomfortable, +and—what would it signify to me, being coarse and common, if nobody had +told me so!” + +Biddy turned her face suddenly towards mine, and looked far more +attentively at me than she had looked at the sailing ships. + +“It was neither a very true nor a very polite thing to say,” she +remarked, directing her eyes to the ships again. “Who said it?” + +I was disconcerted, for I had broken away without quite seeing where I +was going to. It was not to be shuffled off now, however, and I +answered, “The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s, and she’s more +beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I +want to be a gentleman on her account.” Having made this lunatic +confession, I began to throw my torn-up grass into the river, as if I +had some thoughts of following it. + +“Do you want to be a gentleman, to spite her or to gain her over?” +Biddy quietly asked me, after a pause. + +“I don’t know,” I moodily answered. + +“Because, if it is to spite her,” Biddy pursued, “I should think—but +you know best—that might be better and more independently done by +caring nothing for her words. And if it is to gain her over, I should +think—but you know best—she was not worth gaining over.” + +Exactly what I myself had thought, many times. Exactly what was +perfectly manifest to me at the moment. But how could I, a poor dazed +village lad, avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and +wisest of men fall every day? + +“It may be all quite true,” said I to Biddy, “but I admire her +dreadfully.” + +In short, I turned over on my face when I came to that, and got a good +grasp on the hair on each side of my head, and wrenched it well. All +the while knowing the madness of my heart to be so very mad and +misplaced, that I was quite conscious it would have served my face +right, if I had lifted it up by my hair, and knocked it against the +pebbles as a punishment for belonging to such an idiot. + +Biddy was the wisest of girls, and she tried to reason no more with me. +She put her hand, which was a comfortable hand though roughened by +work, upon my hands, one after another, and gently took them out of my +hair. Then she softly patted my shoulder in a soothing way, while with +my face upon my sleeve I cried a little,—exactly as I had done in the +brewery yard,—and felt vaguely convinced that I was very much ill-used +by somebody, or by everybody; I can’t say which. + +“I am glad of one thing,” said Biddy, “and that is, that you have felt +you could give me your confidence, Pip. And I am glad of another thing, +and that is, that of course you know you may depend upon my keeping it +and always so far deserving it. If your first teacher (dear! such a +poor one, and so much in need of being taught herself!) had been your +teacher at the present time, she thinks she knows what lesson she would +set. But it would be a hard one to learn, and you have got beyond her, +and it’s of no use now.” So, with a quiet sigh for me, Biddy rose from +the bank, and said, with a fresh and pleasant change of voice, “Shall +we walk a little farther, or go home?” + +“Biddy,” I cried, getting up, putting my arm round her neck, and giving +her a kiss, “I shall always tell you everything.” + +“Till you’re a gentleman,” said Biddy. + +“You know I never shall be, so that’s always. Not that I have any +occasion to tell you anything, for you know everything I know,—as I +told you at home the other night.” + +“Ah!” said Biddy, quite in a whisper, as she looked away at the ships. +And then repeated, with her former pleasant change, “shall we walk a +little farther, or go home?” + +I said to Biddy we would walk a little farther, and we did so, and the +summer afternoon toned down into the summer evening, and it was very +beautiful. I began to consider whether I was not more naturally and +wholesomely situated, after all, in these circumstances, than playing +beggar my neighbour by candle-light in the room with the stopped +clocks, and being despised by Estella. I thought it would be very good +for me if I could get her out of my head, with all the rest of those +remembrances and fancies, and could go to work determined to relish +what I had to do, and stick to it, and make the best of it. I asked +myself the question whether I did not surely know that if Estella were +beside me at that moment instead of Biddy, she would make me miserable? +I was obliged to admit that I did know it for a certainty, and I said +to myself, “Pip, what a fool you are!” + +We talked a good deal as we walked, and all that Biddy said seemed +right. Biddy was never insulting, or capricious, or Biddy to-day and +somebody else to-morrow; she would have derived only pain, and no +pleasure, from giving me pain; she would far rather have wounded her +own breast than mine. How could it be, then, that I did not like her +much the better of the two? + +“Biddy,” said I, when we were walking homeward, “I wish you could put +me right.” + +“I wish I could!” said Biddy. + +“If I could only get myself to fall in love with you,—you don’t mind my +speaking so openly to such an old acquaintance?” + +“Oh dear, not at all!” said Biddy. “Don’t mind me.” + +“If I could only get myself to do it, _that_ would be the thing for +me.” + +“But you never will, you see,” said Biddy. + +It did not appear quite so unlikely to me that evening, as it would +have done if we had discussed it a few hours before. I therefore +observed I was not quite sure of that. But Biddy said she _was_, and +she said it decisively. In my heart I believed her to be right; and yet +I took it rather ill, too, that she should be so positive on the point. + +When we came near the churchyard, we had to cross an embankment, and +get over a stile near a sluice-gate. There started up, from the gate, +or from the rushes, or from the ooze (which was quite in his stagnant +way), Old Orlick. + +“Halloa!” he growled, “where are you two going?” + +“Where should we be going, but home?” + +“Well, then,” said he, “I’m jiggered if I don’t see you home!” + +This penalty of being jiggered was a favourite supposititious case of +his. He attached no definite meaning to the word that I am aware of, +but used it, like his own pretended Christian name, to affront mankind, +and convey an idea of something savagely damaging. When I was younger, +I had had a general belief that if he had jiggered me personally, he +would have done it with a sharp and twisted hook. + +Biddy was much against his going with us, and said to me in a whisper, +“Don’t let him come; I don’t like him.” As I did not like him either, I +took the liberty of saying that we thanked him, but we didn’t want +seeing home. He received that piece of information with a yell of +laughter, and dropped back, but came slouching after us at a little +distance. + +Curious to know whether Biddy suspected him of having had a hand in +that murderous attack of which my sister had never been able to give +any account, I asked her why she did not like him. + +“Oh!” she replied, glancing over her shoulder as he slouched after us, +“because I—I am afraid he likes me.” + +“Did he ever tell you he liked you?” I asked indignantly. + +“No,” said Biddy, glancing over her shoulder again, “he never told me +so; but he dances at me, whenever he can catch my eye.” + +However novel and peculiar this testimony of attachment, I did not +doubt the accuracy of the interpretation. I was very hot indeed upon +Old Orlick’s daring to admire her; as hot as if it were an outrage on +myself. + +“But it makes no difference to you, you know,” said Biddy, calmly. + +“No, Biddy, it makes no difference to me; only I don’t like it; I don’t +approve of it.” + +“Nor I neither,” said Biddy. “Though _that_ makes no difference to +you.” + +“Exactly,” said I; “but I must tell you I should have no opinion of +you, Biddy, if he danced at you with your own consent.” + +I kept an eye on Orlick after that night, and, whenever circumstances +were favourable to his dancing at Biddy, got before him to obscure that +demonstration. He had struck root in Joe’s establishment, by reason of +my sister’s sudden fancy for him, or I should have tried to get him +dismissed. He quite understood and reciprocated my good intentions, as +I had reason to know thereafter. + +And now, because my mind was not confused enough before, I complicated +its confusion fifty thousand-fold, by having states and seasons when I +was clear that Biddy was immeasurably better than Estella, and that the +plain honest working life to which I was born had nothing in it to be +ashamed of, but offered me sufficient means of self-respect and +happiness. At those times, I would decide conclusively that my +disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge was gone, and that I was +growing up in a fair way to be partners with Joe and to keep company +with Biddy,—when all in a moment some confounding remembrance of the +Havisham days would fall upon me like a destructive missile, and +scatter my wits again. Scattered wits take a long time picking up; and +often before I had got them well together, they would be dispersed in +all directions by one stray thought, that perhaps after all Miss +Havisham was going to make my fortune when my time was out. + +If my time had run out, it would have left me still at the height of my +perplexities, I dare say. It never did run out, however, but was +brought to a premature end, as I proceed to relate. + + + + +Chapter XVIII. + + +It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship to Joe, and it was a +Saturday night. There was a group assembled round the fire at the Three +Jolly Bargemen, attentive to Mr. Wopsle as he read the newspaper aloud. +Of that group I was one. + +A highly popular murder had been committed, and Mr. Wopsle was imbrued +in blood to the eyebrows. He gloated over every abhorrent adjective in +the description, and identified himself with every witness at the +Inquest. He faintly moaned, “I am done for,” as the victim, and he +barbarously bellowed, “I’ll serve you out,” as the murderer. He gave +the medical testimony, in pointed imitation of our local practitioner; +and he piped and shook, as the aged turnpike-keeper who had heard +blows, to an extent so very paralytic as to suggest a doubt regarding +the mental competency of that witness. The coroner, in Mr. Wopsle’s +hands, became Timon of Athens; the beadle, Coriolanus. He enjoyed +himself thoroughly, and we all enjoyed ourselves, and were delightfully +comfortable. In this cosey state of mind we came to the verdict Wilful +Murder. + +Then, and not sooner, I became aware of a strange gentleman leaning +over the back of the settle opposite me, looking on. There was an +expression of contempt on his face, and he bit the side of a great +forefinger as he watched the group of faces. + +“Well!” said the stranger to Mr. Wopsle, when the reading was done, +“you have settled it all to your own satisfaction, I have no doubt?” + +Everybody started and looked up, as if it were the murderer. He looked +at everybody coldly and sarcastically. + +“Guilty, of course?” said he. “Out with it. Come!” + +“Sir,” returned Mr. Wopsle, “without having the honour of your +acquaintance, I do say Guilty.” Upon this we all took courage to unite +in a confirmatory murmur. + +“I know you do,” said the stranger; “I knew you would. I told you so. +But now I’ll ask you a question. Do you know, or do you not know, that +the law of England supposes every man to be innocent, until he is +proved—proved—to be guilty?” + +“Sir,” Mr. Wopsle began to reply, “as an Englishman myself, I—” + +“Come!” said the stranger, biting his forefinger at him. “Don’t evade +the question. Either you know it, or you don’t know it. Which is it to +be?” + +He stood with his head on one side and himself on one side, in a +bullying, interrogative manner, and he threw his forefinger at Mr. +Wopsle,—as it were to mark him out—before biting it again. + +“Now!” said he. “Do you know it, or don’t you know it?” + +“Certainly I know it,” replied Mr. Wopsle. + +“Certainly you know it. Then why didn’t you say so at first? Now, I’ll +ask you another question,”—taking possession of Mr. Wopsle, as if he +had a right to him,—“_do_ you know that none of these witnesses have +yet been cross-examined?” + +Mr. Wopsle was beginning, “I can only say—” when the stranger stopped +him. + +“What? You won’t answer the question, yes or no? Now, I’ll try you +again.” Throwing his finger at him again. “Attend to me. Are you aware, +or are you not aware, that none of these witnesses have yet been +cross-examined? Come, I only want one word from you. Yes, or no?” + +Mr. Wopsle hesitated, and we all began to conceive rather a poor +opinion of him. + +“Come!” said the stranger, “I’ll help you. You don’t deserve help, but +I’ll help you. Look at that paper you hold in your hand. What is it?” + +“What is it?” repeated Mr. Wopsle, eyeing it, much at a loss. + +“Is it,” pursued the stranger in his most sarcastic and suspicious +manner, “the printed paper you have just been reading from?” + +“Undoubtedly.” + +“Undoubtedly. Now, turn to that paper, and tell me whether it +distinctly states that the prisoner expressly said that his legal +advisers instructed him altogether to reserve his defence?” + +“I read that just now,” Mr. Wopsle pleaded. + +“Never mind what you read just now, sir; I don’t ask you what you read +just now. You may read the Lord’s Prayer backwards, if you like,—and, +perhaps, have done it before to-day. Turn to the paper. No, no, no my +friend; not to the top of the column; you know better than that; to the +bottom, to the bottom.” (We all began to think Mr. Wopsle full of +subterfuge.) “Well? Have you found it?” + +“Here it is,” said Mr. Wopsle. + +“Now, follow that passage with your eye, and tell me whether it +distinctly states that the prisoner expressly said that he was +instructed by his legal advisers wholly to reserve his defence? Come! +Do you make that of it?” + +Mr. Wopsle answered, “Those are not the exact words.” + +“Not the exact words!” repeated the gentleman bitterly. “Is that the +exact substance?” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Wopsle. + +“Yes,” repeated the stranger, looking round at the rest of the company +with his right hand extended towards the witness, Wopsle. “And now I +ask you what you say to the conscience of that man who, with that +passage before his eyes, can lay his head upon his pillow after having +pronounced a fellow-creature guilty, unheard?” + +We all began to suspect that Mr. Wopsle was not the man we had thought +him, and that he was beginning to be found out. + +“And that same man, remember,” pursued the gentleman, throwing his +finger at Mr. Wopsle heavily,—“that same man might be summoned as a +juryman upon this very trial, and, having thus deeply committed +himself, might return to the bosom of his family and lay his head upon +his pillow, after deliberately swearing that he would well and truly +try the issue joined between Our Sovereign Lord the King and the +prisoner at the bar, and would a true verdict give according to the +evidence, so help him God!” + +We were all deeply persuaded that the unfortunate Wopsle had gone too +far, and had better stop in his reckless career while there was yet +time. + +The strange gentleman, with an air of authority not to be disputed, and +with a manner expressive of knowing something secret about every one of +us that would effectually do for each individual if he chose to +disclose it, left the back of the settle, and came into the space +between the two settles, in front of the fire, where he remained +standing, his left hand in his pocket, and he biting the forefinger of +his right. + +“From information I have received,” said he, looking round at us as we +all quailed before him, “I have reason to believe there is a blacksmith +among you, by name Joseph—or Joe—Gargery. Which is the man?” + +“Here is the man,” said Joe. + +The strange gentleman beckoned him out of his place, and Joe went. + +“You have an apprentice,” pursued the stranger, “commonly known as Pip? +Is he here?” + +“I am here!” I cried. + +The stranger did not recognise me, but I recognised him as the +gentleman I had met on the stairs, on the occasion of my second visit +to Miss Havisham. I had known him the moment I saw him looking over the +settle, and now that I stood confronting him with his hand upon my +shoulder, I checked off again in detail his large head, his dark +complexion, his deep-set eyes, his bushy black eyebrows, his large +watch-chain, his strong black dots of beard and whisker, and even the +smell of scented soap on his great hand. + +“I wish to have a private conference with you two,” said he, when he +had surveyed me at his leisure. “It will take a little time. Perhaps we +had better go to your place of residence. I prefer not to anticipate my +communication here; you will impart as much or as little of it as you +please to your friends afterwards; I have nothing to do with that.” + +Amidst a wondering silence, we three walked out of the Jolly Bargemen, +and in a wondering silence walked home. While going along, the strange +gentleman occasionally looked at me, and occasionally bit the side of +his finger. As we neared home, Joe vaguely acknowledging the occasion +as an impressive and ceremonious one, went on ahead to open the front +door. Our conference was held in the state parlour, which was feebly +lighted by one candle. + +It began with the strange gentleman’s sitting down at the table, +drawing the candle to him, and looking over some entries in his +pocket-book. He then put up the pocket-book and set the candle a little +aside, after peering round it into the darkness at Joe and me, to +ascertain which was which. + +“My name,” he said, “is Jaggers, and I am a lawyer in London. I am +pretty well known. I have unusual business to transact with you, and I +commence by explaining that it is not of my originating. If my advice +had been asked, I should not have been here. It was not asked, and you +see me here. What I have to do as the confidential agent of another, I +do. No less, no more.” + +Finding that he could not see us very well from where he sat, he got +up, and threw one leg over the back of a chair and leaned upon it; thus +having one foot on the seat of the chair, and one foot on the ground. + +“Now, Joseph Gargery, I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of +this young fellow your apprentice. You would not object to cancel his +indentures at his request and for his good? You would want nothing for +so doing?” + +“Lord forbid that I should want anything for not standing in Pip’s +way,” said Joe, staring. + +“Lord forbidding is pious, but not to the purpose,” returned Mr. +Jaggers. “The question is, Would you want anything? Do you want +anything?” + +“The answer is,” returned Joe, sternly, “No.” + +I thought Mr. Jaggers glanced at Joe, as if he considered him a fool +for his disinterestedness. But I was too much bewildered between +breathless curiosity and surprise, to be sure of it. + +“Very well,” said Mr. Jaggers. “Recollect the admission you have made, +and don’t try to go from it presently.” + +“Who’s a-going to try?” retorted Joe. + +“I don’t say anybody is. Do you keep a dog?” + +“Yes, I do keep a dog.” + +“Bear in mind then, that Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast is a better. +Bear that in mind, will you?” repeated Mr. Jaggers, shutting his eyes +and nodding his head at Joe, as if he were forgiving him something. +“Now, I return to this young fellow. And the communication I have got +to make is, that he has great expectations.” + +Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another. + +“I am instructed to communicate to him,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his +finger at me sideways, “that he will come into a handsome property. +Further, that it is the desire of the present possessor of that +property, that he be immediately removed from his present sphere of +life and from this place, and be brought up as a gentleman,—in a word, +as a young fellow of great expectations.” + +My dream was out; my wild fancy was surpassed by sober reality; Miss +Havisham was going to make my fortune on a grand scale. + +“Now, Mr. Pip,” pursued the lawyer, “I address the rest of what I have +to say, to you. You are to understand, first, that it is the request of +the person from whom I take my instructions that you always bear the +name of Pip. You will have no objection, I dare say, to your great +expectations being encumbered with that easy condition. But if you have +any objection, this is the time to mention it.” + +My heart was beating so fast, and there was such a singing in my ears, +that I could scarcely stammer I had no objection. + +“I should think not! Now you are to understand, secondly, Mr. Pip, that +the name of the person who is your liberal benefactor remains a +profound secret, until the person chooses to reveal it. I am empowered +to mention that it is the intention of the person to reveal it at first +hand by word of mouth to yourself. When or where that intention may be +carried out, I cannot say; no one can say. It may be years hence. Now, +you are distinctly to understand that you are most positively +prohibited from making any inquiry on this head, or any allusion or +reference, however distant, to any individual whomsoever as _the_ +individual, in all the communications you may have with me. If you have +a suspicion in your own breast, keep that suspicion in your own breast. +It is not the least to the purpose what the reasons of this prohibition +are; they may be the strongest and gravest reasons, or they may be mere +whim. This is not for you to inquire into. The condition is laid down. +Your acceptance of it, and your observance of it as binding, is the +only remaining condition that I am charged with, by the person from +whom I take my instructions, and for whom I am not otherwise +responsible. That person is the person from whom you derive your +expectations, and the secret is solely held by that person and by me. +Again, not a very difficult condition with which to encumber such a +rise in fortune; but if you have any objection to it, this is the time +to mention it. Speak out.” + +Once more, I stammered with difficulty that I had no objection. + +“I should think not! Now, Mr. Pip, I have done with stipulations.” +Though he called me Mr. Pip, and began rather to make up to me, he +still could not get rid of a certain air of bullying suspicion; and +even now he occasionally shut his eyes and threw his finger at me while +he spoke, as much as to express that he knew all kinds of things to my +disparagement, if he only chose to mention them. “We come next, to mere +details of arrangement. You must know that, although I have used the +term ‘expectations’ more than once, you are not endowed with +expectations only. There is already lodged in my hands a sum of money +amply sufficient for your suitable education and maintenance. You will +please consider me your guardian. Oh!” for I was going to thank him, “I +tell you at once, I am paid for my services, or I shouldn’t render +them. It is considered that you must be better educated, in accordance +with your altered position, and that you will be alive to the +importance and necessity of at once entering on that advantage.” + +I said I had always longed for it. + +“Never mind what you have always longed for, Mr. Pip,” he retorted; +“keep to the record. If you long for it now, that’s enough. Am I +answered that you are ready to be placed at once under some proper +tutor? Is that it?” + +I stammered yes, that was it. + +“Good. Now, your inclinations are to be consulted. I don’t think that +wise, mind, but it’s my trust. Have you ever heard of any tutor whom +you would prefer to another?” + +I had never heard of any tutor but Biddy and Mr. Wopsle’s great-aunt; +so, I replied in the negative. + +“There is a certain tutor, of whom I have some knowledge, who I think +might suit the purpose,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I don’t recommend him, +observe; because I never recommend anybody. The gentleman I speak of is +one Mr. Matthew Pocket.” + +Ah! I caught at the name directly. Miss Havisham’s relation. The +Matthew whom Mr. and Mrs. Camilla had spoken of. The Matthew whose +place was to be at Miss Havisham’s head, when she lay dead, in her +bride’s dress on the bride’s table. + +“You know the name?” said Mr. Jaggers, looking shrewdly at me, and then +shutting up his eyes while he waited for my answer. + +My answer was, that I had heard of the name. + +“Oh!” said he. “You have heard of the name. But the question is, what +do you say of it?” + +I said, or tried to say, that I was much obliged to him for his +recommendation— + +“No, my young friend!” he interrupted, shaking his great head very +slowly. “Recollect yourself!” + +Not recollecting myself, I began again that I was much obliged to him +for his recommendation— + +“No, my young friend,” he interrupted, shaking his head and frowning +and smiling both at once,—“no, no, no; it’s very well done, but it +won’t do; you are too young to fix me with it. Recommendation is not +the word, Mr. Pip. Try another.” + +Correcting myself, I said that I was much obliged to him for his +mention of Mr. Matthew Pocket— + +“_That_’s more like it!” cried Mr. Jaggers.—And (I added), I would +gladly try that gentleman. + +“Good. You had better try him in his own house. The way shall be +prepared for you, and you can see his son first, who is in London. When +will you come to London?” + +I said (glancing at Joe, who stood looking on, motionless), that I +supposed I could come directly. + +“First,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you should have some new clothes to come +in, and they should not be working-clothes. Say this day week. You’ll +want some money. Shall I leave you twenty guineas?” + +He produced a long purse, with the greatest coolness, and counted them +out on the table and pushed them over to me. This was the first time he +had taken his leg from the chair. He sat astride of the chair when he +had pushed the money over, and sat swinging his purse and eyeing Joe. + +“Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumbfoundered?” + +“I _am_!” said Joe, in a very decided manner. + +“It was understood that you wanted nothing for yourself, remember?” + +“It were understood,” said Joe. “And it are understood. And it ever +will be similar according.” + +“But what,” said Mr. Jaggers, swinging his purse,—“what if it was in my +instructions to make you a present, as compensation?” + +“As compensation what for?” Joe demanded. + +“For the loss of his services.” + +Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. I have +often thought him since, like the steam-hammer that can crush a man or +pat an egg-shell, in his combination of strength with gentleness. “Pip +is that hearty welcome,” said Joe, “to go free with his services, to +honour and fortun’, as no words can tell him. But if you think as Money +can make compensation to me for the loss of the little child—what come +to the forge—and ever the best of friends!—” + +O dear good Joe, whom I was so ready to leave and so unthankful to, I +see you again, with your muscular blacksmith’s arm before your eyes, +and your broad chest heaving, and your voice dying away. O dear good +faithful tender Joe, I feel the loving tremble of your hand upon my +arm, as solemnly this day as if it had been the rustle of an angel’s +wing! + +But I encouraged Joe at the time. I was lost in the mazes of my future +fortunes, and could not retrace the by-paths we had trodden together. I +begged Joe to be comforted, for (as he said) we had ever been the best +of friends, and (as I said) we ever would be so. Joe scooped his eyes +with his disengaged wrist, as if he were bent on gouging himself, but +said not another word. + +Mr. Jaggers had looked on at this, as one who recognised in Joe the +village idiot, and in me his keeper. When it was over, he said, +weighing in his hand the purse he had ceased to swing:— + +“Now, Joseph Gargery, I warn you this is your last chance. No half +measures with me. If you mean to take a present that I have it in +charge to make you, speak out, and you shall have it. If on the +contrary you mean to say—” Here, to his great amazement, he was stopped +by Joe’s suddenly working round him with every demonstration of a fell +pugilistic purpose. + +“Which I meantersay,” cried Joe, “that if you come into my place +bull-baiting and badgering me, come out! Which I meantersay as sech if +you’re a man, come on! Which I meantersay that what I say, I meantersay +and stand or fall by!” + +I drew Joe away, and he immediately became placable; merely stating to +me, in an obliging manner and as a polite expostulatory notice to any +one whom it might happen to concern, that he were not a-going to be +bull-baited and badgered in his own place. Mr. Jaggers had risen when +Joe demonstrated, and had backed near the door. Without evincing any +inclination to come in again, he there delivered his valedictory +remarks. They were these. + +“Well, Mr. Pip, I think the sooner you leave here—as you are to be a +gentleman—the better. Let it stand for this day week, and you shall +receive my printed address in the meantime. You can take a +hackney-coach at the stage-coach office in London, and come straight to +me. Understand, that I express no opinion, one way or other, on the +trust I undertake. I am paid for undertaking it, and I do so. Now, +understand that, finally. Understand that!” + +He was throwing his finger at both of us, and I think would have gone +on, but for his seeming to think Joe dangerous, and going off. + +Something came into my head which induced me to run after him, as he +was going down to the Jolly Bargemen, where he had left a hired +carriage. + +“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jaggers.” + +“Halloa!” said he, facing round, “what’s the matter?” + +“I wish to be quite right, Mr. Jaggers, and to keep to your directions; +so I thought I had better ask. Would there be any objection to my +taking leave of any one I know, about here, before I go away?” + +“No,” said he, looking as if he hardly understood me. + +“I don’t mean in the village only, but up town?” + +“No,” said he. “No objection.” + +I thanked him and ran home again, and there I found that Joe had +already locked the front door and vacated the state parlour, and was +seated by the kitchen fire with a hand on each knee, gazing intently at +the burning coals. I too sat down before the fire and gazed at the +coals, and nothing was said for a long time. + +My sister was in her cushioned chair in her corner, and Biddy sat at +her needle-work before the fire, and Joe sat next Biddy, and I sat next +Joe in the corner opposite my sister. The more I looked into the +glowing coals, the more incapable I became of looking at Joe; the +longer the silence lasted, the more unable I felt to speak. + +At length I got out, “Joe, have you told Biddy?” + +“No, Pip,” returned Joe, still looking at the fire, and holding his +knees tight, as if he had private information that they intended to +make off somewhere, “which I left it to yourself, Pip.” + +“I would rather you told, Joe.” + +“Pip’s a gentleman of fortun’ then,” said Joe, “and God bless him in +it!” + +Biddy dropped her work, and looked at me. Joe held his knees and looked +at me. I looked at both of them. After a pause, they both heartily +congratulated me; but there was a certain touch of sadness in their +congratulations that I rather resented. + +I took it upon myself to impress Biddy (and through Biddy, Joe) with +the grave obligation I considered my friends under, to know nothing and +say nothing about the maker of my fortune. It would all come out in +good time, I observed, and in the meanwhile nothing was to be said, +save that I had come into great expectations from a mysterious patron. +Biddy nodded her head thoughtfully at the fire as she took up her work +again, and said she would be very particular; and Joe, still detaining +his knees, said, “Ay, ay, I’ll be ekervally partickler, Pip;” and then +they congratulated me again, and went on to express so much wonder at +the notion of my being a gentleman that I didn’t half like it. + +Infinite pains were then taken by Biddy to convey to my sister some +idea of what had happened. To the best of my belief, those efforts +entirely failed. She laughed and nodded her head a great many times, +and even repeated after Biddy, the words “Pip” and “Property.” But I +doubt if they had more meaning in them than an election cry, and I +cannot suggest a darker picture of her state of mind. + +I never could have believed it without experience, but as Joe and Biddy +became more at their cheerful ease again, I became quite gloomy. +Dissatisfied with my fortune, of course I could not be; but it is +possible that I may have been, without quite knowing it, dissatisfied +with myself. + +Anyhow, I sat with my elbow on my knee and my face upon my hand, +looking into the fire, as those two talked about my going away, and +about what they should do without me, and all that. And whenever I +caught one of them looking at me, though never so pleasantly (and they +often looked at me,—particularly Biddy), I felt offended: as if they +were expressing some mistrust of me. Though Heaven knows they never did +by word or sign. + +At those times I would get up and look out at the door; for our kitchen +door opened at once upon the night, and stood open on summer evenings +to air the room. The very stars to which I then raised my eyes, I am +afraid I took to be but poor and humble stars for glittering on the +rustic objects among which I had passed my life. + +“Saturday night,” said I, when we sat at our supper of bread and cheese +and beer. “Five more days, and then the day before _the_ day! They’ll +soon go.” + +“Yes, Pip,” observed Joe, whose voice sounded hollow in his beer-mug. +“They’ll soon go.” + +“Soon, soon go,” said Biddy. + +“I have been thinking, Joe, that when I go down town on Monday, and +order my new clothes, I shall tell the tailor that I’ll come and put +them on there, or that I’ll have them sent to Mr. Pumblechook’s. It +would be very disagreeable to be stared at by all the people here.” + +“Mr. and Mrs. Hubble might like to see you in your new gen-teel figure +too, Pip,” said Joe, industriously cutting his bread, with his cheese +on it, in the palm of his left hand, and glancing at my untasted supper +as if he thought of the time when we used to compare slices. “So might +Wopsle. And the Jolly Bargemen might take it as a compliment.” + +“That’s just what I don’t want, Joe. They would make such a business of +it,—such a coarse and common business,—that I couldn’t bear myself.” + +“Ah, that indeed, Pip!” said Joe. “If you couldn’t abear yourself—” + +Biddy asked me here, as she sat holding my sister’s plate, “Have you +thought about when you’ll show yourself to Mr. Gargery, and your sister +and me? You will show yourself to us; won’t you?” + +“Biddy,” I returned with some resentment, “you are so exceedingly quick +that it’s difficult to keep up with you.” + +(“She always were quick,” observed Joe.) + +“If you had waited another moment, Biddy, you would have heard me say +that I shall bring my clothes here in a bundle one evening,—most likely +on the evening before I go away.” + +Biddy said no more. Handsomely forgiving her, I soon exchanged an +affectionate good night with her and Joe, and went up to bed. When I +got into my little room, I sat down and took a long look at it, as a +mean little room that I should soon be parted from and raised above, +for ever. It was furnished with fresh young remembrances too, and even +at the same moment I fell into much the same confused division of mind +between it and the better rooms to which I was going, as I had been in +so often between the forge and Miss Havisham’s, and Biddy and Estella. + +The sun had been shining brightly all day on the roof of my attic, and +the room was warm. As I put the window open and stood looking out, I +saw Joe come slowly forth at the dark door, below, and take a turn or +two in the air; and then I saw Biddy come, and bring him a pipe and +light it for him. He never smoked so late, and it seemed to hint to me +that he wanted comforting, for some reason or other. + +He presently stood at the door immediately beneath me, smoking his +pipe, and Biddy stood there too, quietly talking to him, and I knew +that they talked of me, for I heard my name mentioned in an endearing +tone by both of them more than once. I would not have listened for +more, if I could have heard more; so I drew away from the window, and +sat down in my one chair by the bedside, feeling it very sorrowful and +strange that this first night of my bright fortunes should be the +loneliest I had ever known. + +Looking towards the open window, I saw light wreaths from Joe’s pipe +floating there, and I fancied it was like a blessing from Joe,—not +obtruded on me or paraded before me, but pervading the air we shared +together. I put my light out, and crept into bed; and it was an uneasy +bed now, and I never slept the old sound sleep in it any more. + + + + +Chapter XIX. + + +Morning made a considerable difference in my general prospect of Life, +and brightened it so much that it scarcely seemed the same. What lay +heaviest on my mind was, the consideration that six days intervened +between me and the day of departure; for I could not divest myself of a +misgiving that something might happen to London in the meanwhile, and +that, when I got there, it would be either greatly deteriorated or +clean gone. + +Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our +approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. After +breakfast, Joe brought out my indentures from the press in the best +parlour, and we put them in the fire, and I felt that I was free. With +all the novelty of my emancipation on me, I went to church with Joe, +and thought perhaps the clergyman wouldn’t have read that about the +rich man and the kingdom of Heaven, if he had known all. + +After our early dinner, I strolled out alone, purposing to finish off +the marshes at once, and get them done with. As I passed the church, I +felt (as I had felt during service in the morning) a sublime compassion +for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after +Sunday, all their lives through, and to lie obscurely at last among the +low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them +one of these days, and formed a plan in outline for bestowing a dinner +of roast-beef and plum-pudding, a pint of ale, and a gallon of +condescension, upon everybody in the village. + +If I had often thought before, with something allied to shame, of my +companionship with the fugitive whom I had once seen limping among +those graves, what were my thoughts on this Sunday, when the place +recalled the wretch, ragged and shivering, with his felon iron and +badge! My comfort was, that it happened a long time ago, and that he +had doubtless been transported a long way off, and that he was dead to +me, and might be veritably dead into the bargain. + +No more low, wet grounds, no more dikes and sluices, no more of these +grazing cattle,—though they seemed, in their dull manner, to wear a +more respectful air now, and to face round, in order that they might +stare as long as possible at the possessor of such great +expectations,—farewell, monotonous acquaintances of my childhood, +henceforth I was for London and greatness; not for smith’s work in +general, and for you! I made my exultant way to the old Battery, and, +lying down there to consider the question whether Miss Havisham +intended me for Estella, fell asleep. + +When I awoke, I was much surprised to find Joe sitting beside me, +smoking his pipe. He greeted me with a cheerful smile on my opening my +eyes, and said,— + +“As being the last time, Pip, I thought I’d foller.” + +“And Joe, I am very glad you did so.” + +“Thankee, Pip.” + +“You may be sure, dear Joe,” I went on, after we had shaken hands, +“that I shall never forget you.” + +“No, no, Pip!” said Joe, in a comfortable tone, “_I_’m sure of that. +Ay, ay, old chap! Bless you, it were only necessary to get it well +round in a man’s mind, to be certain on it. But it took a bit of time +to get it well round, the change come so oncommon plump; didn’t it?” + +Somehow, I was not best pleased with Joe’s being so mightily secure of +me. I should have liked him to have betrayed emotion, or to have said, +“It does you credit, Pip,” or something of that sort. Therefore, I made +no remark on Joe’s first head; merely saying as to his second, that the +tidings had indeed come suddenly, but that I had always wanted to be a +gentleman, and had often and often speculated on what I would do, if I +were one. + +“Have you though?” said Joe. “Astonishing!” + +“It’s a pity now, Joe,” said I, “that you did not get on a little more, +when we had our lessons here; isn’t it?” + +“Well, I don’t know,” returned Joe. “I’m so awful dull. I’m only master +of my own trade. It were always a pity as I was so awful dull; but it’s +no more of a pity now, than it was—this day twelvemonth—don’t you see?” + +What I had meant was, that when I came into my property and was able to +do something for Joe, it would have been much more agreeable if he had +been better qualified for a rise in station. He was so perfectly +innocent of my meaning, however, that I thought I would mention it to +Biddy in preference. + +So, when we had walked home and had had tea, I took Biddy into our +little garden by the side of the lane, and, after throwing out in a +general way for the elevation of her spirits, that I should never +forget her, said I had a favour to ask of her. + +“And it is, Biddy,” said I, “that you will not omit any opportunity of +helping Joe on, a little.” + +“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance. + +“Well! Joe is a dear good fellow,—in fact, I think he is the dearest +fellow that ever lived,—but he is rather backward in some things. For +instance, Biddy, in his learning and his manners.” + +Although I was looking at Biddy as I spoke, and although she opened her +eyes very wide when I had spoken, she did not look at me. + +“O, his manners! won’t his manners do then?” asked Biddy, plucking a +black-currant leaf. + +“My dear Biddy, they do very well here—” + +“O! they _do_ very well here?” interrupted Biddy, looking closely at +the leaf in her hand. + +“Hear me out,—but if I were to remove Joe into a higher sphere, as I +shall hope to remove him when I fully come into my property, they would +hardly do him justice.” + +“And don’t you think he knows that?” asked Biddy. + +It was such a very provoking question (for it had never in the most +distant manner occurred to me), that I said, snappishly,— + +“Biddy, what do you mean?” + +Biddy, having rubbed the leaf to pieces between her hands,—and the +smell of a black-currant bush has ever since recalled to me that +evening in the little garden by the side of the lane,—said, “Have you +never considered that he may be proud?” + +“Proud?” I repeated, with disdainful emphasis. + +“O! there are many kinds of pride,” said Biddy, looking full at me and +shaking her head; “pride is not all of one kind—” + +“Well? What are you stopping for?” said I. + +“Not all of one kind,” resumed Biddy. “He may be too proud to let any +one take him out of a place that he is competent to fill, and fills +well and with respect. To tell you the truth, I think he is; though it +sounds bold in me to say so, for you must know him far better than I +do.” + +“Now, Biddy,” said I, “I am very sorry to see this in you. I did not +expect to see this in you. You are envious, Biddy, and grudging. You +are dissatisfied on account of my rise in fortune, and you can’t help +showing it.” + +“If you have the heart to think so,” returned Biddy, “say so. Say so +over and over again, if you have the heart to think so.” + +“If you have the heart to be so, you mean, Biddy,” said I, in a +virtuous and superior tone; “don’t put it off upon me. I am very sorry +to see it, and it’s a—it’s a bad side of human nature. I did intend to +ask you to use any little opportunities you might have after I was +gone, of improving dear Joe. But after this I ask you nothing. I am +extremely sorry to see this in you, Biddy,” I repeated. “It’s a—it’s a +bad side of human nature.” + +“Whether you scold me or approve of me,” returned poor Biddy, “you may +equally depend upon my trying to do all that lies in my power, here, at +all times. And whatever opinion you take away of me, shall make no +difference in my remembrance of you. Yet a gentleman should not be +unjust neither,” said Biddy, turning away her head. + +I again warmly repeated that it was a bad side of human nature (in +which sentiment, waiving its application, I have since seen reason to +think I was right), and I walked down the little path away from Biddy, +and Biddy went into the house, and I went out at the garden gate and +took a dejected stroll until supper-time; again feeling it very +sorrowful and strange that this, the second night of my bright +fortunes, should be as lonely and unsatisfactory as the first. + +But, morning once more brightened my view, and I extended my clemency +to Biddy, and we dropped the subject. Putting on the best clothes I +had, I went into town as early as I could hope to find the shops open, +and presented myself before Mr. Trabb, the tailor, who was having his +breakfast in the parlour behind his shop, and who did not think it +worth his while to come out to me, but called me in to him. + +“Well!” said Mr. Trabb, in a hail-fellow-well-met kind of way. “How are +you, and what can I do for you?” + +Mr. Trabb had sliced his hot roll into three feather-beds, and was +slipping butter in between the blankets, and covering it up. He was a +prosperous old bachelor, and his open window looked into a prosperous +little garden and orchard, and there was a prosperous iron safe let +into the wall at the side of his fireplace, and I did not doubt that +heaps of his prosperity were put away in it in bags. + +“Mr. Trabb,” said I, “it’s an unpleasant thing to have to mention, +because it looks like boasting; but I have come into a handsome +property.” + +A change passed over Mr. Trabb. He forgot the butter in bed, got up +from the bedside, and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth, exclaiming, +“Lord bless my soul!” + +“I am going up to my guardian in London,” said I, casually drawing some +guineas out of my pocket and looking at them; “and I want a fashionable +suit of clothes to go in. I wish to pay for them,” I added—otherwise I +thought he might only pretend to make them, “with ready money.” + +“My dear sir,” said Mr. Trabb, as he respectfully bent his body, opened +his arms, and took the liberty of touching me on the outside of each +elbow, “don’t hurt me by mentioning that. May I venture to congratulate +you? Would you do me the favour of stepping into the shop?” + +Mr. Trabb’s boy was the most audacious boy in all that country-side. +When I had entered he was sweeping the shop, and he had sweetened his +labours by sweeping over me. He was still sweeping when I came out into +the shop with Mr. Trabb, and he knocked the broom against all possible +corners and obstacles, to express (as I understood it) equality with +any blacksmith, alive or dead. + +“Hold that noise,” said Mr. Trabb, with the greatest sternness, “or +I’ll knock your head off!—Do me the favour to be seated, sir. Now, +this,” said Mr. Trabb, taking down a roll of cloth, and tiding it out +in a flowing manner over the counter, preparatory to getting his hand +under it to show the gloss, “is a very sweet article. I can recommend +it for your purpose, sir, because it really is extra super. But you +shall see some others. Give me Number Four, you!” (To the boy, and with +a dreadfully severe stare; foreseeing the danger of that miscreant’s +brushing me with it, or making some other sign of familiarity.) + +Mr. Trabb never removed his stern eye from the boy until he had +deposited number four on the counter and was at a safe distance again. +Then he commanded him to bring number five, and number eight. “And let +me have none of your tricks here,” said Mr. Trabb, “or you shall repent +it, you young scoundrel, the longest day you have to live.” + +Mr. Trabb then bent over number four, and in a sort of deferential +confidence recommended it to me as a light article for summer wear, an +article much in vogue among the nobility and gentry, an article that it +would ever be an honour to him to reflect upon a distinguished +fellow-townsman’s (if he might claim me for a fellow-townsman) having +worn. “Are you bringing numbers five and eight, you vagabond,” said Mr. +Trabb to the boy after that, “or shall I kick you out of the shop and +bring them myself?” + +I selected the materials for a suit, with the assistance of Mr. Trabb’s +judgment, and re-entered the parlour to be measured. For although Mr. +Trabb had my measure already, and had previously been quite contented +with it, he said apologetically that it “wouldn’t do under existing +circumstances, sir,—wouldn’t do at all.” So, Mr. Trabb measured and +calculated me in the parlour, as if I were an estate and he the finest +species of surveyor, and gave himself such a world of trouble that I +felt that no suit of clothes could possibly remunerate him for his +pains. When he had at last done and had appointed to send the articles +to Mr. Pumblechook’s on the Thursday evening, he said, with his hand +upon the parlour lock, “I know, sir, that London gentlemen cannot be +expected to patronise local work, as a rule; but if you would give me a +turn now and then in the quality of a townsman, I should greatly esteem +it. Good-morning, sir, much obliged.—Door!” + +The last word was flung at the boy, who had not the least notion what +it meant. But I saw him collapse as his master rubbed me out with his +hands, and my first decided experience of the stupendous power of money +was, that it had morally laid upon his back Trabb’s boy. + +After this memorable event, I went to the hatter’s, and the +bootmaker’s, and the hosier’s, and felt rather like Mother Hubbard’s +dog whose outfit required the services of so many trades. I also went +to the coach-office and took my place for seven o’clock on Saturday +morning. It was not necessary to explain everywhere that I had come +into a handsome property; but whenever I said anything to that effect, +it followed that the officiating tradesman ceased to have his attention +diverted through the window by the High Street, and concentrated his +mind upon me. When I had ordered everything I wanted, I directed my +steps towards Pumblechook’s, and, as I approached that gentleman’s +place of business, I saw him standing at his door. + +He was waiting for me with great impatience. He had been out early with +the chaise-cart, and had called at the forge and heard the news. He had +prepared a collation for me in the Barnwell parlour, and he too ordered +his shopman to “come out of the gangway” as my sacred person passed. + +“My dear friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook, taking me by both hands, when +he and I and the collation were alone, “I give you joy of your good +fortune. Well deserved, well deserved!” + +This was coming to the point, and I thought it a sensible way of +expressing himself. + +“To think,” said Mr. Pumblechook, after snorting admiration at me for +some moments, “that I should have been the humble instrument of leading +up to this, is a proud reward.” + +I begged Mr. Pumblechook to remember that nothing was to be ever said +or hinted, on that point. + +“My dear young friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook; “if you will allow me to +call you so—” + +I murmured “Certainly,” and Mr. Pumblechook took me by both hands +again, and communicated a movement to his waistcoat, which had an +emotional appearance, though it was rather low down, “My dear young +friend, rely upon my doing my little all in your absence, by keeping +the fact before the mind of Joseph.—Joseph!” said Mr. Pumblechook, in +the way of a compassionate adjuration. “Joseph!! Joseph!!!” Thereupon +he shook his head and tapped it, expressing his sense of deficiency in +Joseph. + +“But my dear young friend,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “you must be hungry, +you must be exhausted. Be seated. Here is a chicken had round from the +Boar, here is a tongue had round from the Boar, here’s one or two +little things had round from the Boar, that I hope you may not despise. +But do I,” said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again the moment after he +had sat down, “see afore me, him as I ever sported with in his times of +happy infancy? And may I—_may_ I—?” + +This May I, meant might he shake hands? I consented, and he was +fervent, and then sat down again. + +“Here is wine,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “Let us drink, Thanks to Fortune, +and may she ever pick out her favourites with equal judgment! And yet I +cannot,” said Mr. Pumblechook, getting up again, “see afore me One—and +likewise drink to One—without again expressing—May I—_may_ I—?” + +I said he might, and he shook hands with me again, and emptied his +glass and turned it upside down. I did the same; and if I had turned +myself upside down before drinking, the wine could not have gone more +direct to my head. + +Mr. Pumblechook helped me to the liver wing, and to the best slice of +tongue (none of those out-of-the-way No Thoroughfares of Pork now), and +took, comparatively speaking, no care of himself at all. “Ah! poultry, +poultry! You little thought,” said Mr. Pumblechook, apostrophising the +fowl in the dish, “when you was a young fledgling, what was in store +for you. You little thought you was to be refreshment beneath this +humble roof for one as—Call it a weakness, if you will,” said Mr. +Pumblechook, getting up again, “but may I? _may_ I—?” + +It began to be unnecessary to repeat the form of saying he might, so he +did it at once. How he ever did it so often without wounding himself +with my knife, I don’t know. + +“And your sister,” he resumed, after a little steady eating, “which had +the honour of bringing you up by hand! It’s a sad picter, to reflect +that she’s no longer equal to fully understanding the honour. May—” + +I saw he was about to come at me again, and I stopped him. + +“We’ll drink her health,” said I. + +“Ah!” cried Mr. Pumblechook, leaning back in his chair, quite flaccid +with admiration, “that’s the way you know ’em, sir!” (I don’t know who +Sir was, but he certainly was not I, and there was no third person +present); “that’s the way you know the noble-minded, sir! Ever +forgiving and ever affable. It might,” said the servile Pumblechook, +putting down his untasted glass in a hurry and getting up again, “to a +common person, have the appearance of repeating—but _may_ I—?” + +When he had done it, he resumed his seat and drank to my sister. “Let +us never be blind,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “to her faults of temper, but +it is to be hoped she meant well.” + +At about this time, I began to observe that he was getting flushed in +the face; as to myself, I felt all face, steeped in wine and smarting. + +I mentioned to Mr. Pumblechook that I wished to have my new clothes +sent to his house, and he was ecstatic on my so distinguishing him. I +mentioned my reason for desiring to avoid observation in the village, +and he lauded it to the skies. There was nobody but himself, he +intimated, worthy of my confidence, and—in short, might he? Then he +asked me tenderly if I remembered our boyish games at sums, and how we +had gone together to have me bound apprentice, and, in effect, how he +had ever been my favourite fancy and my chosen friend? If I had taken +ten times as many glasses of wine as I had, I should have known that he +never had stood in that relation towards me, and should in my heart of +hearts have repudiated the idea. Yet for all that, I remember feeling +convinced that I had been much mistaken in him, and that he was a +sensible, practical, good-hearted prime fellow. + +By degrees he fell to reposing such great confidence in me, as to ask +my advice in reference to his own affairs. He mentioned that there was +an opportunity for a great amalgamation and monopoly of the corn and +seed trade on those premises, if enlarged, such as had never occurred +before in that or any other neighbourhood. What alone was wanting to +the realisation of a vast fortune, he considered to be More Capital. +Those were the two little words, more capital. Now it appeared to him +(Pumblechook) that if that capital were got into the business, through +a sleeping partner, sir,—which sleeping partner would have nothing to +do but walk in, by self or deputy, whenever he pleased, and examine the +books,—and walk in twice a year and take his profits away in his +pocket, to the tune of fifty per cent,—it appeared to him that that +might be an opening for a young gentleman of spirit combined with +property, which would be worthy of his attention. But what did I think? +He had great confidence in my opinion, and what did I think? I gave it +as my opinion. “Wait a bit!” The united vastness and distinctness of +this view so struck him, that he no longer asked if he might shake +hands with me, but said he really must,—and did. + +We drank all the wine, and Mr. Pumblechook pledged himself over and +over again to keep Joseph up to the mark (I don’t know what mark), and +to render me efficient and constant service (I don’t know what +service). He also made known to me for the first time in my life, and +certainly after having kept his secret wonderfully well, that he had +always said of me, “That boy is no common boy, and mark me, his fortun’ +will be no common fortun’.” He said with a tearful smile that it was a +singular thing to think of now, and I said so too. Finally, I went out +into the air, with a dim perception that there was something unwonted +in the conduct of the sunshine, and found that I had slumberously got +to the turnpike without having taken any account of the road. + +There, I was roused by Mr. Pumblechook’s hailing me. He was a long way +down the sunny street, and was making expressive gestures for me to +stop. I stopped, and he came up breathless. + +“No, my dear friend,” said he, when he had recovered wind for speech. +“Not if I can help it. This occasion shall not entirely pass without +that affability on your part.—May I, as an old friend and well-wisher? +_May_ I?” + +We shook hands for the hundredth time at least, and he ordered a young +carter out of my way with the greatest indignation. Then, he blessed me +and stood waving his hand to me until I had passed the crook in the +road; and then I turned into a field and had a long nap under a hedge +before I pursued my way home. + +I had scant luggage to take with me to London, for little of the little +I possessed was adapted to my new station. But I began packing that +same afternoon, and wildly packed up things that I knew I should want +next morning, in a fiction that there was not a moment to be lost. + +So, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, passed; and on Friday morning I +went to Mr. Pumblechook’s, to put on my new clothes and pay my visit to +Miss Havisham. Mr. Pumblechook’s own room was given up to me to dress +in, and was decorated with clean towels expressly for the event. My +clothes were rather a disappointment, of course. Probably every new and +eagerly expected garment ever put on since clothes came in, fell a +trifle short of the wearer’s expectation. But after I had had my new +suit on some half an hour, and had gone through an immensity of +posturing with Mr. Pumblechook’s very limited dressing-glass, in the +futile endeavour to see my legs, it seemed to fit me better. It being +market morning at a neighbouring town some ten miles off, Mr. +Pumblechook was not at home. I had not told him exactly when I meant to +leave, and was not likely to shake hands with him again before +departing. This was all as it should be, and I went out in my new +array, fearfully ashamed of having to pass the shopman, and suspicious +after all that I was at a personal disadvantage, something like Joe’s +in his Sunday suit. + +I went circuitously to Miss Havisham’s by all the back ways, and rang +at the bell constrainedly, on account of the stiff long fingers of my +gloves. Sarah Pocket came to the gate, and positively reeled back when +she saw me so changed; her walnut-shell countenance likewise turned +from brown to green and yellow. + +“You?” said she. “You? Good gracious! What do you want?” + +“I am going to London, Miss Pocket,” said I, “and want to say good-bye +to Miss Havisham.” + +I was not expected, for she left me locked in the yard, while she went +to ask if I were to be admitted. After a very short delay, she returned +and took me up, staring at me all the way. + +Miss Havisham was taking exercise in the room with the long spread +table, leaning on her crutch stick. The room was lighted as of yore, +and at the sound of our entrance, she stopped and turned. She was then +just abreast of the rotted bride-cake. + +“Don’t go, Sarah,” she said. “Well, Pip?” + +“I start for London, Miss Havisham, to-morrow,” I was exceedingly +careful what I said, “and I thought you would kindly not mind my taking +leave of you.” + +“This is a gay figure, Pip,” said she, making her crutch stick play +round me, as if she, the fairy godmother who had changed me, were +bestowing the finishing gift. + +“I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last, Miss +Havisham,” I murmured. “And I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham!” + +“Ay, ay!” said she, looking at the discomfited and envious Sarah, with +delight. “I have seen Mr. Jaggers. _I_ have heard about it, Pip. So you +go to-morrow?” + +“Yes, Miss Havisham.” + +“And you are adopted by a rich person?” + +“Yes, Miss Havisham.” + +“Not named?” + +“No, Miss Havisham.” + +“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?” + +“Yes, Miss Havisham.” + +She quite gloated on these questions and answers, so keen was her +enjoyment of Sarah Pocket’s jealous dismay. “Well!” she went on; “you +have a promising career before you. Be good—deserve it—and abide by Mr. +Jaggers’s instructions.” She looked at me, and looked at Sarah, and +Sarah’s countenance wrung out of her watchful face a cruel smile. +“Good-bye, Pip!—you will always keep the name of Pip, you know.” + +“Yes, Miss Havisham.” + +“Good-bye, Pip!” + +She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to my +lips. I had not considered how I should take leave of her; it came +naturally to me at the moment to do this. She looked at Sarah Pocket +with triumph in her weird eyes, and so I left my fairy godmother, with +both her hands on her crutch stick, standing in the midst of the dimly +lighted room beside the rotten bride-cake that was hidden in cobwebs. + +Sarah Pocket conducted me down, as if I were a ghost who must be seen +out. She could not get over my appearance, and was in the last degree +confounded. I said “Good-bye, Miss Pocket;” but she merely stared, and +did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken. Clear of the +house, I made the best of my way back to Pumblechook’s, took off my new +clothes, made them into a bundle, and went back home in my older dress, +carrying it—to speak the truth—much more at my ease too, though I had +the bundle to carry. + +And now, those six days which were to have run out so slowly, had run +out fast and were gone, and to-morrow looked me in the face more +steadily than I could look at it. As the six evenings had dwindled +away, to five, to four, to three, to two, I had become more and more +appreciative of the society of Joe and Biddy. On this last evening, I +dressed myself out in my new clothes for their delight, and sat in my +splendour until bedtime. We had a hot supper on the occasion, +graced by the inevitable roast fowl, and we had some flip to finish +with. We were all very low, and none the higher for pretending to be in +spirits. + +I was to leave our village at five in the morning, carrying my little +hand-portmanteau, and I had told Joe that I wished to walk away all +alone. I am afraid—sore afraid—that this purpose originated in my sense +of the contrast there would be between me and Joe, if we went to the +coach together. I had pretended with myself that there was nothing of +this taint in the arrangement; but when I went up to my little room on +this last night, I felt compelled to admit that it might be so, and had +an impulse upon me to go down again and entreat Joe to walk with me in +the morning. I did not. + +All night there were coaches in my broken sleep, going to wrong places +instead of to London, and having in the traces, now dogs, now cats, now +pigs, now men,—never horses. Fantastic failures of journeys occupied me +until the day dawned and the birds were singing. Then, I got up and +partly dressed, and sat at the window to take a last look out, and in +taking it fell asleep. + +Biddy was astir so early to get my breakfast, that, although I did not +sleep at the window an hour, I smelt the smoke of the kitchen fire when +I started up with a terrible idea that it must be late in the +afternoon. But long after that, and long after I had heard the clinking +of the teacups and was quite ready, I wanted the resolution to go +downstairs. After all, I remained up there, repeatedly unlocking and +unstrapping my small portmanteau and locking and strapping it up again, +until Biddy called to me that I was late. + +It was a hurried breakfast with no taste in it. I got up from the meal, +saying with a sort of briskness, as if it had only just occurred to me, +“Well! I suppose I must be off!” and then I kissed my sister who was +laughing and nodding and shaking in her usual chair, and kissed Biddy, +and threw my arms around Joe’s neck. Then I took up my little +portmanteau and walked out. The last I saw of them was, when I +presently heard a scuffle behind me, and looking back, saw Joe throwing +an old shoe after me and Biddy throwing another old shoe. I stopped +then, to wave my hat, and dear old Joe waved his strong right arm above +his head, crying huskily “Hooroar!” and Biddy put her apron to her +face. + +I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier to go than I had +supposed it would be, and reflecting that it would never have done to +have had an old shoe thrown after the coach, in sight of all the High +Street. I whistled and made nothing of going. But the village was very +peaceful and quiet, and the light mists were solemnly rising, as if to +show me the world, and I had been so innocent and little there, and all +beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment with a strong heave +and sob I broke into tears. It was by the finger-post at the end of the +village, and I laid my hand upon it, and said, “Good-bye, O my dear, +dear friend!” + +Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain +upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was +better after I had cried than before,—more sorry, more aware of my own +ingratitude, more gentle. If I had cried before, I should have had Joe +with me then. + +So subdued I was by those tears, and by their breaking out again in the +course of the quiet walk, that when I was on the coach, and it was +clear of the town, I deliberated with an aching heart whether I would +not get down when we changed horses and walk back, and have another +evening at home, and a better parting. We changed, and I had not made +up my mind, and still reflected for my comfort that it would be quite +practicable to get down and walk back, when we changed again. And while +I was occupied with these deliberations, I would fancy an exact +resemblance to Joe in some man coming along the road towards us, and my +heart would beat high.—As if he could possibly be there! + +We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to +go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and +the world lay spread before me. + +THIS IS THE END OF THE FIRST STAGE OF PIP’S EXPECTATIONS. + + + + +Chapter XX. + + +The journey from our town to the metropolis was a journey of about five +hours. It was a little past midday when the four-horse stage-coach by +which I was a passenger, got into the ravel of traffic frayed out about +the Cross Keys, Wood Street, Cheapside, London. + +We Britons had at that time particularly settled that it was +treasonable to doubt our having and our being the best of everything: +otherwise, while I was scared by the immensity of London, I think I +might have had some faint doubts whether it was not rather ugly, +crooked, narrow, and dirty. + +Mr. Jaggers had duly sent me his address; it was, Little Britain, and +he had written after it on his card, “just out of Smithfield, and close +by the coach-office.” Nevertheless, a hackney-coachman, who seemed to +have as many capes to his greasy great-coat as he was years old, packed +me up in his coach and hemmed me in with a folding and jingling barrier +of steps, as if he were going to take me fifty miles. His getting on +his box, which I remember to have been decorated with an old +weather-stained pea-green hammercloth moth-eaten into rags, was quite a +work of time. It was a wonderful equipage, with six great coronets +outside, and ragged things behind for I don’t know how many footmen to +hold on by, and a harrow below them, to prevent amateur footmen from +yielding to the temptation. + +I had scarcely had time to enjoy the coach and to think how like a +straw-yard it was, and yet how like a rag-shop, and to wonder why the +horses’ nose-bags were kept inside, when I observed the coachman +beginning to get down, as if we were going to stop presently. And stop +we presently did, in a gloomy street, at certain offices with an open +door, whereon was painted MR. JAGGERS. + +“How much?” I asked the coachman. + +The coachman answered, “A shilling—unless you wish to make it more.” + +I naturally said I had no wish to make it more. + +“Then it must be a shilling,” observed the coachman. “I don’t want to +get into trouble. _I_ know _him_!” He darkly closed an eye at Mr. +Jaggers’s name, and shook his head. + +When he had got his shilling, and had in course of time completed the +ascent to his box, and had got away (which appeared to relieve his +mind), I went into the front office with my little portmanteau in my +hand and asked, Was Mr. Jaggers at home? + +“He is not,” returned the clerk. “He is in Court at present. Am I +addressing Mr. Pip?” + +I signified that he was addressing Mr. Pip. + +“Mr. Jaggers left word, would you wait in his room. He couldn’t say how +long he might be, having a case on. But it stands to reason, his time +being valuable, that he won’t be longer than he can help.” + +With those words, the clerk opened a door, and ushered me into an inner +chamber at the back. Here, we found a gentleman with one eye, in a +velveteen suit and knee-breeches, who wiped his nose with his sleeve on +being interrupted in the perusal of the newspaper. + +“Go and wait outside, Mike,” said the clerk. + +I began to say that I hoped I was not interrupting, when the clerk +shoved this gentleman out with as little ceremony as I ever saw used, +and tossing his fur cap out after him, left me alone. + +Mr. Jaggers’s room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most +dismal place; the skylight, eccentrically pitched like a broken head, +and the distorted adjoining houses looking as if they had twisted +themselves to peep down at me through it. There were not so many papers +about, as I should have expected to see; and there were some odd +objects about, that I should not have expected to see,—such as an old +rusty pistol, a sword in a scabbard, several strange-looking boxes and +packages, and two dreadful casts on a shelf, of faces peculiarly +swollen, and twitchy about the nose. Mr. Jaggers’s own high-backed +chair was of deadly black horsehair, with rows of brass nails round it, +like a coffin; and I fancied I could see how he leaned back in it, and +bit his forefinger at the clients. The room was but small, and the +clients seemed to have had a habit of backing up against the wall; the +wall, especially opposite to Mr. Jaggers’s chair, being greasy with +shoulders. I recalled, too, that the one-eyed gentleman had shuffled +forth against the wall when I was the innocent cause of his being +turned out. + +I sat down in the cliental chair placed over against Mr. Jaggers’s +chair, and became fascinated by the dismal atmosphere of the place. I +called to mind that the clerk had the same air of knowing something to +everybody else’s disadvantage, as his master had. I wondered how many +other clerks there were upstairs, and whether they all claimed to have +the same detrimental mastery of their fellow-creatures. I wondered what +was the history of all the odd litter about the room, and how it came +there. I wondered whether the two swollen faces were of Mr. Jaggers’s +family, and, if he were so unfortunate as to have had a pair of such +ill-looking relations, why he stuck them on that dusty perch for the +blacks and flies to settle on, instead of giving them a place at home. +Of course I had no experience of a London summer day, and my spirits +may have been oppressed by the hot exhausted air, and by the dust and +grit that lay thick on everything. But I sat wondering and waiting in +Mr. Jaggers’s close room, until I really could not bear the two casts +on the shelf above Mr. Jaggers’s chair, and got up and went out. + +When I told the clerk that I would take a turn in the air while I +waited, he advised me to go round the corner and I should come into +Smithfield. So I came into Smithfield; and the shameful place, being +all asmear with filth and fat and blood and foam, seemed to stick to +me. So, I rubbed it off with all possible speed by turning into a +street where I saw the great black dome of Saint Paul’s bulging at me +from behind a grim stone building which a bystander said was Newgate +Prison. Following the wall of the jail, I found the roadway covered +with straw to deaden the noise of passing vehicles; and from this, and +from the quantity of people standing about smelling strongly of spirits +and beer, I inferred that the trials were on. + +While I looked about me here, an exceedingly dirty and partially drunk +minister of justice asked me if I would like to step in and hear a +trial or so: informing me that he could give me a front place for half +a crown, whence I should command a full view of the Lord Chief Justice +in his wig and robes,—mentioning that awful personage like waxwork, and +presently offering him at the reduced price of eighteen-pence. As I +declined the proposal on the plea of an appointment, he was so good as +to take me into a yard and show me where the gallows was kept, and also +where people were publicly whipped, and then he showed me the Debtors’ +Door, out of which culprits came to be hanged; heightening the interest +of that dreadful portal by giving me to understand that “four on ’em” +would come out at that door the day after to-morrow at eight in the +morning, to be killed in a row. This was horrible, and gave me a +sickening idea of London; the more so as the Lord Chief Justice’s +proprietor wore (from his hat down to his boots and up again to his +pocket-handkerchief inclusive) mildewed clothes which had evidently not +belonged to him originally, and which I took it into my head he had +bought cheap of the executioner. Under these circumstances I thought +myself well rid of him for a shilling. + +I dropped into the office to ask if Mr. Jaggers had come in yet, and I +found he had not, and I strolled out again. This time, I made the tour +of Little Britain, and turned into Bartholomew Close; and now I became +aware that other people were waiting about for Mr. Jaggers, as well as +I. There were two men of secret appearance lounging in Bartholomew +Close, and thoughtfully fitting their feet into the cracks of the +pavement as they talked together, one of whom said to the other when +they first passed me, that “Jaggers would do it if it was to be done.” +There was a knot of three men and two women standing at a corner, and +one of the women was crying on her dirty shawl, and the other comforted +her by saying, as she pulled her own shawl over her shoulders, “Jaggers +is for him, ’Melia, and what more _could_ you have?” There was a +red-eyed little Jew who came into the Close while I was loitering +there, in company with a second little Jew whom he sent upon an errand; +and while the messenger was gone, I remarked this Jew, who was of a +highly excitable temperament, performing a jig of anxiety under a +lamp-post and accompanying himself, in a kind of frenzy, with the +words, “O Jaggerth, Jaggerth, Jaggerth! all otherth ith Cag-Maggerth, +give me Jaggerth!” These testimonies to the popularity of my guardian +made a deep impression on me, and I admired and wondered more than +ever. + +At length, as I was looking out at the iron gate of Bartholomew Close +into Little Britain, I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road towards +me. All the others who were waiting saw him at the same time, and there +was quite a rush at him. Mr. Jaggers, putting a hand on my shoulder and +walking me on at his side without saying anything to me, addressed +himself to his followers. + +First, he took the two secret men. + +“Now, I have nothing to say to _you_,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his +finger at them. “I want to know no more than I know. As to the result, +it’s a toss-up. I told you from the first it was a toss-up. Have you +paid Wemmick?” + +“We made the money up this morning, sir,” said one of the men, +submissively, while the other perused Mr. Jaggers’s face. + +“I don’t ask you when you made it up, or where, or whether you made it +up at all. Has Wemmick got it?” + +“Yes, sir,” said both the men together. + +“Very well; then you may go. Now, I won’t have it!” said Mr Jaggers, +waving his hand at them to put them behind him. “If you say a word to +me, I’ll throw up the case.” + +“We thought, Mr. Jaggers—” one of the men began, pulling off his hat. + +“That’s what I told you not to do,” said Mr. Jaggers. “_You_ thought! I +think for you; that’s enough for you. If I want you, I know where to +find you; I don’t want you to find me. Now I won’t have it. I won’t +hear a word.” + +The two men looked at one another as Mr. Jaggers waved them behind +again, and humbly fell back and were heard no more. + +“And now _you_!” said Mr. Jaggers, suddenly stopping, and turning on +the two women with the shawls, from whom the three men had meekly +separated,—“Oh! Amelia, is it?” + +“Yes, Mr. Jaggers.” + +“And do you remember,” retorted Mr. Jaggers, “that but for me you +wouldn’t be here and couldn’t be here?” + +“O yes, sir!” exclaimed both women together. “Lord bless you, sir, well +we knows that!” + +“Then why,” said Mr. Jaggers, “do you come here?” + +“My Bill, sir!” the crying woman pleaded. + +“Now, I tell you what!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Once for all. If you don’t +know that your Bill’s in good hands, I know it. And if you come here +bothering about your Bill, I’ll make an example of both your Bill and +you, and let him slip through my fingers. Have you paid Wemmick?” + +“O yes, sir! Every farden.” + +“Very well. Then you have done all you have got to do. Say another +word—one single word—and Wemmick shall give you your money back.” + +This terrible threat caused the two women to fall off immediately. No +one remained now but the excitable Jew, who had already raised the +skirts of Mr. Jaggers’s coat to his lips several times. + +“I don’t know this man!” said Mr. Jaggers, in the same devastating +strain: “What does this fellow want?” + +“Ma thear Mithter Jaggerth. Hown brother to Habraham Latharuth?” + +“Who’s he?” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let go of my coat.” + +The suitor, kissing the hem of the garment again before relinquishing +it, replied, “Habraham Latharuth, on thuthpithion of plate.” + +“You’re too late,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I am over the way.” + +“Holy father, Mithter Jaggerth!” cried my excitable acquaintance, +turning white, “don’t thay you’re again Habraham Latharuth!” + +“I am,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and there’s an end of it. Get out of the +way.” + +“Mithter Jaggerth! Half a moment! My hown cuthen’th gone to Mithter +Wemmick at thith prethent minute, to hoffer him hany termth. Mithter +Jaggerth! Half a quarter of a moment! If you’d have the condethenthun +to be bought off from the t’other thide—at hany thuperior prithe!—money +no object!—Mithter Jaggerth—Mithter—!” + +My guardian threw his supplicant off with supreme indifference, and +left him dancing on the pavement as if it were red hot. Without further +interruption, we reached the front office, where we found the clerk and +the man in velveteen with the fur cap. + +“Here’s Mike,” said the clerk, getting down from his stool, and +approaching Mr. Jaggers confidentially. + +“Oh!” said Mr. Jaggers, turning to the man, who was pulling a lock of +hair in the middle of his forehead, like the Bull in Cock Robin pulling +at the bell-rope; “your man comes on this afternoon. Well?” + +“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” returned Mike, in the voice of a sufferer from a +constitutional cold; “arter a deal o’ trouble, I’ve found one, sir, as +might do.” + +“What is he prepared to swear?” + +“Well, Mas’r Jaggers,” said Mike, wiping his nose on his fur cap this +time; “in a general way, anythink.” + +Mr. Jaggers suddenly became most irate. “Now, I warned you before,” +said he, throwing his forefinger at the terrified client, “that if you +ever presumed to talk in that way here, I’d make an example of you. You +infernal scoundrel, how dare you tell ME that?” + +The client looked scared, but bewildered too, as if he were unconscious +what he had done. + +“Spooney!” said the clerk, in a low voice, giving him a stir with his +elbow. “Soft Head! Need you say it face to face?” + +“Now, I ask you, you blundering booby,” said my guardian, very sternly, +“once more and for the last time, what the man you have brought here is +prepared to swear?” + +Mike looked hard at my guardian, as if he were trying to learn a lesson +from his face, and slowly replied, “Ayther to character, or to having +been in his company and never left him all the night in question.” + +“Now, be careful. In what station of life is this man?” + +Mike looked at his cap, and looked at the floor, and looked at the +ceiling, and looked at the clerk, and even looked at me, before +beginning to reply in a nervous manner, “We’ve dressed him up like—” +when my guardian blustered out,— + +“What? You WILL, will you?” + +(“Spooney!” added the clerk again, with another stir.) + +After some helpless casting about, Mike brightened and began again:— + +“He is dressed like a ’spectable pieman. A sort of a pastry-cook.” + +“Is he here?” asked my guardian. + +“I left him,” said Mike, “a setting on some doorsteps round the +corner.” + +“Take him past that window, and let me see him.” + +The window indicated was the office window. We all three went to it, +behind the wire blind, and presently saw the client go by in an +accidental manner, with a murderous-looking tall individual, in a short +suit of white linen and a paper cap. This guileless confectioner was +not by any means sober, and had a black eye in the green stage of +recovery, which was painted over. + +“Tell him to take his witness away directly,” said my guardian to the +clerk, in extreme disgust, “and ask him what he means by bringing such +a fellow as that.” + +My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched, +standing, from a sandwich-box and a pocket-flask of sherry (he seemed +to bully his very sandwich as he ate it), informed me what arrangements +he had made for me. I was to go to “Barnard’s Inn,” to young Mr. +Pocket’s rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my accommodation; I +was to remain with young Mr. Pocket until Monday; on Monday I was to go +with him to his father’s house on a visit, that I might try how I liked +it. Also, I was told what my allowance was to be,—it was a very liberal +one,—and had handed to me from one of my guardian’s drawers, the cards +of certain tradesmen with whom I was to deal for all kinds of clothes, +and such other things as I could in reason want. “You will find your +credit good, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian, whose flask of sherry smelt +like a whole caskful, as he hastily refreshed himself, “but I shall by +this means be able to check your bills, and to pull you up if I find +you outrunning the constable. Of course you’ll go wrong somehow, but +that’s no fault of mine.” + +After I had pondered a little over this encouraging sentiment, I asked +Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not worth +while, I was so near my destination; Wemmick should walk round with me, +if I pleased. + +I then found that Wemmick was the clerk in the next room. Another clerk +was rung down from upstairs to take his place while he was out, and I +accompanied him into the street, after shaking hands with my guardian. +We found a new set of people lingering outside, but Wemmick made a way +among them by saying coolly yet decisively, “I tell you it’s no use; he +won’t have a word to say to one of you;” and we soon got clear of them, +and went on side by side. + + + + +Chapter XXI. + + +Casting my eyes on Mr. Wemmick as we went along, to see what he was +like in the light of day, I found him to be a dry man, rather short in +stature, with a square wooden face, whose expression seemed to have +been imperfectly chipped out with a dull-edged chisel. There were some +marks in it that might have been dimples, if the material had been +softer and the instrument finer, but which, as it was, were only dints. +The chisel had made three or four of these attempts at embellishment +over his nose, but had given them up without an effort to smooth them +off. I judged him to be a bachelor from the frayed condition of his +linen, and he appeared to have sustained a good many bereavements; for +he wore at least four mourning rings, besides a brooch representing a +lady and a weeping willow at a tomb with an urn on it. I noticed, too, +that several rings and seals hung at his watch-chain, as if he were +quite laden with remembrances of departed friends. He had glittering +eyes,—small, keen, and black,—and thin wide mottled lips. He had had +them, to the best of my belief, from forty to fifty years. + +“So you were never in London before?” said Mr. Wemmick to me. + +“No,” said I. + +“_I_ was new here once,” said Mr. Wemmick. “Rum to think of now!” + +“You are well acquainted with it now?” + +“Why, yes,” said Mr. Wemmick. “I know the moves of it.” + +“Is it a very wicked place?” I asked, more for the sake of saying +something than for information. + +“You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered in London. But there are +plenty of people anywhere, who’ll do that for you.” + +“If there is bad blood between you and them,” said I, to soften it off +a little. + +“O! I don’t know about bad blood,” returned Mr. Wemmick; “there’s not +much bad blood about. They’ll do it, if there’s anything to be got by +it.” + +“That makes it worse.” + +“You think so?” returned Mr. Wemmick. “Much about the same, I should +say.” + +He wore his hat on the back of his head, and looked straight before +him: walking in a self-contained way as if there were nothing in the +streets to claim his attention. His mouth was such a post-office of a +mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling. We had got to the +top of Holborn Hill before I knew that it was merely a mechanical +appearance, and that he was not smiling at all. + +“Do you know where Mr. Matthew Pocket lives?” I asked Mr. Wemmick. + +“Yes,” said he, nodding in the direction. “At Hammersmith, west of +London.” + +“Is that far?” + +“Well! Say five miles.” + +“Do you know him?” + +“Why, you’re a regular cross-examiner!” said Mr. Wemmick, looking at me +with an approving air. “Yes, I know him. _I_ know him!” + +There was an air of toleration or depreciation about his utterance of +these words that rather depressed me; and I was still looking sideways +at his block of a face in search of any encouraging note to the text, +when he said here we were at Barnard’s Inn. My depression was not +alleviated by the announcement, for, I had supposed that establishment +to be an hotel kept by Mr. Barnard, to which the Blue Boar in our town +was a mere public-house. Whereas I now found Barnard to be a +disembodied spirit, or a fiction, and his inn the dingiest collection +of shabby buildings ever squeezed together in a rank corner as a club +for Tom-cats. + +We entered this haven through a wicket-gate, and were disgorged by an +introductory passage into a melancholy little square that looked to me +like a flat burying-ground. I thought it had the most dismal trees in +it, and the most dismal sparrows, and the most dismal cats, and the +most dismal houses (in number half a dozen or so), that I had ever +seen. I thought the windows of the sets of chambers into which those +houses were divided were in every stage of dilapidated blind and +curtain, crippled flower-pot, cracked glass, dusty decay, and miserable +makeshift; while To Let, To Let, To Let, glared at me from empty rooms, +as if no new wretches ever came there, and the vengeance of the soul of +Barnard were being slowly appeased by the gradual suicide of the +present occupants and their unholy interment under the gravel. A frowzy +mourning of soot and smoke attired this forlorn creation of Barnard, +and it had strewn ashes on its head, and was undergoing penance and +humiliation as a mere dust-hole. Thus far my sense of sight; while dry +rot and wet rot and all the silent rots that rot in neglected roof and +cellar,—rot of rat and mouse and bug and coaching-stables near at hand +besides—addressed themselves faintly to my sense of smell, and moaned, +“Try Barnard’s Mixture.” + +So imperfect was this realisation of the first of my great +expectations, that I looked in dismay at Mr. Wemmick. “Ah!” said he, +mistaking me; “the retirement reminds you of the country. So it does +me.” + +He led me into a corner and conducted me up a flight of stairs,—which +appeared to me to be slowly collapsing into sawdust, so that one of +those days the upper lodgers would look out at their doors and find +themselves without the means of coming down,—to a set of chambers on +the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was +a label on the letter-box, “Return shortly.” + +“He hardly thought you’d come so soon,” Mr. Wemmick explained. “You +don’t want me any more?” + +“No, thank you,” said I. + +“As I keep the cash,” Mr. Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet +pretty often. Good day.” + +“Good day.” + +I put out my hand, and Mr. Wemmick at first looked at it as if he +thought I wanted something. Then he looked at me, and said, correcting +himself,— + +“To be sure! Yes. You’re in the habit of shaking hands?” + +I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion, +but said yes. + +“I have got so out of it!” said Mr. Wemmick,—“except at last. Very +glad, I’m sure, to make your acquaintance. Good day!” + +When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window +and had nearly beheaded myself, for, the lines had rotted away, and it +came down like the guillotine. Happily it was so quick that I had not +put my head out. After this escape, I was content to take a foggy view +of the Inn through the window’s encrusting dirt, and to stand dolefully +looking out, saying to myself that London was decidedly overrated. + +Mr. Pocket, Junior’s, idea of Shortly was not mine, for I had nearly +maddened myself with looking out for half an hour, and had written my +name with my finger several times in the dirt of every pane in the +window, before I heard footsteps on the stairs. Gradually there arose +before me the hat, head, neckcloth, waistcoat, trousers, boots, of a +member of society of about my own standing. He had a paper-bag under +each arm and a pottle of strawberries in one hand, and was out of +breath. + +“Mr. Pip?” said he. + +“Mr. Pocket?” said I. + +“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “I am extremely sorry; but I knew there was a +coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would +come by that one. The fact is, I have been out on your account,—not +that that is any excuse,—for I thought, coming from the country, you +might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Covent Garden +Market to get it good.” + +For a reason that I had, I felt as if my eyes would start out of my +head. I acknowledged his attention incoherently, and began to think +this was a dream. + +“Dear me!” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “This door sticks so!” + +As he was fast making jam of his fruit by wrestling with the door while +the paper-bags were under his arms, I begged him to allow me to hold +them. He relinquished them with an agreeable smile, and combated with +the door as if it were a wild beast. It yielded so suddenly at last, +that he staggered back upon me, and I staggered back upon the opposite +door, and we both laughed. But still I felt as if my eyes must start +out of my head, and as if this must be a dream. + +“Pray come in,” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “Allow me to lead the way. I +am rather bare here, but I hope you’ll be able to make out tolerably +well till Monday. My father thought you would get on more agreeably +through to-morrow with me than with him, and might like to take a walk +about London. I am sure I shall be very happy to show London to you. As +to our table, you won’t find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied +from our coffee-house here, and (it is only right I should add) at your +expense, such being Mr. Jaggers’s directions. As to our lodging, it’s +not by any means splendid, because I have my own bread to earn, and my +father hasn’t anything to give me, and I shouldn’t be willing to take +it, if he had. This is our sitting-room,—just such chairs and tables +and carpet and so forth, you see, as they could spare from home. You +mustn’t give me credit for the tablecloth and spoons and castors, +because they come for you from the coffee-house. This is my little +bedroom; rather musty, but Barnard’s _is_ musty. This is your bedroom; +the furniture’s hired for the occasion, but I trust it will answer the +purpose; if you should want anything, I’ll go and fetch it. The +chambers are retired, and we shall be alone together, but we shan’t +fight, I dare say. But dear me, I beg your pardon, you’re holding the +fruit all this time. Pray let me take these bags from you. I am quite +ashamed.” + +As I stood opposite to Mr. Pocket, Junior, delivering him the bags, +One, Two, I saw the starting appearance come into his own eyes that I +knew to be in mine, and he said, falling back,— + +“Lord bless me, you’re the prowling boy!” + +“And you,” said I, “are the pale young gentleman!” + + + + +Chapter XXII. + + +The pale young gentleman and I stood contemplating one another in +Barnard’s Inn, until we both burst out laughing. “The idea of its being +you!” said he. “The idea of its being _you_!” said I. And then we +contemplated one another afresh, and laughed again. “Well!” said the +pale young gentleman, reaching out his hand good-humouredly, “it’s all +over now, I hope, and it will be magnanimous in you if you’ll forgive +me for having knocked you about so.” + +I derived from this speech that Mr. Herbert Pocket (for Herbert was the +pale young gentleman’s name) still rather confounded his intention with +his execution. But I made a modest reply, and we shook hands warmly. + +“You hadn’t come into your good fortune at that time?” said Herbert +Pocket. + +“No,” said I. + +“No,” he acquiesced: “I heard it had happened very lately. _I_ was +rather on the lookout for good fortune then.” + +“Indeed?” + +“Yes. Miss Havisham had sent for me, to see if she could take a fancy +to me. But she couldn’t,—at all events, she didn’t.” + +I thought it polite to remark that I was surprised to hear that. + +“Bad taste,” said Herbert, laughing, “but a fact. Yes, she had sent for +me on a trial visit, and if I had come out of it successfully, I +suppose I should have been provided for; perhaps I should have been +what-you-may-called it to Estella.” + +“What’s that?” I asked, with sudden gravity. + +He was arranging his fruit in plates while we talked, which divided his +attention, and was the cause of his having made this lapse of a word. +“Affianced,” he explained, still busy with the fruit. “Betrothed. +Engaged. What’s-his-named. Any word of that sort.” + +“How did you bear your disappointment?” I asked. + +“Pooh!” said he, “I didn’t care much for it. _She’s_ a Tartar.” + +“Miss Havisham?” + +“I don’t say no to that, but I meant Estella. That girl’s hard and +haughty and capricious to the last degree, and has been brought up by +Miss Havisham to wreak revenge on all the male sex.” + +“What relation is she to Miss Havisham?” + +“None,” said he. “Only adopted.” + +“Why should she wreak revenge on all the male sex? What revenge?” + +“Lord, Mr. Pip!” said he. “Don’t you know?” + +“No,” said I. + +“Dear me! It’s quite a story, and shall be saved till dinner-time. And +now let me take the liberty of asking you a question. How did you come +there, that day?” + +I told him, and he was attentive until I had finished, and then burst +out laughing again, and asked me if I was sore afterwards? I didn’t ask +him if _he_ was, for my conviction on that point was perfectly +established. + +“Mr. Jaggers is your guardian, I understand?” he went on. + +“Yes.” + +“You know he is Miss Havisham’s man of business and solicitor, and has +her confidence when nobody else has?” + +This was bringing me (I felt) towards dangerous ground. I answered with +a constraint I made no attempt to disguise, that I had seen Mr. Jaggers +in Miss Havisham’s house on the very day of our combat, but never at +any other time, and that I believed he had no recollection of having +ever seen me there. + +“He was so obliging as to suggest my father for your tutor, and he +called on my father to propose it. Of course he knew about my father +from his connection with Miss Havisham. My father is Miss Havisham’s +cousin; not that that implies familiar intercourse between them, for he +is a bad courtier and will not propitiate her.” + +Herbert Pocket had a frank and easy way with him that was very taking. +I had never seen any one then, and I have never seen any one since, who +more strongly expressed to me, in every look and tone, a natural +incapacity to do anything secret and mean. There was something +wonderfully hopeful about his general air, and something that at the +same time whispered to me he would never be very successful or rich. I +don’t know how this was. I became imbued with the notion on that first +occasion before we sat down to dinner, but I cannot define by what +means. + +He was still a pale young gentleman, and had a certain conquered +languor about him in the midst of his spirits and briskness, that did +not seem indicative of natural strength. He had not a handsome face, +but it was better than handsome: being extremely amiable and cheerful. +His figure was a little ungainly, as in the days when my knuckles had +taken such liberties with it, but it looked as if it would always be +light and young. Whether Mr. Trabb’s local work would have sat more +gracefully on him than on me, may be a question; but I am conscious +that he carried off his rather old clothes much better than I carried +off my new suit. + +As he was so communicative, I felt that reserve on my part would be a +bad return unsuited to our years. I therefore told him my small story, +and laid stress on my being forbidden to inquire who my benefactor was. +I further mentioned that as I had been brought up a blacksmith in a +country place, and knew very little of the ways of politeness, I would +take it as a great kindness in him if he would give me a hint whenever +he saw me at a loss or going wrong. + +“With pleasure,” said he, “though I venture to prophesy that you’ll +want very few hints. I dare say we shall be often together, and I +should like to banish any needless restraint between us. Will you do me +the favour to begin at once to call me by my Christian name, Herbert?” + +I thanked him and said I would. I informed him in exchange that my +Christian name was Philip. + +“I don’t take to Philip,” said he, smiling, “for it sounds like a moral +boy out of the spelling-book, who was so lazy that he fell into a pond, +or so fat that he couldn’t see out of his eyes, or so avaricious that +he locked up his cake till the mice ate it, or so determined to go a +bird’s-nesting that he got himself eaten by bears who lived handy in +the neighbourhood. I tell you what I should like. We are so harmonious, +and you have been a blacksmith,—would you mind it?” + +“I shouldn’t mind anything that you propose,” I answered, “but I don’t +understand you.” + +“Would you mind Handel for a familiar name? There’s a charming piece of +music by Handel, called the Harmonious Blacksmith.” + +“I should like it very much.” + +“Then, my dear Handel,” said he, turning round as the door opened, +“here is the dinner, and I must beg of you to take the top of the +table, because the dinner is of your providing.” + +This I would not hear of, so he took the top, and I faced him. It was a +nice little dinner,—seemed to me then a very Lord Mayor’s Feast,—and it +acquired additional relish from being eaten under those independent +circumstances, with no old people by, and with London all around us. +This again was heightened by a certain gypsy character that set the +banquet off; for while the table was, as Mr. Pumblechook might have +said, the lap of luxury,—being entirely furnished forth from the +coffee-house,—the circumjacent region of sitting-room was of a +comparatively pastureless and shifty character; imposing on the waiter +the wandering habits of putting the covers on the floor (where he fell +over them), the melted butter in the arm-chair, the bread on the +bookshelves, the cheese in the coal-scuttle, and the boiled fowl into +my bed in the next room,—where I found much of its parsley and butter +in a state of congelation when I retired for the night. All this made +the feast delightful, and when the waiter was not there to watch me, my +pleasure was without alloy. + +We had made some progress in the dinner, when I reminded Herbert of his +promise to tell me about Miss Havisham. + +“True,” he replied. “I’ll redeem it at once. Let me introduce the +topic, Handel, by mentioning that in London it is not the custom to put +the knife in the mouth,—for fear of accidents,—and that while the fork +is reserved for that use, it is not put further in than necessary. It +is scarcely worth mentioning, only it’s as well to do as other people +do. Also, the spoon is not generally used over-hand, but under. This +has two advantages. You get at your mouth better (which after all is +the object), and you save a good deal of the attitude of opening +oysters, on the part of the right elbow.” + +He offered these friendly suggestions in such a lively way, that we +both laughed and I scarcely blushed. + +“Now,” he pursued, “concerning Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham, you must +know, was a spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her +father denied her nothing. Her father was a country gentleman down in +your part of the world, and was a brewer. I don’t know why it should be +a crack thing to be a brewer; but it is indisputable that while you +cannot possibly be genteel and bake, you may be as genteel as never was +and brew. You see it every day.” + +“Yet a gentleman may not keep a public-house; may he?” said I. + +“Not on any account,” returned Herbert; “but a public-house may keep a +gentleman. Well! Mr. Havisham was very rich and very proud. So was his +daughter.” + +“Miss Havisham was an only child?” I hazarded. + +“Stop a moment, I am coming to that. No, she was not an only child; she +had a half-brother. Her father privately married again—his cook, I +rather think.” + +“I thought he was proud,” said I. + +“My good Handel, so he was. He married his second wife privately, +because he was proud, and in course of time _she_ died. When she was +dead, I apprehend he first told his daughter what he had done, and then +the son became a part of the family, residing in the house you are +acquainted with. As the son grew a young man, he turned out riotous, +extravagant, undutiful,—altogether bad. At last his father disinherited +him; but he softened when he was dying, and left him well off, though +not nearly so well off as Miss Havisham.—Take another glass of wine, +and excuse my mentioning that society as a body does not expect one to +be so strictly conscientious in emptying one’s glass, as to turn it +bottom upwards with the rim on one’s nose.” + +I had been doing this, in an excess of attention to his recital. I +thanked him, and apologised. He said, “Not at all,” and resumed. + +“Miss Havisham was now an heiress, and you may suppose was looked after +as a great match. Her half-brother had now ample means again, but what +with debts and what with new madness wasted them most fearfully again. +There were stronger differences between him and her than there had been +between him and his father, and it is suspected that he cherished a +deep and mortal grudge against her as having influenced the father’s +anger. Now, I come to the cruel part of the story,—merely breaking off, +my dear Handel, to remark that a dinner-napkin will not go into a +tumbler.” + +Why I was trying to pack mine into my tumbler, I am wholly unable to +say. I only know that I found myself, with a perseverance worthy of a +much better cause, making the most strenuous exertions to compress it +within those limits. Again I thanked him and apologised, and again he +said in the cheerfullest manner, “Not at all, I am sure!” and resumed. + +“There appeared upon the scene—say at the races, or the public balls, +or anywhere else you like—a certain man, who made love to Miss +Havisham. I never saw him (for this happened five-and-twenty years ago, +before you and I were, Handel), but I have heard my father mention that +he was a showy man, and the kind of man for the purpose. But that he +was not to be, without ignorance or prejudice, mistaken for a +gentleman, my father most strongly asseverates; because it is a +principle of his that no man who was not a true gentleman at heart ever +was, since the world began, a true gentleman in manner. He says, no +varnish can hide the grain of the wood; and that the more varnish you +put on, the more the grain will express itself. Well! This man pursued +Miss Havisham closely, and professed to be devoted to her. I believe +she had not shown much susceptibility up to that time; but all the +susceptibility she possessed certainly came out then, and she +passionately loved him. There is no doubt that she perfectly idolized +him. He practised on her affection in that systematic way, that he got +great sums of money from her, and he induced her to buy her brother out +of a share in the brewery (which had been weakly left him by his +father) at an immense price, on the plea that when he was her husband +he must hold and manage it all. Your guardian was not at that time in +Miss Havisham’s counsels, and she was too haughty and too much in love +to be advised by any one. Her relations were poor and scheming, with +the exception of my father; he was poor enough, but not time-serving or +jealous. The only independent one among them, he warned her that she +was doing too much for this man, and was placing herself too +unreservedly in his power. She took the first opportunity of angrily +ordering my father out of the house, in his presence, and my father has +never seen her since.” + +I thought of her having said, “Matthew will come and see me at last +when I am laid dead upon that table;” and I asked Herbert whether his +father was so inveterate against her? + +“It’s not that,” said he, “but she charged him, in the presence of her +intended husband, with being disappointed in the hope of fawning upon +her for his own advancement, and, if he were to go to her now, it would +look true—even to him—and even to her. To return to the man and make an +end of him. The marriage day was fixed, the wedding dresses were +bought, the wedding tour was planned out, the wedding guests were +invited. The day came, but not the bridegroom. He wrote her a letter—” + +“Which she received,” I struck in, “when she was dressing for her +marriage? At twenty minutes to nine?” + +“At the hour and minute,” said Herbert, nodding, “at which she +afterwards stopped all the clocks. What was in it, further than that it +most heartlessly broke the marriage off, I can’t tell you, because I +don’t know. When she recovered from a bad illness that she had, she +laid the whole place waste, as you have seen it, and she has never +since looked upon the light of day.” + +“Is that all the story?” I asked, after considering it. + +“All I know of it; and indeed I only know so much, through piecing it +out for myself; for my father always avoids it, and, even when Miss +Havisham invited me to go there, told me no more of it than it was +absolutely requisite I should understand. But I have forgotten one +thing. It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her misplaced +confidence acted throughout in concert with her half-brother; that it +was a conspiracy between them; and that they shared the profits.” + +“I wonder he didn’t marry her and get all the property,” said I. + +“He may have been married already, and her cruel mortification may have +been a part of her half-brother’s scheme,” said Herbert. “Mind! I don’t +know that.” + +“What became of the two men?” I asked, after again considering the +subject. + +“They fell into deeper shame and degradation—if there can be deeper—and +ruin.” + +“Are they alive now?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“You said just now that Estella was not related to Miss Havisham, but +adopted. When adopted?” + +Herbert shrugged his shoulders. “There has always been an Estella, +since I have heard of a Miss Havisham. I know no more. And now, +Handel,” said he, finally throwing off the story as it were, “there is +a perfectly open understanding between us. All that I know about Miss +Havisham, you know.” + +“And all that I know,” I retorted, “you know.” + +“I fully believe it. So there can be no competition or perplexity +between you and me. And as to the condition on which you hold your +advancement in life,—namely, that you are not to inquire or discuss to +whom you owe it,—you may be very sure that it will never be encroached +upon, or even approached, by me, or by any one belonging to me.” + +In truth, he said this with so much delicacy, that I felt the subject +done with, even though I should be under his father’s roof for years +and years to come. Yet he said it with so much meaning, too, that I +felt he as perfectly understood Miss Havisham to be my benefactress, as +I understood the fact myself. + +It had not occurred to me before, that he had led up to the theme for +the purpose of clearing it out of our way; but we were so much the +lighter and easier for having broached it, that I now perceived this to +be the case. We were very gay and sociable, and I asked him, in the +course of conversation, what he was? He replied, “A capitalist,—an +Insurer of Ships.” I suppose he saw me glancing about the room in +search of some tokens of Shipping, or capital, for he added, “In the +City.” + +I had grand ideas of the wealth and importance of Insurers of Ships in +the City, and I began to think with awe of having laid a young Insurer +on his back, blackened his enterprising eye, and cut his responsible +head open. But again there came upon me, for my relief, that odd +impression that Herbert Pocket would never be very successful or rich. + +“I shall not rest satisfied with merely employing my capital in +insuring ships. I shall buy up some good Life Assurance shares, and cut +into the Direction. I shall also do a little in the mining way. None of +these things will interfere with my chartering a few thousand tons on +my own account. I think I shall trade,” said he, leaning back in his +chair, “to the East Indies, for silks, shawls, spices, dyes, drugs, and +precious woods. It’s an interesting trade.” + +“And the profits are large?” said I. + +“Tremendous!” said he. + +I wavered again, and began to think here were greater expectations than +my own. + +[Illustration] + +“I think I shall trade, also,” said he, putting his thumbs in his +waist-coat pockets, “to the West Indies, for sugar, tobacco, and rum. +Also to Ceylon, especially for elephants’ tusks.” + +“You will want a good many ships,” said I. + +“A perfect fleet,” said he. + +Quite overpowered by the magnificence of these transactions, I asked +him where the ships he insured mostly traded to at present? + +“I haven’t begun insuring yet,” he replied. “I am looking about me.” + +Somehow, that pursuit seemed more in keeping with Barnard’s Inn. I said +(in a tone of conviction), “Ah-h!” + +“Yes. I am in a counting-house, and looking about me.” + +“Is a counting-house profitable?” I asked. + +“To—do you mean to the young fellow who’s in it?” he asked, in reply. + +“Yes; to you.” + +“Why, n-no; not to me.” He said this with the air of one carefully +reckoning up and striking a balance. “Not directly profitable. That is, +it doesn’t pay me anything, and I have to—keep myself.” + +This certainly had not a profitable appearance, and I shook my head as +if I would imply that it would be difficult to lay by much accumulative +capital from such a source of income. + +“But the thing is,” said Herbert Pocket, “that you look about you. +_That’s_ the grand thing. You are in a counting-house, you know, and +you look about you.” + +It struck me as a singular implication that you couldn’t be out of a +counting-house, you know, and look about you; but I silently deferred +to his experience. + +“Then the time comes,” said Herbert, “when you see your opening. And +you go in, and you swoop upon it and you make your capital, and then +there you are! When you have once made your capital, you have nothing +to do but employ it.” + +This was very like his way of conducting that encounter in the garden; +very like. His manner of bearing his poverty, too, exactly corresponded +to his manner of bearing that defeat. It seemed to me that he took all +blows and buffets now with just the same air as he had taken mine then. +It was evident that he had nothing around him but the simplest +necessaries, for everything that I remarked upon turned out to have +been sent in on my account from the coffee-house or somewhere else. + +Yet, having already made his fortune in his own mind, he was so +unassuming with it that I felt quite grateful to him for not being +puffed up. It was a pleasant addition to his naturally pleasant ways, +and we got on famously. In the evening we went out for a walk in the +streets, and went half-price to the Theatre; and next day we went to +church at Westminster Abbey, and in the afternoon we walked in the +Parks; and I wondered who shod all the horses there, and wished Joe +did. + +On a moderate computation, it was many months, that Sunday, since I had +left Joe and Biddy. The space interposed between myself and them +partook of that expansion, and our marshes were any distance off. That +I could have been at our old church in my old church-going clothes, on +the very last Sunday that ever was, seemed a combination of +impossibilities, geographical and social, solar and lunar. Yet in the +London streets so crowded with people and so brilliantly lighted in the +dusk of evening, there were depressing hints of reproaches for that I +had put the poor old kitchen at home so far away; and in the dead of +night, the footsteps of some incapable impostor of a porter mooning +about Barnard’s Inn, under pretence of watching it, fell hollow on my +heart. + +On the Monday morning at a quarter before nine, Herbert went to the +counting-house to report himself,—to look about him, too, I +suppose,—and I bore him company. He was to come away in an hour or two +to attend me to Hammersmith, and I was to wait about for him. It +appeared to me that the eggs from which young Insurers were hatched +were incubated in dust and heat, like the eggs of ostriches, judging +from the places to which those incipient giants repaired on a Monday +morning. Nor did the counting-house where Herbert assisted, show in my +eyes as at all a good Observatory; being a back second floor up a yard, +of a grimy presence in all particulars, and with a look into another +back second floor, rather than a look out. + +I waited about until it was noon, and I went upon ’Change, and I saw +fluey men sitting there under the bills about shipping, whom I took to +be great merchants, though I couldn’t understand why they should all be +out of spirits. When Herbert came, we went and had lunch at a +celebrated house which I then quite venerated, but now believe to have +been the most abject superstition in Europe, and where I could not help +noticing, even then, that there was much more gravy on the tablecloths +and knives and waiters’ clothes, than in the steaks. This collation +disposed of at a moderate price (considering the grease, which was not +charged for), we went back to Barnard’s Inn and got my little +portmanteau, and then took coach for Hammersmith. We arrived there at +two or three o’clock in the afternoon, and had very little way to walk +to Mr. Pocket’s house. Lifting the latch of a gate, we passed direct +into a little garden overlooking the river, where Mr. Pocket’s children +were playing about. And unless I deceive myself on a point where my +interests or prepossessions are certainly not concerned, I saw that Mr. +and Mrs. Pocket’s children were not growing up or being brought up, but +were tumbling up. + +Mrs. Pocket was sitting on a garden chair under a tree, reading, with +her legs upon another garden chair; and Mrs. Pocket’s two nurse-maids +were looking about them while the children played. “Mamma,” said +Herbert, “this is young Mr. Pip.” Upon which Mrs. Pocket received me +with an appearance of amiable dignity. + +“Master Alick and Miss Jane,” cried one of the nurses to two of the +children, “if you go a bouncing up against them bushes you’ll fall over +into the river and be drownded, and what’ll your pa say then?” + +At the same time this nurse picked up Mrs. Pocket’s handkerchief, and +said, “If that don’t make six times you’ve dropped it, Mum!” Upon which +Mrs. Pocket laughed and said, “Thank you, Flopson,” and settling +herself in one chair only, resumed her book. Her countenance +immediately assumed a knitted and intent expression as if she had been +reading for a week, but before she could have read half a dozen lines, +she fixed her eyes upon me, and said, “I hope your mamma is quite +well?” This unexpected inquiry put me into such a difficulty that I +began saying in the absurdest way that if there had been any such +person I had no doubt she would have been quite well and would have +been very much obliged and would have sent her compliments, when the +nurse came to my rescue. + +“Well!” she cried, picking up the pocket-handkerchief, “if that don’t +make seven times! What ARE you a-doing of this afternoon, Mum!” Mrs. +Pocket received her property, at first with a look of unutterable +surprise as if she had never seen it before, and then with a laugh of +recognition, and said, “Thank you, Flopson,” and forgot me, and went on +reading. + +I found, now I had leisure to count them, that there were no fewer than +six little Pockets present, in various stages of tumbling up. I had +scarcely arrived at the total when a seventh was heard, as in the +region of air, wailing dolefully. + +“If there ain’t Baby!” said Flopson, appearing to think it most +surprising. “Make haste up, Millers.” + +Millers, who was the other nurse, retired into the house, and by +degrees the child’s wailing was hushed and stopped, as if it were a +young ventriloquist with something in its mouth. Mrs. Pocket read all +the time, and I was curious to know what the book could be. + +We were waiting, I supposed, for Mr. Pocket to come out to us; at any +rate we waited there, and so I had an opportunity of observing the +remarkable family phenomenon that whenever any of the children strayed +near Mrs. Pocket in their play, they always tripped themselves up and +tumbled over her,—always very much to her momentary astonishment, and +their own more enduring lamentation. I was at a loss to account for +this surprising circumstance, and could not help giving my mind to +speculations about it, until by and by Millers came down with the baby, +which baby was handed to Flopson, which Flopson was handing it to Mrs. +Pocket, when she too went fairly head foremost over Mrs. Pocket, baby +and all, and was caught by Herbert and myself. + +“Gracious me, Flopson!” said Mrs. Pocket, looking off her book for a +moment, “everybody’s tumbling!” + +“Gracious you, indeed, Mum!” returned Flopson, very red in the face; +“what have you got there?” + +“_I_ got here, Flopson?” asked Mrs. Pocket. + +“Why, if it ain’t your footstool!” cried Flopson. “And if you keep it +under your skirts like that, who’s to help tumbling? Here! Take the +baby, Mum, and give me your book.” + +Mrs. Pocket acted on the advice, and inexpertly danced the infant a +little in her lap, while the other children played about it. This had +lasted but a very short time, when Mrs. Pocket issued summary orders +that they were all to be taken into the house for a nap. Thus I made +the second discovery on that first occasion, that the nurture of the +little Pockets consisted of alternately tumbling up and lying down. + +Under these circumstances, when Flopson and Millers had got the +children into the house, like a little flock of sheep, and Mr. Pocket +came out of it to make my acquaintance, I was not much surprised to +find that Mr. Pocket was a gentleman with a rather perplexed expression +of face, and with his very grey hair disordered on his head, as if he +didn’t quite see his way to putting anything straight. + + + + +Chapter XXIII. + + +Mr. Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry to +see him. “For, I really am not,” he added, with his son’s smile, “an +alarming personage.” He was a young-looking man, in spite of his +perplexities and his very grey hair, and his manner seemed quite +natural. I use the word natural, in the sense of its being unaffected; +there was something comic in his distraught way, as though it would +have been downright ludicrous but for his own perception that it was +very near being so. When he had talked with me a little, he said to +Mrs. Pocket, with a rather anxious contraction of his eyebrows, which +were black and handsome, “Belinda, I hope you have welcomed Mr. Pip?” +And she looked up from her book, and said, “Yes.” She then smiled upon +me in an absent state of mind, and asked me if I liked the taste of +orange-flower water? As the question had no bearing, near or remote, on +any foregone or subsequent transaction, I consider it to have been +thrown out, like her previous approaches, in general conversational +condescension. + +I found out within a few hours, and may mention at once, that Mrs. +Pocket was the only daughter of a certain quite accidental deceased +Knight, who had invented for himself a conviction that his deceased +father would have been made a Baronet but for somebody’s determined +opposition arising out of entirely personal motives,—I forget whose, if +I ever knew,—the Sovereign’s, the Prime Minister’s, the Lord +Chancellor’s, the Archbishop of Canterbury’s, anybody’s,—and had tacked +himself on to the nobles of the earth in right of this quite +supposititious fact. I believe he had been knighted himself for +storming the English grammar at the point of the pen, in a desperate +address engrossed on vellum, on the occasion of the laying of the first +stone of some building or other, and for handing some Royal Personage +either the trowel or the mortar. Be that as it may, he had directed +Mrs. Pocket to be brought up from her cradle as one who in the nature +of things must marry a title, and who was to be guarded from the +acquisition of plebeian domestic knowledge. + +So successful a watch and ward had been established over the young lady +by this judicious parent, that she had grown up highly ornamental, but +perfectly helpless and useless. With her character thus happily formed, +in the first bloom of her youth she had encountered Mr. Pocket: who was +also in the first bloom of youth, and not quite decided whether to +mount to the Woolsack, or to roof himself in with a mitre. As his doing +the one or the other was a mere question of time, he and Mrs. Pocket +had taken Time by the forelock (when, to judge from its length, it +would seem to have wanted cutting), and had married without the +knowledge of the judicious parent. The judicious parent, having nothing +to bestow or withhold but his blessing, had handsomely settled that +dower upon them after a short struggle, and had informed Mr. Pocket +that his wife was “a treasure for a Prince.” Mr. Pocket had invested +the Prince’s treasure in the ways of the world ever since, and it was +supposed to have brought him in but indifferent interest. Still, Mrs. +Pocket was in general the object of a queer sort of respectful pity, +because she had not married a title; while Mr. Pocket was the object of +a queer sort of forgiving reproach, because he had never got one. + +Mr. Pocket took me into the house and showed me my room: which was a +pleasant one, and so furnished as that I could use it with comfort for +my own private sitting-room. He then knocked at the doors of two other +similar rooms, and introduced me to their occupants, by name Drummle +and Startop. Drummle, an old-looking young man of a heavy order of +architecture, was whistling. Startop, younger in years and appearance, +was reading and holding his head, as if he thought himself in danger of +exploding it with too strong a charge of knowledge. + +Both Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had such a noticeable air of being in somebody +else’s hands, that I wondered who really was in possession of the house +and let them live there, until I found this unknown power to be the +servants. It was a smooth way of going on, perhaps, in respect of +saving trouble; but it had the appearance of being expensive, for the +servants felt it a duty they owed to themselves to be nice in their +eating and drinking, and to keep a deal of company downstairs. They +allowed a very liberal table to Mr. and Mrs. Pocket, yet it always +appeared to me that by far the best part of the house to have boarded +in would have been the kitchen,—always supposing the boarder capable of +self-defence, for, before I had been there a week, a neighbouring lady +with whom the family were personally unacquainted, wrote in to say that +she had seen Millers slapping the baby. This greatly distressed Mrs. +Pocket, who burst into tears on receiving the note, and said that it +was an extraordinary thing that the neighbours couldn’t mind their own +business. + +By degrees I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had been +educated at Harrow and at Cambridge, where he had distinguished +himself; but that when he had had the happiness of marrying Mrs. Pocket +very early in life, he had impaired his prospects and taken up the +calling of a Grinder. After grinding a number of dull blades,—of whom +it was remarkable that their fathers, when influential, were always +going to help him to preferment, but always forgot to do it when the +blades had left the Grindstone,—he had wearied of that poor work and +had come to London. Here, after gradually failing in loftier hopes, he +had “read” with divers who had lacked opportunities or neglected them, +and had refurbished divers others for special occasions, and had turned +his acquirements to the account of literary compilation and correction, +and on such means, added to some very moderate private resources, still +maintained the house I saw. + +Mr. and Mrs. Pocket had a toady neighbour; a widow lady of that highly +sympathetic nature that she agreed with everybody, blessed everybody, +and shed smiles and tears on everybody, according to circumstances. +This lady’s name was Mrs. Coiler, and I had the honour of taking her +down to dinner on the day of my installation. She gave me to understand +on the stairs, that it was a blow to dear Mrs. Pocket that dear Mr. +Pocket should be under the necessity of receiving gentlemen to read +with him. That did not extend to me, she told me in a gush of love and +confidence (at that time, I had known her something less than five +minutes); if they were all like Me, it would be quite another thing. + +“But dear Mrs. Pocket,” said Mrs. Coiler, “after her early +disappointment (not that dear Mr. Pocket was to blame in that), +requires so much luxury and elegance—” + +“Yes, ma’am,” I said, to stop her, for I was afraid she was going to +cry. + +“And she is of so aristocratic a disposition—” + +“Yes, ma’am,” I said again, with the same object as before. + +“—That it _is_ hard,” said Mrs. Coiler, “to have dear Mr. Pocket’s time +and attention diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket.” + +I could not help thinking that it might be harder if the butcher’s time +and attention were diverted from dear Mrs. Pocket; but I said nothing, +and indeed had enough to do in keeping a bashful watch upon my company +manners. + +It came to my knowledge, through what passed between Mrs. Pocket and +Drummle while I was attentive to my knife and fork, spoon, glasses, and +other instruments of self-destruction, that Drummle, whose Christian +name was Bentley, was actually the next heir but one to a baronetcy. It +further appeared that the book I had seen Mrs. Pocket reading in the +garden was all about titles, and that she knew the exact date at which +her grandpapa would have come into the book, if he ever had come at +all. Drummle didn’t say much, but in his limited way (he struck me as a +sulky kind of fellow) he spoke as one of the elect, and recognised Mrs. +Pocket as a woman and a sister. No one but themselves and Mrs. Coiler +the toady neighbour showed any interest in this part of the +conversation, and it appeared to me that it was painful to Herbert; but +it promised to last a long time, when the page came in with the +announcement of a domestic affliction. It was, in effect, that the cook +had mislaid the beef. To my unutterable amazement, I now, for the first +time, saw Mr. Pocket relieve his mind by going through a performance +that struck me as very extraordinary, but which made no impression on +anybody else, and with which I soon became as familiar as the rest. He +laid down the carving-knife and fork,—being engaged in carving, at the +moment,—put his two hands into his disturbed hair, and appeared to make +an extraordinary effort to lift himself up by it. When he had done +this, and had not lifted himself up at all, he quietly went on with +what he was about. + +Mrs. Coiler then changed the subject and began to flatter me. I liked +it for a few moments, but she flattered me so very grossly that the +pleasure was soon over. She had a serpentine way of coming close at me +when she pretended to be vitally interested in the friends and +localities I had left, which was altogether snaky and fork-tongued; and +when she made an occasional bounce upon Startop (who said very little +to her), or upon Drummle (who said less), I rather envied them for +being on the opposite side of the table. + +After dinner the children were introduced, and Mrs. Coiler made +admiring comments on their eyes, noses, and legs,—a sagacious way of +improving their minds. There were four little girls, and two little +boys, besides the baby who might have been either, and the baby’s next +successor who was as yet neither. They were brought in by Flopson and +Millers, much as though those two non-commissioned officers had been +recruiting somewhere for children and had enlisted these, while Mrs. +Pocket looked at the young Nobles that ought to have been as if she +rather thought she had had the pleasure of inspecting them before, but +didn’t quite know what to make of them. + +“Here! Give me your fork, Mum, and take the baby,” said Flopson. “Don’t +take it that way, or you’ll get its head under the table.” + +Thus advised, Mrs. Pocket took it the other way, and got its head upon +the table; which was announced to all present by a prodigious +concussion. + +“Dear, dear! Give it me back, Mum,” said Flopson; “and Miss Jane, come +and dance to baby, do!” + +One of the little girls, a mere mite who seemed to have prematurely +taken upon herself some charge of the others, stepped out of her place +by me, and danced to and from the baby until it left off crying, and +laughed. Then, all the children laughed, and Mr. Pocket (who in the +meantime had twice endeavoured to lift himself up by the hair) laughed, +and we all laughed and were glad. + +Flopson, by dint of doubling the baby at the joints like a Dutch doll, +then got it safely into Mrs. Pocket’s lap, and gave it the nut-crackers +to play with; at the same time recommending Mrs. Pocket to take notice +that the handles of that instrument were not likely to agree with its +eyes, and sharply charging Miss Jane to look after the same. Then, the +two nurses left the room, and had a lively scuffle on the staircase +with a dissipated page who had waited at dinner, and who had clearly +lost half his buttons at the gaming-table. + +I was made very uneasy in my mind by Mrs. Pocket’s falling into a +discussion with Drummle respecting two baronetcies, while she ate a +sliced orange steeped in sugar and wine, and, forgetting all about the +baby on her lap, who did most appalling things with the nut-crackers. +At length little Jane, perceiving its young brains to be imperilled, +softly left her place, and with many small artifices coaxed the +dangerous weapon away. Mrs. Pocket finishing her orange at about the +same time, and not approving of this, said to Jane,— + +“You naughty child, how dare you? Go and sit down this instant!” + +“Mamma dear,” lisped the little girl, “baby ood have put hith eyeth +out.” + +“How dare you tell me so?” retorted Mrs. Pocket. “Go and sit down in +your chair this moment!” + +Mrs. Pocket’s dignity was so crushing, that I felt quite abashed, as if +I myself had done something to rouse it. + +“Belinda,” remonstrated Mr. Pocket, from the other end of the table, +“how can you be so unreasonable? Jane only interfered for the +protection of baby.” + +“I will not allow anybody to interfere,” said Mrs. Pocket. “I am +surprised, Matthew, that you should expose me to the affront of +interference.” + +“Good God!” cried Mr. Pocket, in an outbreak of desolate desperation. +“Are infants to be nut-crackered into their tombs, and is nobody to +save them?” + +“I will not be interfered with by Jane,” said Mrs. Pocket, with a +majestic glance at that innocent little offender. “I hope I know my +poor grandpapa’s position. Jane, indeed!” + +Mr. Pocket got his hands in his hair again, and this time really did +lift himself some inches out of his chair. “Hear this!” he helplessly +exclaimed to the elements. “Babies are to be nut-crackered dead, for +people’s poor grandpapa’s positions!” Then he let himself down again, +and became silent. + +We all looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on. A +pause succeeded, during which the honest and irrepressible baby made a +series of leaps and crows at little Jane, who appeared to me to be the +only member of the family (irrespective of servants) with whom it had +any decided acquaintance. + +“Mr. Drummle,” said Mrs. Pocket, “will you ring for Flopson? Jane, you +undutiful little thing, go and lie down. Now, baby darling, come with +ma!” + +The baby was the soul of honour, and protested with all its might. It +doubled itself up the wrong way over Mrs. Pocket’s arm, exhibited a +pair of knitted shoes and dimpled ankles to the company in lieu of its +soft face, and was carried out in the highest state of mutiny. And it +gained its point after all, for I saw it through the window within a +few minutes, being nursed by little Jane. + +It happened that the other five children were left behind at the +dinner-table, through Flopson’s having some private engagement, and +their not being anybody else’s business. I thus became aware of the +mutual relations between them and Mr. Pocket, which were exemplified in +the following manner. Mr. Pocket, with the normal perplexity of his +face heightened and his hair rumpled, looked at them for some minutes, +as if he couldn’t make out how they came to be boarding and lodging in +that establishment, and why they hadn’t been billeted by Nature on +somebody else. Then, in a distant Missionary way he asked them certain +questions,—as why little Joe had that hole in his frill, who said, Pa, +Flopson was going to mend it when she had time,—and how little Fanny +came by that whitlow, who said, Pa, Millers was going to poultice it +when she didn’t forget. Then, he melted into parental tenderness, and +gave them a shilling apiece and told them to go and play; and then as +they went out, with one very strong effort to lift himself up by the +hair he dismissed the hopeless subject. + +In the evening there was rowing on the river. As Drummle and Startop +had each a boat, I resolved to set up mine, and to cut them both out. I +was pretty good at most exercises in which country boys are adepts, but +as I was conscious of wanting elegance of style for the Thames,—not to +say for other waters,—I at once engaged to place myself under the +tuition of the winner of a prize-wherry who plied at our stairs, and to +whom I was introduced by my new allies. This practical authority +confused me very much by saying I had the arm of a blacksmith. If he +could have known how nearly the compliment lost him his pupil, I doubt +if he would have paid it. + +There was a supper-tray after we got home at night, and I think we +should all have enjoyed ourselves, but for a rather disagreeable +domestic occurrence. Mr. Pocket was in good spirits, when a housemaid +came in, and said, “If you please, sir, I should wish to speak to you.” + +“Speak to your master?” said Mrs. Pocket, whose dignity was roused +again. “How can you think of such a thing? Go and speak to Flopson. Or +speak to me—at some other time.” + +“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” returned the housemaid, “I should wish to +speak at once, and to speak to master.” + +Hereupon, Mr. Pocket went out of the room, and we made the best of +ourselves until he came back. + +“This is a pretty thing, Belinda!” said Mr. Pocket, returning with a +countenance expressive of grief and despair. “Here’s the cook lying +insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh +butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!” + +Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, “This is +that odious Sophia’s doing!” + +“What do you mean, Belinda?” demanded Mr. Pocket. + +“Sophia has told you,” said Mrs. Pocket. “Did I not see her with my own +eyes and hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now and ask +to speak to you?” + +“But has she not taken me downstairs, Belinda,” returned Mr. Pocket, +“and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?” + +“And do you defend her, Matthew,” said Mrs. Pocket, “for making +mischief?” + +Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan. + +“Am I, grandpapa’s granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?” said +Mrs. Pocket. “Besides, the cook has always been a very nice respectful +woman, and said in the most natural manner when she came to look after +the situation, that she felt I was born to be a Duchess.” + +There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in the +attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he said, with a +hollow voice, “Good night, Mr. Pip,” when I deemed it advisable to go +to bed and leave him. + + + + +Chapter XXIV. + + +After two or three days, when I had established myself in my room and +had gone backwards and forwards to London several times, and had +ordered all I wanted of my tradesmen, Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk +together. He knew more of my intended career than I knew myself, for he +referred to his having been told by Mr. Jaggers that I was not designed +for any profession, and that I should be well enough educated for my +destiny if I could “hold my own” with the average of young men in +prosperous circumstances. I acquiesced, of course, knowing nothing to +the contrary. + +He advised my attending certain places in London, for the acquisition +of such mere rudiments as I wanted, and my investing him with the +functions of explainer and director of all my studies. He hoped that +with intelligent assistance I should meet with little to discourage me, +and should soon be able to dispense with any aid but his. Through his +way of saying this, and much more to similar purpose, he placed himself +on confidential terms with me in an admirable manner; and I may state +at once that he was always so zealous and honourable in fulfilling his +compact with me, that he made me zealous and honourable in fulfilling +mine with him. If he had shown indifference as a master, I have no +doubt I should have returned the compliment as a pupil; he gave me no +such excuse, and each of us did the other justice. Nor did I ever +regard him as having anything ludicrous about him—or anything but what +was serious, honest, and good—in his tutor communication with me. + +When these points were settled, and so far carried out as that I had +begun to work in earnest, it occurred to me that if I could retain my +bedroom in Barnard’s Inn, my life would be agreeably varied, while my +manners would be none the worse for Herbert’s society. Mr. Pocket did +not object to this arrangement, but urged that before any step could +possibly be taken in it, it must be submitted to my guardian. I felt +that this delicacy arose out of the consideration that the plan would +save Herbert some expense, so I went off to Little Britain and imparted +my wish to Mr. Jaggers. + +“If I could buy the furniture now hired for me,” said I, “and one or +two other little things, I should be quite at home there.” + +“Go it!” said Mr. Jaggers, with a short laugh. “I told you you’d get +on. Well! How much do you want?” + +I said I didn’t know how much. + +“Come!” retorted Mr. Jaggers. “How much? Fifty pounds?” + +“O, not nearly so much.” + +“Five pounds?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +This was such a great fall, that I said in discomfiture, “O, more than +that.” + +“More than that, eh!” retorted Mr. Jaggers, lying in wait for me, with +his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, and his eyes on the +wall behind me; “how much more?” + +“It is so difficult to fix a sum,” said I, hesitating. + +“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Let’s get at it. Twice five; will that do? +Three times five; will that do? Four times five; will that do?” + +I said I thought that would do handsomely. + +“Four times five will do handsomely, will it?” said Mr. Jaggers, +knitting his brows. “Now, what do you make of four times five?” + +“What do I make of it?” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Jaggers; “how much?” + +“I suppose you make it twenty pounds,” said I, smiling. + +“Never mind what _I_ make it, my friend,” observed Mr. Jaggers, with a +knowing and contradictory toss of his head. “I want to know what _you_ +make it.” + +“Twenty pounds, of course.” + +“Wemmick!” said Mr. Jaggers, opening his office door. “Take Mr. Pip’s +written order, and pay him twenty pounds.” + +This strongly marked way of doing business made a strongly marked +impression on me, and that not of an agreeable kind. Mr. Jaggers never +laughed; but he wore great bright creaking boots, and, in poising +himself on these boots, with his large head bent down and his eyebrows +joined together, awaiting an answer, he sometimes caused the boots to +creak, as if _they_ laughed in a dry and suspicious way. As he happened +to go out now, and as Wemmick was brisk and talkative, I said to +Wemmick that I hardly knew what to make of Mr. Jaggers’s manner. + +“Tell him that, and he’ll take it as a compliment,” answered Wemmick; +“he don’t mean that you _should_ know what to make of it.—Oh!” for I +looked surprised, “it’s not personal; it’s professional: only +professional.” + +Wemmick was at his desk, lunching—and crunching—on a dry hard biscuit; +pieces of which he threw from time to time into his slit of a mouth, as +if he were posting them. + +“Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and +was watching it. Suddenly—click—you’re caught!” + +Without remarking that man-traps were not among the amenities of life, +I said I supposed he was very skilful? + +“Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia.” Pointing with his pen at the +office floor, to express that Australia was understood, for the +purposes of the figure, to be symmetrically on the opposite spot of the +globe. “If there was anything deeper,” added Wemmick, bringing his pen +to paper, “he’d be it.” + +Then, I said I supposed he had a fine business, and Wemmick said, +“Ca-pi-tal!” Then I asked if there were many clerks? to which he +replied,— + +“We don’t run much into clerks, because there’s only one Jaggers, and +people won’t have him at second hand. There are only four of us. Would +you like to see ’em? You are one of us, as I may say.” + +I accepted the offer. When Mr. Wemmick had put all the biscuit into the +post, and had paid me my money from a cash-box in a safe, the key of +which safe he kept somewhere down his back and produced from his +coat-collar like an iron-pigtail, we went upstairs. The house was dark +and shabby, and the greasy shoulders that had left their mark in Mr. +Jaggers’s room seemed to have been shuffling up and down the staircase +for years. In the front first floor, a clerk who looked something +between a publican and a rat-catcher—a large pale, puffed, swollen +man—was attentively engaged with three or four people of shabby +appearance, whom he treated as unceremoniously as everybody seemed to +be treated who contributed to Mr. Jaggers’s coffers. “Getting evidence +together,” said Mr. Wemmick, as we came out, “for the Bailey.” In the +room over that, a little flabby terrier of a clerk with dangling hair +(his cropping seemed to have been forgotten when he was a puppy) was +similarly engaged with a man with weak eyes, whom Mr. Wemmick presented +to me as a smelter who kept his pot always boiling, and who would melt +me anything I pleased,—and who was in an excessive white-perspiration, +as if he had been trying his art on himself. In a back room, a +high-shouldered man with a face-ache tied up in dirty flannel, who was +dressed in old black clothes that bore the appearance of having been +waxed, was stooping over his work of making fair copies of the notes of +the other two gentlemen, for Mr. Jaggers’s own use. + +This was all the establishment. When we went downstairs again, Wemmick +led me into my guardian’s room, and said, “This you’ve seen already.” + +“Pray,” said I, as the two odious casts with the twitchy leer upon them +caught my sight again, “whose likenesses are those?” + +“These?” said Wemmick, getting upon a chair, and blowing the dust off +the horrible heads before bringing them down. “These are two celebrated +ones. Famous clients of ours that got us a world of credit. This chap +(why you must have come down in the night and been peeping into the +inkstand, to get this blot upon your eyebrow, you old rascal!) murdered +his master, and, considering that he wasn’t brought up to evidence, +didn’t plan it badly.” + +“Is it like him?” I asked, recoiling from the brute, as Wemmick spat +upon his eyebrow and gave it a rub with his sleeve. + +“Like him? It’s himself, you know. The cast was made in Newgate, +directly after he was taken down. You had a particular fancy for me, +hadn’t you, Old Artful?” said Wemmick. He then explained this +affectionate apostrophe, by touching his brooch representing the lady +and the weeping willow at the tomb with the urn upon it, and saying, +“Had it made for me, express!” + +“Is the lady anybody?” said I. + +“No,” returned Wemmick. “Only his game. (You liked your bit of game, +didn’t you?) No; deuce a bit of a lady in the case, Mr. Pip, except +one,—and she wasn’t of this slender lady-like sort, and you wouldn’t +have caught _her_ looking after this urn, unless there was something to +drink in it.” Wemmick’s attention being thus directed to his brooch, he +put down the cast, and polished the brooch with his +pocket-handkerchief. + +“Did that other creature come to the same end?” I asked. “He has the +same look.” + +“You’re right,” said Wemmick; “it’s the genuine look. Much as if one +nostril was caught up with a horse-hair and a little fish-hook. Yes, he +came to the same end; quite the natural end here, I assure you. He +forged wills, this blade did, if he didn’t also put the supposed +testators to sleep too. You were a gentlemanly Cove, though” (Mr. +Wemmick was again apostrophising), “and you said you could write Greek. +Yah, Bounceable! What a liar you were! I never met such a liar as you!” +Before putting his late friend on his shelf again, Wemmick touched the +largest of his mourning rings and said, “Sent out to buy it for me, +only the day before.” + +While he was putting up the other cast and coming down from the chair, +the thought crossed my mind that all his personal jewelry was derived +from like sources. As he had shown no diffidence on the subject, I +ventured on the liberty of asking him the question, when he stood +before me, dusting his hands. + +“O yes,” he returned, “these are all gifts of that kind. One brings +another, you see; that’s the way of it. I always take ’em. They’re +curiosities. And they’re property. They may not be worth much, but, +after all, they’re property and portable. It don’t signify to you with +your brilliant lookout, but as to myself, my guiding-star always is, +‘Get hold of portable property’.” + +When I had rendered homage to this light, he went on to say, in a +friendly manner:— + +“If at any odd time when you have nothing better to do, you wouldn’t +mind coming over to see me at Walworth, I could offer you a bed, and I +should consider it an honour. I have not much to show you; but such two +or three curiosities as I have got you might like to look over; and I +am fond of a bit of garden and a summer-house.” + +I said I should be delighted to accept his hospitality. + +“Thankee,” said he; “then we’ll consider that it’s to come off, when +convenient to you. Have you dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?” + +“Not yet.” + +“Well,” said Wemmick, “he’ll give you wine, and good wine. I’ll give +you punch, and not bad punch. And now I’ll tell you something. When you +go to dine with Mr. Jaggers, look at his housekeeper.” + +“Shall I see something very uncommon?” + +“Well,” said Wemmick, “you’ll see a wild beast tamed. Not so very +uncommon, you’ll tell me. I reply, that depends on the original +wildness of the beast, and the amount of taming. It won’t lower your +opinion of Mr. Jaggers’s powers. Keep your eye on it.” + +I told him I would do so, with all the interest and curiosity that his +preparation awakened. As I was taking my departure, he asked me if I +would like to devote five minutes to seeing Mr. Jaggers “at it?” + +For several reasons, and not least because I didn’t clearly know what +Mr. Jaggers would be found to be “at,” I replied in the affirmative. We +dived into the City, and came up in a crowded police-court, where a +blood-relation (in the murderous sense) of the deceased, with the +fanciful taste in brooches, was standing at the bar, uncomfortably +chewing something; while my guardian had a woman under examination or +cross-examination,—I don’t know which,—and was striking her, and the +bench, and everybody present, with awe. If anybody, of whatsoever +degree, said a word that he didn’t approve of, he instantly required to +have it “taken down.” If anybody wouldn’t make an admission, he said, +“I’ll have it out of you!” and if anybody made an admission, he said, +“Now I have got you!” The magistrates shivered under a single bite of +his finger. Thieves and thief-takers hung in dread rapture on his +words, and shrank when a hair of his eyebrows turned in their +direction. Which side he was on I couldn’t make out, for he seemed to +me to be grinding the whole place in a mill; I only know that when I +stole out on tiptoe, he was not on the side of the bench; for, he was +making the legs of the old gentleman who presided, quite convulsive +under the table, by his denunciations of his conduct as the +representative of British law and justice in that chair that day. + + + + +Chapter XXV. + + +Bentley Drummle, who was so sulky a fellow that he even took up a book +as if its writer had done him an injury, did not take up an +acquaintance in a more agreeable spirit. Heavy in figure, movement, and +comprehension,—in the sluggish complexion of his face, and in the +large, awkward tongue that seemed to loll about in his mouth as he +himself lolled about in a room,—he was idle, proud, niggardly, +reserved, and suspicious. He came of rich people down in Somersetshire, +who had nursed this combination of qualities until they made the +discovery that it was just of age and a blockhead. Thus, Bentley +Drummle had come to Mr. Pocket when he was a head taller than that +gentleman, and half a dozen heads thicker than most gentlemen. + +Startop had been spoilt by a weak mother and kept at home when he ought +to have been at school, but he was devotedly attached to her, and +admired her beyond measure. He had a woman’s delicacy of feature, and +was—“as you may see, though you never saw her,” said Herbert to +me—“exactly like his mother.” It was but natural that I should take to +him much more kindly than to Drummle, and that, even in the earliest +evenings of our boating, he and I should pull homeward abreast of one +another, conversing from boat to boat, while Bentley Drummle came up in +our wake alone, under the overhanging banks and among the rushes. He +would always creep in-shore like some uncomfortable amphibious +creature, even when the tide would have sent him fast upon his way; and +I always think of him as coming after us in the dark or by the +back-water, when our own two boats were breaking the sunset or the +moonlight in mid-stream. + +Herbert was my intimate companion and friend. I presented him with a +half-share in my boat, which was the occasion of his often coming down +to Hammersmith; and my possession of a half-share in his chambers often +took me up to London. We used to walk between the two places at all +hours. I have an affection for the road yet (though it is not so +pleasant a road as it was then), formed in the impressibility of +untried youth and hope. + +When I had been in Mr. Pocket’s family a month or two, Mr. and Mrs. +Camilla turned up. Camilla was Mr. Pocket’s sister. Georgiana, whom I +had seen at Miss Havisham’s on the same occasion, also turned up. She +was a cousin,—an indigestive single woman, who called her rigidity +religion, and her liver love. These people hated me with the hatred of +cupidity and disappointment. As a matter of course, they fawned upon me +in my prosperity with the basest meanness. Towards Mr. Pocket, as a +grown-up infant with no notion of his own interests, they showed the +complacent forbearance I had heard them express. Mrs. Pocket they held +in contempt; but they allowed the poor soul to have been heavily +disappointed in life, because that shed a feeble reflected light upon +themselves. + +These were the surroundings among which I settled down, and applied +myself to my education. I soon contracted expensive habits, and began +to spend an amount of money that within a few short months I should +have thought almost fabulous; but through good and evil I stuck to my +books. There was no other merit in this, than my having sense enough to +feel my deficiencies. Between Mr. Pocket and Herbert I got on fast; +and, with one or the other always at my elbow to give me the start I +wanted, and clear obstructions out of my road, I must have been as +great a dolt as Drummle if I had done less. + +I had not seen Mr. Wemmick for some weeks, when I thought I would write +him a note and propose to go home with him on a certain evening. He +replied that it would give him much pleasure, and that he would expect +me at the office at six o’clock. Thither I went, and there I found him, +putting the key of his safe down his back as the clock struck. + +“Did you think of walking down to Walworth?” said he. + +“Certainly,” said I, “if you approve.” + +“Very much,” was Wemmick’s reply, “for I have had my legs under the +desk all day, and shall be glad to stretch them. Now, I’ll tell you +what I have got for supper, Mr. Pip. I have got a stewed steak,—which +is of home preparation,—and a cold roast fowl,—which is from the +cook’s-shop. I think it’s tender, because the master of the shop was a +Juryman in some cases of ours the other day, and we let him down easy. +I reminded him of it when I bought the fowl, and I said, “Pick us out a +good one, old Briton, because if we had chosen to keep you in the box +another day or two, we could easily have done it.” He said to that, +“Let me make you a present of the best fowl in the shop.” I let him, of +course. As far as it goes, it’s property and portable. You don’t object +to an aged parent, I hope?” + +I really thought he was still speaking of the fowl, until he added, +“Because I have got an aged parent at my place.” I then said what +politeness required. + +“So, you haven’t dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?” he pursued, as we walked +along. + +“Not yet.” + +“He told me so this afternoon when he heard you were coming. I expect +you’ll have an invitation to-morrow. He’s going to ask your pals, too. +Three of ’em; ain’t there?” + +Although I was not in the habit of counting Drummle as one of my +intimate associates, I answered, “Yes.” + +“Well, he’s going to ask the whole gang,”—I hardly felt complimented by +the word,—“and whatever he gives you, he’ll give you good. Don’t look +forward to variety, but you’ll have excellence. And there’s another rum +thing in his house,” proceeded Wemmick, after a moment’s pause, as if +the remark followed on the housekeeper understood; “he never lets a +door or window be fastened at night.” + +“Is he never robbed?” + +“That’s it!” returned Wemmick. “He says, and gives it out publicly, “I +want to see the man who’ll rob _me_.” Lord bless you, I have heard him, +a hundred times, if I have heard him once, say to regular cracksmen in +our front office, “You know where I live; now, no bolt is ever drawn +there; why don’t you do a stroke of business with me? Come; can’t I +tempt you?” Not a man of them, sir, would be bold enough to try it on, +for love or money.” + +“They dread him so much?” said I. + +“Dread him,” said Wemmick. “I believe you they dread him. Not but what +he’s artful, even in his defiance of them. No silver, sir. Britannia +metal, every spoon.” + +“So they wouldn’t have much,” I observed, “even if they—” + +“Ah! But _he_ would have much,” said Wemmick, cutting me short, “and +they know it. He’d have their lives, and the lives of scores of ’em. +He’d have all he could get. And it’s impossible to say what he couldn’t +get, if he gave his mind to it.” + +I was falling into meditation on my guardian’s greatness, when Wemmick +remarked:— + +“As to the absence of plate, that’s only his natural depth, you know. A +river’s its natural depth, and he’s his natural depth. Look at his +watch-chain. That’s real enough.” + +“It’s very massive,” said I. + +“Massive?” repeated Wemmick. “I think so. And his watch is a gold +repeater, and worth a hundred pound if it’s worth a penny. Mr. Pip, +there are about seven hundred thieves in this town who know all about +that watch; there’s not a man, a woman, or a child, among them, who +wouldn’t identify the smallest link in that chain, and drop it as if it +was red hot, if inveigled into touching it.” + +At first with such discourse, and afterwards with conversation of a +more general nature, did Mr. Wemmick and I beguile the time and the +road, until he gave me to understand that we had arrived in the +district of Walworth. + +It appeared to be a collection of back lanes, ditches, and little +gardens, and to present the aspect of a rather dull retirement. +Wemmick’s house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of +garden, and the top of it was cut out and painted like a battery +mounted with guns. + +“My own doing,” said Wemmick. “Looks pretty; don’t it?” + +I highly commended it, I think it was the smallest house I ever saw; +with the queerest gothic windows (by far the greater part of them +sham), and a gothic door almost too small to get in at. + +“That’s a real flagstaff, you see,” said Wemmick, “and on Sundays I run +up a real flag. Then look here. After I have crossed this bridge, I +hoist it up—so—and cut off the communication.” + +The bridge was a plank, and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide and +two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which he +hoisted it up and made it fast; smiling as he did so, with a relish and +not merely mechanically. + +“At nine o’clock every night, Greenwich time,” said Wemmick, “the gun +fires. There he is, you see! And when you hear him go, I think you’ll +say he’s a Stinger.” + +The piece of ordnance referred to, was mounted in a separate fortress, +constructed of lattice-work. It was protected from the weather by an +ingenious little tarpaulin contrivance in the nature of an umbrella. + +“Then, at the back,” said Wemmick, “out of sight, so as not to impede +the idea of fortifications,—for it’s a principle with me, if you have +an idea, carry it out and keep it up,—I don’t know whether that’s your +opinion—” + +I said, decidedly. + +“—At the back, there’s a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits; then, I +knock together my own little frame, you see, and grow cucumbers; and +you’ll judge at supper what sort of a salad I can raise. So, sir,” said +Wemmick, smiling again, but seriously too, as he shook his head, “if +you can suppose the little place besieged, it would hold out a devil of +a time in point of provisions.” + +Then, he conducted me to a bower about a dozen yards off, but which was +approached by such ingenious twists of path that it took quite a long +time to get at; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth. +Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower +was raised. This piece of water (with an island in the middle which +might have been the salad for supper) was of a circular form, and he +had constructed a fountain in it, which, when you set a little mill +going and took a cork out of a pipe, played to that powerful extent +that it made the back of your hand quite wet. + +“I am my own engineer, and my own carpenter, and my own plumber, and my +own gardener, and my own Jack of all Trades,” said Wemmick, in +acknowledging my compliments. “Well; it’s a good thing, you know. It +brushes the Newgate cobwebs away, and pleases the Aged. You wouldn’t +mind being at once introduced to the Aged, would you? It wouldn’t put +you out?” + +I expressed the readiness I felt, and we went into the castle. There we +found, sitting by a fire, a very old man in a flannel coat: clean, +cheerful, comfortable, and well cared for, but intensely deaf. + +“Well aged parent,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him in a cordial +and jocose way, “how am you?” + +“All right, John; all right!” replied the old man. + +“Here’s Mr. Pip, aged parent,” said Wemmick, “and I wish you could hear +his name. Nod away at him, Mr. Pip; that’s what he likes. Nod away at +him, if you please, like winking!” + +“This is a fine place of my son’s, sir,” cried the old man, while I +nodded as hard as I possibly could. “This is a pretty pleasure-ground, +sir. This spot and these beautiful works upon it ought to be kept +together by the Nation, after my son’s time, for the people’s +enjoyment.” + +“You’re as proud of it as Punch; ain’t you, Aged?” said Wemmick, +contemplating the old man, with his hard face really softened; +“_there’s_ a nod for you;” giving him a tremendous one; “_there’s_ +another for you;” giving him a still more tremendous one; “you like +that, don’t you? If you’re not tired, Mr. Pip—though I know it’s tiring +to strangers—will you tip him one more? You can’t think how it pleases +him.” + +I tipped him several more, and he was in great spirits. We left him +bestirring himself to feed the fowls, and we sat down to our punch in +the arbour; where Wemmick told me, as he smoked a pipe, that it had +taken him a good many years to bring the property up to its present +pitch of perfection. + +“Is it your own, Mr. Wemmick?” + +“O yes,” said Wemmick, “I have got hold of it, a bit at a time. It’s a +freehold, by George!” + +“Is it indeed? I hope Mr. Jaggers admires it?” + +“Never seen it,” said Wemmick. “Never heard of it. Never seen the Aged. +Never heard of him. No; the office is one thing, and private life is +another. When I go into the office, I leave the Castle behind me, and +when I come into the Castle, I leave the office behind me. If it’s not +in any way disagreeable to you, you’ll oblige me by doing the same. I +don’t wish it professionally spoken about.” + +Of course I felt my good faith involved in the observance of his +request. The punch being very nice, we sat there drinking it and +talking, until it was almost nine o’clock. “Getting near gun-fire,” +said Wemmick then, as he laid down his pipe; “it’s the Aged’s treat.” + +Proceeding into the Castle again, we found the Aged heating the poker, +with expectant eyes, as a preliminary to the performance of this great +nightly ceremony. Wemmick stood with his watch in his hand until the +moment was come for him to take the red-hot poker from the Aged, and +repair to the battery. He took it, and went out, and presently the +Stinger went off with a Bang that shook the crazy little box of a +cottage as if it must fall to pieces, and made every glass and teacup +in it ring. Upon this, the Aged—who I believe would have been blown out +of his arm-chair but for holding on by the elbows—cried out exultingly, +“He’s fired! I heerd him!” and I nodded at the old gentleman until it +is no figure of speech to declare that I absolutely could not see him. + +The interval between that time and supper Wemmick devoted to showing me +his collection of curiosities. They were mostly of a felonious +character; comprising the pen with which a celebrated forgery had been +committed, a distinguished razor or two, some locks of hair, and +several manuscript confessions written under condemnation,—upon which +Mr. Wemmick set particular value as being, to use his own words, “every +one of ’em Lies, sir.” These were agreeably dispersed among small +specimens of china and glass, various neat trifles made by the +proprietor of the museum, and some tobacco-stoppers carved by the Aged. +They were all displayed in that chamber of the Castle into which I had +been first inducted, and which served, not only as the general +sitting-room but as the kitchen too, if I might judge from a saucepan +on the hob, and a brazen bijou over the fireplace designed for the +suspension of a roasting-jack. + +There was a neat little girl in attendance, who looked after the Aged +in the day. When she had laid the supper-cloth, the bridge was lowered +to give her means of egress, and she withdrew for the night. The supper +was excellent; and though the Castle was rather subject to dry-rot +insomuch that it tasted like a bad nut, and though the pig might have +been farther off, I was heartily pleased with my whole entertainment. +Nor was there any drawback on my little turret bedroom, beyond there +being such a very thin ceiling between me and the flagstaff, that when +I lay down on my back in bed, it seemed as if I had to balance that +pole on my forehead all night. + +Wemmick was up early in the morning, and I am afraid I heard him +cleaning my boots. After that, he fell to gardening, and I saw him from +my gothic window pretending to employ the Aged, and nodding at him in a +most devoted manner. Our breakfast was as good as the supper, and at +half-past eight precisely we started for Little Britain. By degrees, +Wemmick got dryer and harder as we went along, and his mouth tightened +into a post-office again. At last, when we got to his place of business +and he pulled out his key from his coat-collar, he looked as +unconscious of his Walworth property as if the Castle and the +drawbridge and the arbour and the lake and the fountain and the Aged, +had all been blown into space together by the last discharge of the +Stinger. + + + + +Chapter XXVI. + + +It fell out as Wemmick had told me it would, that I had an early +opportunity of comparing my guardian’s establishment with that of his +cashier and clerk. My guardian was in his room, washing his hands with +his scented soap, when I went into the office from Walworth; and he +called me to him, and gave me the invitation for myself and friends +which Wemmick had prepared me to receive. “No ceremony,” he stipulated, +“and no dinner dress, and say to-morrow.” I asked him where we should +come to (for I had no idea where he lived), and I believe it was in his +general objection to make anything like an admission, that he replied, +“Come here, and I’ll take you home with me.” I embrace this opportunity +of remarking that he washed his clients off, as if he were a surgeon or +a dentist. He had a closet in his room, fitted up for the purpose, +which smelt of the scented soap like a perfumer’s shop. It had an +unusually large jack-towel on a roller inside the door, and he would +wash his hands, and wipe them and dry them all over this towel, +whenever he came in from a police court or dismissed a client from his +room. When I and my friends repaired to him at six o’clock next day, he +seemed to have been engaged on a case of a darker complexion than +usual, for we found him with his head butted into this closet, not only +washing his hands, but laving his face and gargling his throat. And +even when he had done all that, and had gone all round the jack-towel, +he took out his penknife and scraped the case out of his nails before +he put his coat on. + +There were some people slinking about as usual when we passed out into +the street, who were evidently anxious to speak with him; but there was +something so conclusive in the halo of scented soap which encircled his +presence, that they gave it up for that day. As we walked along +westward, he was recognised ever and again by some face in the crowd of +the streets, and whenever that happened he talked louder to me; but he +never otherwise recognised anybody, or took notice that anybody +recognised him. + +He conducted us to Gerrard Street, Soho, to a house on the south side +of that street. Rather a stately house of its kind, but dolefully in +want of painting, and with dirty windows. He took out his key and +opened the door, and we all went into a stone hall, bare, gloomy, and +little used. So, up a dark brown staircase into a series of three dark +brown rooms on the first floor. There were carved garlands on the +panelled walls, and as he stood among them giving us welcome, I know +what kind of loops I thought they looked like. + +Dinner was laid in the best of these rooms; the second was his +dressing-room; the third, his bedroom. He told us that he held the +whole house, but rarely used more of it than we saw. The table was +comfortably laid—no silver in the service, of course—and at the side of +his chair was a capacious dumb-waiter, with a variety of bottles and +decanters on it, and four dishes of fruit for dessert. I noticed +throughout, that he kept everything under his own hand, and distributed +everything himself. + +There was a bookcase in the room; I saw from the backs of the books, +that they were about evidence, criminal law, criminal biography, +trials, acts of Parliament, and such things. The furniture was all very +solid and good, like his watch-chain. It had an official look, however, +and there was nothing merely ornamental to be seen. In a corner was a +little table of papers with a shaded lamp: so that he seemed to bring +the office home with him in that respect too, and to wheel it out of an +evening and fall to work. + +As he had scarcely seen my three companions until now,—for he and I had +walked together,—he stood on the hearth-rug, after ringing the bell, +and took a searching look at them. To my surprise, he seemed at once to +be principally if not solely interested in Drummle. + +“Pip,” said he, putting his large hand on my shoulder and moving me to +the window, “I don’t know one from the other. Who’s the Spider?” + +“The spider?” said I. + +“The blotchy, sprawly, sulky fellow.” + +“That’s Bentley Drummle,” I replied; “the one with the delicate face is +Startop.” + +Not making the least account of “the one with the delicate face,” he +returned, “Bentley Drummle is his name, is it? I like the look of that +fellow.” + +He immediately began to talk to Drummle: not at all deterred by his +replying in his heavy reticent way, but apparently led on by it to +screw discourse out of him. I was looking at the two, when there came +between me and them the housekeeper, with the first dish for the table. + +She was a woman of about forty, I supposed,—but I may have thought her +younger than she was. Rather tall, of a lithe nimble figure, extremely +pale, with large faded eyes, and a quantity of streaming hair. I cannot +say whether any diseased affection of the heart caused her lips to be +parted as if she were panting, and her face to bear a curious +expression of suddenness and flutter; but I know that I had been to see +Macbeth at the theatre, a night or two before, and that her face looked +to me as if it were all disturbed by fiery air, like the faces I had +seen rise out of the Witches’ caldron. + +She set the dish on, touched my guardian quietly on the arm with a +finger to notify that dinner was ready, and vanished. We took our seats +at the round table, and my guardian kept Drummle on one side of him, +while Startop sat on the other. It was a noble dish of fish that the +housekeeper had put on table, and we had a joint of equally choice +mutton afterwards, and then an equally choice bird. Sauces, wines, all +the accessories we wanted, and all of the best, were given out by our +host from his dumb-waiter; and when they had made the circuit of the +table, he always put them back again. Similarly, he dealt us clean +plates and knives and forks, for each course, and dropped those just +disused into two baskets on the ground by his chair. No other attendant +than the housekeeper appeared. She set on every dish; and I always saw +in her face, a face rising out of the caldron. Years afterwards, I made +a dreadful likeness of that woman, by causing a face that had no other +natural resemblance to it than it derived from flowing hair to pass +behind a bowl of flaming spirits in a dark room. + +Induced to take particular notice of the housekeeper, both by her own +striking appearance and by Wemmick’s preparation, I observed that +whenever she was in the room she kept her eyes attentively on my +guardian, and that she would remove her hands from any dish she put +before him, hesitatingly, as if she dreaded his calling her back, and +wanted him to speak when she was nigh, if he had anything to say. I +fancied that I could detect in his manner a consciousness of this, and +a purpose of always holding her in suspense. + +Dinner went off gayly, and although my guardian seemed to follow rather +than originate subjects, I knew that he wrenched the weakest part of +our dispositions out of us. For myself, I found that I was expressing +my tendency to lavish expenditure, and to patronise Herbert, and to +boast of my great prospects, before I quite knew that I had opened my +lips. It was so with all of us, but with no one more than Drummle: the +development of whose inclination to gird in a grudging and suspicious +way at the rest, was screwed out of him before the fish was taken off. + +It was not then, but when we had got to the cheese, that our +conversation turned upon our rowing feats, and that Drummle was rallied +for coming up behind of a night in that slow amphibious way of his. +Drummle upon this, informed our host that he much preferred our room to +our company, and that as to skill he was more than our master, and that +as to strength he could scatter us like chaff. By some invisible +agency, my guardian wound him up to a pitch little short of ferocity +about this trifle; and he fell to baring and spanning his arm to show +how muscular it was, and we all fell to baring and spanning our arms in +a ridiculous manner. + +Now the housekeeper was at that time clearing the table; my guardian, +taking no heed of her, but with the side of his face turned from her, +was leaning back in his chair biting the side of his forefinger and +showing an interest in Drummle, that, to me, was quite inexplicable. +Suddenly, he clapped his large hand on the housekeeper’s, like a trap, +as she stretched it across the table. So suddenly and smartly did he do +this, that we all stopped in our foolish contention. + +“If you talk of strength,” said Mr. Jaggers, “_I_’ll show you a wrist. +Molly, let them see your wrist.” + +Her entrapped hand was on the table, but she had already put her other +hand behind her waist. “Master,” she said, in a low voice, with her +eyes attentively and entreatingly fixed upon him. “Don’t.” + +“_I_’ll show you a wrist,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, with an immovable +determination to show it. “Molly, let them see your wrist.” + +“Master,” she again murmured. “Please!” + +“Molly,” said Mr. Jaggers, not looking at her, but obstinately looking +at the opposite side of the room, “let them see _both_ your wrists. +Show them. Come!” + +He took his hand from hers, and turned that wrist up on the table. She +brought her other hand from behind her, and held the two out side by +side. The last wrist was much disfigured,—deeply scarred and scarred +across and across. When she held her hands out she took her eyes from +Mr. Jaggers, and turned them watchfully on every one of the rest of us +in succession. + +“There’s power here,” said Mr. Jaggers, coolly tracing out the sinews +with his forefinger. “Very few men have the power of wrist that this +woman has. It’s remarkable what mere force of grip there is in these +hands. I have had occasion to notice many hands; but I never saw +stronger in that respect, man’s or woman’s, than these.” + +While he said these words in a leisurely, critical style, she continued +to look at every one of us in regular succession as we sat. The moment +he ceased, she looked at him again. “That’ll do, Molly,” said Mr. +Jaggers, giving her a slight nod; “you have been admired, and can go.” +She withdrew her hands and went out of the room, and Mr. Jaggers, +putting the decanters on from his dumb-waiter, filled his glass and +passed round the wine. + +“At half-past nine, gentlemen,” said he, “we must break up. Pray make +the best use of your time. I am glad to see you all. Mr. Drummle, I +drink to you.” + +If his object in singling out Drummle were to bring him out still more, +it perfectly succeeded. In a sulky triumph, Drummle showed his morose +depreciation of the rest of us, in a more and more offensive degree, +until he became downright intolerable. Through all his stages, Mr. +Jaggers followed him with the same strange interest. He actually seemed +to serve as a zest to Mr. Jaggers’s wine. + +In our boyish want of discretion I dare say we took too much to drink, +and I know we talked too much. We became particularly hot upon some +boorish sneer of Drummle’s, to the effect that we were too free with +our money. It led to my remarking, with more zeal than discretion, that +it came with a bad grace from him, to whom Startop had lent money in my +presence but a week or so before. + +“Well,” retorted Drummle; “he’ll be paid.” + +“I don’t mean to imply that he won’t,” said I, “but it might make you +hold your tongue about us and our money, I should think.” + +“_You_ should think!” retorted Drummle. “Oh Lord!” + +“I dare say,” I went on, meaning to be very severe, “that you wouldn’t +lend money to any of us if we wanted it.” + +“You are right,” said Drummle. “I wouldn’t lend one of you a sixpence. +I wouldn’t lend anybody a sixpence.” + +“Rather mean to borrow under those circumstances, I should say.” + +“_You_ should say,” repeated Drummle. “Oh Lord!” + +This was so very aggravating—the more especially as I found myself +making no way against his surly obtuseness—that I said, disregarding +Herbert’s efforts to check me,— + +“Come, Mr. Drummle, since we are on the subject, I’ll tell you what +passed between Herbert here and me, when you borrowed that money.” + +“_I_ don’t want to know what passed between Herbert there and you,” +growled Drummle. And I think he added in a lower growl, that we might +both go to the devil and shake ourselves. + +“I’ll tell you, however,” said I, “whether you want to know or not. We +said that as you put it in your pocket very glad to get it, you seemed +to be immensely amused at his being so weak as to lend it.” + +Drummle laughed outright, and sat laughing in our faces, with his hands +in his pockets and his round shoulders raised; plainly signifying that +it was quite true, and that he despised us as asses all. + +Hereupon Startop took him in hand, though with a much better grace than +I had shown, and exhorted him to be a little more agreeable. Startop, +being a lively, bright young fellow, and Drummle being the exact +opposite, the latter was always disposed to resent him as a direct +personal affront. He now retorted in a coarse, lumpish way, and Startop +tried to turn the discussion aside with some small pleasantry that made +us all laugh. Resenting this little success more than anything, +Drummle, without any threat or warning, pulled his hands out of his +pockets, dropped his round shoulders, swore, took up a large glass, and +would have flung it at his adversary’s head, but for our entertainer’s +dexterously seizing it at the instant when it was raised for that +purpose. + +“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Jaggers, deliberately putting down the glass, and +hauling out his gold repeater by its massive chain, “I am exceedingly +sorry to announce that it’s half past nine.” + +On this hint we all rose to depart. Before we got to the street door, +Startop was cheerily calling Drummle “old boy,” as if nothing had +happened. But the old boy was so far from responding, that he would not +even walk to Hammersmith on the same side of the way; so Herbert and I, +who remained in town, saw them going down the street on opposite sides; +Startop leading, and Drummle lagging behind in the shadow of the +houses, much as he was wont to follow in his boat. + +As the door was not yet shut, I thought I would leave Herbert there for +a moment, and run upstairs again to say a word to my guardian. I found +him in his dressing-room surrounded by his stock of boots, already hard +at it, washing his hands of us. + +I told him I had come up again to say how sorry I was that anything +disagreeable should have occurred, and that I hoped he would not blame +me much. + +“Pooh!” said he, sluicing his face, and speaking through the +water-drops; “it’s nothing, Pip. I like that Spider though.” + +He had turned towards me now, and was shaking his head, and blowing, +and towelling himself. + +“I am glad you like him, sir,” said I—“but I don’t.” + +“No, no,” my guardian assented; “don’t have too much to do with him. +Keep as clear of him as you can. But I like the fellow, Pip; he is one +of the true sort. Why, if I was a fortune-teller—” + +Looking out of the towel, he caught my eye. + +“But I am not a fortune-teller,” he said, letting his head drop into a +festoon of towel, and towelling away at his two ears. “You know what I +am, don’t you? Good night, Pip.” + +“Good night, sir.” + +In about a month after that, the Spider’s time with Mr. Pocket was up +for good, and, to the great relief of all the house but Mrs. Pocket, he +went home to the family hole. + + + + +Chapter XXVII. + + +“MY DEAR MR PIP:— + +“I write this by request of Mr. Gargery, for to let you know that he is +going to London in company with Mr. Wopsle and would be glad if +agreeable to be allowed to see you. He would call at Barnard’s Hotel +Tuesday morning at nine o’clock, when if not agreeable please leave +word. Your poor sister is much the same as when you left. We talk of +you in the kitchen every night, and wonder what you are saying and +doing. If now considered in the light of a liberty, excuse it for the +love of poor old days. No more, dear Mr. Pip, from + +“Your ever obliged, and affectionate servant, +“BIDDY.” + + +“P.S. He wishes me most particular to write _what larks_. He says you +will understand. I hope and do not doubt it will be agreeable to see +him, even though a gentleman, for you had ever a good heart, and he is +a worthy, worthy man. I have read him all, excepting only the last +little sentence, and he wishes me most particular to write again _what +larks_.” + +I received this letter by the post on Monday morning, and therefore its +appointment was for next day. Let me confess exactly with what feelings +I looked forward to Joe’s coming. + +Not with pleasure, though I was bound to him by so many ties; no; with +considerable disturbance, some mortification, and a keen sense of +incongruity. If I could have kept him away by paying money, I certainly +would have paid money. My greatest reassurance was that he was coming +to Barnard’s Inn, not to Hammersmith, and consequently would not fall +in Bentley Drummle’s way. I had little objection to his being seen by +Herbert or his father, for both of whom I had a respect; but I had the +sharpest sensitiveness as to his being seen by Drummle, whom I held in +contempt. So, throughout life, our worst weaknesses and meannesses are +usually committed for the sake of the people whom we most despise. + +I had begun to be always decorating the chambers in some quite +unnecessary and inappropriate way or other, and very expensive those +wrestles with Barnard proved to be. By this time, the rooms were vastly +different from what I had found them, and I enjoyed the honour of +occupying a few prominent pages in the books of a neighbouring +upholsterer. I had got on so fast of late, that I had even started a +boy in boots,—top boots,—in bondage and slavery to whom I might have +been said to pass my days. For, after I had made the monster (out of +the refuse of my washerwoman’s family), and had clothed him with a blue +coat, canary waistcoat, white cravat, creamy breeches, and the boots +already mentioned, I had to find him a little to do and a great deal to +eat; and with both of those horrible requirements he haunted my +existence. + +This avenging phantom was ordered to be on duty at eight on Tuesday +morning in the hall, (it was two feet square, as charged for +floorcloth,) and Herbert suggested certain things for breakfast that he +thought Joe would like. While I felt sincerely obliged to him for being +so interested and considerate, I had an odd half-provoked sense of +suspicion upon me, that if Joe had been coming to see _him_, he +wouldn’t have been quite so brisk about it. + +However, I came into town on the Monday night to be ready for Joe, and +I got up early in the morning, and caused the sitting-room and +breakfast-table to assume their most splendid appearance. Unfortunately +the morning was drizzly, and an angel could not have concealed the fact +that Barnard was shedding sooty tears outside the window, like some +weak giant of a Sweep. + +As the time approached I should have liked to run away, but the Avenger +pursuant to orders was in the hall, and presently I heard Joe on the +staircase. I knew it was Joe, by his clumsy manner of coming +upstairs,—his state boots being always too big for him,—and by the time +it took him to read the names on the other floors in the course of his +ascent. When at last he stopped outside our door, I could hear his +finger tracing over the painted letters of my name, and I afterwards +distinctly heard him breathing in at the keyhole. Finally he gave a +faint single rap, and Pepper—such was the compromising name of the +avenging boy—announced “Mr. Gargery!” I thought he never would have +done wiping his feet, and that I must have gone out to lift him off the +mat, but at last he came in. + +“Joe, how are you, Joe?” + +“Pip, how AIR you, Pip?” + +With his good honest face all glowing and shining, and his hat put down +on the floor between us, he caught both my hands and worked them +straight up and down, as if I had been the last-patented Pump. + +“I am glad to see you, Joe. Give me your hat.” + +But Joe, taking it up carefully with both hands, like a bird’s-nest +with eggs in it, wouldn’t hear of parting with that piece of property, +and persisted in standing talking over it in a most uncomfortable way. + +“Which you have that growed,” said Joe, “and that swelled, and that +gentle-folked;” Joe considered a little before he discovered this word; +“as to be sure you are a honour to your king and country.” + +“And you, Joe, look wonderfully well.” + +“Thank God,” said Joe, “I’m ekerval to most. And your sister, she’s no +worse than she were. And Biddy, she’s ever right and ready. And all +friends is no backerder, if not no forarder. ’Ceptin Wopsle; he’s had a +drop.” + +All this time (still with both hands taking great care of the +bird’s-nest), Joe was rolling his eyes round and round the room, and +round and round the flowered pattern of my dressing-gown. + +“Had a drop, Joe?” + +“Why yes,” said Joe, lowering his voice, “he’s left the Church and went +into the playacting. Which the playacting have likeways brought him to +London along with me. And his wish were,” said Joe, getting the +bird’s-nest under his left arm for the moment, and groping in it for an +egg with his right; “if no offence, as I would ’and you that.” + +I took what Joe gave me, and found it to be the crumpled play-bill of a +small metropolitan theatre, announcing the first appearance, in that +very week, of “the celebrated Provincial Amateur of Roscian renown, +whose unique performance in the highest tragic walk of our National +Bard has lately occasioned so great a sensation in local dramatic +circles.” + +“Were you at his performance, Joe?” I inquired. + +“I _were_,” said Joe, with emphasis and solemnity. + +“Was there a great sensation?” + +“Why,” said Joe, “yes, there certainly were a peck of orange-peel. +Partickler when he see the ghost. Though I put it to yourself, sir, +whether it were calc’lated to keep a man up to his work with a good +hart, to be continiwally cutting in betwixt him and the Ghost with +“Amen!” A man may have had a misfortun’ and been in the Church,” said +Joe, lowering his voice to an argumentative and feeling tone, “but that +is no reason why you should put him out at such a time. Which I +meantersay, if the ghost of a man’s own father cannot be allowed to +claim his attention, what can, Sir? Still more, when his mourning ’at +is unfortunately made so small as that the weight of the black feathers +brings it off, try to keep it on how you may.” + +A ghost-seeing effect in Joe’s own countenance informed me that Herbert +had entered the room. So, I presented Joe to Herbert, who held out his +hand; but Joe backed from it, and held on by the bird’s-nest. + +“Your servant, Sir,” said Joe, “which I hope as you and Pip”—here his +eye fell on the Avenger, who was putting some toast on table, and so +plainly denoted an intention to make that young gentleman one of the +family, that I frowned it down and confused him more—“I meantersay, you +two gentlemen,—which I hope as you get your elths in this close spot? +For the present may be a werry good inn, according to London opinions,” +said Joe, confidentially, “and I believe its character do stand it; but +I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself,—not in the case that I wished him +to fatten wholesome and to eat with a meller flavour on him.” + +Having borne this flattering testimony to the merits of our +dwelling-place, and having incidentally shown this tendency to call me +“sir,” Joe, being invited to sit down to table, looked all round the +room for a suitable spot on which to deposit his hat,—as if it were +only on some very few rare substances in nature that it could find a +resting place,—and ultimately stood it on an extreme corner of the +chimney-piece, from which it ever afterwards fell off at intervals. + +“Do you take tea, or coffee, Mr. Gargery?” asked Herbert, who always +presided of a morning. + +“Thankee, Sir,” said Joe, stiff from head to foot, “I’ll take whichever +is most agreeable to yourself.” + +“What do you say to coffee?” + +“Thankee, Sir,” returned Joe, evidently dispirited by the proposal, +“since you _are_ so kind as make chice of coffee, I will not run +contrairy to your own opinions. But don’t you never find it a little +’eating?” + +“Say tea then,” said Herbert, pouring it out. + +Here Joe’s hat tumbled off the mantel-piece, and he started out of his +chair and picked it up, and fitted it to the same exact spot. As if it +were an absolute point of good breeding that it should tumble off again +soon. + +“When did you come to town, Mr. Gargery?” + +“Were it yesterday afternoon?” said Joe, after coughing behind his +hand, as if he had had time to catch the whooping-cough since he came. +“No it were not. Yes it were. Yes. It were yesterday afternoon” (with +an appearance of mingled wisdom, relief, and strict impartiality). + +“Have you seen anything of London yet?” + +“Why, yes, Sir,” said Joe, “me and Wopsle went off straight to look at +the Blacking Ware’us. But we didn’t find that it come up to its +likeness in the red bills at the shop doors; which I meantersay,” added +Joe, in an explanatory manner, “as it is there drawd too +architectooralooral.” + +I really believe Joe would have prolonged this word (mightily +expressive to my mind of some architecture that I know) into a perfect +Chorus, but for his attention being providentially attracted by his +hat, which was toppling. Indeed, it demanded from him a constant +attention, and a quickness of eye and hand, very like that exacted by +wicket-keeping. He made extraordinary play with it, and showed the +greatest skill; now, rushing at it and catching it neatly as it +dropped; now, merely stopping it midway, beating it up, and humouring +it in various parts of the room and against a good deal of the pattern +of the paper on the wall, before he felt it safe to close with it; +finally splashing it into the slop-basin, where I took the liberty of +laying hands upon it. + +[Illustration] + +As to his shirt-collar, and his coat-collar, they were perplexing to +reflect upon,—insoluble mysteries both. Why should a man scrape himself +to that extent, before he could consider himself full dressed? Why +should he suppose it necessary to be purified by suffering for his +holiday clothes? Then he fell into such unaccountable fits of +meditation, with his fork midway between his plate and his mouth; had +his eyes attracted in such strange directions; was afflicted with such +remarkable coughs; sat so far from the table, and dropped so much more +than he ate, and pretended that he hadn’t dropped it; that I was +heartily glad when Herbert left us for the City. + +I had neither the good sense nor the good feeling to know that this was +all my fault, and that if I had been easier with Joe, Joe would have +been easier with me. I felt impatient of him and out of temper with +him; in which condition he heaped coals of fire on my head. + +“Us two being now alone, sir,”—began Joe. + +“Joe,” I interrupted, pettishly, “how can you call me, sir?” + +Joe looked at me for a single instant with something faintly like +reproach. Utterly preposterous as his cravat was, and as his collars +were, I was conscious of a sort of dignity in the look. + +“Us two being now alone,” resumed Joe, “and me having the intentions +and abilities to stay not many minutes more, I will now +conclude—leastways begin—to mention what have led to my having had the +present honour. For was it not,” said Joe, with his old air of lucid +exposition, “that my only wish were to be useful to you, I should not +have had the honour of breaking wittles in the company and abode of +gentlemen.” + +I was so unwilling to see the look again, that I made no remonstrance +against this tone. + +“Well, sir,” pursued Joe, “this is how it were. I were at the Bargemen +t’other night, Pip;”—whenever he subsided into affection, he called me +Pip, and whenever he relapsed into politeness he called me sir; “when +there come up in his shay-cart, Pumblechook. Which that same +identical,” said Joe, going down a new track, “do comb my ’air the +wrong way sometimes, awful, by giving out up and down town as it were +him which ever had your infant companionation and were looked upon as a +playfellow by yourself.” + +“Nonsense. It was you, Joe.” + +“Which I fully believed it were, Pip,” said Joe, slightly tossing his +head, “though it signify little now, sir. Well, Pip; this same +identical, which his manners is given to blusterous, come to me at the +Bargemen (wot a pipe and a pint of beer do give refreshment to the +workingman, sir, and do not over stimilate), and his word were, +‘Joseph, Miss Havisham she wish to speak to you.’” + +“Miss Havisham, Joe?” + +“‘She wish,’ were Pumblechook’s word, ‘to speak to you.’” Joe sat and +rolled his eyes at the ceiling. + +“Yes, Joe? Go on, please.” + +“Next day, sir,” said Joe, looking at me as if I were a long way off, +“having cleaned myself, I go and I see Miss A.” + +“Miss A., Joe? Miss Havisham?” + +“Which I say, sir,” replied Joe, with an air of legal formality, as if +he were making his will, “Miss A., or otherways Havisham. Her +expression air then as follering: ‘Mr. Gargery. You air in +correspondence with Mr. Pip?’ Having had a letter from you, I were able +to say ‘I am.’ (When I married your sister, sir, I said ‘I will;’ and +when I answered your friend, Pip, I said ‘I am.’) ‘Would you tell him, +then,’ said she, ‘that which Estella has come home and would be glad to +see him.’” + +I felt my face fire up as I looked at Joe. I hope one remote cause of +its firing may have been my consciousness that if I had known his +errand, I should have given him more encouragement. + +“Biddy,” pursued Joe, “when I got home and asked her fur to write the +message to you, a little hung back. Biddy says, ‘I know he will be very +glad to have it by word of mouth, it is holiday time, you want to see +him, go!’ I have now concluded, sir,” said Joe, rising from his chair, +“and, Pip, I wish you ever well and ever prospering to a greater and a +greater height.” + +“But you are not going now, Joe?” + +“Yes I am,” said Joe. + +“But you are coming back to dinner, Joe?” + +“No I am not,” said Joe. + +Our eyes met, and all the “Sir” melted out of that manly heart as he +gave me his hand. + +“Pip, dear old chap, life is made of ever so many partings welded +together, as I may say, and one man’s a blacksmith, and one’s a +whitesmith, and one’s a goldsmith, and one’s a coppersmith. Diwisions +among such must come, and must be met as they come. If there’s been any +fault at all to-day, it’s mine. You and me is not two figures to be +together in London; nor yet anywheres else but what is private, and +beknown, and understood among friends. It ain’t that I am proud, but +that I want to be right, as you shall never see me no more in these +clothes. I’m wrong in these clothes. I’m wrong out of the forge, the +kitchen, or off th’ meshes. You won’t find half so much fault in me if +you think of me in my forge dress, with my hammer in my hand, or even +my pipe. You won’t find half so much fault in me if, supposing as you +should ever wish to see me, you come and put your head in at the forge +window and see Joe the blacksmith, there, at the old anvil, in the old +burnt apron, sticking to the old work. I’m awful dull, but I hope I’ve +beat out something nigh the rights of this at last. And so GOD bless +you, dear old Pip, old chap, GOD bless you!” + +I had not been mistaken in my fancy that there was a simple dignity in +him. The fashion of his dress could no more come in its way when he +spoke these words than it could come in its way in Heaven. He touched +me gently on the forehead, and went out. As soon as I could recover +myself sufficiently, I hurried out after him and looked for him in the +neighbouring streets; but he was gone. + + + + +Chapter XXVIII. + + +It was clear that I must repair to our town next day, and in the first +flow of my repentance, it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe’s. +But, when I had secured my box-place by to-morrow’s coach, and had been +down to Mr. Pocket’s and back, I was not by any means convinced on the +last point, and began to invent reasons and make excuses for putting up +at the Blue Boar. I should be an inconvenience at Joe’s; I was not +expected, and my bed would not be ready; I should be too far from Miss +Havisham’s, and she was exacting and mightn’t like it. All other +swindlers upon earth are nothing to the self-swindlers, and with such +pretences did I cheat myself. Surely a curious thing. That I should +innocently take a bad half-crown of somebody else’s manufacture is +reasonable enough; but that I should knowingly reckon the spurious coin +of my own make as good money! An obliging stranger, under pretence of +compactly folding up my bank-notes for security’s sake, abstracts the +notes and gives me nutshells; but what is his sleight of hand to mine, +when I fold up my own nutshells and pass them on myself as notes! + +Having settled that I must go to the Blue Boar, my mind was much +disturbed by indecision whether or not to take the Avenger. It was +tempting to think of that expensive Mercenary publicly airing his boots +in the archway of the Blue Boar’s posting-yard; it was almost solemn to +imagine him casually produced in the tailor’s shop, and confounding the +disrespectful senses of Trabb’s boy. On the other hand, Trabb’s boy +might worm himself into his intimacy and tell him things; or, reckless +and desperate wretch as I knew he could be, might hoot him in the High +Street. My patroness, too, might hear of him, and not approve. On the +whole, I resolved to leave the Avenger behind. + +It was the afternoon coach by which I had taken my place, and, as +winter had now come round, I should not arrive at my destination until +two or three hours after dark. Our time of starting from the Cross Keys +was two o’clock. I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to +spare, attended by the Avenger,—if I may connect that expression with +one who never attended on me if he could possibly help it. + +At that time it was customary to carry Convicts down to the dock-yards +by stage-coach. As I had often heard of them in the capacity of outside +passengers, and had more than once seen them on the high road dangling +their ironed legs over the coach roof, I had no cause to be surprised +when Herbert, meeting me in the yard, came up and told me there were +two convicts going down with me. But I had a reason that was an old +reason now for constitutionally faltering whenever I heard the word +“convict.” + +“You don’t mind them, Handel?” said Herbert. + +“O no!” + +“I thought you seemed as if you didn’t like them?” + +“I can’t pretend that I do like them, and I suppose you don’t +particularly. But I don’t mind them.” + +“See! There they are,” said Herbert, “coming out of the Tap. What a +degraded and vile sight it is!” + +They had been treating their guard, I suppose, for they had a gaoler +with them, and all three came out wiping their mouths on their hands. +The two convicts were handcuffed together, and had irons on their +legs,—irons of a pattern that I knew well. They wore the dress that I +likewise knew well. Their keeper had a brace of pistols, and carried a +thick-knobbed bludgeon under his arm; but he was on terms of good +understanding with them, and stood with them beside him, looking on at +the putting-to of the horses, rather with an air as if the convicts +were an interesting Exhibition not formally open at the moment, and he +the Curator. One was a taller and stouter man than the other, and +appeared as a matter of course, according to the mysterious ways of the +world, both convict and free, to have had allotted to him the smaller +suit of clothes. His arms and legs were like great pincushions of those +shapes, and his attire disguised him absurdly; but I knew his +half-closed eye at one glance. There stood the man whom I had seen on +the settle at the Three Jolly Bargemen on a Saturday night, and who had +brought me down with his invisible gun! + +It was easy to make sure that as yet he knew me no more than if he had +never seen me in his life. He looked across at me, and his eye +appraised my watch-chain, and then he incidentally spat and said +something to the other convict, and they laughed and slued themselves +round with a clink of their coupling manacle, and looked at something +else. The great numbers on their backs, as if they were street doors; +their coarse mangy ungainly outer surface, as if they were lower +animals; their ironed legs, apologetically garlanded with +pocket-handkerchiefs; and the way in which all present looked at them +and kept from them; made them (as Herbert had said) a most disagreeable +and degraded spectacle. + +But this was not the worst of it. It came out that the whole of the +back of the coach had been taken by a family removing from London, and +that there were no places for the two prisoners but on the seat in +front behind the coachman. Hereupon, a choleric gentleman, who had +taken the fourth place on that seat, flew into a most violent passion, +and said that it was a breach of contract to mix him up with such +villainous company, and that it was poisonous, and pernicious, and +infamous, and shameful, and I don’t know what else. At this time the +coach was ready and the coachman impatient, and we were all preparing +to get up, and the prisoners had come over with their keeper,—bringing +with them that curious flavour of bread-poultice, baize, rope-yarn, and +hearthstone, which attends the convict presence. + +“Don’t take it so much amiss, sir,” pleaded the keeper to the angry +passenger; “I’ll sit next you myself. I’ll put ’em on the outside of +the row. They won’t interfere with you, sir. You needn’t know they’re +there.” + +“And don’t blame _me_,” growled the convict I had recognised. “_I_ +don’t want to go. _I_ am quite ready to stay behind. As fur as I am +concerned any one’s welcome to _my_ place.” + +“Or mine,” said the other, gruffly. “_I_ wouldn’t have incommoded none +of you, if I’d had _my_ way.” Then they both laughed, and began +cracking nuts, and spitting the shells about.—As I really think I +should have liked to do myself, if I had been in their place and so +despised. + +At length, it was voted that there was no help for the angry gentleman, +and that he must either go in his chance company or remain behind. So +he got into his place, still making complaints, and the keeper got into +the place next him, and the convicts hauled themselves up as well as +they could, and the convict I had recognised sat behind me with his +breath on the hair of my head. + +“Good-bye, Handel!” Herbert called out as we started. I thought what a +blessed fortune it was, that he had found another name for me than Pip. + +It is impossible to express with what acuteness I felt the convict’s +breathing, not only on the back of my head, but all along my spine. The +sensation was like being touched in the marrow with some pungent and +searching acid, it set my very teeth on edge. He seemed to have more +breathing business to do than another man, and to make more noise in +doing it; and I was conscious of growing high-shouldered on one side, +in my shrinking endeavours to fend him off. + +The weather was miserably raw, and the two cursed the cold. It made us +all lethargic before we had gone far, and when we had left the Half-way +House behind, we habitually dozed and shivered and were silent. I dozed +off, myself, in considering the question whether I ought to restore a +couple of pounds sterling to this creature before losing sight of him, +and how it could best be done. In the act of dipping forward as if I +were going to bathe among the horses, I woke in a fright and took the +question up again. + +But I must have lost it longer than I had thought, since, although I +could recognise nothing in the darkness and the fitful lights and +shadows of our lamps, I traced marsh country in the cold damp wind that +blew at us. Cowering forward for warmth and to make me a screen against +the wind, the convicts were closer to me than before. The very first +words I heard them interchange as I became conscious, were the words of +my own thought, “Two One Pound notes.” + +“How did he get ’em?” said the convict I had never seen. + +“How should I know?” returned the other. “He had ’em stowed away +somehows. Giv him by friends, I expect.” + +“I wish,” said the other, with a bitter curse upon the cold, “that I +had ’em here.” + +“Two one pound notes, or friends?” + +“Two one pound notes. I’d sell all the friends I ever had for one, and +think it a blessed good bargain. Well? So he says—?” + +“So he says,” resumed the convict I had recognised,—“it was all said +and done in half a minute, behind a pile of timber in the +Dock-yard,—‘You’re a-going to be discharged?’ Yes, I was. Would I find +out that boy that had fed him and kep his secret, and give him them two +one pound notes? Yes, I would. And I did.” + +“More fool you,” growled the other. “I’d have spent ’em on a Man, in +wittles and drink. He must have been a green one. Mean to say he knowed +nothing of you?” + +“Not a ha’porth. Different gangs and different ships. He was tried +again for prison breaking, and got made a Lifer.” + +“And was that—Honour!—the only time you worked out, in this part of the +country?” + +“The only time.” + +“What might have been your opinion of the place?” + +“A most beastly place. Mudbank, mist, swamp, and work; work, swamp, +mist, and mudbank.” + +They both execrated the place in very strong language, and gradually +growled themselves out, and had nothing left to say. + +After overhearing this dialogue, I should assuredly have got down and +been left in the solitude and darkness of the highway, but for feeling +certain that the man had no suspicion of my identity. Indeed, I was not +only so changed in the course of nature, but so differently dressed and +so differently circumstanced, that it was not at all likely he could +have known me without accidental help. Still, the coincidence of our +being together on the coach, was sufficiently strange to fill me with a +dread that some other coincidence might at any moment connect me, in +his hearing, with my name. For this reason, I resolved to alight as +soon as we touched the town, and put myself out of his hearing. This +device I executed successfully. My little portmanteau was in the boot +under my feet; I had but to turn a hinge to get it out; I threw it down +before me, got down after it, and was left at the first lamp on the +first stones of the town pavement. As to the convicts, they went their +way with the coach, and I knew at what point they would be spirited off +to the river. In my fancy, I saw the boat with its convict crew waiting +for them at the slime-washed stairs,—again heard the gruff “Give way, +you!” like an order to dogs,—again saw the wicked Noah’s Ark lying out +on the black water. + +I could not have said what I was afraid of, for my fear was altogether +undefined and vague, but there was great fear upon me. As I walked on +to the hotel, I felt that a dread, much exceeding the mere apprehension +of a painful or disagreeable recognition, made me tremble. I am +confident that it took no distinctness of shape, and that it was the +revival for a few minutes of the terror of childhood. + +The coffee-room at the Blue Boar was empty, and I had not only ordered +my dinner there, but had sat down to it, before the waiter knew me. As +soon as he had apologised for the remissness of his memory, he asked me +if he should send Boots for Mr. Pumblechook? + +“No,” said I, “certainly not.” + +The waiter (it was he who had brought up the Great Remonstrance from +the Commercials, on the day when I was bound) appeared surprised, and +took the earliest opportunity of putting a dirty old copy of a local +newspaper so directly in my way, that I took it up and read this +paragraph:— + +Our readers will learn, not altogether without interest, in reference +to the recent romantic rise in fortune of a young artificer in iron of +this neighbourhood (what a theme, by the way, for the magic pen of our +as yet not universally acknowledged townsman TOOBY, the poet of our +columns!) that the youth’s earliest patron, companion, and friend, was +a highly respected individual not entirely unconnected with the corn +and seed trade, and whose eminently convenient and commodious business +premises are situate within a hundred miles of the High Street. It is +not wholly irrespective of our personal feelings that we record HIM as +the Mentor of our young Telemachus, for it is good to know that our +town produced the founder of the latter’s fortunes. Does the +thought-contracted brow of the local Sage or the lustrous eye of local +Beauty inquire whose fortunes? We believe that Quintin Matsys was the +BLACKSMITH of Antwerp. VERB. SAP. + +I entertain a conviction, based upon large experience, that if in the +days of my prosperity I had gone to the North Pole, I should have met +somebody there, wandering Esquimaux or civilized man, who would have +told me that Pumblechook was my earliest patron and the founder of my +fortunes. + + + + +Chapter XXIX. + + +Betimes in the morning I was up and out. It was too early yet to go to +Miss Havisham’s, so I loitered into the country on Miss Havisham’s side +of town,—which was not Joe’s side; I could go there to-morrow,—thinking +about my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures of her plans for +me. + +She had adopted Estella, she had as good as adopted me, and it could +not fail to be her intention to bring us together. She reserved it for +me to restore the desolate house, admit the sunshine into the dark +rooms, set the clocks a-going and the cold hearths a-blazing, tear down +the cobwebs, destroy the vermin,—in short, do all the shining deeds of +the young Knight of romance, and marry the Princess. I had stopped to +look at the house as I passed; and its seared red brick walls, blocked +windows, and strong green ivy clasping even the stacks of chimneys with +its twigs and tendons, as if with sinewy old arms, had made up a rich +attractive mystery, of which I was the hero. Estella was the +inspiration of it, and the heart of it, of course. But, though she had +taken such strong possession of me, though my fancy and my hope were so +set upon her, though her influence on my boyish life and character had +been all-powerful, I did not, even that romantic morning, invest her +with any attributes save those she possessed. I mention this in this +place, of a fixed purpose, because it is the clue by which I am to be +followed into my poor labyrinth. According to my experience, the +conventional notion of a lover cannot be always true. The unqualified +truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her +simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my +sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against +reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against +happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I +loved her none the less because I knew it, and it had no more influence +in restraining me than if I had devoutly believed her to be human +perfection. + +I so shaped out my walk as to arrive at the gate at my old time. When I +had rung at the bell with an unsteady hand, I turned my back upon the +gate, while I tried to get my breath and keep the beating of my heart +moderately quiet. I heard the side-door open, and steps come across the +courtyard; but I pretended not to hear, even when the gate swung on its +rusty hinges. + +Being at last touched on the shoulder, I started and turned. I started +much more naturally then, to find myself confronted by a man in a sober +grey dress. The last man I should have expected to see in that place of +porter at Miss Havisham’s door. + +“Orlick!” + +“Ah, young master, there’s more changes than yours. But come in, come +in. It’s opposed to my orders to hold the gate open.” + +I entered and he swung it, and locked it, and took the key out. “Yes!” +said he, facing round, after doggedly preceding me a few steps towards +the house. “Here I am!” + +“How did you come here?” + +“I come here,” he retorted, “on my legs. I had my box brought alongside +me in a barrow.” + +“Are you here for good?” + +“I ain’t here for harm, young master, I suppose?” + +I was not so sure of that. I had leisure to entertain the retort in my +mind, while he slowly lifted his heavy glance from the pavement, up my +legs and arms, to my face. + +“Then you have left the forge?” I said. + +“Do this look like a forge?” replied Orlick, sending his glance all +round him with an air of injury. “Now, do it look like it?” + +I asked him how long he had left Gargery’s forge? + +“One day is so like another here,” he replied, “that I don’t know +without casting it up. However, I come here some time since you left.” + +“I could have told you that, Orlick.” + +“Ah!” said he, dryly. “But then you’ve got to be a scholar.” + +By this time we had come to the house, where I found his room to be one +just within the side-door, with a little window in it looking on the +courtyard. In its small proportions, it was not unlike the kind of +place usually assigned to a gate-porter in Paris. Certain keys were +hanging on the wall, to which he now added the gate key; and his +patchwork-covered bed was in a little inner division or recess. The +whole had a slovenly, confined, and sleepy look, like a cage for a +human dormouse; while he, looming dark and heavy in the shadow of a +corner by the window, looked like the human dormouse for whom it was +fitted up,—as indeed he was. + +“I never saw this room before,” I remarked; “but there used to be no +Porter here.” + +“No,” said he; “not till it got about that there was no protection on +the premises, and it come to be considered dangerous, with convicts and +Tag and Rag and Bobtail going up and down. And then I was recommended +to the place as a man who could give another man as good as he brought, +and I took it. It’s easier than bellowsing and hammering.—That’s +loaded, that is.” + +My eye had been caught by a gun with a brass-bound stock over the +chimney-piece, and his eye had followed mine. + +“Well,” said I, not desirous of more conversation, “shall I go up to +Miss Havisham?” + +“Burn me, if I know!” he retorted, first stretching himself and then +shaking himself; “my orders ends here, young master. I give this here +bell a rap with this here hammer, and you go on along the passage till +you meet somebody.” + +“I am expected, I believe?” + +“Burn me twice over, if I can say!” said he. + +Upon that, I turned down the long passage which I had first trodden in +my thick boots, and he made his bell sound. At the end of the passage, +while the bell was still reverberating, I found Sarah Pocket, who +appeared to have now become constitutionally green and yellow by reason +of me. + +“Oh!” said she. “You, is it, Mr. Pip?” + +“It is, Miss Pocket. I am glad to tell you that Mr. Pocket and family +are all well.” + +“Are they any wiser?” said Sarah, with a dismal shake of the head; +“they had better be wiser, than well. Ah, Matthew, Matthew! You know +your way, sir?” + +Tolerably, for I had gone up the staircase in the dark, many a time. I +ascended it now, in lighter boots than of yore, and tapped in my old +way at the door of Miss Havisham’s room. “Pip’s rap,” I heard her say, +immediately; “come in, Pip.” + +She was in her chair near the old table, in the old dress, with her two +hands crossed on her stick, her chin resting on them, and her eyes on +the fire. Sitting near her, with the white shoe, that had never been +worn, in her hand, and her head bent as she looked at it, was an +elegant lady whom I had never seen. + +“Come in, Pip,” Miss Havisham continued to mutter, without looking +round or up; “come in, Pip, how do you do, Pip? so you kiss my hand as +if I were a queen, eh?—Well?” + +She looked up at me suddenly, only moving her eyes, and repeated in a +grimly playful manner,— + +“Well?” + +“I heard, Miss Havisham,” said I, rather at a loss, “that you were so +kind as to wish me to come and see you, and I came directly.” + +“Well?” + +The lady whom I had never seen before, lifted up her eyes and looked +archly at me, and then I saw that the eyes were Estella’s eyes. But she +was so much changed, was so much more beautiful, so much more womanly, +in all things winning admiration, had made such wonderful advance, that +I seemed to have made none. I fancied, as I looked at her, that I +slipped hopelessly back into the coarse and common boy again. O the +sense of distance and disparity that came upon me, and the +inaccessibility that came about her! + +She gave me her hand. I stammered something about the pleasure I felt +in seeing her again, and about my having looked forward to it, for a +long, long time. + +“Do you find her much changed, Pip?” asked Miss Havisham, with her +greedy look, and striking her stick upon a chair that stood between +them, as a sign to me to sit down there. + +“When I came in, Miss Havisham, I thought there was nothing of Estella +in the face or figure; but now it all settles down so curiously into +the old—” + +“What? You are not going to say into the old Estella?” Miss Havisham +interrupted. “She was proud and insulting, and you wanted to go away +from her. Don’t you remember?” + +I said confusedly that that was long ago, and that I knew no better +then, and the like. Estella smiled with perfect composure, and said she +had no doubt of my having been quite right, and of her having been very +disagreeable. + +“Is _he_ changed?” Miss Havisham asked her. + +“Very much,” said Estella, looking at me. + +“Less coarse and common?” said Miss Havisham, playing with Estella’s +hair. + +Estella laughed, and looked at the shoe in her hand, and laughed again, +and looked at me, and put the shoe down. She treated me as a boy still, +but she lured me on. + +We sat in the dreamy room among the old strange influences which had so +wrought upon me, and I learnt that she had but just come home from +France, and that she was going to London. Proud and wilful as of old, +she had brought those qualities into such subjection to her beauty that +it was impossible and out of nature—or I thought so—to separate them +from her beauty. Truly it was impossible to dissociate her presence +from all those wretched hankerings after money and gentility that had +disturbed my boyhood,—from all those ill-regulated aspirations that had +first made me ashamed of home and Joe,—from all those visions that had +raised her face in the glowing fire, struck it out of the iron on the +anvil, extracted it from the darkness of night to look in at the wooden +window of the forge, and flit away. In a word, it was impossible for me +to separate her, in the past or in the present, from the innermost life +of my life. + +It was settled that I should stay there all the rest of the day, and +return to the hotel at night, and to London to-morrow. When we had +conversed for a while, Miss Havisham sent us two out to walk in the +neglected garden: on our coming in by and by, she said, I should wheel +her about a little, as in times of yore. + +So, Estella and I went out into the garden by the gate through which I +had strayed to my encounter with the pale young gentleman, now Herbert; +I, trembling in spirit and worshipping the very hem of her dress; she, +quite composed and most decidedly not worshipping the hem of mine. As +we drew near to the place of encounter, she stopped and said,— + +“I must have been a singular little creature to hide and see that fight +that day; but I did, and I enjoyed it very much.” + +“You rewarded me very much.” + +“Did I?” she replied, in an incidental and forgetful way. “I remember I +entertained a great objection to your adversary, because I took it ill +that he should be brought here to pester me with his company.” + +“He and I are great friends now.” + +“Are you? I think I recollect though, that you read with his father?” + +“Yes.” + +I made the admission with reluctance, for it seemed to have a boyish +look, and she already treated me more than enough like a boy. + +“Since your change of fortune and prospects, you have changed your +companions,” said Estella. + +“Naturally,” said I. + +“And necessarily,” she added, in a haughty tone; “what was fit company +for you once, would be quite unfit company for you now.” + +In my conscience, I doubt very much whether I had any lingering +intention left of going to see Joe; but if I had, this observation put +it to flight. + +“You had no idea of your impending good fortune, in those times?” said +Estella, with a slight wave of her hand, signifying in the fighting +times. + +“Not the least.” + +The air of completeness and superiority with which she walked at my +side, and the air of youthfulness and submission with which I walked at +hers, made a contrast that I strongly felt. It would have rankled in me +more than it did, if I had not regarded myself as eliciting it by being +so set apart for her and assigned to her. + +The garden was too overgrown and rank for walking in with ease, and +after we had made the round of it twice or thrice, we came out again +into the brewery yard. I showed her to a nicety where I had seen her +walking on the casks, that first old day, and she said, with a cold and +careless look in that direction, “Did I?” I reminded her where she had +come out of the house and given me my meat and drink, and she said, “I +don’t remember.” “Not remember that you made me cry?” said I. “No,” +said she, and shook her head and looked about her. I verily believe +that her not remembering and not minding in the least, made me cry +again, inwardly,—and that is the sharpest crying of all. + +“You must know,” said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and +beautiful woman might, “that I have no heart,—if that has anything to +do with my memory.” + +I got through some jargon to the effect that I took the liberty of +doubting that. That I knew better. That there could be no such beauty +without it. + +“Oh! I have a heart to be stabbed in or shot in, I have no doubt,” said +Estella, “and of course if it ceased to beat I should cease to be. But +you know what I mean. I have no softness there, +no—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.” + +What _was_ it that was borne in upon my mind when she stood still and +looked attentively at me? Anything that I had seen in Miss Havisham? +No. In some of her looks and gestures there was that tinge of +resemblance to Miss Havisham which may often be noticed to have been +acquired by children, from grown person with whom they have been much +associated and secluded, and which, when childhood is passed, will +produce a remarkable occasional likeness of expression between faces +that are otherwise quite different. And yet I could not trace this to +Miss Havisham. I looked again, and though she was still looking at me, +the suggestion was gone. + +What _was_ it? + +“I am serious,” said Estella, not so much with a frown (for her brow +was smooth) as with a darkening of her face; “if we are to be thrown +much together, you had better believe it at once. No!” imperiously +stopping me as I opened my lips. “I have not bestowed my tenderness +anywhere. I have never had any such thing.” + +In another moment we were in the brewery, so long disused, and she +pointed to the high gallery where I had seen her going out on that same +first day, and told me she remembered to have been up there, and to +have seen me standing scared below. As my eyes followed her white hand, +again the same dim suggestion that I could not possibly grasp crossed +me. My involuntary start occasioned her to lay her hand upon my arm. +Instantly the ghost passed once more and was gone. + +What _was_ it? + +“What is the matter?” asked Estella. “Are you scared again?” + +“I should be, if I believed what you said just now,” I replied, to turn +it off. + +“Then you don’t? Very well. It is said, at any rate. Miss Havisham will +soon be expecting you at your old post, though I think that might be +laid aside now, with other old belongings. Let us make one more round +of the garden, and then go in. Come! You shall not shed tears for my +cruelty to-day; you shall be my Page, and give me your shoulder.” + +Her handsome dress had trailed upon the ground. She held it in one hand +now, and with the other lightly touched my shoulder as we walked. We +walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more, and it was all in +bloom for me. If the green and yellow growth of weed in the chinks of +the old wall had been the most precious flowers that ever blew, it +could not have been more cherished in my remembrance. + +There was no discrepancy of years between us to remove her far from me; +we were of nearly the same age, though of course the age told for more +in her case than in mine; but the air of inaccessibility which her +beauty and her manner gave her, tormented me in the midst of my +delight, and at the height of the assurance I felt that our patroness +had chosen us for one another. Wretched boy! + +At last we went back into the house, and there I heard, with surprise, +that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business, and +would come back to dinner. The old wintry branches of chandeliers in +the room where the mouldering table was spread had been lighted while +we were out, and Miss Havisham was in her chair and waiting for me. + +It was like pushing the chair itself back into the past, when we began +the old slow circuit round about the ashes of the bridal feast. But, in +the funereal room, with that figure of the grave fallen back in the +chair fixing its eyes upon her, Estella looked more bright and +beautiful than before, and I was under stronger enchantment. + +The time so melted away, that our early dinner-hour drew close at hand, +and Estella left us to prepare herself. We had stopped near the centre +of the long table, and Miss Havisham, with one of her withered arms +stretched out of the chair, rested that clenched hand upon the yellow +cloth. As Estella looked back over her shoulder before going out at the +door, Miss Havisham kissed that hand to her, with a ravenous intensity +that was of its kind quite dreadful. + +Then, Estella being gone and we two left alone, she turned to me, and +said in a whisper,— + +“Is she beautiful, graceful, well-grown? Do you admire her?” + +“Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham.” + +She drew an arm round my neck, and drew my head close down to hers as +she sat in the chair. “Love her, love her, love her! How does she use +you?” + +Before I could answer (if I could have answered so difficult a question +at all) she repeated, “Love her, love her, love her! If she favours +you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to +pieces,—and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper,—love +her, love her, love her!” + +Never had I seen such passionate eagerness as was joined to her +utterance of these words. I could feel the muscles of the thin arm +round my neck swell with the vehemence that possessed her. + +“Hear me, Pip! I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her, +to be loved. I developed her into what she is, that she might be loved. +Love her!” + +She said the word often enough, and there could be no doubt that she +meant to say it; but if the often repeated word had been hate instead +of love—despair—revenge—dire death—it could not have sounded from her +lips more like a curse. + +“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, +“what real love is. It is blind devotion, unquestioning +self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself +and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the +smiter—as I did!” + +When she came to that, and to a wild cry that followed that, I caught +her round the waist. For she rose up in the chair, in her shroud of a +dress, and struck at the air as if she would as soon have struck +herself against the wall and fallen dead. + +All this passed in a few seconds. As I drew her down into her chair, I +was conscious of a scent that I knew, and turning, saw my guardian in +the room. + +He always carried (I have not yet mentioned it, I think) a +pocket-handkerchief of rich silk and of imposing proportions, which was +of great value to him in his profession. I have seen him so terrify a +client or a witness by ceremoniously unfolding this pocket-handkerchief +as if he were immediately going to blow his nose, and then pausing, as +if he knew he should not have time to do it before such client or +witness committed himself, that the self-committal has followed +directly, quite as a matter of course. When I saw him in the room he +had this expressive pocket-handkerchief in both hands, and was looking +at us. On meeting my eye, he said plainly, by a momentary and silent +pause in that attitude, “Indeed? Singular!” and then put the +handkerchief to its right use with wonderful effect. + +Miss Havisham had seen him as soon as I, and was (like everybody else) +afraid of him. She made a strong attempt to compose herself, and +stammered that he was as punctual as ever. + +“As punctual as ever,” he repeated, coming up to us. “(How do you do, +Pip? Shall I give you a ride, Miss Havisham? Once round?) And so you +are here, Pip?” + +I told him when I had arrived, and how Miss Havisham had wished me to +come and see Estella. To which he replied, “Ah! Very fine young lady!” +Then he pushed Miss Havisham in her chair before him, with one of his +large hands, and put the other in his trousers-pocket as if the pocket +were full of secrets. + +“Well, Pip! How often have you seen Miss Estella before?” said he, when +he came to a stop. + +“How often?” + +“Ah! How many times? Ten thousand times?” + +“Oh! Certainly not so many.” + +“Twice?” + +“Jaggers,” interposed Miss Havisham, much to my relief, “leave my Pip +alone, and go with him to your dinner.” + +He complied, and we groped our way down the dark stairs together. While +we were still on our way to those detached apartments across the paved +yard at the back, he asked me how often I had seen Miss Havisham eat +and drink; offering me a breadth of choice, as usual, between a hundred +times and once. + +I considered, and said, “Never.” + +“And never will, Pip,” he retorted, with a frowning smile. “She has +never allowed herself to be seen doing either, since she lived this +present life of hers. She wanders about in the night, and then lays +hands on such food as she takes.” + +“Pray, sir,” said I, “may I ask you a question?” + +“You may,” said he, “and I may decline to answer it. Put your +question.” + +“Estella’s name. Is it Havisham or—?” I had nothing to add. + +“Or what?” said he. + +“Is it Havisham?” + +“It is Havisham.” + +This brought us to the dinner-table, where she and Sarah Pocket awaited +us. Mr. Jaggers presided, Estella sat opposite to him, I faced my green +and yellow friend. We dined very well, and were waited on by a +maid-servant whom I had never seen in all my comings and goings, but +who, for anything I know, had been in that mysterious house the whole +time. After dinner a bottle of choice old port was placed before my +guardian (he was evidently well acquainted with the vintage), and the +two ladies left us. + +Anything to equal the determined reticence of Mr. Jaggers under that +roof I never saw elsewhere, even in him. He kept his very looks to +himself, and scarcely directed his eyes to Estella’s face once during +dinner. When she spoke to him, he listened, and in due course answered, +but never looked at her, that I could see. On the other hand, she often +looked at him, with interest and curiosity, if not distrust, but his +face never showed the least consciousness. Throughout dinner he took a +dry delight in making Sarah Pocket greener and yellower, by often +referring in conversation with me to my expectations; but here, again, +he showed no consciousness, and even made it appear that he +extorted—and even did extort, though I don’t know how—those references +out of my innocent self. + +And when he and I were left alone together, he sat with an air upon him +of general lying by in consequence of information he possessed, that +really was too much for me. He cross-examined his very wine when he had +nothing else in hand. He held it between himself and the candle, tasted +the port, rolled it in his mouth, swallowed it, looked at his glass +again, smelt the port, tried it, drank it, filled again, and +cross-examined the glass again, until I was as nervous as if I had +known the wine to be telling him something to my disadvantage. Three or +four times I feebly thought I would start conversation; but whenever he +saw me going to ask him anything, he looked at me with his glass in his +hand, and rolling his wine about in his mouth, as if requesting me to +take notice that it was of no use, for he couldn’t answer. + +I think Miss Pocket was conscious that the sight of me involved her in +the danger of being goaded to madness, and perhaps tearing off her +cap,—which was a very hideous one, in the nature of a muslin mop,—and +strewing the ground with her hair,—which assuredly had never grown on +_her_ head. She did not appear when we afterwards went up to Miss +Havisham’s room, and we four played at whist. In the interval, Miss +Havisham, in a fantastic way, had put some of the most beautiful jewels +from her dressing-table into Estella’s hair, and about her bosom and +arms; and I saw even my guardian look at her from under his thick +eyebrows, and raise them a little, when her loveliness was before him, +with those rich flushes of glitter and colour in it. + +[Illustration] + +Of the manner and extent to which he took our trumps into custody, and +came out with mean little cards at the ends of hands, before which the +glory of our Kings and Queens was utterly abased, I say nothing; nor, +of the feeling that I had, respecting his looking upon us personally in +the light of three very obvious and poor riddles that he had found out +long ago. What I suffered from, was the incompatibility between his +cold presence and my feelings towards Estella. It was not that I knew I +could never bear to speak to him about her, that I knew I could never +bear to hear him creak his boots at her, that I knew I could never bear +to see him wash his hands of her; it was, that my admiration should be +within a foot or two of him,—it was, that my feelings should be in the +same place with him,—_that_, was the agonizing circumstance. + +We played until nine o’clock, and then it was arranged that when +Estella came to London I should be forewarned of her coming and should +meet her at the coach; and then I took leave of her, and touched her +and left her. + +My guardian lay at the Boar in the next room to mine. Far into the +night, Miss Havisham’s words, “Love her, love her, love her!” sounded +in my ears. I adapted them for my own repetition, and said to my +pillow, “I love her, I love her, I love her!” hundreds of times. Then, +a burst of gratitude came upon me, that she should be destined for me, +once the blacksmith’s boy. Then I thought if she were, as I feared, by +no means rapturously grateful for that destiny yet, when would she +begin to be interested in me? When should I awaken the heart within her +that was mute and sleeping now? + +Ah me! I thought those were high and great emotions. But I never +thought there was anything low and small in my keeping away from Joe, +because I knew she would be contemptuous of him. It was but a day gone, +and Joe had brought the tears into my eyes; they had soon dried, God +forgive me! soon dried. + + + + +Chapter XXX. + + +After well considering the matter while I was dressing at the Blue Boar +in the morning, I resolved to tell my guardian that I doubted Orlick’s +being the right sort of man to fill a post of trust at Miss Havisham’s. +“Why of course he is not the right sort of man, Pip,” said my guardian, +comfortably satisfied beforehand on the general head, “because the man +who fills the post of trust never is the right sort of man.” It seemed +quite to put him into spirits to find that this particular post was not +exceptionally held by the right sort of man, and he listened in a +satisfied manner while I told him what knowledge I had of Orlick. “Very +good, Pip,” he observed, when I had concluded, “I’ll go round +presently, and pay our friend off.” Rather alarmed by this summary +action, I was for a little delay, and even hinted that our friend +himself might be difficult to deal with. “Oh no he won’t,” said my +guardian, making his pocket-handkerchief-point, with perfect +confidence; “I should like to see him argue the question with _me_.” + +As we were going back together to London by the midday coach, and as I +breakfasted under such terrors of Pumblechook that I could scarcely +hold my cup, this gave me an opportunity of saying that I wanted a +walk, and that I would go on along the London road while Mr. Jaggers +was occupied, if he would let the coachman know that I would get into +my place when overtaken. I was thus enabled to fly from the Blue Boar +immediately after breakfast. By then making a loop of about a couple of +miles into the open country at the back of Pumblechook’s premises, I +got round into the High Street again, a little beyond that pitfall, and +felt myself in comparative security. + +It was interesting to be in the quiet old town once more, and it was +not disagreeable to be here and there suddenly recognised and stared +after. One or two of the tradespeople even darted out of their shops +and went a little way down the street before me, that they might turn, +as if they had forgotten something, and pass me face to face,—on which +occasions I don’t know whether they or I made the worse pretence; they +of not doing it, or I of not seeing it. Still my position was a +distinguished one, and I was not at all dissatisfied with it, until +Fate threw me in the way of that unlimited miscreant, Trabb’s boy. + +Casting my eyes along the street at a certain point of my progress, I +beheld Trabb’s boy approaching, lashing himself with an empty blue bag. +Deeming that a serene and unconscious contemplation of him would best +beseem me, and would be most likely to quell his evil mind, I advanced +with that expression of countenance, and was rather congratulating +myself on my success, when suddenly the knees of Trabb’s boy smote +together, his hair uprose, his cap fell off, he trembled violently in +every limb, staggered out into the road, and crying to the populace, +“Hold me! I’m so frightened!” feigned to be in a paroxysm of terror and +contrition, occasioned by the dignity of my appearance. As I passed +him, his teeth loudly chattered in his head, and with every mark of +extreme humiliation, he prostrated himself in the dust. + +This was a hard thing to bear, but this was nothing. I had not advanced +another two hundred yards when, to my inexpressible terror, amazement, +and indignation, I again beheld Trabb’s boy approaching. He was coming +round a narrow corner. His blue bag was slung over his shoulder, honest +industry beamed in his eyes, a determination to proceed to Trabb’s with +cheerful briskness was indicated in his gait. With a shock he became +aware of me, and was severely visited as before; but this time his +motion was rotatory, and he staggered round and round me with knees +more afflicted, and with uplifted hands as if beseeching for mercy. His +sufferings were hailed with the greatest joy by a knot of spectators, +and I felt utterly confounded. + +I had not got as much further down the street as the post-office, when +I again beheld Trabb’s boy shooting round by a back way. This time, he +was entirely changed. He wore the blue bag in the manner of my +great-coat, and was strutting along the pavement towards me on the +opposite side of the street, attended by a company of delighted young +friends to whom he from time to time exclaimed, with a wave of his +hand, “Don’t know yah!” Words cannot state the amount of aggravation +and injury wreaked upon me by Trabb’s boy, when passing abreast of me, +he pulled up his shirt-collar, twined his side-hair, stuck an arm +akimbo, and smirked extravagantly by, wriggling his elbows and body, +and drawling to his attendants, “Don’t know yah, don’t know yah, ’pon +my soul don’t know yah!” The disgrace attendant on his immediately +afterwards taking to crowing and pursuing me across the bridge with +crows, as from an exceedingly dejected fowl who had known me when I was +a blacksmith, culminated the disgrace with which I left the town, and +was, so to speak, ejected by it into the open country. + +[Illustration] + +But unless I had taken the life of Trabb’s boy on that occasion, I +really do not even now see what I could have done save endure. To have +struggled with him in the street, or to have exacted any lower +recompense from him than his heart’s best blood, would have been futile +and degrading. Moreover, he was a boy whom no man could hurt; an +invulnerable and dodging serpent who, when chased into a corner, flew +out again between his captor’s legs, scornfully yelping. I wrote, +however, to Mr. Trabb by next day’s post, to say that Mr. Pip must +decline to deal further with one who could so far forget what he owed +to the best interests of society, as to employ a boy who excited +Loathing in every respectable mind. + +The coach, with Mr. Jaggers inside, came up in due time, and I took my +box-seat again, and arrived in London safe,—but not sound, for my heart +was gone. As soon as I arrived, I sent a penitential codfish and barrel +of oysters to Joe (as reparation for not having gone myself), and then +went on to Barnard’s Inn. + +I found Herbert dining on cold meat, and delighted to welcome me back. +Having despatched The Avenger to the coffee-house for an addition to +the dinner, I felt that I must open my breast that very evening to my +friend and chum. As confidence was out of the question with The Avenger +in the hall, which could merely be regarded in the light of an +antechamber to the keyhole, I sent him to the Play. A better proof of +the severity of my bondage to that taskmaster could scarcely be +afforded, than the degrading shifts to which I was constantly driven to +find him employment. So mean is extremity, that I sometimes sent him to +Hyde Park corner to see what o’clock it was. + +Dinner done and we sitting with our feet upon the fender, I said to +Herbert, “My dear Herbert, I have something very particular to tell +you.” + +“My dear Handel,” he returned, “I shall esteem and respect your +confidence.” + +“It concerns myself, Herbert,” said I, “and one other person.” + +Herbert crossed his feet, looked at the fire with his head on one side, +and having looked at it in vain for some time, looked at me because I +didn’t go on. + +“Herbert,” said I, laying my hand upon his knee, “I love—I +adore—Estella.” + +Instead of being transfixed, Herbert replied in an easy +matter-of-course way, “Exactly. Well?” + +“Well, Herbert? Is that all you say? Well?” + +“What next, I mean?” said Herbert. “Of course I know _that_.” + +“How do you know it?” said I. + +“How do I know it, Handel? Why, from you.” + +“I never told you.” + +“Told me! You have never told me when you have got your hair cut, but I +have had senses to perceive it. You have always adored her, ever since +I have known you. You brought your adoration and your portmanteau here +together. Told me! Why, you have always told me all day long. When you +told me your own story, you told me plainly that you began adoring her +the first time you saw her, when you were very young indeed.” + +“Very well, then,” said I, to whom this was a new and not unwelcome +light, “I have never left off adoring her. And she has come back, a +most beautiful and most elegant creature. And I saw her yesterday. And +if I adored her before, I now doubly adore her.” + +“Lucky for you then, Handel,” said Herbert, “that you are picked out +for her and allotted to her. Without encroaching on forbidden ground, +we may venture to say that there can be no doubt between ourselves of +that fact. Have you any idea yet, of Estella’s views on the adoration +question?” + +I shook my head gloomily. “Oh! She is thousands of miles away, from +me,” said I. + +“Patience, my dear Handel: time enough, time enough. But you have +something more to say?” + +“I am ashamed to say it,” I returned, “and yet it’s no worse to say it +than to think it. You call me a lucky fellow. Of course, I am. I was a +blacksmith’s boy but yesterday; I am—what shall I say I am—to-day?” + +“Say a good fellow, if you want a phrase,” returned Herbert, smiling, +and clapping his hand on the back of mine—“a good fellow, with +impetuosity and hesitation, boldness and diffidence, action and +dreaming, curiously mixed in him.” + +I stopped for a moment to consider whether there really was this +mixture in my character. On the whole, I by no means recognised the +analysis, but thought it not worth disputing. + +“When I ask what I am to call myself to-day, Herbert,” I went on, “I +suggest what I have in my thoughts. You say I am lucky. I know I have +done nothing to raise myself in life, and that Fortune alone has raised +me; that is being very lucky. And yet, when I think of Estella—” + +(“And when don’t you, you know?” Herbert threw in, with his eyes on the +fire; which I thought kind and sympathetic of him.) + +“—Then, my dear Herbert, I cannot tell you how dependent and uncertain +I feel, and how exposed to hundreds of chances. Avoiding forbidden +ground, as you did just now, I may still say that on the constancy of +one person (naming no person) all my expectations depend. And at the +best, how indefinite and unsatisfactory, only to know so vaguely what +they are!” In saying this, I relieved my mind of what had always been +there, more or less, though no doubt most since yesterday. + +“Now, Handel,” Herbert replied, in his gay, hopeful way, “it seems to +me that in the despondency of the tender passion, we are looking into +our gift-horse’s mouth with a magnifying-glass. Likewise, it seems to +me that, concentrating our attention on the examination, we altogether +overlook one of the best points of the animal. Didn’t you tell me that +your guardian, Mr. Jaggers, told you in the beginning, that you were +not endowed with expectations only? And even if he had not told you +so,—though that is a very large If, I grant,—could you believe that of +all men in London, Mr. Jaggers is the man to hold his present relations +towards you unless he were sure of his ground?” + +I said I could not deny that this was a strong point. I said it (people +often do so, in such cases) like a rather reluctant concession to truth +and justice;—as if I wanted to deny it! + +“I should think it _was_ a strong point,” said Herbert, “and I should +think you would be puzzled to imagine a stronger; as to the rest, you +must bide your guardian’s time, and he must bide his client’s time. +You’ll be one-and-twenty before you know where you are, and then +perhaps you’ll get some further enlightenment. At all events, you’ll be +nearer getting it, for it must come at last.” + +“What a hopeful disposition you have!” said I, gratefully admiring his +cheery ways. + +“I ought to have,” said Herbert, “for I have not much else. I must +acknowledge, by the by, that the good sense of what I have just said is +not my own, but my father’s. The only remark I ever heard him make on +your story, was the final one, “The thing is settled and done, or Mr. +Jaggers would not be in it.” And now before I say anything more about +my father, or my father’s son, and repay confidence with confidence, I +want to make myself seriously disagreeable to you for a +moment,—positively repulsive.” + +“You won’t succeed,” said I. + +“O yes I shall!” said he. “One, two, three, and now I am in for it. +Handel, my good fellow;”—though he spoke in this light tone, he was +very much in earnest,—“I have been thinking since we have been talking +with our feet on this fender, that Estella surely cannot be a condition +of your inheritance, if she was never referred to by your guardian. Am +I right in so understanding what you have told me, as that he never +referred to her, directly or indirectly, in any way? Never even hinted, +for instance, that your patron might have views as to your marriage +ultimately?” + +“Never.” + +“Now, Handel, I am quite free from the flavour of sour grapes, upon my +soul and honour! Not being bound to her, can you not detach yourself +from her?—I told you I should be disagreeable.” + +I turned my head aside, for, with a rush and a sweep, like the old +marsh winds coming up from the sea, a feeling like that which had +subdued me on the morning when I left the forge, when the mists were +solemnly rising, and when I laid my hand upon the village finger-post, +smote upon my heart again. There was silence between us for a little +while. + +“Yes; but my dear Handel,” Herbert went on, as if we had been talking, +instead of silent, “its having been so strongly rooted in the breast of +a boy whom nature and circumstances made so romantic, renders it very +serious. Think of her bringing-up, and think of Miss Havisham. Think of +what she is herself (now I am repulsive and you abominate me). This may +lead to miserable things.” + +“I know it, Herbert,” said I, with my head still turned away, “but I +can’t help it.” + +“You can’t detach yourself?” + +“No. Impossible!” + +“You can’t try, Handel?” + +“No. Impossible!” + +“Well!” said Herbert, getting up with a lively shake as if he had been +asleep, and stirring the fire, “now I’ll endeavour to make myself +agreeable again!” + +So he went round the room and shook the curtains out, put the chairs in +their places, tidied the books and so forth that were lying about, +looked into the hall, peeped into the letter-box, shut the door, and +came back to his chair by the fire: where he sat down, nursing his left +leg in both arms. + +“I was going to say a word or two, Handel, concerning my father and my +father’s son. I am afraid it is scarcely necessary for my father’s son +to remark that my father’s establishment is not particularly brilliant +in its housekeeping.” + +“There is always plenty, Herbert,” said I, to say something +encouraging. + +“O yes! and so the dustman says, I believe, with the strongest +approval, and so does the marine-store shop in the back street. +Gravely, Handel, for the subject is grave enough, you know how it is as +well as I do. I suppose there was a time once when my father had not +given matters up; but if ever there was, the time is gone. May I ask +you if you have ever had an opportunity of remarking, down in your part +of the country, that the children of not exactly suitable marriages are +always most particularly anxious to be married?” + +This was such a singular question, that I asked him in return, “Is it +so?” + +“I don’t know,” said Herbert, “that’s what I want to know. Because it +is decidedly the case with us. My poor sister Charlotte, who was next +me and died before she was fourteen, was a striking example. Little +Jane is the same. In her desire to be matrimonially established, you +might suppose her to have passed her short existence in the perpetual +contemplation of domestic bliss. Little Alick in a frock has already +made arrangements for his union with a suitable young person at Kew. +And indeed, I think we are all engaged, except the baby.” + +“Then you are?” said I. + +“I am,” said Herbert; “but it’s a secret.” + +I assured him of my keeping the secret, and begged to be favoured with +further particulars. He had spoken so sensibly and feelingly of my +weakness that I wanted to know something about his strength. + +“May I ask the name?” I said. + +“Name of Clara,” said Herbert. + +“Live in London?” + +“Yes, perhaps I ought to mention,” said Herbert, who had become +curiously crestfallen and meek, since we entered on the interesting +theme, “that she is rather below my mother’s nonsensical family +notions. Her father had to do with the victualling of passenger-ships. +I think he was a species of purser.” + +“What is he now?” said I. + +“He’s an invalid now,” replied Herbert. + +“Living on—?” + +“On the first floor,” said Herbert. Which was not at all what I meant, +for I had intended my question to apply to his means. “I have never +seen him, for he has always kept his room overhead, since I have known +Clara. But I have heard him constantly. He makes tremendous +rows,—roars, and pegs at the floor with some frightful instrument.” In +looking at me and then laughing heartily, Herbert for the time +recovered his usual lively manner. + +“Don’t you expect to see him?” said I. + +“O yes, I constantly expect to see him,” returned Herbert, “because I +never hear him, without expecting him to come tumbling through the +ceiling. But I don’t know how long the rafters may hold.” + +When he had once more laughed heartily, he became meek again, and told +me that the moment he began to realise Capital, it was his intention to +marry this young lady. He added as a self-evident proposition, +engendering low spirits, “But you _can’t_ marry, you know, while you’re +looking about you.” + +As we contemplated the fire, and as I thought what a difficult vision +to realise this same Capital sometimes was, I put my hands in my +pockets. A folded piece of paper in one of them attracting my +attention, I opened it and found it to be the play-bill I had received +from Joe, relative to the celebrated provincial amateur of Roscian +renown. “And bless my heart,” I involuntarily added aloud, “it’s +to-night!” + +This changed the subject in an instant, and made us hurriedly resolve +to go to the play. So, when I had pledged myself to comfort and abet +Herbert in the affair of his heart by all practicable and impracticable +means, and when Herbert had told me that his affianced already knew me +by reputation and that I should be presented to her, and when we had +warmly shaken hands upon our mutual confidence, we blew out our +candles, made up our fire, locked our door, and issued forth in quest +of Mr. Wopsle and Denmark. + + + + +Chapter XXXI. + + +On our arrival in Denmark, we found the king and queen of that country +elevated in two arm-chairs on a kitchen-table, holding a Court. The +whole of the Danish nobility were in attendance; consisting of a noble +boy in the wash-leather boots of a gigantic ancestor, a venerable Peer +with a dirty face who seemed to have risen from the people late in +life, and the Danish chivalry with a comb in its hair and a pair of +white silk legs, and presenting on the whole a feminine appearance. My +gifted townsman stood gloomily apart, with folded arms, and I could +have wished that his curls and forehead had been more probable. + +Several curious little circumstances transpired as the action +proceeded. The late king of the country not only appeared to have been +troubled with a cough at the time of his decease, but to have taken it +with him to the tomb, and to have brought it back. The royal phantom +also carried a ghostly manuscript round its truncheon, to which it had +the appearance of occasionally referring, and that too, with an air of +anxiety and a tendency to lose the place of reference which were +suggestive of a state of mortality. It was this, I conceive, which led +to the Shade’s being advised by the gallery to “turn over!”—a +recommendation which it took extremely ill. It was likewise to be noted +of this majestic spirit, that whereas it always appeared with an air of +having been out a long time and walked an immense distance, it +perceptibly came from a closely contiguous wall. This occasioned its +terrors to be received derisively. The Queen of Denmark, a very buxom +lady, though no doubt historically brazen, was considered by the public +to have too much brass about her; her chin being attached to her diadem +by a broad band of that metal (as if she had a gorgeous toothache), her +waist being encircled by another, and each of her arms by another, so +that she was openly mentioned as “the kettle-drum.” The noble boy in +the ancestral boots was inconsistent, representing himself, as it were +in one breath, as an able seaman, a strolling actor, a grave-digger, a +clergyman, and a person of the utmost importance at a Court +fencing-match, on the authority of whose practised eye and nice +discrimination the finest strokes were judged. This gradually led to a +want of toleration for him, and even—on his being detected in holy +orders, and declining to perform the funeral service—to the general +indignation taking the form of nuts. Lastly, Ophelia was a prey to such +slow musical madness, that when, in course of time, she had taken off +her white muslin scarf, folded it up, and buried it, a sulky man who +had been long cooling his impatient nose against an iron bar in the +front row of the gallery, growled, “Now the baby’s put to bed let’s +have supper!” Which, to say the least of it, was out of keeping. + +Upon my unfortunate townsman all these incidents accumulated with +playful effect. Whenever that undecided Prince had to ask a question or +state a doubt, the public helped him out with it. As for example; on +the question whether ’twas nobler in the mind to suffer, some roared +yes, and some no, and some inclining to both opinions said “Toss up for +it;” and quite a Debating Society arose. When he asked what should such +fellows as he do crawling between earth and heaven, he was encouraged +with loud cries of “Hear, hear!” When he appeared with his stocking +disordered (its disorder expressed, according to usage, by one very +neat fold in the top, which I suppose to be always got up with a flat +iron), a conversation took place in the gallery respecting the paleness +of his leg, and whether it was occasioned by the turn the ghost had +given him. On his taking the recorders,—very like a little black flute +that had just been played in the orchestra and handed out at the +door,—he was called upon unanimously for Rule Britannia. When he +recommended the player not to saw the air thus, the sulky man said, +“And don’t _you_ do it, neither; you’re a deal worse than _him_!” And I +grieve to add that peals of laughter greeted Mr. Wopsle on every one of +these occasions. + +But his greatest trials were in the churchyard, which had the +appearance of a primeval forest, with a kind of small ecclesiastical +wash-house on one side, and a turnpike gate on the other. Mr. Wopsle in +a comprehensive black cloak, being descried entering at the turnpike, +the gravedigger was admonished in a friendly way, “Look out! Here’s the +undertaker a coming, to see how you’re a getting on with your work!” I +believe it is well known in a constitutional country that Mr. Wopsle +could not possibly have returned the skull, after moralizing over it, +without dusting his fingers on a white napkin taken from his breast; +but even that innocent and indispensable action did not pass without +the comment, “Wai-ter!” The arrival of the body for interment (in an +empty black box with the lid tumbling open), was the signal for a +general joy, which was much enhanced by the discovery, among the +bearers, of an individual obnoxious to identification. The joy attended +Mr. Wopsle through his struggle with Laertes on the brink of the +orchestra and the grave, and slackened no more until he had tumbled the +king off the kitchen-table, and had died by inches from the ankles +upward. + +We had made some pale efforts in the beginning to applaud Mr. Wopsle; +but they were too hopeless to be persisted in. Therefore we had sat, +feeling keenly for him, but laughing, nevertheless, from ear to ear. I +laughed in spite of myself all the time, the whole thing was so droll; +and yet I had a latent impression that there was something decidedly +fine in Mr. Wopsle’s elocution,—not for old associations’ sake, I am +afraid, but because it was very slow, very dreary, very uphill and +downhill, and very unlike any way in which any man in any natural +circumstances of life or death ever expressed himself about anything. +When the tragedy was over, and he had been called for and hooted, I +said to Herbert, “Let us go at once, or perhaps we shall meet him.” + +We made all the haste we could downstairs, but we were not quick enough +either. Standing at the door was a Jewish man with an unnatural heavy +smear of eyebrow, who caught my eyes as we advanced, and said, when we +came up with him,— + +“Mr. Pip and friend?” + +Identity of Mr. Pip and friend confessed. + +“Mr. Waldengarver,” said the man, “would be glad to have the honour.” + +“Waldengarver?” I repeated—when Herbert murmured in my ear, “Probably +Wopsle.” + +“Oh!” said I. “Yes. Shall we follow you?” + +“A few steps, please.” When we were in a side alley, he turned and +asked, “How did you think he looked?—I dressed him.” + +I don’t know what he had looked like, except a funeral; with the +addition of a large Danish sun or star hanging round his neck by a blue +ribbon, that had given him the appearance of being insured in some +extraordinary Fire Office. But I said he had looked very nice. + +“When he come to the grave,” said our conductor, “he showed his cloak +beautiful. But, judging from the wing, it looked to me that when he see +the ghost in the queen’s apartment, he might have made more of his +stockings.” + +I modestly assented, and we all fell through a little dirty swing door, +into a sort of hot packing-case immediately behind it. Here Mr. Wopsle +was divesting himself of his Danish garments, and here there was just +room for us to look at him over one another’s shoulders, by keeping the +packing-case door, or lid, wide open. + +“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Wopsle, “I am proud to see you. I hope, Mr. Pip, +you will excuse my sending round. I had the happiness to know you in +former times, and the Drama has ever had a claim which has ever been +acknowledged, on the noble and the affluent.” + +Meanwhile, Mr. Waldengarver, in a frightful perspiration, was trying to +get himself out of his princely sables. + +“Skin the stockings off Mr. Waldengarver,” said the owner of that +property, “or you’ll bust ’em. Bust ’em, and you’ll bust +five-and-thirty shillings. Shakspeare never was complimented with a +finer pair. Keep quiet in your chair now, and leave ’em to me.” + +With that, he went upon his knees, and began to flay his victim; who, +on the first stocking coming off, would certainly have fallen over +backward with his chair, but for there being no room to fall anyhow. + +I had been afraid until then to say a word about the play. But then, +Mr. Waldengarver looked up at us complacently, and said,— + +“Gentlemen, how did it seem to you, to go, in front?” + +Herbert said from behind (at the same time poking me), “Capitally.” So +I said “Capitally.” + +“How did you like my reading of the character, gentlemen?” said Mr. +Waldengarver, almost, if not quite, with patronage. + +Herbert said from behind (again poking me), “Massive and concrete.” So +I said boldly, as if I had originated it, and must beg to insist upon +it, “Massive and concrete.” + +“I am glad to have your approbation, gentlemen,” said Mr. Waldengarver, +with an air of dignity, in spite of his being ground against the wall +at the time, and holding on by the seat of the chair. + +“But I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Waldengarver,” said the man who was +on his knees, “in which you’re out in your reading. Now mind! I don’t +care who says contrairy; I tell you so. You’re out in your reading of +Hamlet when you get your legs in profile. The last Hamlet as I dressed, +made the same mistakes in his reading at rehearsal, till I got him to +put a large red wafer on each of his shins, and then at that rehearsal +(which was the last) I went in front, sir, to the back of the pit, and +whenever his reading brought him into profile, I called out “I don’t +see no wafers!” And at night his reading was lovely.” + +Mr. Waldengarver smiled at me, as much as to say “a faithful +Dependent—I overlook his folly;” and then said aloud, “My view is a +little classic and thoughtful for them here; but they will improve, +they will improve.” + +Herbert and I said together, O, no doubt they would improve. + +“Did you observe, gentlemen,” said Mr. Waldengarver, “that there was a +man in the gallery who endeavoured to cast derision on the service,—I +mean, the representation?” + +We basely replied that we rather thought we had noticed such a man. I +added, “He was drunk, no doubt.” + +“O dear no, sir,” said Mr. Wopsle, “not drunk. His employer would see +to that, sir. His employer would not allow him to be drunk.” + +“You know his employer?” said I. + +Mr. Wopsle shut his eyes, and opened them again; performing both +ceremonies very slowly. “You must have observed, gentlemen,” said he, +“an ignorant and a blatant ass, with a rasping throat and a countenance +expressive of low malignity, who went through—I will not say +sustained—the rôle (if I may use a French expression) of Claudius, King +of Denmark. That is his employer, gentlemen. Such is the profession!” + +Without distinctly knowing whether I should have been more sorry for +Mr. Wopsle if he had been in despair, I was so sorry for him as it was, +that I took the opportunity of his turning round to have his braces put +on,—which jostled us out at the doorway,—to ask Herbert what he thought +of having him home to supper? Herbert said he thought it would be kind +to do so; therefore I invited him, and he went to Barnard’s with us, +wrapped up to the eyes, and we did our best for him, and he sat until +two o’clock in the morning, reviewing his success and developing his +plans. I forget in detail what they were, but I have a general +recollection that he was to begin with reviving the Drama, and to end +with crushing it; inasmuch as his decease would leave it utterly bereft +and without a chance or hope. + +Miserably I went to bed after all, and miserably thought of Estella, +and miserably dreamed that my expectations were all cancelled, and that +I had to give my hand in marriage to Herbert’s Clara, or play Hamlet to +Miss Havisham’s Ghost, before twenty thousand people, without knowing +twenty words of it. + + + + +Chapter XXXII. + + +One day when I was busy with my books and Mr. Pocket, I received a note +by the post, the mere outside of which threw me into a great flutter; +for, though I had never seen the handwriting in which it was addressed, +I divined whose hand it was. It had no set beginning, as Dear Mr. Pip, +or Dear Pip, or Dear Sir, or Dear Anything, but ran thus:— + +“I am to come to London the day after to-morrow by the midday coach. I +believe it was settled you should meet me? At all events Miss Havisham +has that impression, and I write in obedience to it. She sends you her +regard. + + +“Yours, ESTELLA.” + + +If there had been time, I should probably have ordered several suits of +clothes for this occasion; but as there was not, I was fain to be +content with those I had. My appetite vanished instantly, and I knew no +peace or rest until the day arrived. Not that its arrival brought me +either; for, then I was worse than ever, and began haunting the +coach-office in Wood Street, Cheapside, before the coach had left the +Blue Boar in our town. For all that I knew this perfectly well, I still +felt as if it were not safe to let the coach-office be out of my sight +longer than five minutes at a time; and in this condition of unreason I +had performed the first half-hour of a watch of four or five hours, +when Wemmick ran against me. + +“Halloa, Mr. Pip,” said he; “how do you do? I should hardly have +thought this was _your_ beat.” + +I explained that I was waiting to meet somebody who was coming up by +coach, and I inquired after the Castle and the Aged. + +“Both flourishing thankye,” said Wemmick, “and particularly the Aged. +He’s in wonderful feather. He’ll be eighty-two next birthday. I have a +notion of firing eighty-two times, if the neighbourhood shouldn’t +complain, and that cannon of mine should prove equal to the pressure. +However, this is not London talk. Where do you think I am going to?” + +“To the office?” said I, for he was tending in that direction. + +“Next thing to it,” returned Wemmick, “I am going to Newgate. We are in +a banker’s-parcel case just at present, and I have been down the road +taking a squint at the scene of action, and thereupon must have a word +or two with our client.” + +“Did your client commit the robbery?” I asked. + +“Bless your soul and body, no,” answered Wemmick, very drily. “But he +is accused of it. So might you or I be. Either of us might be accused +of it, you know.” + +“Only neither of us is,” I remarked. + +“Yah!” said Wemmick, touching me on the breast with his forefinger; +“you’re a deep one, Mr. Pip! Would you like to have a look at Newgate? +Have you time to spare?” + +I had so much time to spare, that the proposal came as a relief, +notwithstanding its irreconcilability with my latent desire to keep my +eye on the coach-office. Muttering that I would make the inquiry +whether I had time to walk with him, I went into the office, and +ascertained from the clerk with the nicest precision and much to the +trying of his temper, the earliest moment at which the coach could be +expected,—which I knew beforehand, quite as well as he. I then rejoined +Mr. Wemmick, and affecting to consult my watch, and to be surprised by +the information I had received, accepted his offer. + +We were at Newgate in a few minutes, and we passed through the lodge +where some fetters were hanging up on the bare walls among the prison +rules, into the interior of the jail. At that time jails were much +neglected, and the period of exaggerated reaction consequent on all +public wrongdoing—and which is always its heaviest and longest +punishment—was still far off. So, felons were not lodged and fed better +than soldiers (to say nothing of paupers), and seldom set fire to their +prisons with the excusable object of improving the flavour of their +soup. It was visiting time when Wemmick took me in, and a potman was +going his rounds with beer; and the prisoners, behind bars in yards, +were buying beer, and talking to friends; and a frowzy, ugly, +disorderly, depressing scene it was. + +It struck me that Wemmick walked among the prisoners much as a gardener +might walk among his plants. This was first put into my head by his +seeing a shoot that had come up in the night, and saying, “What, +Captain Tom? Are _you_ there? Ah, indeed!” and also, “Is that Black +Bill behind the cistern? Why I didn’t look for you these two months; +how do you find yourself?” Equally in his stopping at the bars and +attending to anxious whisperers,—always singly,—Wemmick with his +post-office in an immovable state, looked at them while in conference, +as if he were taking particular notice of the advance they had made, +since last observed, towards coming out in full blow at their trial. + +He was highly popular, and I found that he took the familiar department +of Mr. Jaggers’s business; though something of the state of Mr. Jaggers +hung about him too, forbidding approach beyond certain limits. His +personal recognition of each successive client was comprised in a nod, +and in his settling his hat a little easier on his head with both +hands, and then tightening the post-office, and putting his hands in +his pockets. In one or two instances there was a difficulty respecting +the raising of fees, and then Mr. Wemmick, backing as far as possible +from the insufficient money produced, said, “it’s no use, my boy. I’m +only a subordinate. I can’t take it. Don’t go on in that way with a +subordinate. If you are unable to make up your quantum, my boy, you had +better address yourself to a principal; there are plenty of principals +in the profession, you know, and what is not worth the while of one, +may be worth the while of another; that’s my recommendation to you, +speaking as a subordinate. Don’t try on useless measures. Why should +you? Now, who’s next?” + +Thus, we walked through Wemmick’s greenhouse, until he turned to me and +said, “Notice the man I shall shake hands with.” I should have done so, +without the preparation, as he had shaken hands with no one yet. + +Almost as soon as he had spoken, a portly upright man (whom I can see +now, as I write) in a well-worn olive-coloured frock-coat, with a +peculiar pallor overspreading the red in his complexion, and eyes that +went wandering about when he tried to fix them, came up to a corner of +the bars, and put his hand to his hat—which had a greasy and fatty +surface like cold broth—with a half-serious and half-jocose military +salute. + +“Colonel, to you!” said Wemmick; “how are you, Colonel?” + +“All right, Mr. Wemmick.” + +“Everything was done that could be done, but the evidence was too +strong for us, Colonel.” + +“Yes, it was too strong, sir,—but _I_ don’t care.” + +“No, no,” said Wemmick, coolly, “_you_ don’t care.” Then, turning to +me, “Served His Majesty this man. Was a soldier in the line and bought +his discharge.” + +I said, “Indeed?” and the man’s eyes looked at me, and then looked over +my head, and then looked all round me, and then he drew his hand across +his lips and laughed. + +“I think I shall be out of this on Monday, sir,” he said to Wemmick. + +“Perhaps,” returned my friend, “but there’s no knowing.” + +“I am glad to have the chance of bidding you good-bye, Mr. Wemmick,” +said the man, stretching out his hand between two bars. + +“Thankye,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him. “Same to you, +Colonel.” + +“If what I had upon me when taken had been real, Mr. Wemmick,” said the +man, unwilling to let his hand go, “I should have asked the favour of +your wearing another ring—in acknowledgment of your attentions.” + +“I’ll accept the will for the deed,” said Wemmick. “By the by; you were +quite a pigeon-fancier.” The man looked up at the sky. “I am told you +had a remarkable breed of tumblers. _Could_ you commission any friend +of yours to bring me a pair, if you’ve no further use for ’em?” + +“It shall be done, sir.” + +“All right,” said Wemmick, “they shall be taken care of. +Good-afternoon, Colonel. Good-bye!” They shook hands again, and as we +walked away Wemmick said to me, “A Coiner, a very good workman. The +Recorder’s report is made to-day, and he is sure to be executed on +Monday. Still you see, as far as it goes, a pair of pigeons are +portable property all the same.” With that, he looked back, and nodded +at this dead plant, and then cast his eyes about him in walking out of +the yard, as if he were considering what other pot would go best in its +place. + +As we came out of the prison through the lodge, I found that the great +importance of my guardian was appreciated by the turnkeys, no less than +by those whom they held in charge. “Well, Mr. Wemmick,” said the +turnkey, who kept us between the two studded and spiked lodge gates, +and who carefully locked one before he unlocked the other, “what’s Mr. +Jaggers going to do with that water-side murder? Is he going to make it +manslaughter, or what’s he going to make of it?” + +“Why don’t you ask him?” returned Wemmick. + +“O yes, I dare say!” said the turnkey. + +“Now, that’s the way with them here, Mr. Pip,” remarked Wemmick, +turning to me with his post-office elongated. “They don’t mind what +they ask of me, the subordinate; but you’ll never catch ’em asking any +questions of my principal.” + +“Is this young gentleman one of the ’prentices or articled ones of your +office?” asked the turnkey, with a grin at Mr. Wemmick’s humour. + +“There he goes again, you see!” cried Wemmick, “I told you so! Asks +another question of the subordinate before his first is dry! Well, +supposing Mr. Pip is one of them?” + +“Why then,” said the turnkey, grinning again, “he knows what Mr. +Jaggers is.” + +“Yah!” cried Wemmick, suddenly hitting out at the turnkey in a +facetious way, “you’re dumb as one of your own keys when you have to do +with my principal, you know you are. Let us out, you old fox, or I’ll +get him to bring an action against you for false imprisonment.” + +The turnkey laughed, and gave us good day, and stood laughing at us +over the spikes of the wicket when we descended the steps into the +street. + +“Mind you, Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, gravely in my ear, as he took my arm +to be more confidential; “I don’t know that Mr. Jaggers does a better +thing than the way in which he keeps himself so high. He’s always so +high. His constant height is of a piece with his immense abilities. +That Colonel durst no more take leave of _him_, than that turnkey durst +ask him his intentions respecting a case. Then, between his height and +them, he slips in his subordinate,—don’t you see?—and so he has ’em, +soul and body.” + +I was very much impressed, and not for the first time, by my guardian’s +subtlety. To confess the truth, I very heartily wished, and not for the +first time, that I had had some other guardian of minor abilities. + +Mr. Wemmick and I parted at the office in Little Britain, where +suppliants for Mr. Jaggers’s notice were lingering about as usual, and +I returned to my watch in the street of the coach-office, with some +three hours on hand. I consumed the whole time in thinking how strange +it was that I should be encompassed by all this taint of prison and +crime; that, in my childhood out on our lonely marshes on a winter +evening, I should have first encountered it; that, it should have +reappeared on two occasions, starting out like a stain that was faded +but not gone; that, it should in this new way pervade my fortune and +advancement. While my mind was thus engaged, I thought of the beautiful +young Estella, proud and refined, coming towards me, and I thought with +absolute abhorrence of the contrast between the jail and her. I wished +that Wemmick had not met me, or that I had not yielded to him and gone +with him, so that, of all days in the year on this day, I might not +have had Newgate in my breath and on my clothes. I beat the prison dust +off my feet as I sauntered to and fro, and I shook it out of my dress, +and I exhaled its air from my lungs. So contaminated did I feel, +remembering who was coming, that the coach came quickly after all, and +I was not yet free from the soiling consciousness of Mr. Wemmick’s +conservatory, when I saw her face at the coach window and her hand +waving to me. + +What _was_ the nameless shadow which again in that one instant had +passed? + + + + +Chapter XXXIII. + + +In her furred travelling-dress, Estella seemed more delicately +beautiful than she had ever seemed yet, even in my eyes. Her manner was +more winning than she had cared to let it be to me before, and I +thought I saw Miss Havisham’s influence in the change. + +We stood in the Inn Yard while she pointed out her luggage to me, and +when it was all collected I remembered—having forgotten everything but +herself in the meanwhile—that I knew nothing of her destination. + +“I am going to Richmond,” she told me. “Our lesson is, that there are +two Richmonds, one in Surrey and one in Yorkshire, and that mine is the +Surrey Richmond. The distance is ten miles. I am to have a carriage, +and you are to take me. This is my purse, and you are to pay my charges +out of it. O, you must take the purse! We have no choice, you and I, +but to obey our instructions. We are not free to follow our own +devices, you and I.” + +As she looked at me in giving me the purse, I hoped there was an inner +meaning in her words. She said them slightingly, but not with +displeasure. + +“A carriage will have to be sent for, Estella. Will you rest here a +little?” + +“Yes, I am to rest here a little, and I am to drink some tea, and you +are to take care of me the while.” + +She drew her arm through mine, as if it must be done, and I requested a +waiter who had been staring at the coach like a man who had never seen +such a thing in his life, to show us a private sitting-room. Upon that, +he pulled out a napkin, as if it were a magic clue without which he +couldn’t find the way upstairs, and led us to the black hole of the +establishment, fitted up with a diminishing mirror (quite a superfluous +article, considering the hole’s proportions), an anchovy sauce-cruet, +and somebody’s pattens. On my objecting to this retreat, he took us +into another room with a dinner-table for thirty, and in the grate a +scorched leaf of a copy-book under a bushel of coal-dust. Having looked +at this extinct conflagration and shaken his head, he took my order; +which, proving to be merely, “Some tea for the lady,” sent him out of +the room in a very low state of mind. + +I was, and I am, sensible that the air of this chamber, in its strong +combination of stable with soup-stock, might have led one to infer that +the coaching department was not doing well, and that the enterprising +proprietor was boiling down the horses for the refreshment department. +Yet the room was all in all to me, Estella being in it. I thought that +with her I could have been happy there for life. (I was not at all +happy there at the time, observe, and I knew it well.) + +“Where are you going to, at Richmond?” I asked Estella. + +“I am going to live,” said she, “at a great expense, with a lady there, +who has the power—or says she has—of taking me about, and introducing +me, and showing people to me and showing me to people.” + +“I suppose you will be glad of variety and admiration?” + +“Yes, I suppose so.” + +She answered so carelessly, that I said, “You speak of yourself as if +you were some one else.” + +“Where did you learn how I speak of others? Come, come,” said Estella, +smiling delightfully, “you must not expect me to go to school to _you_; +I must talk in my own way. How do you thrive with Mr. Pocket?” + +“I live quite pleasantly there; at least—” It appeared to me that I was +losing a chance. + +“At least?” repeated Estella. + +“As pleasantly as I could anywhere, away from you.” + +“You silly boy,” said Estella, quite composedly, “how can you talk such +nonsense? Your friend Mr. Matthew, I believe, is superior to the rest +of his family?” + +“Very superior indeed. He is nobody’s enemy—” + +“Don’t add but his own,” interposed Estella, “for I hate that class of +man. But he really is disinterested, and above small jealousy and +spite, I have heard?” + +“I am sure I have every reason to say so.” + +“You have not every reason to say so of the rest of his people,” said +Estella, nodding at me with an expression of face that was at once +grave and rallying, “for they beset Miss Havisham with reports and +insinuations to your disadvantage. They watch you, misrepresent you, +write letters about you (anonymous sometimes), and you are the torment +and the occupation of their lives. You can scarcely realise to yourself +the hatred those people feel for you.” + +“They do me no harm, I hope?” + +Instead of answering, Estella burst out laughing. This was very +singular to me, and I looked at her in considerable perplexity. When +she left off—and she had not laughed languidly, but with real +enjoyment—I said, in my diffident way with her,— + +“I hope I may suppose that you would not be amused if they did me any +harm.” + +“No, no you may be sure of that,” said Estella. “You may be certain +that I laugh because they fail. O, those people with Miss Havisham, and +the tortures they undergo!” She laughed again, and even now when she +had told me why, her laughter was very singular to me, for I could not +doubt its being genuine, and yet it seemed too much for the occasion. I +thought there must really be something more here than I knew; she saw +the thought in my mind, and answered it. + +“It is not easy for even you.” said Estella, “to know what satisfaction +it gives me to see those people thwarted, or what an enjoyable sense of +the ridiculous I have when they are made ridiculous. For you were not +brought up in that strange house from a mere baby. I was. You had not +your little wits sharpened by their intriguing against you, suppressed +and defenceless, under the mask of sympathy and pity and what not that +is soft and soothing. I had. You did not gradually open your round +childish eyes wider and wider to the discovery of that impostor of a +woman who calculates her stores of peace of mind for when she wakes up +in the night. I did.” + +It was no laughing matter with Estella now, nor was she summoning these +remembrances from any shallow place. I would not have been the cause of +that look of hers for all my expectations in a heap. + +“Two things I can tell you,” said Estella. “First, notwithstanding the +proverb that constant dropping will wear away a stone, you may set your +mind at rest that these people never will—never would in a hundred +years—impair your ground with Miss Havisham, in any particular, great +or small. Second, I am beholden to you as the cause of their being so +busy and so mean in vain, and there is my hand upon it.” + +As she gave it to me playfully,—for her darker mood had been but +momentary—I held it and put it to my lips. “You ridiculous boy,” said +Estella, “will you never take warning? Or do you kiss my hand in the +same spirit in which I once let you kiss my cheek?” + +“What spirit was that?” said I. + +“I must think a moment. A spirit of contempt for the fawners and +plotters.” + +“If I say yes, may I kiss the cheek again?” + +“You should have asked before you touched the hand. But, yes, if you +like.” + +I leaned down, and her calm face was like a statue’s. “Now,” said +Estella, gliding away the instant I touched her cheek, “you are to take +care that I have some tea, and you are to take me to Richmond.” + +Her reverting to this tone as if our association were forced upon us, +and we were mere puppets, gave me pain; but everything in our +intercourse did give me pain. Whatever her tone with me happened to be, +I could put no trust in it, and build no hope on it; and yet I went on +against trust and against hope. Why repeat it a thousand times? So it +always was. + +I rang for the tea, and the waiter, reappearing with his magic clue, +brought in by degrees some fifty adjuncts to that refreshment, but of +tea not a glimpse. A teaboard, cups and saucers, plates, knives and +forks (including carvers), spoons (various), salt-cellars, a meek +little muffin confined with the utmost precaution under a strong iron +cover, Moses in the bulrushes typified by a soft bit of butter in a +quantity of parsley, a pale loaf with a powdered head, two proof +impressions of the bars of the kitchen fireplace on triangular bits of +bread, and ultimately a fat family urn; which the waiter staggered in +with, expressing in his countenance burden and suffering. After a +prolonged absence at this stage of the entertainment, he at length came +back with a casket of precious appearance containing twigs. These I +steeped in hot water, and so from the whole of these appliances +extracted one cup of I don’t know what for Estella. + +The bill paid, and the waiter remembered, and the ostler not forgotten, +and the chambermaid taken into consideration,—in a word, the whole +house bribed into a state of contempt and animosity, and Estella’s +purse much lightened,—we got into our post-coach and drove away. +Turning into Cheapside and rattling up Newgate Street, we were soon +under the walls of which I was so ashamed. + +“What place is that?” Estella asked me. + +I made a foolish pretence of not at first recognising it, and then told +her. As she looked at it, and drew in her head again, murmuring, +“Wretches!” I would not have confessed to my visit for any +consideration. + +“Mr. Jaggers,” said I, by way of putting it neatly on somebody else, +“has the reputation of being more in the secrets of that dismal place +than any man in London.” + +“He is more in the secrets of every place, I think,” said Estella, in a +low voice. + +“You have been accustomed to see him often, I suppose?” + +“I have been accustomed to see him at uncertain intervals, ever since I +can remember. But I know him no better now, than I did before I could +speak plainly. What is your own experience of him? Do you advance with +him?” + +“Once habituated to his distrustful manner,” said I, “I have done very +well.” + +“Are you intimate?” + +“I have dined with him at his private house.” + +“I fancy,” said Estella, shrinking “that must be a curious place.” + +“It is a curious place.” + +I should have been chary of discussing my guardian too freely even with +her; but I should have gone on with the subject so far as to describe +the dinner in Gerrard Street, if we had not then come into a sudden +glare of gas. It seemed, while it lasted, to be all alight and alive +with that inexplicable feeling I had had before; and when we were out +of it, I was as much dazed for a few moments as if I had been in +lightning. + +So we fell into other talk, and it was principally about the way by +which we were travelling, and about what parts of London lay on this +side of it, and what on that. The great city was almost new to her, she +told me, for she had never left Miss Havisham’s neighbourhood until she +had gone to France, and she had merely passed through London then in +going and returning. I asked her if my guardian had any charge of her +while she remained here? To that she emphatically said “God forbid!” +and no more. + +It was impossible for me to avoid seeing that she cared to attract me; +that she made herself winning, and would have won me even if the task +had needed pains. Yet this made me none the happier, for even if she +had not taken that tone of our being disposed of by others, I should +have felt that she held my heart in her hand because she wilfully chose +to do it, and not because it would have wrung any tenderness in her to +crush it and throw it away. + +When we passed through Hammersmith, I showed her where Mr. Matthew +Pocket lived, and said it was no great way from Richmond, and that I +hoped I should see her sometimes. + +“O yes, you are to see me; you are to come when you think proper; you +are to be mentioned to the family; indeed you are already mentioned.” + +I inquired was it a large household she was going to be a member of? + +“No; there are only two; mother and daughter. The mother is a lady of +some station, though not averse to increasing her income.” + +“I wonder Miss Havisham could part with you again so soon.” + +“It is a part of Miss Havisham’s plans for me, Pip,” said Estella, with +a sigh, as if she were tired; “I am to write to her constantly and see +her regularly and report how I go on,—I and the jewels,—for they are +nearly all mine now.” + +It was the first time she had ever called me by my name. Of course she +did so purposely, and knew that I should treasure it up. + +We came to Richmond all too soon, and our destination there was a house +by the green,—a staid old house, where hoops and powder and patches, +embroidered coats, rolled stockings, ruffles and swords, had had their +court days many a time. Some ancient trees before the house were still +cut into fashions as formal and unnatural as the hoops and wigs and +stiff skirts; but their own allotted places in the great procession of +the dead were not far off, and they would soon drop into them and go +the silent way of the rest. + +A bell with an old voice—which I dare say in its time had often said to +the house, Here is the green farthingale, Here is the diamond-hilted +sword, Here are the shoes with red heels and the blue solitaire—sounded +gravely in the moonlight, and two cherry-coloured maids came fluttering +out to receive Estella. The doorway soon absorbed her boxes, and she +gave me her hand and a smile, and said good-night, and was absorbed +likewise. And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I +should be if I lived there with her, and knowing that I never was happy +with her, but always miserable. + +I got into the carriage to be taken back to Hammersmith, and I got in +with a bad heart-ache, and I got out with a worse heart-ache. At our +own door, I found little Jane Pocket coming home from a little party +escorted by her little lover; and I envied her little lover, in spite +of his being subject to Flopson. + +Mr. Pocket was out lecturing; for, he was a most delightful lecturer on +domestic economy, and his treatises on the management of children and +servants were considered the very best text-books on those themes. But +Mrs. Pocket was at home, and was in a little difficulty, on account of +the baby’s having been accommodated with a needle-case to keep him +quiet during the unaccountable absence (with a relative in the Foot +Guards) of Millers. And more needles were missing than it could be +regarded as quite wholesome for a patient of such tender years either +to apply externally or to take as a tonic. + +Mr. Pocket being justly celebrated for giving most excellent practical +advice, and for having a clear and sound perception of things and a +highly judicious mind, I had some notion in my heart-ache of begging +him to accept my confidence. But happening to look up at Mrs. Pocket as +she sat reading her book of dignities after prescribing Bed as a +sovereign remedy for baby, I thought—Well—No, I wouldn’t. + + + + +Chapter XXXIV. + + +As I had grown accustomed to my expectations, I had insensibly begun to +notice their effect upon myself and those around me. Their influence on +my own character I disguised from my recognition as much as possible, +but I knew very well that it was not all good. I lived in a state of +chronic uneasiness respecting my behaviour to Joe. My conscience was +not by any means comfortable about Biddy. When I woke up in the +night,—like Camilla,—I used to think, with a weariness on my spirits, +that I should have been happier and better if I had never seen Miss +Havisham’s face, and had risen to manhood content to be partners with +Joe in the honest old forge. Many a time of an evening, when I sat +alone looking at the fire, I thought, after all there was no fire like +the forge fire and the kitchen fire at home. + +Yet Estella was so inseparable from all my restlessness and disquiet of +mind, that I really fell into confusion as to the limits of my own part +in its production. That is to say, supposing I had had no expectations, +and yet had had Estella to think of, I could not make out to my +satisfaction that I should have done much better. Now, concerning the +influence of my position on others, I was in no such difficulty, and so +I perceived—though dimly enough perhaps—that it was not beneficial to +anybody, and, above all, that it was not beneficial to Herbert. My +lavish habits led his easy nature into expenses that he could not +afford, corrupted the simplicity of his life, and disturbed his peace +with anxieties and regrets. I was not at all remorseful for having +unwittingly set those other branches of the Pocket family to the poor +arts they practised; because such littlenesses were their natural bent, +and would have been evoked by anybody else, if I had left them +slumbering. But Herbert’s was a very different case, and it often +caused me a twinge to think that I had done him evil service in +crowding his sparely furnished chambers with incongruous upholstery +work, and placing the Canary-breasted Avenger at his disposal. + +So now, as an infallible way of making little ease great ease, I began +to contract a quantity of debt. I could hardly begin but Herbert must +begin too, so he soon followed. At Startop’s suggestion, we put +ourselves down for election into a club called The Finches of the +Grove: the object of which institution I have never divined, if it were +not that the members should dine expensively once a fortnight, to +quarrel among themselves as much as possible after dinner, and to cause +six waiters to get drunk on the stairs. I know that these gratifying +social ends were so invariably accomplished, that Herbert and I +understood nothing else to be referred to in the first standing toast +of the society: which ran “Gentlemen, may the present promotion of good +feeling ever reign predominant among the Finches of the Grove.” + +The Finches spent their money foolishly (the Hotel we dined at was in +Covent Garden), and the first Finch I saw when I had the honour of +joining the Grove was Bentley Drummle, at that time floundering about +town in a cab of his own, and doing a great deal of damage to the posts +at the street corners. Occasionally, he shot himself out of his +equipage headforemost over the apron; and I saw him on one occasion +deliver himself at the door of the Grove in this unintentional way—like +coals. But here I anticipate a little, for I was not a Finch, and could +not be, according to the sacred laws of the society, until I came of +age. + +In my confidence in my own resources, I would willingly have taken +Herbert’s expenses on myself; but Herbert was proud, and I could make +no such proposal to him. So he got into difficulties in every +direction, and continued to look about him. When we gradually fell into +keeping late hours and late company, I noticed that he looked about him +with a desponding eye at breakfast-time; that he began to look about +him more hopefully about midday; that he drooped when he came into +dinner; that he seemed to descry Capital in the distance, rather +clearly, after dinner; that he all but realised Capital towards +midnight; and that at about two o’clock in the morning, he became so +deeply despondent again as to talk of buying a rifle and going to +America, with a general purpose of compelling buffaloes to make his +fortune. + +I was usually at Hammersmith about half the week, and when I was at +Hammersmith I haunted Richmond, whereof separately by and by. Herbert +would often come to Hammersmith when I was there, and I think at those +seasons his father would occasionally have some passing perception that +the opening he was looking for, had not appeared yet. But in the +general tumbling up of the family, his tumbling out in life somewhere, +was a thing to transact itself somehow. In the meantime Mr. Pocket grew +greyer, and tried oftener to lift himself out of his perplexities by +the hair. While Mrs. Pocket tripped up the family with her footstool, +read her book of dignities, lost her pocket-handkerchief, told us about +her grandpapa, and taught the young idea how to shoot, by shooting it +into bed whenever it attracted her notice. + +As I am now generalising a period of my life with the object of +clearing my way before me, I can scarcely do so better than by at once +completing the description of our usual manners and customs at +Barnard’s Inn. + +We spent as much money as we could, and got as little for it as people +could make up their minds to give us. We were always more or less +miserable, and most of our acquaintance were in the same condition. +There was a gay fiction among us that we were constantly enjoying +ourselves, and a skeleton truth that we never did. To the best of my +belief, our case was in the last aspect a rather common one. + +Every morning, with an air ever new, Herbert went into the City to look +about him. I often paid him a visit in the dark back-room in which he +consorted with an ink-jar, a hat-peg, a coal-box, a string-box, an +almanac, a desk and stool, and a ruler; and I do not remember that I +ever saw him do anything else but look about him. If we all did what we +undertake to do, as faithfully as Herbert did, we might live in a +Republic of the Virtues. He had nothing else to do, poor fellow, except +at a certain hour of every afternoon to “go to Lloyd’s”—in observance +of a ceremony of seeing his principal, I think. He never did anything +else in connection with Lloyd’s that I could find out, except come back +again. When he felt his case unusually serious, and that he positively +must find an opening, he would go on ’Change at a busy time, and walk +in and out, in a kind of gloomy country dance figure, among the +assembled magnates. “For,” says Herbert to me, coming home to dinner on +one of those special occasions, “I find the truth to be, Handel, that +an opening won’t come to one, but one must go to it,—so I have been.” + +If we had been less attached to one another, I think we must have hated +one another regularly every morning. I detested the chambers beyond +expression at that period of repentance, and could not endure the sight +of the Avenger’s livery; which had a more expensive and a less +remunerative appearance then than at any other time in the +four-and-twenty hours. As we got more and more into debt, breakfast +became a hollower and hollower form, and, being on one occasion at +breakfast-time threatened (by letter) with legal proceedings, “not +unwholly unconnected,” as my local paper might put it, “with jewelery,” +I went so far as to seize the Avenger by his blue collar and shake him +off his feet,—so that he was actually in the air, like a booted +Cupid,—for presuming to suppose that we wanted a roll. + +At certain times—meaning at uncertain times, for they depended on our +humour—I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable discovery,— + +“My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly.” + +“My dear Handel,” Herbert would say to me, in all sincerity, “if you +will believe me, those very words were on my lips, by a strange +coincidence.” + +“Then, Herbert,” I would respond, “let us look into our affairs.” + +We always derived profound satisfaction from making an appointment for +this purpose. I always thought this was business, this was the way to +confront the thing, this was the way to take the foe by the throat. And +I know Herbert thought so too. + +We ordered something rather special for dinner, with a bottle of +something similarly out of the common way, in order that our minds +might be fortified for the occasion, and we might come well up to the +mark. Dinner over, we produced a bundle of pens, a copious supply of +ink, and a goodly show of writing and blotting paper. For there was +something very comfortable in having plenty of stationery. + +I would then take a sheet of paper, and write across the top of it, in +a neat hand, the heading, “Memorandum of Pip’s debts”; with Barnard’s +Inn and the date very carefully added. Herbert would also take a sheet +of paper, and write across it with similar formalities, “Memorandum of +Herbert’s debts.” + +Each of us would then refer to a confused heap of papers at his side, +which had been thrown into drawers, worn into holes in pockets, half +burnt in lighting candles, stuck for weeks into the looking-glass, and +otherwise damaged. The sound of our pens going refreshed us +exceedingly, insomuch that I sometimes found it difficult to +distinguish between this edifying business proceeding and actually +paying the money. In point of meritorious character, the two things +seemed about equal. + +When we had written a little while, I would ask Herbert how he got on? +Herbert probably would have been scratching his head in a most rueful +manner at the sight of his accumulating figures. + +“They are mounting up, Handel,” Herbert would say; “upon my life, they +are mounting up.” + +“Be firm, Herbert,” I would retort, plying my own pen with great +assiduity. “Look the thing in the face. Look into your affairs. Stare +them out of countenance.” + +“So I would, Handel, only they are staring _me_ out of countenance.” + +However, my determined manner would have its effect, and Herbert would +fall to work again. After a time he would give up once more, on the +plea that he had not got Cobbs’s bill, or Lobbs’s, or Nobbs’s, as the +case might be. + +“Then, Herbert, estimate; estimate it in round numbers, and put it +down.” + +“What a fellow of resource you are!” my friend would reply, with +admiration. “Really your business powers are very remarkable.” + +I thought so too. I established with myself, on these occasions, the +reputation of a first-rate man of business,—prompt, decisive, +energetic, clear, cool-headed. When I had got all my responsibilities +down upon my list, I compared each with the bill, and ticked it off. My +self-approval when I ticked an entry was quite a luxurious sensation. +When I had no more ticks to make, I folded all my bills up uniformly, +docketed each on the back, and tied the whole into a symmetrical +bundle. Then I did the same for Herbert (who modestly said he had not +my administrative genius), and felt that I had brought his affairs into +a focus for him. + +My business habits had one other bright feature, which I called +“leaving a Margin.” For example; supposing Herbert’s debts to be one +hundred and sixty-four pounds four-and-twopence, I would say, “Leave a +margin, and put them down at two hundred.” Or, supposing my own to be +four times as much, I would leave a margin, and put them down at seven +hundred. I had the highest opinion of the wisdom of this same Margin, +but I am bound to acknowledge that on looking back, I deem it to have +been an expensive device. For, we always ran into new debt immediately, +to the full extent of the margin, and sometimes, in the sense of +freedom and solvency it imparted, got pretty far on into another +margin. + +But there was a calm, a rest, a virtuous hush, consequent on these +examinations of our affairs that gave me, for the time, an admirable +opinion of myself. Soothed by my exertions, my method, and Herbert’s +compliments, I would sit with his symmetrical bundle and my own on the +table before me among the stationery, and feel like a Bank of some +sort, rather than a private individual. + +We shut our outer door on these solemn occasions, in order that we +might not be interrupted. I had fallen into my serene state one +evening, when we heard a letter dropped through the slit in the said +door, and fall on the ground. “It’s for you, Handel,” said Herbert, +going out and coming back with it, “and I hope there is nothing the +matter.” This was in allusion to its heavy black seal and border. + +The letter was signed Trabb & Co., and its contents were simply, that I +was an honoured sir, and that they begged to inform me that Mrs. J. +Gargery had departed this life on Monday last at twenty minutes past +six in the evening, and that my attendance was requested at the +interment on Monday next at three o’clock in the afternoon. + + + + +Chapter XXXV. + + +It was the first time that a grave had opened in my road of life, and +the gap it made in the smooth ground was wonderful. The figure of my +sister in her chair by the kitchen fire, haunted me night and day. That +the place could possibly be, without her, was something my mind seemed +unable to compass; and whereas she had seldom or never been in my +thoughts of late, I had now the strangest ideas that she was coming +towards me in the street, or that she would presently knock at the +door. In my rooms too, with which she had never been at all associated, +there was at once the blankness of death and a perpetual suggestion of +the sound of her voice or the turn of her face or figure, as if she +were still alive and had been often there. + +Whatever my fortunes might have been, I could scarcely have recalled my +sister with much tenderness. But I suppose there is a shock of regret +which may exist without much tenderness. Under its influence (and +perhaps to make up for the want of the softer feeling) I was seized +with a violent indignation against the assailant from whom she had +suffered so much; and I felt that on sufficient proof I could have +revengefully pursued Orlick, or any one else, to the last extremity. + +Having written to Joe, to offer him consolation, and to assure him that +I would come to the funeral, I passed the intermediate days in the +curious state of mind I have glanced at. I went down early in the +morning, and alighted at the Blue Boar in good time to walk over to the +forge. + +It was fine summer weather again, and, as I walked along, the times +when I was a little helpless creature, and my sister did not spare me, +vividly returned. But they returned with a gentle tone upon them that +softened even the edge of Tickler. For now, the very breath of the +beans and clover whispered to my heart that the day must come when it +would be well for my memory that others walking in the sunshine should +be softened as they thought of me. + +At last I came within sight of the house, and saw that Trabb and Co. +had put in a funereal execution and taken possession. Two dismally +absurd persons, each ostentatiously exhibiting a crutch done up in a +black bandage,—as if that instrument could possibly communicate any +comfort to anybody,—were posted at the front door; and in one of them I +recognised a postboy discharged from the Boar for turning a young +couple into a sawpit on their bridal morning, in consequence of +intoxication rendering it necessary for him to ride his horse clasped +round the neck with both arms. All the children of the village, and +most of the women, were admiring these sable warders and the closed +windows of the house and forge; and as I came up, one of the two +warders (the postboy) knocked at the door,—implying that I was far too +much exhausted by grief to have strength remaining to knock for myself. + +Another sable warder (a carpenter, who had once eaten two geese for a +wager) opened the door, and showed me into the best parlour. Here, Mr. +Trabb had taken unto himself the best table, and had got all the leaves +up, and was holding a kind of black Bazaar, with the aid of a quantity +of black pins. At the moment of my arrival, he had just finished +putting somebody’s hat into black long-clothes, like an African baby; +so he held out his hand for mine. But I, misled by the action, and +confused by the occasion, shook hands with him with every testimony of +warm affection. + +Poor dear Joe, entangled in a little black cloak tied in a large bow +under his chin, was seated apart at the upper end of the room; where, +as chief mourner, he had evidently been stationed by Trabb. When I bent +down and said to him, “Dear Joe, how are you?” he said, “Pip, old chap, +you knowed her when she were a fine figure of a—” and clasped my hand +and said no more. + +Biddy, looking very neat and modest in her black dress, went quietly +here and there, and was very helpful. When I had spoken to Biddy, as I +thought it not a time for talking I went and sat down near Joe, and +there began to wonder in what part of the house it—she—my sister—was. +The air of the parlour being faint with the smell of sweet-cake, I +looked about for the table of refreshments; it was scarcely visible +until one had got accustomed to the gloom, but there was a cut-up plum +cake upon it, and there were cut-up oranges, and sandwiches, and +biscuits, and two decanters that I knew very well as ornaments, but had +never seen used in all my life; one full of port, and one of sherry. +Standing at this table, I became conscious of the servile Pumblechook +in a black cloak and several yards of hatband, who was alternately +stuffing himself, and making obsequious movements to catch my +attention. The moment he succeeded, he came over to me (breathing +sherry and crumbs), and said in a subdued voice, “May I, dear sir?” and +did. I then descried Mr. and Mrs. Hubble; the last-named in a decent +speechless paroxysm in a corner. We were all going to “follow,” and +were all in course of being tied up separately (by Trabb) into +ridiculous bundles. + +“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe whispered me, as we were being what Mr. +Trabb called “formed” in the parlour, two and two,—and it was +dreadfully like a preparation for some grim kind of dance; “which I +meantersay, sir, as I would in preference have carried her to the +church myself, along with three or four friendly ones wot come to it +with willing harts and arms, but it were considered wot the neighbours +would look down on such and would be of opinions as it were wanting in +respect.” + +“Pocket-handkerchiefs out, all!” cried Mr. Trabb at this point, in a +depressed business-like voice. “Pocket-handkerchiefs out! We are +ready!” + +So we all put our pocket-handkerchiefs to our faces, as if our noses +were bleeding, and filed out two and two; Joe and I; Biddy and +Pumblechook; Mr. and Mrs. Hubble. The remains of my poor sister had +been brought round by the kitchen door, and, it being a point of +Undertaking ceremony that the six bearers must be stifled and blinded +under a horrible black velvet housing with a white border, the whole +looked like a blind monster with twelve human legs, shuffling and +blundering along, under the guidance of two keepers,—the postboy and +his comrade. + +The neighbourhood, however, highly approved of these arrangements, and +we were much admired as we went through the village; the more youthful +and vigorous part of the community making dashes now and then to cut us +off, and lying in wait to intercept us at points of vantage. At such +times the more exuberant among them called out in an excited manner on +our emergence round some corner of expectancy, “_Here_ they come!” +“_Here_ they are!” and we were all but cheered. In this progress I was +much annoyed by the abject Pumblechook, who, being behind me, persisted +all the way as a delicate attention in arranging my streaming hatband, +and smoothing my cloak. My thoughts were further distracted by the +excessive pride of Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, who were surpassingly conceited +and vainglorious in being members of so distinguished a procession. + +And now the range of marshes lay clear before us, with the sails of the +ships on the river growing out of it; and we went into the churchyard, +close to the graves of my unknown parents, Philip Pirrip, late of this +parish, and Also Georgiana, Wife of the Above. And there, my sister was +laid quietly in the earth, while the larks sang high above it, and the +light wind strewed it with beautiful shadows of clouds and trees. + +Of the conduct of the worldly minded Pumblechook while this was doing, +I desire to say no more than it was all addressed to me; and that even +when those noble passages were read which remind humanity how it +brought nothing into the world and can take nothing out, and how it +fleeth like a shadow and never continueth long in one stay, I heard him +cough a reservation of the case of a young gentleman who came +unexpectedly into large property. When we got back, he had the +hardihood to tell me that he wished my sister could have known I had +done her so much honour, and to hint that she would have considered it +reasonably purchased at the price of her death. After that, he drank +all the rest of the sherry, and Mr. Hubble drank the port, and the two +talked (which I have since observed to be customary in such cases) as +if they were of quite another race from the deceased, and were +notoriously immortal. Finally, he went away with Mr. and Mrs. +Hubble,—to make an evening of it, I felt sure, and to tell the Jolly +Bargemen that he was the founder of my fortunes and my earliest +benefactor. + +When they were all gone, and when Trabb and his men—but not his Boy; I +looked for him—had crammed their mummery into bags, and were gone too, +the house felt wholesomer. Soon afterwards, Biddy, Joe, and I, had a +cold dinner together; but we dined in the best parlour, not in the old +kitchen, and Joe was so exceedingly particular what he did with his +knife and fork and the saltcellar and what not, that there was great +restraint upon us. But after dinner, when I made him take his pipe, and +when I had loitered with him about the forge, and when we sat down +together on the great block of stone outside it, we got on better. I +noticed that after the funeral Joe changed his clothes so far, as to +make a compromise between his Sunday dress and working dress; in which +the dear fellow looked natural, and like the Man he was. + +He was very much pleased by my asking if I might sleep in my own little +room, and I was pleased too; for I felt that I had done rather a great +thing in making the request. When the shadows of evening were closing +in, I took an opportunity of getting into the garden with Biddy for a +little talk. + +“Biddy,” said I, “I think you might have written to me about these sad +matters.” + +“Do you, Mr. Pip?” said Biddy. “I should have written if I had thought +that.” + +“Don’t suppose that I mean to be unkind, Biddy, when I say I consider +that you ought to have thought that.” + +“Do you, Mr. Pip?” + +She was so quiet, and had such an orderly, good, and pretty way with +her, that I did not like the thought of making her cry again. After +looking a little at her downcast eyes as she walked beside me, I gave +up that point. + +“I suppose it will be difficult for you to remain here now, Biddy +dear?” + +“Oh! I can’t do so, Mr. Pip,” said Biddy, in a tone of regret but still +of quiet conviction. “I have been speaking to Mrs. Hubble, and I am +going to her to-morrow. I hope we shall be able to take some care of +Mr. Gargery, together, until he settles down.” + +“How are you going to live, Biddy? If you want any mo—” + +“How am I going to live?” repeated Biddy, striking in, with a momentary +flush upon her face. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Pip. I am going to try to get +the place of mistress in the new school nearly finished here. I can be +well recommended by all the neighbours, and I hope I can be industrious +and patient, and teach myself while I teach others. You know, Mr. Pip,” +pursued Biddy, with a smile, as she raised her eyes to my face, “the +new schools are not like the old, but I learnt a good deal from you +after that time, and have had time since then to improve.” + +“I think you would always improve, Biddy, under any circumstances.” + +“Ah! Except in my bad side of human nature,” murmured Biddy. + +It was not so much a reproach as an irresistible thinking aloud. Well! +I thought I would give up that point too. So, I walked a little further +with Biddy, looking silently at her downcast eyes. + +“I have not heard the particulars of my sister’s death, Biddy.” + +“They are very slight, poor thing. She had been in one of her bad +states—though they had got better of late, rather than worse—for four +days, when she came out of it in the evening, just at tea-time, and +said quite plainly, ‘Joe.’ As she had never said any word for a long +while, I ran and fetched in Mr. Gargery from the forge. She made signs +to me that she wanted him to sit down close to her, and wanted me to +put her arms round his neck. So I put them round his neck, and she laid +her head down on his shoulder quite content and satisfied. And so she +presently said ‘Joe’ again, and once ‘Pardon,’ and once ‘Pip.’ And so +she never lifted her head up any more, and it was just an hour later +when we laid it down on her own bed, because we found she was gone.” + +Biddy cried; the darkening garden, and the lane, and the stars that +were coming out, were blurred in my own sight. + +“Nothing was ever discovered, Biddy?” + +“Nothing.” + +“Do you know what is become of Orlick?” + +“I should think from the colour of his clothes that he is working in +the quarries.” + +“Of course you have seen him then?—Why are you looking at that dark +tree in the lane?” + +“I saw him there, on the night she died.” + +“That was not the last time either, Biddy?” + +“No; I have seen him there, since we have been walking here.—It is of +no use,” said Biddy, laying her hand upon my arm, as I was for running +out, “you know I would not deceive you; he was not there a minute, and +he is gone.” + +It revived my utmost indignation to find that she was still pursued by +this fellow, and I felt inveterate against him. I told her so, and told +her that I would spend any money or take any pains to drive him out of +that country. By degrees she led me into more temperate talk, and she +told me how Joe loved me, and how Joe never complained of anything,—she +didn’t say, of me; she had no need; I knew what she meant,—but ever did +his duty in his way of life, with a strong hand, a quiet tongue, and a +gentle heart. + +“Indeed, it would be hard to say too much for him,” said I; “and Biddy, +we must often speak of these things, for of course I shall be often +down here now. I am not going to leave poor Joe alone.” + +Biddy said never a single word. + +“Biddy, don’t you hear me?” + +“Yes, Mr. Pip.” + +“Not to mention your calling me Mr. Pip,—which appears to me to be in +bad taste, Biddy,—what do you mean?” + +“What do I mean?” asked Biddy, timidly. + +“Biddy,” said I, in a virtuously self-asserting manner, “I must request +to know what you mean by this?” + +“By this?” said Biddy. + +“Now, don’t echo,” I retorted. “You used not to echo, Biddy.” + +“Used not!” said Biddy. “O Mr. Pip! Used!” + +Well! I rather thought I would give up that point too. After another +silent turn in the garden, I fell back on the main position. + +“Biddy,” said I, “I made a remark respecting my coming down here often, +to see Joe, which you received with a marked silence. Have the +goodness, Biddy, to tell me why.” + +“Are you quite sure, then, that you WILL come to see him often?” asked +Biddy, stopping in the narrow garden walk, and looking at me under the +stars with a clear and honest eye. + +“O dear me!” said I, as if I found myself compelled to give up Biddy in +despair. “This really is a very bad side of human nature! Don’t say any +more, if you please, Biddy. This shocks me very much.” + +For which cogent reason I kept Biddy at a distance during supper, and +when I went up to my own old little room, took as stately a leave of +her as I could, in my murmuring soul, deem reconcilable with the +churchyard and the event of the day. As often as I was restless in the +night, and that was every quarter of an hour, I reflected what an +unkindness, what an injury, what an injustice, Biddy had done me. + +Early in the morning I was to go. Early in the morning I was out, and +looking in, unseen, at one of the wooden windows of the forge. There I +stood, for minutes, looking at Joe, already at work with a glow of +health and strength upon his face that made it show as if the bright +sun of the life in store for him were shining on it. + +“Good-bye, dear Joe!—No, don’t wipe it off—for God’s sake, give me your +blackened hand!—I shall be down soon and often.” + +[Illustration] + +“Never too soon, sir,” said Joe, “and never too often, Pip!” + +Biddy was waiting for me at the kitchen door, with a mug of new milk +and a crust of bread. “Biddy,” said I, when I gave her my hand at +parting, “I am not angry, but I am hurt.” + +“No, don’t be hurt,” she pleaded quite pathetically; “let only me be +hurt, if I have been ungenerous.” + +Once more, the mists were rising as I walked away. If they disclosed to +me, as I suspect they did, that I should _not_ come back, and that +Biddy was quite right, all I can say is,—they were quite right too. + + + + +Chapter XXXVI. + + +Herbert and I went on from bad to worse, in the way of increasing our +debts, looking into our affairs, leaving Margins, and the like +exemplary transactions; and Time went on, whether or no, as he has a +way of doing; and I came of age,—in fulfilment of Herbert’s prediction, +that I should do so before I knew where I was. + +Herbert himself had come of age eight months before me. As he had +nothing else than his majority to come into, the event did not make a +profound sensation in Barnard’s Inn. But we had looked forward to my +one-and-twentieth birthday, with a crowd of speculations and +anticipations, for we had both considered that my guardian could hardly +help saying something definite on that occasion. + +I had taken care to have it well understood in Little Britain when my +birthday was. On the day before it, I received an official note from +Wemmick, informing me that Mr. Jaggers would be glad if I would call +upon him at five in the afternoon of the auspicious day. This convinced +us that something great was to happen, and threw me into an unusual +flutter when I repaired to my guardian’s office, a model of +punctuality. + +In the outer office Wemmick offered me his congratulations, and +incidentally rubbed the side of his nose with a folded piece of +tissue-paper that I liked the look of. But he said nothing respecting +it, and motioned me with a nod into my guardian’s room. It was +November, and my guardian was standing before his fire leaning his back +against the chimney-piece, with his hands under his coattails. + +“Well, Pip,” said he, “I must call you Mr. Pip to-day. Congratulations, +Mr. Pip.” + +We shook hands,—he was always a remarkably short shaker,—and I thanked +him. + +“Take a chair, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian. + +As I sat down, and he preserved his attitude and bent his brows at his +boots, I felt at a disadvantage, which reminded me of that old time +when I had been put upon a tombstone. The two ghastly casts on the +shelf were not far from him, and their expression was as if they were +making a stupid apoplectic attempt to attend to the conversation. + +“Now my young friend,” my guardian began, as if I were a witness in the +box, “I am going to have a word or two with you.” + +“If you please, sir.” + +“What do you suppose,” said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at the +ground, and then throwing his head back to look at the ceiling,—“what +do you suppose you are living at the rate of?” + +“At the rate of, sir?” + +“At,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, still looking at the ceiling, +“the—rate—of?” And then looked all round the room, and paused with his +pocket-handkerchief in his hand, half-way to his nose. + +I had looked into my affairs so often, that I had thoroughly destroyed +any slight notion I might ever have had of their bearings. Reluctantly, +I confessed myself quite unable to answer the question. This reply +seemed agreeable to Mr. Jaggers, who said, “I thought so!” and blew his +nose with an air of satisfaction. + +“Now, I have asked _you_ a question, my friend,” said Mr. Jaggers. +“Have you anything to ask _me_?” + +“Of course it would be a great relief to me to ask you several +questions, sir; but I remember your prohibition.” + +“Ask one,” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Is my benefactor to be made known to me to-day?” + +“No. Ask another.” + +“Is that confidence to be imparted to me soon?” + +“Waive that, a moment,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and ask another.” + +I looked about me, but there appeared to be now no possible escape from +the inquiry, “Have-I—anything to receive, sir?” On that, Mr. Jaggers +said, triumphantly, “I thought we should come to it!” and called to +Wemmick to give him that piece of paper. Wemmick appeared, handed it +in, and disappeared. + +“Now, Mr. Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “attend, if you please. You have been +drawing pretty freely here; your name occurs pretty often in Wemmick’s +cash-book; but you are in debt, of course?” + +“I am afraid I must say yes, sir.” + +“You know you must say yes; don’t you?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“I don’t ask you what you owe, because you don’t know; and if you did +know, you wouldn’t tell me; you would say less. Yes, yes, my friend,” +cried Mr. Jaggers, waving his forefinger to stop me as I made a show of +protesting: “it’s likely enough that you think you wouldn’t, but you +would. You’ll excuse me, but I know better than you. Now, take this +piece of paper in your hand. You have got it? Very good. Now, unfold it +and tell me what it is.” + +“This is a bank-note,” said I, “for five hundred pounds.” + +“That is a bank-note,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, “for five hundred pounds. +And a very handsome sum of money too, I think. You consider it so?” + +“How could I do otherwise!” + +“Ah! But answer the question,” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Undoubtedly.” + +“You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money. Now, that +handsome sum of money, Pip, is your own. It is a present to you on this +day, in earnest of your expectations. And at the rate of that handsome +sum of money per annum, and at no higher rate, you are to live until +the donor of the whole appears. That is to say, you will now take your +money affairs entirely into your own hands, and you will draw from +Wemmick one hundred and twenty-five pounds per quarter, until you are +in communication with the fountain-head, and no longer with the mere +agent. As I have told you before, I am the mere agent. I execute my +instructions, and I am paid for doing so. I think them injudicious, but +I am not paid for giving any opinion on their merits.” + +I was beginning to express my gratitude to my benefactor for the great +liberality with which I was treated, when Mr. Jaggers stopped me. “I am +not paid, Pip,” said he, coolly, “to carry your words to any one;” and +then gathered up his coat-tails, as he had gathered up the subject, and +stood frowning at his boots as if he suspected them of designs against +him. + +After a pause, I hinted,— + +“There was a question just now, Mr. Jaggers, which you desired me to +waive for a moment. I hope I am doing nothing wrong in asking it +again?” + +“What is it?” said he. + +I might have known that he would never help me out; but it took me +aback to have to shape the question afresh, as if it were quite new. +“Is it likely,” I said, after hesitating, “that my patron, the +fountain-head you have spoken of, Mr. Jaggers, will soon—” there I +delicately stopped. + +“Will soon what?” asked Mr. Jaggers. “That’s no question as it stands, +you know.” + +“Will soon come to London,” said I, after casting about for a precise +form of words, “or summon me anywhere else?” + +“Now, here,” replied Mr. Jaggers, fixing me for the first time with his +dark deep-set eyes, “we must revert to the evening when we first +encountered one another in your village. What did I tell you then, +Pip?” + +“You told me, Mr. Jaggers, that it might be years hence when that +person appeared.” + +“Just so,” said Mr. Jaggers, “that’s my answer.” + +As we looked full at one another, I felt my breath come quicker in my +strong desire to get something out of him. And as I felt that it came +quicker, and as I felt that he saw that it came quicker, I felt that I +had less chance than ever of getting anything out of him. + +“Do you suppose it will still be years hence, Mr. Jaggers?” + +Mr. Jaggers shook his head,—not in negativing the question, but in +altogether negativing the notion that he could anyhow be got to answer +it,—and the two horrible casts of the twitched faces looked, when my +eyes strayed up to them, as if they had come to a crisis in their +suspended attention, and were going to sneeze. + +“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers, warming the backs of his legs with the backs +of his warmed hands, “I’ll be plain with you, my friend Pip. That’s a +question I must not be asked. You’ll understand that better, when I +tell you it’s a question that might compromise _me_. Come! I’ll go a +little further with you; I’ll say something more.” + +He bent down so low to frown at his boots, that he was able to rub the +calves of his legs in the pause he made. + +“When that person discloses,” said Mr. Jaggers, straightening himself, +“you and that person will settle your own affairs. When that person +discloses, my part in this business will cease and determine. When that +person discloses, it will not be necessary for me to know anything +about it. And that’s all I have got to say.” + +We looked at one another until I withdrew my eyes, and looked +thoughtfully at the floor. From this last speech I derived the notion +that Miss Havisham, for some reason or no reason, had not taken him +into her confidence as to her designing me for Estella; that he +resented this, and felt a jealousy about it; or that he really did +object to that scheme, and would have nothing to do with it. When I +raised my eyes again, I found that he had been shrewdly looking at me +all the time, and was doing so still. + +“If that is all you have to say, sir,” I remarked, “there can be +nothing left for me to say.” + +He nodded assent, and pulled out his thief-dreaded watch, and asked me +where I was going to dine? I replied at my own chambers, with Herbert. +As a necessary sequence, I asked him if he would favour us with his +company, and he promptly accepted the invitation. But he insisted on +walking home with me, in order that I might make no extra preparation +for him, and first he had a letter or two to write, and (of course) had +his hands to wash. So I said I would go into the outer office and talk +to Wemmick. + +The fact was, that when the five hundred pounds had come into my +pocket, a thought had come into my head which had been often there +before; and it appeared to me that Wemmick was a good person to advise +with concerning such thought. + +He had already locked up his safe, and made preparations for going +home. He had left his desk, brought out his two greasy office +candlesticks and stood them in line with the snuffers on a slab near +the door, ready to be extinguished; he had raked his fire low, put his +hat and great-coat ready, and was beating himself all over the chest +with his safe-key, as an athletic exercise after business. + +“Mr. Wemmick,” said I, “I want to ask your opinion. I am very desirous +to serve a friend.” + +Wemmick tightened his post-office and shook his head, as if his opinion +were dead against any fatal weakness of that sort. + +“This friend,” I pursued, “is trying to get on in commercial life, but +has no money, and finds it difficult and disheartening to make a +beginning. Now I want somehow to help him to a beginning.” + +“With money down?” said Wemmick, in a tone drier than any sawdust. + +“With _some_ money down,” I replied, for an uneasy remembrance shot +across me of that symmetrical bundle of papers at home—“with _some_ +money down, and perhaps some anticipation of my expectations.” + +“Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, “I should like just to run over with you on my +fingers, if you please, the names of the various bridges up as high as +Chelsea Reach. Let’s see; there’s London, one; Southwark, two; +Blackfriars, three; Waterloo, four; Westminster, five; Vauxhall, six.” +He had checked off each bridge in its turn, with the handle of his +safe-key on the palm of his hand. “There’s as many as six, you see, to +choose from.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said I. + +“Choose your bridge, Mr. Pip,” returned Wemmick, “and take a walk upon +your bridge, and pitch your money into the Thames over the centre arch +of your bridge, and you know the end of it. Serve a friend with it, and +you may know the end of it too,—but it’s a less pleasant and profitable +end.” + +I could have posted a newspaper in his mouth, he made it so wide after +saying this. + +“This is very discouraging,” said I. + +“Meant to be so,” said Wemmick. + +“Then is it your opinion,” I inquired, with some little indignation, +“that a man should never—” + +“—Invest portable property in a friend?” said Wemmick. “Certainly he +should not. Unless he wants to get rid of the friend,—and then it +becomes a question how much portable property it may be worth to get +rid of him.” + +“And that,” said I, “is your deliberate opinion, Mr. Wemmick?” + +“That,” he returned, “is my deliberate opinion in this office.” + +“Ah!” said I, pressing him, for I thought I saw him near a loophole +here; “but would that be your opinion at Walworth?” + +“Mr. Pip,” he replied, with gravity, “Walworth is one place, and this +office is another. Much as the Aged is one person, and Mr. Jaggers is +another. They must not be confounded together. My Walworth sentiments +must be taken at Walworth; none but my official sentiments can be taken +in this office.” + +“Very well,” said I, much relieved, “then I shall look you up at +Walworth, you may depend upon it.” + +“Mr. Pip,” he returned, “you will be welcome there, in a private and +personal capacity.” + +We had held this conversation in a low voice, well knowing my +guardian’s ears to be the sharpest of the sharp. As he now appeared in +his doorway, towelling his hands, Wemmick got on his great-coat and +stood by to snuff out the candles. We all three went into the street +together, and from the door-step Wemmick turned his way, and Mr. +Jaggers and I turned ours. + +I could not help wishing more than once that evening, that Mr. Jaggers +had had an Aged in Gerrard Street, or a Stinger, or a Something, or a +Somebody, to unbend his brows a little. It was an uncomfortable +consideration on a twenty-first birthday, that coming of age at all +seemed hardly worth while in such a guarded and suspicious world as he +made of it. He was a thousand times better informed and cleverer than +Wemmick, and yet I would a thousand times rather have had Wemmick to +dinner. And Mr. Jaggers made not me alone intensely melancholy, +because, after he was gone, Herbert said of himself, with his eyes +fixed on the fire, that he thought he must have committed a felony and +forgotten the details of it, he felt so dejected and guilty. + + + + +Chapter XXXVII. + + +Deeming Sunday the best day for taking Mr. Wemmick’s Walworth +sentiments, I devoted the next ensuing Sunday afternoon to a pilgrimage +to the Castle. On arriving before the battlements, I found the Union +Jack flying and the drawbridge up; but undeterred by this show of +defiance and resistance, I rang at the gate, and was admitted in a most +pacific manner by the Aged. + +“My son, sir,” said the old man, after securing the drawbridge, “rather +had it in his mind that you might happen to drop in, and he left word +that he would soon be home from his afternoon’s walk. He is very +regular in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my +son.” + +I nodded at the old gentleman as Wemmick himself might have nodded, and +we went in and sat down by the fireside. + +“You made acquaintance with my son, sir,” said the old man, in his +chirping way, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, “at his office, I +expect?” I nodded. “Hah! I have heerd that my son is a wonderful hand +at his business, sir?” I nodded hard. “Yes; so they tell me. His +business is the Law?” I nodded harder. “Which makes it more surprising +in my son,” said the old man, “for he was not brought up to the Law, +but to the Wine-Coopering.” + +Curious to know how the old gentleman stood informed concerning the +reputation of Mr. Jaggers, I roared that name at him. He threw me into +the greatest confusion by laughing heartily and replying in a very +sprightly manner, “No, to be sure; you’re right.” And to this hour I +have not the faintest notion what he meant, or what joke he thought I +had made. + +As I could not sit there nodding at him perpetually, without making +some other attempt to interest him, I shouted at inquiry whether his +own calling in life had been “the Wine-Coopering.” By dint of straining +that term out of myself several times and tapping the old gentleman on +the chest to associate it with him, I at last succeeded in making my +meaning understood. + +“No,” said the old gentleman; “the warehousing, the warehousing. First, +over yonder;” he appeared to mean up the chimney, but I believe he +intended to refer me to Liverpool; “and then in the City of London +here. However, having an infirmity—for I am hard of hearing, sir—” + +I expressed in pantomime the greatest astonishment. + +“—Yes, hard of hearing; having that infirmity coming upon me, my son he +went into the Law, and he took charge of me, and he by little and +little made out this elegant and beautiful property. But returning to +what you said, you know,” pursued the old man, again laughing heartily, +“what I say is, No to be sure; you’re right.” + +I was modestly wondering whether my utmost ingenuity would have enabled +me to say anything that would have amused him half as much as this +imaginary pleasantry, when I was startled by a sudden click in the wall +on one side of the chimney, and the ghostly tumbling open of a little +wooden flap with “JOHN” upon it. The old man, following my eyes, cried +with great triumph, “My son’s come home!” and we both went out to the +drawbridge. + +It was worth any money to see Wemmick waving a salute to me from the +other side of the moat, when we might have shaken hands across it with +the greatest ease. The Aged was so delighted to work the drawbridge, +that I made no offer to assist him, but stood quiet until Wemmick had +come across, and had presented me to Miss Skiffins; a lady by whom he +was accompanied. + +Miss Skiffins was of a wooden appearance, and was, like her escort, in +the post-office branch of the service. She might have been some two or +three years younger than Wemmick, and I judged her to stand possessed +of portable property. The cut of her dress from the waist upward, both +before and behind, made her figure very like a boy’s kite; and I might +have pronounced her gown a little too decidedly orange, and her gloves +a little too intensely green. But she seemed to be a good sort of +fellow, and showed a high regard for the Aged. I was not long in +discovering that she was a frequent visitor at the Castle; for, on our +going in, and my complimenting Wemmick on his ingenious contrivance for +announcing himself to the Aged, he begged me to give my attention for a +moment to the other side of the chimney, and disappeared. Presently +another click came, and another little door tumbled open with “Miss +Skiffins” on it; then Miss Skiffins shut up and John tumbled open; then +Miss Skiffins and John both tumbled open together, and finally shut up +together. On Wemmick’s return from working these mechanical appliances, +I expressed the great admiration with which I regarded them, and he +said, “Well, you know, they’re both pleasant and useful to the Aged. +And by George, sir, it’s a thing worth mentioning, that of all the +people who come to this gate, the secret of those pulls is only known +to the Aged, Miss Skiffins, and me!” + +“And Mr. Wemmick made them,” added Miss Skiffins, “with his own hands +out of his own head.” + +While Miss Skiffins was taking off her bonnet (she retained her green +gloves during the evening as an outward and visible sign that there was +company), Wemmick invited me to take a walk with him round the +property, and see how the island looked in wintertime. Thinking that he +did this to give me an opportunity of taking his Walworth sentiments, I +seized the opportunity as soon as we were out of the Castle. + +Having thought of the matter with care, I approached my subject as if I +had never hinted at it before. I informed Wemmick that I was anxious in +behalf of Herbert Pocket, and I told him how we had first met, and how +we had fought. I glanced at Herbert’s home, and at his character, and +at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for; +those, uncertain and unpunctual. I alluded to the advantages I had +derived in my first rawness and ignorance from his society, and I +confessed that I feared I had but ill repaid them, and that he might +have done better without me and my expectations. Keeping Miss Havisham +in the background at a great distance, I still hinted at the +possibility of my having competed with him in his prospects, and at the +certainty of his possessing a generous soul, and being far above any +mean distrusts, retaliations, or designs. For all these reasons (I told +Wemmick), and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a +great affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some +rays upon him, and therefore I sought advice from Wemmick’s experience +and knowledge of men and affairs, how I could best try with my +resources to help Herbert to some present income,—say of a hundred a +year, to keep him in good hope and heart,—and gradually to buy him on +to some small partnership. I begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to +understand that my help must always be rendered without Herbert’s +knowledge or suspicion, and that there was no one else in the world +with whom I could advise. I wound up by laying my hand upon his +shoulder, and saying, “I can’t help confiding in you, though I know it +must be troublesome to you; but that is your fault, in having ever +brought me here.” + +Wemmick was silent for a little while, and then said with a kind of +start, “Well you know, Mr. Pip, I must tell you one thing. This is +devilish good of you.” + +“Say you’ll help me to be good then,” said I. + +“Ecod,” replied Wemmick, shaking his head, “that’s not my trade.” + +“Nor is this your trading-place,” said I. + +“You are right,” he returned. “You hit the nail on the head. Mr. Pip, +I’ll put on my considering-cap, and I think all you want to do may be +done by degrees. Skiffins (that’s her brother) is an accountant and +agent. I’ll look him up and go to work for you.” + +“I thank you ten thousand times.” + +“On the contrary,” said he, “I thank you, for though we are strictly in +our private and personal capacity, still it may be mentioned that there +_are_ Newgate cobwebs about, and it brushes them away.” + +After a little further conversation to the same effect, we returned +into the Castle where we found Miss Skiffins preparing tea. The +responsible duty of making the toast was delegated to the Aged, and +that excellent old gentleman was so intent upon it that he seemed to me +in some danger of melting his eyes. It was no nominal meal that we were +going to make, but a vigorous reality. The Aged prepared such a +hay-stack of buttered toast, that I could scarcely see him over it as +it simmered on an iron stand hooked on to the top-bar; while Miss +Skiffins brewed such a jorum of tea, that the pig in the back premises +became strongly excited, and repeatedly expressed his desire to +participate in the entertainment. + +The flag had been struck, and the gun had been fired, at the right +moment of time, and I felt as snugly cut off from the rest of Walworth +as if the moat were thirty feet wide by as many deep. Nothing disturbed +the tranquillity of the Castle, but the occasional tumbling open of +John and Miss Skiffins: which little doors were a prey to some +spasmodic infirmity that made me sympathetically uncomfortable until I +got used to it. I inferred from the methodical nature of Miss +Skiffins’s arrangements that she made tea there every Sunday night; and +I rather suspected that a classic brooch she wore, representing the +profile of an undesirable female with a very straight nose and a very +new moon, was a piece of portable property that had been given her by +Wemmick. + +We ate the whole of the toast, and drank tea in proportion, and it was +delightful to see how warm and greasy we all got after it. The Aged +especially, might have passed for some clean old chief of a savage +tribe, just oiled. After a short pause of repose, Miss Skiffins—in the +absence of the little servant who, it seemed, retired to the bosom of +her family on Sunday afternoons—washed up the tea-things, in a trifling +lady-like amateur manner that compromised none of us. Then, she put on +her gloves again, and we drew round the fire, and Wemmick said, “Now, +Aged Parent, tip us the paper.” + +Wemmick explained to me while the Aged got his spectacles out, that +this was according to custom, and that it gave the old gentleman +infinite satisfaction to read the news aloud. “I won’t offer an +apology,” said Wemmick, “for he isn’t capable of many pleasures—are +you, Aged P.?” + +“All right, John, all right,” returned the old man, seeing himself +spoken to. + +“Only tip him a nod every now and then when he looks off his paper,” +said Wemmick, “and he’ll be as happy as a king. We are all attention, +Aged One.” + +“All right, John, all right!” returned the cheerful old man, so busy +and so pleased, that it really was quite charming. + +The Aged’s reading reminded me of the classes at Mr. Wopsle’s +great-aunt’s, with the pleasanter peculiarity that it seemed to come +through a keyhole. As he wanted the candles close to him, and as he was +always on the verge of putting either his head or the newspaper into +them, he required as much watching as a powder-mill. But Wemmick was +equally untiring and gentle in his vigilance, and the Aged read on, +quite unconscious of his many rescues. Whenever he looked at us, we all +expressed the greatest interest and amazement, and nodded until he +resumed again. + +As Wemmick and Miss Skiffins sat side by side, and as I sat in a +shadowy corner, I observed a slow and gradual elongation of Mr. +Wemmick’s mouth, powerfully suggestive of his slowly and gradually +stealing his arm round Miss Skiffins’s waist. In course of time I saw +his hand appear on the other side of Miss Skiffins; but at that moment +Miss Skiffins neatly stopped him with the green glove, unwound his arm +again as if it were an article of dress, and with the greatest +deliberation laid it on the table before her. Miss Skiffins’s composure +while she did this was one of the most remarkable sights I have ever +seen, and if I could have thought the act consistent with abstraction +of mind, I should have deemed that Miss Skiffins performed it +mechanically. + +By and by, I noticed Wemmick’s arm beginning to disappear again, and +gradually fading out of view. Shortly afterwards, his mouth began to +widen again. After an interval of suspense on my part that was quite +enthralling and almost painful, I saw his hand appear on the other side +of Miss Skiffins. Instantly, Miss Skiffins stopped it with the neatness +of a placid boxer, took off that girdle or cestus as before, and laid +it on the table. Taking the table to represent the path of virtue, I am +justified in stating that during the whole time of the Aged’s reading, +Wemmick’s arm was straying from the path of virtue and being recalled +to it by Miss Skiffins. + +At last, the Aged read himself into a light slumber. This was the time +for Wemmick to produce a little kettle, a tray of glasses, and a black +bottle with a porcelain-topped cork, representing some clerical +dignitary of a rubicund and social aspect. With the aid of these +appliances we all had something warm to drink, including the Aged, who +was soon awake again. Miss Skiffins mixed, and I observed that she and +Wemmick drank out of one glass. Of course I knew better than to offer +to see Miss Skiffins home, and under the circumstances I thought I had +best go first; which I did, taking a cordial leave of the Aged, and +having passed a pleasant evening. + +Before a week was out, I received a note from Wemmick, dated Walworth, +stating that he hoped he had made some advance in that matter +appertaining to our private and personal capacities, and that he would +be glad if I could come and see him again upon it. So, I went out to +Walworth again, and yet again, and yet again, and I saw him by +appointment in the City several times, but never held any communication +with him on the subject in or near Little Britain. The upshot was, that +we found a worthy young merchant or shipping-broker, not long +established in business, who wanted intelligent help, and who wanted +capital, and who in due course of time and receipt would want a +partner. Between him and me, secret articles were signed of which +Herbert was the subject, and I paid him half of my five hundred pounds +down, and engaged for sundry other payments: some, to fall due at +certain dates out of my income: some, contingent on my coming into my +property. Miss Skiffins’s brother conducted the negotiation. Wemmick +pervaded it throughout, but never appeared in it. + +The whole business was so cleverly managed, that Herbert had not the +least suspicion of my hand being in it. I never shall forget the +radiant face with which he came home one afternoon, and told me, as a +mighty piece of news, of his having fallen in with one Clarriker (the +young merchant’s name), and of Clarriker’s having shown an +extraordinary inclination towards him, and of his belief that the +opening had come at last. Day by day as his hopes grew stronger and his +face brighter, he must have thought me a more and more affectionate +friend, for I had the greatest difficulty in restraining my tears of +triumph when I saw him so happy. At length, the thing being done, and +he having that day entered Clarriker’s House, and he having talked to +me for a whole evening in a flush of pleasure and success, I did really +cry in good earnest when I went to bed, to think that my expectations +had done some good to somebody. + +A great event in my life, the turning point of my life, now opens on my +view. But, before I proceed to narrate it, and before I pass on to all +the changes it involved, I must give one chapter to Estella. It is not +much to give to the theme that so long filled my heart. + + + + +Chapter XXXVIII. + + +If that staid old house near the Green at Richmond should ever come to +be haunted when I am dead, it will be haunted, surely, by my ghost. O +the many, many nights and days through which the unquiet spirit within +me haunted that house when Estella lived there! Let my body be where it +would, my spirit was always wandering, wandering, wandering, about that +house. + +The lady with whom Estella was placed, Mrs. Brandley by name, was a +widow, with one daughter several years older than Estella. The mother +looked young, and the daughter looked old; the mother’s complexion was +pink, and the daughter’s was yellow; the mother set up for frivolity, +and the daughter for theology. They were in what is called a good +position, and visited, and were visited by, numbers of people. Little, +if any, community of feeling subsisted between them and Estella, but +the understanding was established that they were necessary to her, and +that she was necessary to them. Mrs. Brandley had been a friend of Miss +Havisham’s before the time of her seclusion. + +In Mrs. Brandley’s house and out of Mrs. Brandley’s house, I suffered +every kind and degree of torture that Estella could cause me. The +nature of my relations with her, which placed me on terms of +familiarity without placing me on terms of favour, conduced to my +distraction. She made use of me to tease other admirers, and she turned +the very familiarity between herself and me to the account of putting a +constant slight on my devotion to her. If I had been her secretary, +steward, half-brother, poor relation,—if I had been a younger brother +of her appointed husband,—I could not have seemed to myself further +from my hopes when I was nearest to her. The privilege of calling her +by her name and hearing her call me by mine became, under the +circumstances an aggravation of my trials; and while I think it likely +that it almost maddened her other lovers, I know too certainly that it +almost maddened me. + +She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer of +every one who went near her; but there were more than enough of them +without that. + +I saw her often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used +often to take her and the Brandleys on the water; there were picnics, +fête days, plays, operas, concerts, parties, all sorts of pleasures, +through which I pursued her,—and they were all miseries to me. I never +had one hour’s happiness in her society, and yet my mind all round the +four-and-twenty hours was harping on the happiness of having her with +me unto death. + +Throughout this part of our intercourse,—and it lasted, as will +presently be seen, for what I then thought a long time,—she habitually +reverted to that tone which expressed that our association was forced +upon us. There were other times when she would come to a sudden check +in this tone and in all her many tones, and would seem to pity me. + +“Pip, Pip,” she said one evening, coming to such a check, when we sat +apart at a darkening window of the house in Richmond; “will you never +take warning?” + +“Of what?” + +“Of me.” + +“Warning not to be attracted by you, do you mean, Estella?” + +“Do I mean! If you don’t know what I mean, you are blind.” + +I should have replied that Love was commonly reputed blind, but for the +reason that I always was restrained—and this was not the least of my +miseries—by a feeling that it was ungenerous to press myself upon her, +when she knew that she could not choose but obey Miss Havisham. My +dread always was, that this knowledge on her part laid me under a heavy +disadvantage with her pride, and made me the subject of a rebellious +struggle in her bosom. + +“At any rate,” said I, “I have no warning given me just now, for you +wrote to me to come to you, this time.” + +“That’s true,” said Estella, with a cold careless smile that always +chilled me. + +After looking at the twilight without, for a little while, she went on +to say:— + +“The time has come round when Miss Havisham wishes to have me for a day +at Satis. You are to take me there, and bring me back, if you will. She +would rather I did not travel alone, and objects to receiving my maid, +for she has a sensitive horror of being talked of by such people. Can +you take me?” + +“Can I take you, Estella!” + +“You can then? The day after to-morrow, if you please. You are to pay +all charges out of my purse. You hear the condition of your going?” + +“And must obey,” said I. + +This was all the preparation I received for that visit, or for others +like it; Miss Havisham never wrote to me, nor had I ever so much as +seen her handwriting. We went down on the next day but one, and we +found her in the room where I had first beheld her, and it is needless +to add that there was no change in Satis House. + +She was even more dreadfully fond of Estella than she had been when I +last saw them together; I repeat the word advisedly, for there was +something positively dreadful in the energy of her looks and embraces. +She hung upon Estella’s beauty, hung upon her words, hung upon her +gestures, and sat mumbling her own trembling fingers while she looked +at her, as though she were devouring the beautiful creature she had +reared. + +From Estella she looked at me, with a searching glance that seemed to +pry into my heart and probe its wounds. “How does she use you, Pip; how +does she use you?” she asked me again, with her witch-like eagerness, +even in Estella’s hearing. But, when we sat by her flickering fire at +night, she was most weird; for then, keeping Estella’s hand drawn +through her arm and clutched in her own hand, she extorted from her, by +dint of referring back to what Estella had told her in her regular +letters, the names and conditions of the men whom she had fascinated; +and as Miss Havisham dwelt upon this roll, with the intensity of a mind +mortally hurt and diseased, she sat with her other hand on her crutch +stick, and her chin on that, and her wan bright eyes glaring at me, a +very spectre. + +I saw in this, wretched though it made me, and bitter the sense of +dependence and even of degradation that it awakened,—I saw in this that +Estella was set to wreak Miss Havisham’s revenge on men, and that she +was not to be given to me until she had gratified it for a term. I saw +in this, a reason for her being beforehand assigned to me. Sending her +out to attract and torment and do mischief, Miss Havisham sent her with +the malicious assurance that she was beyond the reach of all admirers, +and that all who staked upon that cast were secured to lose. I saw in +this that I, too, was tormented by a perversion of ingenuity, even +while the prize was reserved for me. I saw in this the reason for my +being staved off so long and the reason for my late guardian’s +declining to commit himself to the formal knowledge of such a scheme. +In a word, I saw in this Miss Havisham as I had her then and there +before my eyes, and always had had her before my eyes; and I saw in +this, the distinct shadow of the darkened and unhealthy house in which +her life was hidden from the sun. + +The candles that lighted that room of hers were placed in sconces on +the wall. They were high from the ground, and they burnt with the +steady dulness of artificial light in air that is seldom renewed. As I +looked round at them, and at the pale gloom they made, and at the +stopped clock, and at the withered articles of bridal dress upon the +table and the ground, and at her own awful figure with its ghostly +reflection thrown large by the fire upon the ceiling and the wall, I +saw in everything the construction that my mind had come to, repeated +and thrown back to me. My thoughts passed into the great room across +the landing where the table was spread, and I saw it written, as it +were, in the falls of the cobwebs from the centre-piece, in the +crawlings of the spiders on the cloth, in the tracks of the mice as +they betook their little quickened hearts behind the panels, and in the +gropings and pausings of the beetles on the floor. + +It happened on the occasion of this visit that some sharp words arose +between Estella and Miss Havisham. It was the first time I had ever +seen them opposed. + +We were seated by the fire, as just now described, and Miss Havisham +still had Estella’s arm drawn through her own, and still clutched +Estella’s hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself. +She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather +endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it. + +“What!” said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, “are you tired +of me?” + +“Only a little tired of myself,” replied Estella, disengaging her arm, +and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at +the fire. + +“Speak the truth, you ingrate!” cried Miss Havisham, passionately +striking her stick upon the floor; “you are tired of me.” + +Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down at +the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a +self-possessed indifference to the wild heat of the other, that was +almost cruel. + +“You stock and stone!” exclaimed Miss Havisham. “You cold, cold heart!” + +“What?” said Estella, preserving her attitude of indifference as she +leaned against the great chimney-piece and only moving her eyes; “do +you reproach me for being cold? You?” + +“Are you not?” was the fierce retort. + +“You should know,” said Estella. “I am what you have made me. Take all +the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the +failure; in short, take me.” + +“O, look at her, look at her!” cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; “Look at +her so hard and thankless, on the hearth where she was reared! Where I +took her into this wretched breast when it was first bleeding from its +stabs, and where I have lavished years of tenderness upon her!” + +[Illustration] + +“At least I was no party to the compact,” said Estella, “for if I could +walk and speak, when it was made, it was as much as I could do. But +what would you have? You have been very good to me, and I owe +everything to you. What would you have?” + +“Love,” replied the other. + +“You have it.” + +“I have not,” said Miss Havisham. + +“Mother by adoption,” retorted Estella, never departing from the easy +grace of her attitude, never raising her voice as the other did, never +yielding either to anger or tenderness,—“mother by adoption, I have +said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. All +that you have given me, is at your command to have again. Beyond that, +I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you, what you never gave me, +my gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities.” + +“Did I never give her love!” cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me. +“Did I never give her a burning love, inseparable from jealousy at all +times, and from sharp pain, while she speaks thus to me! Let her call +me mad, let her call me mad!” + +“Why should I call you mad,” returned Estella, “I, of all people? Does +any one live, who knows what set purposes you have, half as well as I +do? Does any one live, who knows what a steady memory you have, half as +well as I do? I who have sat on this same hearth on the little stool +that is even now beside you there, learning your lessons and looking up +into your face, when your face was strange and frightened me!” + +“Soon forgotten!” moaned Miss Havisham. “Times soon forgotten!” + +“No, not forgotten,” retorted Estella,—“not forgotten, but treasured up +in my memory. When have you found me false to your teaching? When have +you found me unmindful of your lessons? When have you found me giving +admission here,” she touched her bosom with her hand, “to anything that +you excluded? Be just to me.” + +“So proud, so proud!” moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her grey hair +with both her hands. + +“Who taught me to be proud?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I +learnt my lesson?” + +“So hard, so hard!” moaned Miss Havisham, with her former action. + +“Who taught me to be hard?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I +learnt my lesson?” + +“But to be proud and hard to _me_!” Miss Havisham quite shrieked, as +she stretched out her arms. “Estella, Estella, Estella, to be proud and +hard to _me_!” + +Estella looked at her for a moment with a kind of calm wonder, but was +not otherwise disturbed; when the moment was past, she looked down at +the fire again. + +“I cannot think,” said Estella, raising her eyes after a silence “why +you should be so unreasonable when I come to see you after a +separation. I have never forgotten your wrongs and their causes. I have +never been unfaithful to you or your schooling. I have never shown any +weakness that I can charge myself with.” + +“Would it be weakness to return my love?” exclaimed Miss Havisham. “But +yes, yes, she would call it so!” + +“I begin to think,” said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment +of calm wonder, “that I almost understand how this comes about. If you +had brought up your adopted daughter wholly in the dark confinement of +these rooms, and had never let her know that there was such a thing as +the daylight by which she had never once seen your face,—if you had +done that, and then, for a purpose had wanted her to understand the +daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and +angry?” + +Miss Havisham, with her head in her hands, sat making a low moaning, +and swaying herself on her chair, but gave no answer. + +“Or,” said Estella,—“which is a nearer case,—if you had taught her, +from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost energy and might, +that there was such a thing as daylight, but that it was made to be her +enemy and destroyer, and she must always turn against it, for it had +blighted you and would else blight her;—if you had done this, and then, +for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to the daylight and she +could not do it, you would have been disappointed and angry?” + +Miss Havisham sat listening (or it seemed so, for I could not see her +face), but still made no answer. + +“So,” said Estella, “I must be taken as I have been made. The success +is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.” + +Miss Havisham had settled down, I hardly knew how, upon the floor, +among the faded bridal relics with which it was strewn. I took +advantage of the moment—I had sought one from the first—to leave the +room, after beseeching Estella’s attention to her, with a movement of +my hand. When I left, Estella was yet standing by the great +chimney-piece, just as she had stood throughout. Miss Havisham’s grey +hair was all adrift upon the ground, among the other bridal wrecks, and +was a miserable sight to see. + +It was with a depressed heart that I walked in the starlight for an +hour and more, about the courtyard, and about the brewery, and about +the ruined garden. When I at last took courage to return to the room, I +found Estella sitting at Miss Havisham’s knee, taking up some stitches +in one of those old articles of dress that were dropping to pieces, and +of which I have often been reminded since by the faded tatters of old +banners that I have seen hanging up in cathedrals. Afterwards, Estella +and I played at cards, as of yore,—only we were skilful now, and played +French games,—and so the evening wore away, and I went to bed. + +I lay in that separate building across the courtyard. It was the first +time I had ever lain down to rest in Satis House, and sleep refused to +come near me. A thousand Miss Havishams haunted me. She was on this +side of my pillow, on that, at the head of the bed, at the foot, behind +the half-opened door of the dressing-room, in the dressing-room, in the +room overhead, in the room beneath,—everywhere. At last, when the night +was slow to creep on towards two o’clock, I felt that I absolutely +could no longer bear the place as a place to lie down in, and that I +must get up. I therefore got up and put on my clothes, and went out +across the yard into the long stone passage, designing to gain the +outer courtyard and walk there for the relief of my mind. But I was no +sooner in the passage than I extinguished my candle; for I saw Miss +Havisham going along it in a ghostly manner, making a low cry. I +followed her at a distance, and saw her go up the staircase. She +carried a bare candle in her hand, which she had probably taken from +one of the sconces in her own room, and was a most unearthly object by +its light. Standing at the bottom of the staircase, I felt the mildewed +air of the feast-chamber, without seeing her open the door, and I heard +her walking there, and so across into her own room, and so across again +into that, never ceasing the low cry. After a time, I tried in the dark +both to get out, and to go back, but I could do neither until some +streaks of day strayed in and showed me where to lay my hands. During +the whole interval, whenever I went to the bottom of the staircase, I +heard her footstep, saw her light pass above, and heard her ceaseless +low cry. + +Before we left next day, there was no revival of the difference between +her and Estella, nor was it ever revived on any similar occasion; and +there were four similar occasions, to the best of my remembrance. Nor, +did Miss Havisham’s manner towards Estella in anywise change, except +that I believed it to have something like fear infused among its former +characteristics. + +It is impossible to turn this leaf of my life, without putting Bentley +Drummle’s name upon it; or I would, very gladly. + +On a certain occasion when the Finches were assembled in force, and +when good feeling was being promoted in the usual manner by nobody’s +agreeing with anybody else, the presiding Finch called the Grove to +order, forasmuch as Mr. Drummle had not yet toasted a lady; which, +according to the solemn constitution of the society, it was the brute’s +turn to do that day. I thought I saw him leer in an ugly way at me +while the decanters were going round, but as there was no love lost +between us, that might easily be. What was my indignant surprise when +he called upon the company to pledge him to “Estella!” + +“Estella who?” said I. + +“Never you mind,” retorted Drummle. + +“Estella of where?” said I. “You are bound to say of where.” Which he +was, as a Finch. + +“Of Richmond, gentlemen,” said Drummle, putting me out of the question, +“and a peerless beauty.” + +Much he knew about peerless beauties, a mean, miserable idiot! I +whispered Herbert. + +“I know that lady,” said Herbert, across the table, when the toast had +been honoured. + +“_Do_ you?” said Drummle. + +“And so do I,” I added, with a scarlet face. + +“_Do_ you?” said Drummle. “_O_, Lord!” + +This was the only retort—except glass or crockery—that the heavy +creature was capable of making; but, I became as highly incensed by it +as if it had been barbed with wit, and I immediately rose in my place +and said that I could not but regard it as being like the honourable +Finch’s impudence to come down to that Grove,—we always talked about +coming down to that Grove, as a neat Parliamentary turn of +expression,—down to that Grove, proposing a lady of whom he knew +nothing. Mr. Drummle, upon this, starting up, demanded what I meant by +that? Whereupon I made him the extreme reply that I believed he knew +where I was to be found. + +Whether it was possible in a Christian country to get on without blood, +after this, was a question on which the Finches were divided. The +debate upon it grew so lively, indeed, that at least six more +honourable members told six more, during the discussion, that they +believed _they_ knew where _they_ were to be found. However, it was +decided at last (the Grove being a Court of Honour) that if Mr. Drummle +would bring never so slight a certificate from the lady, importing that +he had the honour of her acquaintance, Mr. Pip must express his regret, +as a gentleman and a Finch, for “having been betrayed into a warmth +which.” Next day was appointed for the production (lest our honour +should take cold from delay), and next day Drummle appeared with a +polite little avowal in Estella’s hand, that she had had the honour of +dancing with him several times. This left me no course but to regret +that I had been “betrayed into a warmth which,” and on the whole to +repudiate, as untenable, the idea that I was to be found anywhere. +Drummle and I then sat snorting at one another for an hour, while the +Grove engaged in indiscriminate contradiction, and finally the +promotion of good feeling was declared to have gone ahead at an amazing +rate. + +I tell this lightly, but it was no light thing to me. For, I cannot +adequately express what pain it gave me to think that Estella should +show any favour to a contemptible, clumsy, sulky booby, so very far +below the average. To the present moment, I believe it to have been +referable to some pure fire of generosity and disinterestedness in my +love for her, that I could not endure the thought of her stooping to +that hound. No doubt I should have been miserable whomsoever she had +favoured; but a worthier object would have caused me a different kind +and degree of distress. + +It was easy for me to find out, and I did soon find out, that Drummle +had begun to follow her closely, and that she allowed him to do it. A +little while, and he was always in pursuit of her, and he and I crossed +one another every day. He held on, in a dull persistent way, and +Estella held him on; now with encouragement, now with discouragement, +now almost flattering him, now openly despising him, now knowing him +very well, now scarcely remembering who he was. + +The Spider, as Mr. Jaggers had called him, was used to lying in wait, +however, and had the patience of his tribe. Added to that, he had a +blockhead confidence in his money and in his family greatness, which +sometimes did him good service,—almost taking the place of +concentration and determined purpose. So, the Spider, doggedly watching +Estella, outwatched many brighter insects, and would often uncoil +himself and drop at the right nick of time. + +At a certain Assembly Ball at Richmond (there used to be Assembly Balls +at most places then), where Estella had outshone all other beauties, +this blundering Drummle so hung about her, and with so much toleration +on her part, that I resolved to speak to her concerning him. I took the +next opportunity; which was when she was waiting for Mrs. Blandley to +take her home, and was sitting apart among some flowers, ready to go. I +was with her, for I almost always accompanied them to and from such +places. + +“Are you tired, Estella?” + +“Rather, Pip.” + +“You should be.” + +“Say rather, I should not be; for I have my letter to Satis House to +write, before I go to sleep.” + +“Recounting to-night’s triumph?” said I. “Surely a very poor one, +Estella.” + +“What do you mean? I didn’t know there had been any.” + +“Estella,” said I, “do look at that fellow in the corner yonder, who is +looking over here at us.” + +“Why should I look at him?” returned Estella, with her eyes on me +instead. “What is there in that fellow in the corner yonder,—to use +your words,—that I need look at?” + +“Indeed, that is the very question I want to ask you,” said I. “For he +has been hovering about you all night.” + +“Moths, and all sorts of ugly creatures,” replied Estella, with a +glance towards him, “hover about a lighted candle. Can the candle help +it?” + +“No,” I returned; “but cannot the Estella help it?” + +“Well!” said she, laughing, after a moment, “perhaps. Yes. Anything you +like.” + +“But, Estella, do hear me speak. It makes me wretched that you should +encourage a man so generally despised as Drummle. You know he is +despised.” + +“Well?” said she. + +“You know he is as ungainly within as without. A deficient, +ill-tempered, lowering, stupid fellow.” + +“Well?” said she. + +“You know he has nothing to recommend him but money and a ridiculous +roll of addle-headed predecessors; now, don’t you?” + +“Well?” said she again; and each time she said it, she opened her +lovely eyes the wider. + +To overcome the difficulty of getting past that monosyllable, I took it +from her, and said, repeating it with emphasis, “Well! Then, that is +why it makes me wretched.” + +Now, if I could have believed that she favoured Drummle with any idea +of making me—me—wretched, I should have been in better heart about it; +but in that habitual way of hers, she put me so entirely out of the +question, that I could believe nothing of the kind. + +“Pip,” said Estella, casting her glance over the room, “don’t be +foolish about its effect on you. It may have its effect on others, and +may be meant to have. It’s not worth discussing.” + +“Yes it is,” said I, “because I cannot bear that people should say, +‘she throws away her graces and attractions on a mere boor, the lowest +in the crowd.’” + +“I can bear it,” said Estella. + +“Oh! don’t be so proud, Estella, and so inflexible.” + +“Calls me proud and inflexible in this breath!” said Estella, opening +her hands. “And in his last breath reproached me for stooping to a +boor!” + +“There is no doubt you do,” said I, something hurriedly, “for I have +seen you give him looks and smiles this very night, such as you never +give to—me.” + +“Do you want me then,” said Estella, turning suddenly with a fixed and +serious, if not angry, look, “to deceive and entrap you?” + +“Do you deceive and entrap him, Estella?” + +“Yes, and many others,—all of them but you. Here is Mrs. Brandley. I’ll +say no more.” + + + + +And now that I have given the one chapter to the theme that so filled +my heart, and so often made it ache and ache again, I pass on +unhindered, to the event that had impended over me longer yet; the +event that had begun to be prepared for, before I knew that the world +held Estella, and in the days when her baby intelligence was receiving +its first distortions from Miss Havisham’s wasting hands. + +In the Eastern story, the heavy slab that was to fall on the bed of +state in the flush of conquest was slowly wrought out of the quarry, +the tunnel for the rope to hold it in its place was slowly carried +through the leagues of rock, the slab was slowly raised and fitted in +the roof, the rope was rove to it and slowly taken through the miles of +hollow to the great iron ring. All being made ready with much labour, +and the hour come, the sultan was aroused in the dead of the night, and +the sharpened axe that was to sever the rope from the great iron ring +was put into his hand, and he struck with it, and the rope parted and +rushed away, and the ceiling fell. So, in my case; all the work, near +and afar, that tended to the end, had been accomplished; and in an +instant the blow was struck, and the roof of my stronghold dropped upon +me. + + + + +Chapter XXXIX. + + +I was three-and-twenty years of age. Not another word had I heard to +enlighten me on the subject of my expectations, and my twenty-third +birthday was a week gone. We had left Barnard’s Inn more than a year, +and lived in the Temple. Our chambers were in Garden-court, down by the +river. + +Mr. Pocket and I had for some time parted company as to our original +relations, though we continued on the best terms. Notwithstanding my +inability to settle to anything,—which I hope arose out of the restless +and incomplete tenure on which I held my means,—I had a taste for +reading, and read regularly so many hours a day. That matter of +Herbert’s was still progressing, and everything with me was as I have +brought it down to the close of the last preceding chapter. + +Business had taken Herbert on a journey to Marseilles. I was alone, and +had a dull sense of being alone. Dispirited and anxious, long hoping +that to-morrow or next week would clear my way, and long disappointed, +I sadly missed the cheerful face and ready response of my friend. + +It was wretched weather; stormy and wet, stormy and wet; and mud, mud, +mud, deep in all the streets. Day after day, a vast heavy veil had been +driving over London from the East, and it drove still, as if in the +East there were an eternity of cloud and wind. So furious had been the +gusts, that high buildings in town had had the lead stripped off their +roofs; and in the country, trees had been torn up, and sails of +windmills carried away; and gloomy accounts had come in from the coast, +of shipwreck and death. Violent blasts of rain had accompanied these +rages of wind, and the day just closed as I sat down to read had been +the worst of all. + +Alterations have been made in that part of the Temple since that time, +and it has not now so lonely a character as it had then, nor is it so +exposed to the river. We lived at the top of the last house, and the +wind rushing up the river shook the house that night, like discharges +of cannon, or breakings of a sea. When the rain came with it and dashed +against the windows, I thought, raising my eyes to them as they rocked, +that I might have fancied myself in a storm-beaten lighthouse. +Occasionally, the smoke came rolling down the chimney as though it +could not bear to go out into such a night; and when I set the doors +open and looked down the staircase, the staircase lamps were blown out; +and when I shaded my face with my hands and looked through the black +windows (opening them ever so little was out of the question in the +teeth of such wind and rain), I saw that the lamps in the court were +blown out, and that the lamps on the bridges and the shore were +shuddering, and that the coal-fires in barges on the river were being +carried away before the wind like red-hot splashes in the rain. + +I read with my watch upon the table, purposing to close my book at +eleven o’clock. As I shut it, Saint Paul’s, and all the many +church-clocks in the City—some leading, some accompanying, some +following—struck that hour. The sound was curiously flawed by the wind; +and I was listening, and thinking how the wind assailed and tore it, +when I heard a footstep on the stair. + +What nervous folly made me start, and awfully connect it with the +footstep of my dead sister, matters not. It was past in a moment, and I +listened again, and heard the footstep stumble in coming on. +Remembering then, that the staircase-lights were blown out, I took up +my reading-lamp and went out to the stair-head. Whoever was below had +stopped on seeing my lamp, for all was quiet. + +“There is some one down there, is there not?” I called out, looking +down. + +“Yes,” said a voice from the darkness beneath. + +“What floor do you want?” + +“The top. Mr. Pip.” + +“That is my name.—There is nothing the matter?” + +“Nothing the matter,” returned the voice. And the man came on. + +I stood with my lamp held out over the stair-rail, and he came slowly +within its light. It was a shaded lamp, to shine upon a book, and its +circle of light was very contracted; so that he was in it for a mere +instant, and then out of it. In the instant, I had seen a face that was +strange to me, looking up with an incomprehensible air of being touched +and pleased by the sight of me. + +Moving the lamp as the man moved, I made out that he was substantially +dressed, but roughly, like a voyager by sea. That he had long iron-grey +hair. That his age was about sixty. That he was a muscular man, strong +on his legs, and that he was browned and hardened by exposure to +weather. As he ascended the last stair or two, and the light of my lamp +included us both, I saw, with a stupid kind of amazement, that he was +holding out both his hands to me. + +“Pray what is your business?” I asked him. + +“My business?” he repeated, pausing. “Ah! Yes. I will explain my +business, by your leave.” + +“Do you wish to come in?” + +“Yes,” he replied; “I wish to come in, master.” + +I had asked him the question inhospitably enough, for I resented the +sort of bright and gratified recognition that still shone in his face. +I resented it, because it seemed to imply that he expected me to +respond to it. But I took him into the room I had just left, and, +having set the lamp on the table, asked him as civilly as I could to +explain himself. + +He looked about him with the strangest air,—an air of wondering +pleasure, as if he had some part in the things he admired,—and he +pulled off a rough outer coat, and his hat. Then, I saw that his head +was furrowed and bald, and that the long iron-grey hair grew only on +its sides. But, I saw nothing that in the least explained him. On the +contrary, I saw him next moment, once more holding out both his hands +to me. + +“What do you mean?” said I, half suspecting him to be mad. + +He stopped in his looking at me, and slowly rubbed his right hand over +his head. “It’s disapinting to a man,” he said, in a coarse broken +voice, “arter having looked for’ard so distant, and come so fur; but +you’re not to blame for that,—neither on us is to blame for that. I’ll +speak in half a minute. Give me half a minute, please.” + +He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his +forehead with his large brown veinous hands. I looked at him +attentively then, and recoiled a little from him; but I did not know +him. + +“There’s no one nigh,” said he, looking over his shoulder; “is there?” + +“Why do you, a stranger coming into my rooms at this time of the night, +ask that question?” said I. + +“You’re a game one,” he returned, shaking his head at me with a +deliberate affection, at once most unintelligible and most +exasperating; “I’m glad you’ve grow’d up, a game one! But don’t catch +hold of me. You’d be sorry arterwards to have done it.” + +I relinquished the intention he had detected, for I knew him! Even yet +I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him! If the wind and +the rain had driven away the intervening years, had scattered all the +intervening objects, had swept us to the churchyard where we first +stood face to face on such different levels, I could not have known my +convict more distinctly than I knew him now as he sat in the chair +before the fire. No need to take a file from his pocket and show it to +me; no need to take the handkerchief from his neck and twist it round +his head; no need to hug himself with both his arms, and take a +shivering turn across the room, looking back at me for recognition. I +knew him before he gave me one of those aids, though, a moment before, +I had not been conscious of remotely suspecting his identity. + +He came back to where I stood, and again held out both his hands. Not +knowing what to do,—for, in my astonishment I had lost my +self-possession,—I reluctantly gave him my hands. He grasped them +heartily, raised them to his lips, kissed them, and still held them. + +“You acted noble, my boy,” said he. “Noble, Pip! And I have never +forgot it!” + +At a change in his manner as if he were even going to embrace me, I +laid a hand upon his breast and put him away. + +“Stay!” said I. “Keep off! If you are grateful to me for what I did +when I was a little child, I hope you have shown your gratitude by +mending your way of life. If you have come here to thank me, it was not +necessary. Still, however you have found me out, there must be +something good in the feeling that has brought you here, and I will not +repulse you; but surely you must understand that—I—” + +My attention was so attracted by the singularity of his fixed look at +me, that the words died away on my tongue. + +“You was a-saying,” he observed, when we had confronted one another in +silence, “that surely I must understand. What, surely must I +understand?” + +“That I cannot wish to renew that chance intercourse with you of long +ago, under these different circumstances. I am glad to believe you have +repented and recovered yourself. I am glad to tell you so. I am glad +that, thinking I deserve to be thanked, you have come to thank me. But +our ways are different ways, none the less. You are wet, and you look +weary. Will you drink something before you go?” + +He had replaced his neckerchief loosely, and had stood, keenly +observant of me, biting a long end of it. “I think,” he answered, still +with the end at his mouth and still observant of me, “that I _will_ +drink (I thank you) afore I go.” + +There was a tray ready on a side-table. I brought it to the table near +the fire, and asked him what he would have? He touched one of the +bottles without looking at it or speaking, and I made him some hot rum +and water. I tried to keep my hand steady while I did so, but his look +at me as he leaned back in his chair with the long draggled end of his +neckerchief between his teeth—evidently forgotten—made my hand very +difficult to master. When at last I put the glass to him, I saw with +amazement that his eyes were full of tears. + +Up to this time I had remained standing, not to disguise that I wished +him gone. But I was softened by the softened aspect of the man, and +felt a touch of reproach. “I hope,” said I, hurriedly putting something +into a glass for myself, and drawing a chair to the table, “that you +will not think I spoke harshly to you just now. I had no intention of +doing it, and I am sorry for it if I did. I wish you well and happy!” + +As I put my glass to my lips, he glanced with surprise at the end of +his neckerchief, dropping from his mouth when he opened it, and +stretched out his hand. I gave him mine, and then he drank, and drew +his sleeve across his eyes and forehead. + +“How are you living?” I asked him. + +“I’ve been a sheep-farmer, stock-breeder, other trades besides, away in +the new world,” said he; “many a thousand mile of stormy water off from +this.” + +“I hope you have done well?” + +“I’ve done wonderfully well. There’s others went out alonger me as has +done well too, but no man has done nigh as well as me. I’m famous for +it.” + +“I am glad to hear it.” + +“I hope to hear you say so, my dear boy.” + +Without stopping to try to understand those words or the tone in which +they were spoken, I turned off to a point that had just come into my +mind. + +“Have you ever seen a messenger you once sent to me,” I inquired, +“since he undertook that trust?” + +“Never set eyes upon him. I warn’t likely to it.” + +“He came faithfully, and he brought me the two one-pound notes. I was a +poor boy then, as you know, and to a poor boy they were a little +fortune. But, like you, I have done well since, and you must let me pay +them back. You can put them to some other poor boy’s use.” I took out +my purse. + +He watched me as I laid my purse upon the table and opened it, and he +watched me as I separated two one-pound notes from its contents. They +were clean and new, and I spread them out and handed them over to him. +Still watching me, he laid them one upon the other, folded them +long-wise, gave them a twist, set fire to them at the lamp, and dropped +the ashes into the tray. + +“May I make so bold,” he said then, with a smile that was like a frown, +and with a frown that was like a smile, “as ask you _how_ you have done +well, since you and me was out on them lone shivering marshes?” + +“How?” + +“Ah!” + +He emptied his glass, got up, and stood at the side of the fire, with +his heavy brown hand on the mantel-shelf. He put a foot up to the bars, +to dry and warm it, and the wet boot began to steam; but, he neither +looked at it, nor at the fire, but steadily looked at me. It was only +now that I began to tremble. + +When my lips had parted, and had shaped some words that were without +sound, I forced myself to tell him (though I could not do it +distinctly), that I had been chosen to succeed to some property. + +“Might a mere warmint ask what property?” said he. + +I faltered, “I don’t know.” + +“Might a mere warmint ask whose property?” said he. + +I faltered again, “I don’t know.” + +“Could I make a guess, I wonder,” said the Convict, “at your income +since you come of age! As to the first figure now. Five?” + +With my heart beating like a heavy hammer of disordered action, I rose +out of my chair, and stood with my hand upon the back of it, looking +wildly at him. + +“Concerning a guardian,” he went on. “There ought to have been some +guardian, or such-like, whiles you was a minor. Some lawyer, maybe. As +to the first letter of that lawyer’s name now. Would it be J?” + +All the truth of my position came flashing on me; and its +disappointments, dangers, disgraces, consequences of all kinds, rushed +in in such a multitude that I was borne down by them and had to +struggle for every breath I drew. + +“Put it,” he resumed, “as the employer of that lawyer whose name begun +with a J, and might be Jaggers,—put it as he had come over sea to +Portsmouth, and had landed there, and had wanted to come on to you. +‘However, you have found me out,’ you says just now. Well! However, did +I find you out? Why, I wrote from Portsmouth to a person in London, for +particulars of your address. That person’s name? Why, Wemmick.” + +I could not have spoken one word, though it had been to save my life. I +stood, with a hand on the chair-back and a hand on my breast, where I +seemed to be suffocating,—I stood so, looking wildly at him, until I +grasped at the chair, when the room began to surge and turn. He caught +me, drew me to the sofa, put me up against the cushions, and bent on +one knee before me, bringing the face that I now well remembered, and +that I shuddered at, very near to mine. + +“Yes, Pip, dear boy, I’ve made a gentleman on you! It’s me wot has done +it! I swore that time, sure as ever I earned a guinea, that guinea +should go to you. I swore arterwards, sure as ever I spec’lated and got +rich, you should get rich. I lived rough, that you should live smooth; +I worked hard, that you should be above work. What odds, dear boy? Do I +tell it, fur you to feel a obligation? Not a bit. I tell it, fur you to +know as that there hunted dunghill dog wot you kep life in, got his +head so high that he could make a gentleman,—and, Pip, you’re him!” + +The abhorrence in which I held the man, the dread I had of him, the +repugnance with which I shrank from him, could not have been exceeded +if he had been some terrible beast. + +“Look’ee here, Pip. I’m your second father. You’re my son,—more to me +nor any son. I’ve put away money, only for you to spend. When I was a +hired-out shepherd in a solitary hut, not seeing no faces but faces of +sheep till I half forgot wot men’s and women’s faces wos like, I see +yourn. I drops my knife many a time in that hut when I was a-eating my +dinner or my supper, and I says, ‘Here’s the boy again, a looking at me +whiles I eats and drinks!’ I see you there a many times, as plain as +ever I see you on them misty marshes. ‘Lord strike me dead!’ I says +each time,—and I goes out in the air to say it under the open +heavens,—‘but wot, if I gets liberty and money, I’ll make that boy a +gentleman!’ And I done it. Why, look at you, dear boy! Look at these +here lodgings of yourn, fit for a lord! A lord? Ah! You shall show +money with lords for wagers, and beat ’em!” + +In his heat and triumph, and in his knowledge that I had been nearly +fainting, he did not remark on my reception of all this. It was the one +grain of relief I had. + +“Look’ee here!” he went on, taking my watch out of my pocket, and +turning towards him a ring on my finger, while I recoiled from his +touch as if he had been a snake, “a gold ’un and a beauty: _that’s_ a +gentleman’s, I hope! A diamond all set round with rubies; _that’s_ a +gentleman’s, I hope! Look at your linen; fine and beautiful! Look at +your clothes; better ain’t to be got! And your books too,” turning his +eyes round the room, “mounting up, on their shelves, by hundreds! And +you read ’em; don’t you? I see you’d been a reading of ’em when I come +in. Ha, ha, ha! You shall read ’em to me, dear boy! And if they’re in +foreign languages wot I don’t understand, I shall be just as proud as +if I did.” + +Again he took both my hands and put them to his lips, while my blood +ran cold within me. + +“Don’t you mind talking, Pip,” said he, after again drawing his sleeve +over his eyes and forehead, as the click came in his throat which I +well remembered,—and he was all the more horrible to me that he was so +much in earnest; “you can’t do better nor keep quiet, dear boy. You +ain’t looked slowly forward to this as I have; you wosn’t prepared for +this as I wos. But didn’t you never think it might be me?” + +“O no, no, no,” I returned, “Never, never!” + +“Well, you see it _wos_ me, and single-handed. Never a soul in it but +my own self and Mr. Jaggers.” + +“Was there no one else?” I asked. + +“No,” said he, with a glance of surprise: “who else should there be? +And, dear boy, how good looking you have growed! There’s bright eyes +somewheres—eh? Isn’t there bright eyes somewheres, wot you love the +thoughts on?” + +O Estella, Estella! + +“They shall be yourn, dear boy, if money can buy ’em. Not that a +gentleman like you, so well set up as you, can’t win ’em off of his own +game; but money shall back you! Let me finish wot I was a telling you, +dear boy. From that there hut and that there hiring-out, I got money +left me by my master (which died, and had been the same as me), and got +my liberty and went for myself. In every single thing I went for, I +went for you. ‘Lord strike a blight upon it,’ I says, wotever it was I +went for, ‘if it ain’t for him!’ It all prospered wonderful. As I giv’ +you to understand just now, I’m famous for it. It was the money left +me, and the gains of the first few year wot I sent home to Mr. +Jaggers—all for you—when he first come arter you, agreeable to my +letter.” + +O that he had never come! That he had left me at the forge,—far from +contented, yet, by comparison happy! + +“And then, dear boy, it was a recompense to me, look’ee here, to know +in secret that I was making a gentleman. The blood horses of them +colonists might fling up the dust over me as I was walking; what do I +say? I says to myself, ‘I’m making a better gentleman nor ever _you_’ll +be!’ When one of ’em says to another, ‘He was a convict, a few year +ago, and is a ignorant common fellow now, for all he’s lucky,’ what do +I say? I says to myself, ‘If I ain’t a gentleman, nor yet ain’t got no +learning, I’m the owner of such. All on you owns stock and land; which +on you owns a brought-up London gentleman?’ This way I kep myself +a-going. And this way I held steady afore my mind that I would for +certain come one day and see my boy, and make myself known to him, on +his own ground.” + +He laid his hand on my shoulder. I shuddered at the thought that for +anything I knew, his hand might be stained with blood. + +“It warn’t easy, Pip, for me to leave them parts, nor yet it warn’t +safe. But I held to it, and the harder it was, the stronger I held, for +I was determined, and my mind firm made up. At last I done it. Dear +boy, I done it!” + +I tried to collect my thoughts, but I was stunned. Throughout, I had +seemed to myself to attend more to the wind and the rain than to him; +even now, I could not separate his voice from those voices, though +those were loud and his was silent. + +“Where will you put me?” he asked, presently. “I must be put +somewheres, dear boy.” + +“To sleep?” said I. + +“Yes. And to sleep long and sound,” he answered; “for I’ve been +sea-tossed and sea-washed, months and months.” + +“My friend and companion,” said I, rising from the sofa, “is absent; +you must have his room.” + +“He won’t come back to-morrow; will he?” + +“No,” said I, answering almost mechanically, in spite of my utmost +efforts; “not to-morrow.” + +“Because, look’ee here, dear boy,” he said, dropping his voice, and +laying a long finger on my breast in an impressive manner, “caution is +necessary.” + +“How do you mean? Caution?” + +“By G——, it’s Death!” + +“What’s death?” + +“I was sent for life. It’s death to come back. There’s been overmuch +coming back of late years, and I should of a certainty be hanged if +took.” + +Nothing was needed but this; the wretched man, after loading wretched +me with his gold and silver chains for years, had risked his life to +come to me, and I held it there in my keeping! If I had loved him +instead of abhorring him; if I had been attracted to him by the +strongest admiration and affection, instead of shrinking from him with +the strongest repugnance; it could have been no worse. On the contrary, +it would have been better, for his preservation would then have +naturally and tenderly addressed my heart. + +My first care was to close the shutters, so that no light might be seen +from without, and then to close and make fast the doors. While I did +so, he stood at the table drinking rum and eating biscuit; and when I +saw him thus engaged, I saw my convict on the marshes at his meal +again. It almost seemed to me as if he must stoop down presently, to +file at his leg. + +When I had gone into Herbert’s room, and had shut off any other +communication between it and the staircase than through the room in +which our conversation had been held, I asked him if he would go to +bed? He said yes, but asked me for some of my “gentleman’s linen” to +put on in the morning. I brought it out, and laid it ready for him, and +my blood again ran cold when he again took me by both hands to give me +good-night. + +I got away from him, without knowing how I did it, and mended the fire +in the room where we had been together, and sat down by it, afraid to +go to bed. For an hour or more, I remained too stunned to think; and it +was not until I began to think, that I began fully to know how wrecked +I was, and how the ship in which I had sailed was gone to pieces. + +Miss Havisham’s intentions towards me, all a mere dream; Estella not +designed for me; I only suffered in Satis House as a convenience, a +sting for the greedy relations, a model with a mechanical heart to +practise on when no other practice was at hand; those were the first +smarts I had. But, sharpest and deepest pain of all,—it was for the +convict, guilty of I knew not what crimes, and liable to be taken out +of those rooms where I sat thinking, and hanged at the Old Bailey door, +that I had deserted Joe. + +I would not have gone back to Joe now, I would not have gone back to +Biddy now, for any consideration; simply, I suppose, because my sense +of my own worthless conduct to them was greater than every +consideration. No wisdom on earth could have given me the comfort that +I should have derived from their simplicity and fidelity; but I could +never, never, undo what I had done. + +In every rage of wind and rush of rain, I heard pursuers. Twice, I +could have sworn there was a knocking and whispering at the outer door. +With these fears upon me, I began either to imagine or recall that I +had had mysterious warnings of this man’s approach. That, for weeks +gone by, I had passed faces in the streets which I had thought like +his. That these likenesses had grown more numerous, as he, coming over +the sea, had drawn nearer. That his wicked spirit had somehow sent +these messengers to mine, and that now on this stormy night he was as +good as his word, and with me. + +Crowding up with these reflections came the reflection that I had seen +him with my childish eyes to be a desperately violent man; that I had +heard that other convict reiterate that he had tried to murder him; +that I had seen him down in the ditch tearing and fighting like a wild +beast. Out of such remembrances I brought into the light of the fire a +half-formed terror that it might not be safe to be shut up there with +him in the dead of the wild solitary night. This dilated until it +filled the room, and impelled me to take a candle and go in and look at +my dreadful burden. + +He had rolled a handkerchief round his head, and his face was set and +lowering in his sleep. But he was asleep, and quietly too, though he +had a pistol lying on the pillow. Assured of this, I softly removed the +key to the outside of his door, and turned it on him before I again sat +down by the fire. Gradually I slipped from the chair and lay on the +floor. When I awoke without having parted in my sleep with the +perception of my wretchedness, the clocks of the Eastward churches were +striking five, the candles were wasted out, the fire was dead, and the +wind and rain intensified the thick black darkness. + +THIS IS THE END OF THE SECOND STAGE OF PIP’S EXPECTATIONS. + + + + +Chapter XL. + + +It was fortunate for me that I had to take precautions to ensure (so +far as I could) the safety of my dreaded visitor; for, this thought +pressing on me when I awoke, held other thoughts in a confused +concourse at a distance. + +The impossibility of keeping him concealed in the chambers was +self-evident. It could not be done, and the attempt to do it would +inevitably engender suspicion. True, I had no Avenger in my service +now, but I was looked after by an inflammatory old female, assisted by +an animated rag-bag whom she called her niece, and to keep a room +secret from them would be to invite curiosity and exaggeration. They +both had weak eyes, which I had long attributed to their chronically +looking in at keyholes, and they were always at hand when not wanted; +indeed that was their only reliable quality besides larceny. Not to get +up a mystery with these people, I resolved to announce in the morning +that my uncle had unexpectedly come from the country. + +This course I decided on while I was yet groping about in the darkness +for the means of getting a light. Not stumbling on the means after all, +I was fain to go out to the adjacent Lodge and get the watchman there +to come with his lantern. Now, in groping my way down the black +staircase I fell over something, and that something was a man crouching +in a corner. + +As the man made no answer when I asked him what he did there, but +eluded my touch in silence, I ran to the Lodge and urged the watchman +to come quickly; telling him of the incident on the way back. The wind +being as fierce as ever, we did not care to endanger the light in the +lantern by rekindling the extinguished lamps on the staircase, but we +examined the staircase from the bottom to the top and found no one +there. It then occurred to me as possible that the man might have +slipped into my rooms; so, lighting my candle at the watchman’s, and +leaving him standing at the door, I examined them carefully, including +the room in which my dreaded guest lay asleep. All was quiet, and +assuredly no other man was in those chambers. + +It troubled me that there should have been a lurker on the stairs, on +that night of all nights in the year, and I asked the watchman, on the +chance of eliciting some hopeful explanation as I handed him a dram at +the door, whether he had admitted at his gate any gentleman who had +perceptibly been dining out? Yes, he said; at different times of the +night, three. One lived in Fountain Court, and the other two lived in +the Lane, and he had seen them all go home. Again, the only other man +who dwelt in the house of which my chambers formed a part had been in +the country for some weeks, and he certainly had not returned in the +night, because we had seen his door with his seal on it as we came +upstairs. + +“The night being so bad, sir,” said the watchman, as he gave me back my +glass, “uncommon few have come in at my gate. Besides them three +gentlemen that I have named, I don’t call to mind another since about +eleven o’clock, when a stranger asked for you.” + +“My uncle,” I muttered. “Yes.” + +“You saw him, sir?” + +“Yes. Oh yes.” + +“Likewise the person with him?” + +“Person with him!” I repeated. + +“I judged the person to be with him,” returned the watchman. “The +person stopped, when he stopped to make inquiry of me, and the person +took this way when he took this way.” + +“What sort of person?” + +The watchman had not particularly noticed; he should say a working +person; to the best of his belief, he had a dust-coloured kind of +clothes on, under a dark coat. The watchman made more light of the +matter than I did, and naturally; not having my reason for attaching +weight to it. + +When I had got rid of him, which I thought it well to do without +prolonging explanations, my mind was much troubled by these two +circumstances taken together. Whereas they were easy of innocent +solution apart,—as, for instance, some diner out or diner at home, who +had not gone near this watchman’s gate, might have strayed to my +staircase and dropped asleep there,—and my nameless visitor might have +brought some one with him to show him the way,—still, joined, they had +an ugly look to one as prone to distrust and fear as the changes of a +few hours had made me. + +I lighted my fire, which burnt with a raw pale flare at that time of +the morning, and fell into a doze before it. I seemed to have been +dozing a whole night when the clocks struck six. As there was full an +hour and a half between me and daylight, I dozed again; now, waking up +uneasily, with prolix conversations about nothing, in my ears; now, +making thunder of the wind in the chimney; at length, falling off into +a profound sleep from which the daylight woke me with a start. + +All this time I had never been able to consider my own situation, nor +could I do so yet. I had not the power to attend to it. I was greatly +dejected and distressed, but in an incoherent wholesale sort of way. As +to forming any plan for the future, I could as soon have formed an +elephant. When I opened the shutters and looked out at the wet wild +morning, all of a leaden hue; when I walked from room to room; when I +sat down again shivering, before the fire, waiting for my laundress to +appear; I thought how miserable I was, but hardly knew why, or how long +I had been so, or on what day of the week I made the reflection, or +even who I was that made it. + +At last, the old woman and the niece came in,—the latter with a head +not easily distinguishable from her dusty broom,—and testified surprise +at sight of me and the fire. To whom I imparted how my uncle had come +in the night and was then asleep, and how the breakfast preparations +were to be modified accordingly. Then I washed and dressed while they +knocked the furniture about and made a dust; and so, in a sort of dream +or sleep-waking, I found myself sitting by the fire again, waiting +for—Him—to come to breakfast. + +By and by, his door opened and he came out. I could not bring myself to +bear the sight of him, and I thought he had a worse look by daylight. + +“I do not even know,” said I, speaking low as he took his seat at the +table, “by what name to call you. I have given out that you are my +uncle.” + +“That’s it, dear boy! Call me uncle.” + +“You assumed some name, I suppose, on board ship?” + +“Yes, dear boy. I took the name of Provis.” + +“Do you mean to keep that name?” + +“Why, yes, dear boy, it’s as good as another,—unless you’d like +another.” + +“What is your real name?” I asked him in a whisper. + +“Magwitch,” he answered, in the same tone; “chrisen’d Abel.” + +“What were you brought up to be?” + +“A warmint, dear boy.” + +He answered quite seriously, and used the word as if it denoted some +profession. + +“When you came into the Temple last night—” said I, pausing to wonder +whether that could really have been last night, which seemed so long +ago. + +“Yes, dear boy?” + +“When you came in at the gate and asked the watchman the way here, had +you any one with you?” + +“With me? No, dear boy.” + +“But there was some one there?” + +“I didn’t take particular notice,” he said, dubiously, “not knowing the +ways of the place. But I think there _was_ a person, too, come in +alonger me.” + +“Are you known in London?” + +“I hope not!” said he, giving his neck a jerk with his forefinger that +made me turn hot and sick. + +“Were you known in London, once?” + +“Not over and above, dear boy. I was in the provinces mostly.” + +“Were you—tried—in London?” + +“Which time?” said he, with a sharp look. + +“The last time.” + +He nodded. “First knowed Mr. Jaggers that way. Jaggers was for me.” + +It was on my lips to ask him what he was tried for, but he took up a +knife, gave it a flourish, and with the words, “And what I done is +worked out and paid for!” fell to at his breakfast. + +He ate in a ravenous way that was very disagreeable, and all his +actions were uncouth, noisy, and greedy. Some of his teeth had failed +him since I saw him eat on the marshes, and as he turned his food in +his mouth, and turned his head sideways to bring his strongest fangs to +bear upon it, he looked terribly like a hungry old dog. If I had begun +with any appetite, he would have taken it away, and I should have sat +much as I did,—repelled from him by an insurmountable aversion, and +gloomily looking at the cloth. + +“I’m a heavy grubber, dear boy,” he said, as a polite kind of apology +when he made an end of his meal, “but I always was. If it had been in +my constitution to be a lighter grubber, I might ha’ got into lighter +trouble. Similarly, I must have my smoke. When I was first hired out as +shepherd t’other side the world, it’s my belief I should ha’ turned +into a molloncolly-mad sheep myself, if I hadn’t a had my smoke.” + +As he said so, he got up from table, and putting his hand into the +breast of the pea-coat he wore, brought out a short black pipe, and a +handful of loose tobacco of the kind that is called Negro-head. Having +filled his pipe, he put the surplus tobacco back again, as if his +pocket were a drawer. Then, he took a live coal from the fire with the +tongs, and lighted his pipe at it, and then turned round on the +hearth-rug with his back to the fire, and went through his favourite +action of holding out both his hands for mine. + +“And this,” said he, dandling my hands up and down in his, as he puffed +at his pipe,—“and this is the gentleman what I made! The real genuine +One! It does me good fur to look at you, Pip. All I stip’late, is, to +stand by and look at you, dear boy!” + +I released my hands as soon as I could, and found that I was beginning +slowly to settle down to the contemplation of my condition. What I was +chained to, and how heavily, became intelligible to me, as I heard his +hoarse voice, and sat looking up at his furrowed bald head with its +iron grey hair at the sides. + +“I mustn’t see my gentleman a footing it in the mire of the streets; +there mustn’t be no mud on _his_ boots. My gentleman must have horses, +Pip! Horses to ride, and horses to drive, and horses for his servant to +ride and drive as well. Shall colonists have their horses (and blood +’uns, if you please, good Lord!) and not my London gentleman? No, no. +We’ll show ’em another pair of shoes than that, Pip; won’t us?” + +He took out of his pocket a great thick pocket-book, bursting with +papers, and tossed it on the table. + +“There’s something worth spending in that there book, dear boy. It’s +yourn. All I’ve got ain’t mine; it’s yourn. Don’t you be afeerd on it. +There’s more where that come from. I’ve come to the old country fur to +see my gentleman spend his money _like_ a gentleman. That’ll be _my_ +pleasure. _My_ pleasure ’ull be fur to see him do it. And blast you +all!” he wound up, looking round the room and snapping his fingers once +with a loud snap, “blast you every one, from the judge in his wig, to +the colonist a stirring up the dust, I’ll show a better gentleman than +the whole kit on you put together!” + +“Stop!” said I, almost in a frenzy of fear and dislike, “I want to +speak to you. I want to know what is to be done. I want to know how you +are to be kept out of danger, how long you are going to stay, what +projects you have.” + +“Look’ee here, Pip,” said he, laying his hand on my arm in a suddenly +altered and subdued manner; “first of all, look’ee here. I forgot +myself half a minute ago. What I said was low; that’s what it was; low. +Look’ee here, Pip. Look over it. I ain’t a-going to be low.” + +“First,” I resumed, half groaning, “what precautions can be taken +against your being recognised and seized?” + +“No, dear boy,” he said, in the same tone as before, “that don’t go +first. Lowness goes first. I ain’t took so many year to make a +gentleman, not without knowing what’s due to him. Look’ee here, Pip. I +was low; that’s what I was; low. Look over it, dear boy.” + +Some sense of the grimly-ludicrous moved me to a fretful laugh, as I +replied, “I _have_ looked over it. In Heaven’s name, don’t harp upon +it!” + +“Yes, but look’ee here,” he persisted. “Dear boy, I ain’t come so fur, +not fur to be low. Now, go on, dear boy. You was a saying—” + +“How are you to be guarded from the danger you have incurred?” + +“Well, dear boy, the danger ain’t so great. Without I was informed +agen, the danger ain’t so much to signify. There’s Jaggers, and there’s +Wemmick, and there’s you. Who else is there to inform?” + +“Is there no chance person who might identify you in the street?” said +I. + +“Well,” he returned, “there ain’t many. Nor yet I don’t intend to +advertise myself in the newspapers by the name of A.M. come back from +Botany Bay; and years have rolled away, and who’s to gain by it? Still, +look’ee here, Pip. If the danger had been fifty times as great, I +should ha’ come to see you, mind you, just the same.” + +“And how long do you remain?” + +“How long?” said he, taking his black pipe from his mouth, and dropping +his jaw as he stared at me. “I’m not a-going back. I’ve come for good.” + +“Where are you to live?” said I. “What is to be done with you? Where +will you be safe?” + +“Dear boy,” he returned, “there’s disguising wigs can be bought for +money, and there’s hair powder, and spectacles, and black +clothes,—shorts and what not. Others has done it safe afore, and what +others has done afore, others can do agen. As to the where and how of +living, dear boy, give me your own opinions on it.” + +“You take it smoothly now,” said I, “but you were very serious last +night, when you swore it was Death.” + +“And so I swear it is Death,” said he, putting his pipe back in his +mouth, “and Death by the rope, in the open street not fur from this, +and it’s serious that you should fully understand it to be so. What +then, when that’s once done? Here I am. To go back now ’ud be as bad as +to stand ground—worse. Besides, Pip, I’m here, because I’ve meant it by +you, years and years. As to what I dare, I’m a old bird now, as has +dared all manner of traps since first he was fledged, and I’m not +afeerd to perch upon a scarecrow. If there’s Death hid inside of it, +there is, and let him come out, and I’ll face him, and then I’ll +believe in him and not afore. And now let me have a look at my +gentleman agen.” + +Once more, he took me by both hands and surveyed me with an air of +admiring proprietorship: smoking with great complacency all the while. + +It appeared to me that I could do no better than secure him some quiet +lodging hard by, of which he might take possession when Herbert +returned: whom I expected in two or three days. That the secret must be +confided to Herbert as a matter of unavoidable necessity, even if I +could have put the immense relief I should derive from sharing it with +him out of the question, was plain to me. But it was by no means so +plain to Mr. Provis (I resolved to call him by that name), who reserved +his consent to Herbert’s participation until he should have seen him +and formed a favourable judgment of his physiognomy. “And even then, +dear boy,” said he, pulling a greasy little clasped black Testament out +of his pocket, “we’ll have him on his oath.” + +To state that my terrible patron carried this little black book about +the world solely to swear people on in cases of emergency, would be to +state what I never quite established; but this I can say, that I never +knew him put it to any other use. The book itself had the appearance of +having been stolen from some court of justice, and perhaps his +knowledge of its antecedents, combined with his own experience in that +wise, gave him a reliance on its powers as a sort of legal spell or +charm. On this first occasion of his producing it, I recalled how he +had made me swear fidelity in the churchyard long ago, and how he had +described himself last night as always swearing to his resolutions in +his solitude. + +As he was at present dressed in a seafaring slop suit, in which he +looked as if he had some parrots and cigars to dispose of, I next +discussed with him what dress he should wear. He cherished an +extraordinary belief in the virtues of “shorts” as a disguise, and had +in his own mind sketched a dress for himself that would have made him +something between a dean and a dentist. It was with considerable +difficulty that I won him over to the assumption of a dress more like a +prosperous farmer’s; and we arranged that he should cut his hair close, +and wear a little powder. Lastly, as he had not yet been seen by the +laundress or her niece, he was to keep himself out of their view until +his change of dress was made. + +It would seem a simple matter to decide on these precautions; but in my +dazed, not to say distracted, state, it took so long, that I did not +get out to further them until two or three in the afternoon. He was to +remain shut up in the chambers while I was gone, and was on no account +to open the door. + +There being to my knowledge a respectable lodging-house in Essex +Street, the back of which looked into the Temple, and was almost within +hail of my windows, I first of all repaired to that house, and was so +fortunate as to secure the second floor for my uncle, Mr. Provis. I +then went from shop to shop, making such purchases as were necessary to +the change in his appearance. This business transacted, I turned my +face, on my own account, to Little Britain. Mr. Jaggers was at his +desk, but, seeing me enter, got up immediately and stood before his +fire. + +“Now, Pip,” said he, “be careful.” + +“I will, sir,” I returned. For, coming along I had thought well of what +I was going to say. + +“Don’t commit yourself,” said Mr. Jaggers, “and don’t commit any one. +You understand—any one. Don’t tell me anything: I don’t want to know +anything; I am not curious.” + +Of course I saw that he knew the man was come. + +“I merely want, Mr. Jaggers,” said I, “to assure myself that what I +have been told is true. I have no hope of its being untrue, but at +least I may verify it.” + +Mr. Jaggers nodded. “But did you say ‘told’ or ‘informed’?” he asked +me, with his head on one side, and not looking at me, but looking in a +listening way at the floor. “Told would seem to imply verbal +communication. You can’t have verbal communication with a man in New +South Wales, you know.” + +“I will say, informed, Mr. Jaggers.” + +“Good.” + +“I have been informed by a person named Abel Magwitch, that he is the +benefactor so long unknown to me.” + +“That is the man,” said Mr. Jaggers, “in New South Wales.” + +“And only he?” said I. + +“And only he,” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“I am not so unreasonable, sir, as to think you at all responsible for +my mistakes and wrong conclusions; but I always supposed it was Miss +Havisham.” + +“As you say, Pip,” returned Mr. Jaggers, turning his eyes upon me +coolly, and taking a bite at his forefinger, “I am not at all +responsible for that.” + +“And yet it looked so like it, sir,” I pleaded with a downcast heart. + +“Not a particle of evidence, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, shaking his head +and gathering up his skirts. “Take nothing on its looks; take +everything on evidence. There’s no better rule.” + +“I have no more to say,” said I, with a sigh, after standing silent for +a little while. “I have verified my information, and there’s an end.” + +“And Magwitch—in New South Wales—having at last disclosed himself,” +said Mr. Jaggers, “you will comprehend, Pip, how rigidly throughout my +communication with you, I have always adhered to the strict line of +fact. There has never been the least departure from the strict line of +fact. You are quite aware of that?” + +“Quite, sir.” + +“I communicated to Magwitch—in New South Wales—when he first wrote to +me—from New South Wales—the caution that he must not expect me ever to +deviate from the strict line of fact. I also communicated to him +another caution. He appeared to me to have obscurely hinted in his +letter at some distant idea he had of seeing you in England here. I +cautioned him that I must hear no more of that; that he was not at all +likely to obtain a pardon; that he was expatriated for the term of his +natural life; and that his presenting himself in this country would be +an act of felony, rendering him liable to the extreme penalty of the +law. I gave Magwitch that caution,” said Mr. Jaggers, looking hard at +me; “I wrote it to New South Wales. He guided himself by it, no doubt.” + +“No doubt,” said I. + +“I have been informed by Wemmick,” pursued Mr. Jaggers, still looking +hard at me, “that he has received a letter, under date Portsmouth, from +a colonist of the name of Purvis, or—” + +“Or Provis,” I suggested. + +“Or Provis—thank you, Pip. Perhaps it _is_ Provis? Perhaps you know +it’s Provis?” + +“Yes,” said I. + +“You know it’s Provis. A letter, under date Portsmouth, from a colonist +of the name of Provis, asking for the particulars of your address, on +behalf of Magwitch. Wemmick sent him the particulars, I understand, by +return of post. Probably it is through Provis that you have received +the explanation of Magwitch—in New South Wales?” + +“It came through Provis,” I replied. + +“Good day, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, offering his hand; “glad to have +seen you. In writing by post to Magwitch—in New South Wales—or in +communicating with him through Provis, have the goodness to mention +that the particulars and vouchers of our long account shall be sent to +you, together with the balance; for there is still a balance remaining. +Good-day, Pip!” + +We shook hands, and he looked hard at me as long as he could see me. I +turned at the door, and he was still looking hard at me, while the two +vile casts on the shelf seemed to be trying to get their eyelids open, +and to force out of their swollen throats, “O, what a man he is!” + +Wemmick was out, and though he had been at his desk he could have done +nothing for me. I went straight back to the Temple, where I found the +terrible Provis drinking rum and water and smoking negro-head, in +safety. + +Next day the clothes I had ordered all came home, and he put them on. +Whatever he put on, became him less (it dismally seemed to me) than +what he had worn before. To my thinking, there was something in him +that made it hopeless to attempt to disguise him. The more I dressed +him and the better I dressed him, the more he looked like the slouching +fugitive on the marshes. This effect on my anxious fancy was partly +referable, no doubt, to his old face and manner growing more familiar +to me; but I believe too that he dragged one of his legs as if there +were still a weight of iron on it, and that from head to foot there was +Convict in the very grain of the man. + +The influences of his solitary hut-life were upon him besides, and gave +him a savage air that no dress could tame; added to these were the +influences of his subsequent branded life among men, and, crowning all, +his consciousness that he was dodging and hiding now. In all his ways +of sitting and standing, and eating and drinking,—of brooding about in +a high-shouldered reluctant style,—of taking out his great horn-handled +jackknife and wiping it on his legs and cutting his food,—of lifting +light glasses and cups to his lips, as if they were clumsy +pannikins,—of chopping a wedge off his bread, and soaking up with it +the last fragments of gravy round and round his plate, as if to make +the most of an allowance, and then drying his finger-ends on it, and +then swallowing it,—in these ways and a thousand other small nameless +instances arising every minute in the day, there was Prisoner, Felon, +Bondsman, plain as plain could be. + +It had been his own idea to wear that touch of powder, and I had +conceded the powder after overcoming the shorts. But I can compare the +effect of it, when on, to nothing but the probable effect of rouge upon +the dead; so awful was the manner in which everything in him that it +was most desirable to repress, started through that thin layer of +pretence, and seemed to come blazing out at the crown of his head. It +was abandoned as soon as tried, and he wore his grizzled hair cut +short. + +Words cannot tell what a sense I had, at the same time, of the dreadful +mystery that he was to me. When he fell asleep of an evening, with his +knotted hands clenching the sides of the easy-chair, and his bald head +tattooed with deep wrinkles falling forward on his breast, I would sit +and look at him, wondering what he had done, and loading him with all +the crimes in the Calendar, until the impulse was powerful on me to +start up and fly from him. Every hour so increased my abhorrence of +him, that I even think I might have yielded to this impulse in the +first agonies of being so haunted, notwithstanding all he had done for +me and the risk he ran, but for the knowledge that Herbert must soon +come back. Once, I actually did start out of bed in the night, and +begin to dress myself in my worst clothes, hurriedly intending to leave +him there with everything else I possessed, and enlist for India as a +private soldier. + +I doubt if a ghost could have been more terrible to me, up in those +lonely rooms in the long evenings and long nights, with the wind and +the rain always rushing by. A ghost could not have been taken and +hanged on my account, and the consideration that he could be, and the +dread that he would be, were no small addition to my horrors. When he +was not asleep, or playing a complicated kind of Patience with a ragged +pack of cards of his own,—a game that I never saw before or since, and +in which he recorded his winnings by sticking his jackknife into the +table,—when he was not engaged in either of these pursuits, he would +ask me to read to him,—“Foreign language, dear boy!” While I complied, +he, not comprehending a single word, would stand before the fire +surveying me with the air of an Exhibitor, and I would see him, between +the fingers of the hand with which I shaded my face, appealing in dumb +show to the furniture to take notice of my proficiency. The imaginary +student pursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was +not more wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, and +recoiling from him with a stronger repulsion, the more he admired me +and the fonder he was of me. + +This is written of, I am sensible, as if it had lasted a year. It +lasted about five days. Expecting Herbert all the time, I dared not go +out, except when I took Provis for an airing after dark. At length, one +evening when dinner was over and I had dropped into a slumber quite +worn out,—for my nights had been agitated and my rest broken by fearful +dreams,—I was roused by the welcome footstep on the staircase. Provis, +who had been asleep too, staggered up at the noise I made, and in an +instant I saw his jackknife shining in his hand. + +“Quiet! It’s Herbert!” I said; and Herbert came bursting in, with the +airy freshness of six hundred miles of France upon him. + +“Handel, my dear fellow, how are you, and again how are you, and again +how are you? I seem to have been gone a twelvemonth! Why, so I must +have been, for you have grown quite thin and pale! Handel, my—Halloa! I +beg your pardon.” + +He was stopped in his running on and in his shaking hands with me, by +seeing Provis. Provis, regarding him with a fixed attention, was slowly +putting up his jackknife, and groping in another pocket for something +else. + +“Herbert, my dear friend,” said I, shutting the double doors, while +Herbert stood staring and wondering, “something very strange has +happened. This is—a visitor of mine.” + +“It’s all right, dear boy!” said Provis coming forward, with his little +clasped black book, and then addressing himself to Herbert. “Take it in +your right hand. Lord strike you dead on the spot, if ever you split in +any way sumever! Kiss it!” + +“Do so, as he wishes it,” I said to Herbert. So, Herbert, looking at me +with a friendly uneasiness and amazement, complied, and Provis +immediately shaking hands with him, said, “Now you’re on your oath, you +know. And never believe me on mine, if Pip shan’t make a gentleman on +you!” + + + + +Chapter XLI. + + +In vain should I attempt to describe the astonishment and disquiet of +Herbert, when he and I and Provis sat down before the fire, and I +recounted the whole of the secret. Enough, that I saw my own feelings +reflected in Herbert’s face, and not least among them, my repugnance +towards the man who had done so much for me. + +What would alone have set a division between that man and us, if there +had been no other dividing circumstance, was his triumph in my story. +Saving his troublesome sense of having been “low” on one occasion since +his return,—on which point he began to hold forth to Herbert, the +moment my revelation was finished,—he had no perception of the +possibility of my finding any fault with my good fortune. His boast +that he had made me a gentleman, and that he had come to see me support +the character on his ample resources, was made for me quite as much as +for himself. And that it was a highly agreeable boast to both of us, +and that we must both be very proud of it, was a conclusion quite +established in his own mind. + +“Though, look’ee here, Pip’s comrade,” he said to Herbert, after having +discoursed for some time, “I know very well that once since I come +back—for half a minute—I’ve been low. I said to Pip, I knowed as I had +been low. But don’t you fret yourself on that score. I ain’t made Pip a +gentleman, and Pip ain’t a-going to make you a gentleman, not fur me +not to know what’s due to ye both. Dear boy, and Pip’s comrade, you two +may count upon me always having a genteel muzzle on. Muzzled I have +been since that half a minute when I was betrayed into lowness, muzzled +I am at the present time, muzzled I ever will be.” + +Herbert said, “Certainly,” but looked as if there were no specific +consolation in this, and remained perplexed and dismayed. We were +anxious for the time when he would go to his lodging and leave us +together, but he was evidently jealous of leaving us together, and sat +late. It was midnight before I took him round to Essex Street, and saw +him safely in at his own dark door. When it closed upon him, I +experienced the first moment of relief I had known since the night of +his arrival. + +Never quite free from an uneasy remembrance of the man on the stairs, I +had always looked about me in taking my guest out after dark, and in +bringing him back; and I looked about me now. Difficult as it is in a +large city to avoid the suspicion of being watched, when the mind is +conscious of danger in that regard, I could not persuade myself that +any of the people within sight cared about my movements. The few who +were passing passed on their several ways, and the street was empty +when I turned back into the Temple. Nobody had come out at the gate +with us, nobody went in at the gate with me. As I crossed by the +fountain, I saw his lighted back windows looking bright and quiet, and, +when I stood for a few moments in the doorway of the building where I +lived, before going up the stairs, Garden Court was as still and +lifeless as the staircase was when I ascended it. + +Herbert received me with open arms, and I had never felt before so +blessedly what it is to have a friend. When he had spoken some sound +words of sympathy and encouragement, we sat down to consider the +question, What was to be done? + +The chair that Provis had occupied still remaining where it had +stood,—for he had a barrack way with him of hanging about one spot, in +one unsettled manner, and going through one round of observances with +his pipe and his negro-head and his jackknife and his pack of cards, +and what not, as if it were all put down for him on a slate,—I say his +chair remaining where it had stood, Herbert unconsciously took it, but +next moment started out of it, pushed it away, and took another. He had +no occasion to say after that that he had conceived an aversion for my +patron, neither had I occasion to confess my own. We interchanged that +confidence without shaping a syllable. + +“What,” said I to Herbert, when he was safe in another chair,—“what is +to be done?” + +“My poor dear Handel,” he replied, holding his head, “I am too stunned +to think.” + +“So was I, Herbert, when the blow first fell. Still, something must be +done. He is intent upon various new expenses,—horses, and carriages, +and lavish appearances of all kinds. He must be stopped somehow.” + +“You mean that you can’t accept—” + +“How can I?” I interposed, as Herbert paused. “Think of him! Look at +him!” + +An involuntary shudder passed over both of us. + +“Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, Herbert, that he is attached to +me, strongly attached to me. Was there ever such a fate!” + +“My poor dear Handel,” Herbert repeated. + +“Then,” said I, “after all, stopping short here, never taking another +penny from him, think what I owe him already! Then again: I am heavily +in debt,—very heavily for me, who have now no expectations,—and I have +been bred to no calling, and I am fit for nothing.” + +“Well, well, well!” Herbert remonstrated. “Don’t say fit for nothing.” + +“What am I fit for? I know only one thing that I am fit for, and that +is, to go for a soldier. And I might have gone, my dear Herbert, but +for the prospect of taking counsel with your friendship and affection.” + +Of course I broke down there: and of course Herbert, beyond seizing a +warm grip of my hand, pretended not to know it. + +“Anyhow, my dear Handel,” said he presently, “soldiering won’t do. If +you were to renounce this patronage and these favours, I suppose you +would do so with some faint hope of one day repaying what you have +already had. Not very strong, that hope, if you went soldiering! +Besides, it’s absurd. You would be infinitely better in Clarriker’s +house, small as it is. I am working up towards a partnership, you +know.” + +Poor fellow! He little suspected with whose money. + +“But there is another question,” said Herbert. “This is an ignorant, +determined man, who has long had one fixed idea. More than that, he +seems to me (I may misjudge him) to be a man of a desperate and fierce +character.” + +“I know he is,” I returned. “Let me tell you what evidence I have seen +of it.” And I told him what I had not mentioned in my narrative, of +that encounter with the other convict. + +“See, then,” said Herbert; “think of this! He comes here at the peril +of his life, for the realisation of his fixed idea. In the moment of +realisation, after all his toil and waiting, you cut the ground from +under his feet, destroy his idea, and make his gains worthless to him. +Do you see nothing that he might do, under the disappointment?” + +“I have seen it, Herbert, and dreamed of it, ever since the fatal night +of his arrival. Nothing has been in my thoughts so distinctly as his +putting himself in the way of being taken.” + +“Then you may rely upon it,” said Herbert, “that there would be great +danger of his doing it. That is his power over you as long as he +remains in England, and that would be his reckless course if you +forsook him.” + +I was so struck by the horror of this idea, which had weighed upon me +from the first, and the working out of which would make me regard +myself, in some sort, as his murderer, that I could not rest in my +chair, but began pacing to and fro. I said to Herbert, meanwhile, that +even if Provis were recognised and taken, in spite of himself, I should +be wretched as the cause, however innocently. Yes; even though I was so +wretched in having him at large and near me, and even though I would +far rather have worked at the forge all the days of my life than I +would ever have come to this! + +But there was no staving off the question, What was to be done? + +“The first and the main thing to be done,” said Herbert, “is to get him +out of England. You will have to go with him, and then he may be +induced to go.” + +“But get him where I will, could I prevent his coming back?” + +“My good Handel, is it not obvious that with Newgate in the next +street, there must be far greater hazard in your breaking your mind to +him and making him reckless, here, than elsewhere? If a pretext to get +him away could be made out of that other convict, or out of anything +else in his life, now.” + +“There, again!” said I, stopping before Herbert, with my open hands +held out, as if they contained the desperation of the case. “I know +nothing of his life. It has almost made me mad to sit here of a night +and see him before me, so bound up with my fortunes and misfortunes, +and yet so unknown to me, except as the miserable wretch who terrified +me two days in my childhood!” + +Herbert got up, and linked his arm in mine, and we slowly walked to and +fro together, studying the carpet. + +“Handel,” said Herbert, stopping, “you feel convinced that you can take +no further benefits from him; do you?” + +“Fully. Surely you would, too, if you were in my place?” + +“And you feel convinced that you must break with him?” + +“Herbert, can you ask me?” + +“And you have, and are bound to have, that tenderness for the life he +has risked on your account, that you must save him, if possible, from +throwing it away. Then you must get him out of England before you stir +a finger to extricate yourself. That done, extricate yourself, in +Heaven’s name, and we’ll see it out together, dear old boy.” + +It was a comfort to shake hands upon it, and walk up and down again, +with only that done. + +“Now, Herbert,” said I, “with reference to gaining some knowledge of +his history. There is but one way that I know of. I must ask him point +blank.” + +“Yes. Ask him,” said Herbert, “when we sit at breakfast in the +morning.” For he had said, on taking leave of Herbert, that he would +come to breakfast with us. + +With this project formed, we went to bed. I had the wildest dreams +concerning him, and woke unrefreshed; I woke, too, to recover the fear +which I had lost in the night, of his being found out as a returned +transport. Waking, I never lost that fear. + +He came round at the appointed time, took out his jackknife, and sat +down to his meal. He was full of plans “for his gentleman’s coming out +strong, and like a gentleman,” and urged me to begin speedily upon the +pocket-book which he had left in my possession. He considered the +chambers and his own lodging as temporary residences, and advised me to +look out at once for a “fashionable crib” near Hyde Park, in which he +could have “a shake-down.” When he had made an end of his breakfast, +and was wiping his knife on his leg, I said to him, without a word of +preface,— + +“After you were gone last night, I told my friend of the struggle that +the soldiers found you engaged in on the marshes, when we came up. You +remember?” + +“Remember!” said he. “I think so!” + +“We want to know something about that man—and about you. It is strange +to know no more about either, and particularly you, than I was able to +tell last night. Is not this as good a time as another for our knowing +more?” + +“Well!” he said, after consideration. “You’re on your oath, you know, +Pip’s comrade?” + +“Assuredly,” replied Herbert. + +“As to anything I say, you know,” he insisted. “The oath applies to +all.” + +“I understand it to do so.” + +“And look’ee here! Wotever I done is worked out and paid for,” he +insisted again. + +“So be it.” + +He took out his black pipe and was going to fill it with negro-head, +when, looking at the tangle of tobacco in his hand, he seemed to think +it might perplex the thread of his narrative. He put it back again, +stuck his pipe in a button-hole of his coat, spread a hand on each +knee, and after turning an angry eye on the fire for a few silent +moments, looked round at us and said what follows. + + + + +Chapter XLII. + + +“Dear boy and Pip’s comrade. I am not a-going fur to tell you my life +like a song, or a story-book. But to give it you short and handy, I’ll +put it at once into a mouthful of English. In jail and out of jail, in +jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail. There, you’ve got it. +That’s _my_ life pretty much, down to such times as I got shipped off, +arter Pip stood my friend. + +“I’ve been done everything to, pretty well—except hanged. I’ve been +locked up as much as a silver tea-kittle. I’ve been carted here and +carted there, and put out of this town, and put out of that town, and +stuck in the stocks, and whipped and worried and drove. I’ve no more +notion where I was born than you have—if so much. I first become aware +of myself down in Essex, a thieving turnips for my living. Summun had +run away from me—a man—a tinker—and he’d took the fire with him, and +left me wery cold. + +“I know’d my name to be Magwitch, chrisen’d Abel. How did I know it? +Much as I know’d the birds’ names in the hedges to be chaffinch, +sparrer, thrush. I might have thought it was all lies together, only as +the birds’ names come out true, I supposed mine did. + +“So fur as I could find, there warn’t a soul that see young Abel +Magwitch, with us little on him as in him, but wot caught fright at +him, and either drove him off, or took him up. I was took up, took up, +took up, to that extent that I reg’larly grow’d up took up. + +“This is the way it was, that when I was a ragged little creetur as +much to be pitied as ever I see (not that I looked in the glass, for +there warn’t many insides of furnished houses known to me), I got the +name of being hardened. ‘This is a terrible hardened one,’ they says to +prison wisitors, picking out me. ‘May be said to live in jails, this +boy.’ Then they looked at me, and I looked at them, and they measured +my head, some on ’em,—they had better a measured my stomach,—and others +on ’em giv me tracts what I couldn’t read, and made me speeches what I +couldn’t understand. They always went on agen me about the Devil. But +what the Devil was I to do? I must put something into my stomach, +mustn’t I?—Howsomever, I’m a getting low, and I know what’s due. Dear +boy and Pip’s comrade, don’t you be afeerd of me being low. + +“Tramping, begging, thieving, working sometimes when I could,—though +that warn’t as often as you may think, till you put the question +whether you would ha’ been over-ready to give me work yourselves,—a bit +of a poacher, a bit of a labourer, a bit of a wagoner, a bit of a +haymaker, a bit of a hawker, a bit of most things that don’t pay and +lead to trouble, I got to be a man. A deserting soldier in a +Traveller’s Rest, what lay hid up to the chin under a lot of taturs, +learnt me to read; and a travelling Giant what signed his name at a +penny a time learnt me to write. I warn’t locked up as often now as +formerly, but I wore out my good share of key-metal still. + +“At Epsom races, a matter of over twenty years ago, I got acquainted +wi’ a man whose skull I’d crack wi’ this poker, like the claw of a +lobster, if I’d got it on this hob. His right name was Compeyson; and +that’s the man, dear boy, what you see me a pounding in the ditch, +according to what you truly told your comrade arter I was gone last +night. + +“He set up fur a gentleman, this Compeyson, and he’d been to a public +boarding-school and had learning. He was a smooth one to talk, and was +a dab at the ways of gentlefolks. He was good-looking too. It was the +night afore the great race, when I found him on the heath, in a booth +that I know’d on. Him and some more was a sitting among the tables when +I went in, and the landlord (which had a knowledge of me, and was a +sporting one) called him out, and said, ‘I think this is a man that +might suit you,’—meaning I was. + +“Compeyson, he looks at me very noticing, and I look at him. He has a +watch and a chain and a ring and a breast-pin and a handsome suit of +clothes. + +“‘To judge from appearances, you’re out of luck,’ says Compeyson to me. + +“‘Yes, master, and I’ve never been in it much.’ (I had come out of +Kingston Jail last on a vagrancy committal. Not but what it might have +been for something else; but it warn’t.) + +“‘Luck changes,’ says Compeyson; ‘perhaps yours is going to change.’ + +“I says, ‘I hope it may be so. There’s room.’ + +“‘What can you do?’ says Compeyson. + +“‘Eat and drink,’ I says; ‘if you’ll find the materials.’ + +“Compeyson laughed, looked at me again very noticing, giv me five +shillings, and appointed me for next night. Same place. + +“I went to Compeyson next night, same place, and Compeyson took me on +to be his man and pardner. And what was Compeyson’s business in which +we was to go pardners? Compeyson’s business was the swindling, +handwriting forging, stolen bank-note passing, and such-like. All sorts +of traps as Compeyson could set with his head, and keep his own legs +out of and get the profits from and let another man in for, was +Compeyson’s business. He’d no more heart than a iron file, he was as +cold as death, and he had the head of the Devil afore mentioned. + +“There was another in with Compeyson, as was called Arthur,—not as +being so chrisen’d, but as a surname. He was in a Decline, and was a +shadow to look at. Him and Compeyson had been in a bad thing with a +rich lady some years afore, and they’d made a pot of money by it; but +Compeyson betted and gamed, and he’d have run through the king’s taxes. +So, Arthur was a dying, and a dying poor and with the horrors on him, +and Compeyson’s wife (which Compeyson kicked mostly) was a having pity +on him when she could, and Compeyson was a having pity on nothing and +nobody. + +“I might a took warning by Arthur, but I didn’t; and I won’t pretend I +was partick’ler—for where ’ud be the good on it, dear boy and comrade? +So I begun wi’ Compeyson, and a poor tool I was in his hands. Arthur +lived at the top of Compeyson’s house (over nigh Brentford it was), and +Compeyson kept a careful account agen him for board and lodging, in +case he should ever get better to work it out. But Arthur soon settled +the account. The second or third time as ever I see him, he come a +tearing down into Compeyson’s parlour late at night, in only a flannel +gown, with his hair all in a sweat, and he says to Compeyson’s wife, +‘Sally, she really is upstairs alonger me, now, and I can’t get rid of +her. She’s all in white,’ he says, ‘wi’ white flowers in her hair, and +she’s awful mad, and she’s got a shroud hanging over her arm, and she +says she’ll put it on me at five in the morning.’ + +“Says Compeyson: ‘Why, you fool, don’t you know she’s got a living +body? And how should she be up there, without coming through the door, +or in at the window, and up the stairs?’ + +“‘I don’t know how she’s there,’ says Arthur, shivering dreadful with +the horrors, ‘but she’s standing in the corner at the foot of the bed, +awful mad. And over where her heart’s broke—_you_ broke it!—there’s +drops of blood.’ + +“Compeyson spoke hardy, but he was always a coward. ‘Go up alonger this +drivelling sick man,’ he says to his wife, ‘and Magwitch, lend her a +hand, will you?’ But he never come nigh himself. + +“Compeyson’s wife and me took him up to bed agen, and he raved most +dreadful. ‘Why look at her!’ he cries out. ‘She’s a shaking the shroud +at me! Don’t you see her? Look at her eyes! Ain’t it awful to see her +so mad?’ Next he cries, ‘She’ll put it on me, and then I’m done for! +Take it away from her, take it away!’ And then he catched hold of us, +and kep on a talking to her, and answering of her, till I half believed +I see her myself. + +“Compeyson’s wife, being used to him, giv him some liquor to get the +horrors off, and by and by he quieted. ‘O, she’s gone! Has her keeper +been for her?’ he says. ‘Yes,’ says Compeyson’s wife. ‘Did you tell him +to lock her and bar her in?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And to take that ugly thing away +from her?’ ‘Yes, yes, all right.’ ‘You’re a good creetur,’ he says, +‘don’t leave me, whatever you do, and thank you!’ + +“He rested pretty quiet till it might want a few minutes of five, and +then he starts up with a scream, and screams out, ‘Here she is! She’s +got the shroud again. She’s unfolding it. She’s coming out of the +corner. She’s coming to the bed. Hold me, both on you—one of each +side—don’t let her touch me with it. Hah! she missed me that time. +Don’t let her throw it over my shoulders. Don’t let her lift me up to +get it round me. She’s lifting me up. Keep me down!’ Then he lifted +himself up hard, and was dead. + +“Compeyson took it easy as a good riddance for both sides. Him and me +was soon busy, and first he swore me (being ever artful) on my own +book,—this here little black book, dear boy, what I swore your comrade +on. + +“Not to go into the things that Compeyson planned, and I done—which ’ud +take a week—I’ll simply say to you, dear boy, and Pip’s comrade, that +that man got me into such nets as made me his black slave. I was always +in debt to him, always under his thumb, always a working, always a +getting into danger. He was younger than me, but he’d got craft, and +he’d got learning, and he overmatched me five hundred times told and no +mercy. My Missis as I had the hard time wi’—Stop though! I ain’t +brought _her_ in—” + +He looked about him in a confused way, as if he had lost his place in +the book of his remembrance; and he turned his face to the fire, and +spread his hands broader on his knees, and lifted them off and put them +on again. + +“There ain’t no need to go into it,” he said, looking round once more. +“The time wi’ Compeyson was a’most as hard a time as ever I had; that +said, all’s said. Did I tell you as I was tried, alone, for +misdemeanor, while with Compeyson?” + +I answered, No. + +“Well!” he said, “I _was_, and got convicted. As to took up on +suspicion, that was twice or three times in the four or five year that +it lasted; but evidence was wanting. At last, me and Compeyson was both +committed for felony,—on a charge of putting stolen notes in +circulation,—and there was other charges behind. Compeyson says to me, +‘Separate defences, no communication,’ and that was all. And I was so +miserable poor, that I sold all the clothes I had, except what hung on +my back, afore I could get Jaggers. + +“When we was put in the dock, I noticed first of all what a gentleman +Compeyson looked, wi’ his curly hair and his black clothes and his +white pocket-handkercher, and what a common sort of a wretch I looked. +When the prosecution opened and the evidence was put short, aforehand, +I noticed how heavy it all bore on me, and how light on him. When the +evidence was giv in the box, I noticed how it was always me that had +come for’ard, and could be swore to, how it was always me that the +money had been paid to, how it was always me that had seemed to work +the thing and get the profit. But when the defence come on, then I see +the plan plainer; for, says the counsellor for Compeyson, ‘My lord and +gentlemen, here you has afore you, side by side, two persons as your +eyes can separate wide; one, the younger, well brought up, who will be +spoke to as such; one, the elder, ill brought up, who will be spoke to +as such; one, the younger, seldom if ever seen in these here +transactions, and only suspected; t’other, the elder, always seen in +’em and always wi’ his guilt brought home. Can you doubt, if there is +but one in it, which is the one, and, if there is two in it, which is +much the worst one?’ And such-like. And when it come to character, +warn’t it Compeyson as had been to the school, and warn’t it his +schoolfellows as was in this position and in that, and warn’t it him as +had been know’d by witnesses in such clubs and societies, and nowt to +his disadvantage? And warn’t it me as had been tried afore, and as had +been know’d up hill and down dale in Bridewells and Lock-Ups! And when +it come to speech-making, warn’t it Compeyson as could speak to ’em wi’ +his face dropping every now and then into his white +pocket-handkercher,—ah! and wi’ verses in his speech, too,—and warn’t +it me as could only say, ‘Gentlemen, this man at my side is a most +precious rascal’? And when the verdict come, warn’t it Compeyson as was +recommended to mercy on account of good character and bad company, and +giving up all the information he could agen me, and warn’t it me as got +never a word but Guilty? And when I says to Compeyson, ‘Once out of +this court, I’ll smash that face of yourn!’ ain’t it Compeyson as prays +the Judge to be protected, and gets two turnkeys stood betwixt us? And +when we’re sentenced, ain’t it him as gets seven year, and me fourteen, +and ain’t it him as the Judge is sorry for, because he might a done so +well, and ain’t it me as the Judge perceives to be a old offender of +wiolent passion, likely to come to worse?” + +He had worked himself into a state of great excitement, but he checked +it, took two or three short breaths, swallowed as often, and stretching +out his hand towards me said, in a reassuring manner, “I ain’t a-going +to be low, dear boy!” + +He had so heated himself that he took out his handkerchief and wiped +his face and head and neck and hands, before he could go on. + +[Illustration] + +“I had said to Compeyson that I’d smash that face of his, and I swore +Lord smash mine! to do it. We was in the same prison-ship, but I +couldn’t get at him for long, though I tried. At last I come behind him +and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get a smashing one at +him, when I was seen and seized. The black-hole of that ship warn’t a +strong one, to a judge of black-holes that could swim and dive. I +escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among the graves there, +envying them as was in ’em and all over, when I first see my boy!” + +He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almost abhorrent +to me again, though I had felt great pity for him. + +“By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on them +marshes too. Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror, to +get quit of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore. I hunted him +down. I smashed his face. ‘And now,’ says I ‘as the worst thing I can +do, caring nothing for myself, I’ll drag you back.’ And I’d have swum +off, towing him by the hair, if it had come to that, and I’d a got him +aboard without the soldiers. + +“Of course he’d much the best of it to the last,—his character was so +good. He had escaped when he was made half wild by me and my murderous +intentions; and his punishment was light. I was put in irons, brought +to trial again, and sent for life. I didn’t stop for life, dear boy and +Pip’s comrade, being here.” + +He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowly took his +tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipe from his +button-hole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke. + +“Is he dead?” I asked, after a silence. + +“Is who dead, dear boy?” + +“Compeyson.” + +“He hopes _I_ am, if he’s alive, you may be sure,” with a fierce look. +“I never heerd no more of him.” + +Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. He +softly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with his +eyes on the fire, and I read in it:— + +“Young Havisham’s name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man who professed +to be Miss Havisham’s lover.” + +I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the book by; +but we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he +stood smoking by the fire. + + + + +Chapter XLIII. + + +Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provis might be +traced to Estella? Why should I loiter on my road, to compare the state +of mind in which I had tried to rid myself of the stain of the prison +before meeting her at the coach-office, with the state of mind in which +I now reflected on the abyss between Estella in her pride and beauty, +and the returned transport whom I harboured? The road would be none the +smoother for it, the end would be none the better for it, he would not +be helped, nor I extenuated. + +A new fear had been engendered in my mind by his narrative; or rather, +his narrative had given form and purpose to the fear that was already +there. If Compeyson were alive and should discover his return, I could +hardly doubt the consequence. That Compeyson stood in mortal fear of +him, neither of the two could know much better than I; and that any +such man as that man had been described to be would hesitate to release +himself for good from a dreaded enemy by the safe means of becoming an +informer was scarcely to be imagined. + +Never had I breathed, and never would I breathe—or so I resolved—a word +of Estella to Provis. But, I said to Herbert that, before I could go +abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham. This was when we +were left alone on the night of the day when Provis told us his story. +I resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and I went. + +On my presenting myself at Mrs. Brandley’s, Estella’s maid was called +to tell that Estella had gone into the country. Where? To Satis House, +as usual. Not as usual, I said, for she had never yet gone there +without me; when was she coming back? There was an air of reservation +in the answer which increased my perplexity, and the answer was, that +her maid believed she was only coming back at all for a little while. I +could make nothing of this, except that it was meant that I should make +nothing of it, and I went home again in complete discomfiture. + +Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis was gone home (I +always took him home, and always looked well about me), led us to the +conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroad until I came +back from Miss Havisham’s. In the mean time, Herbert and I were to +consider separately what it would be best to say; whether we should +devise any pretence of being afraid that he was under suspicious +observation; or whether I, who had never yet been abroad, should +propose an expedition. We both knew that I had but to propose anything, +and he would consent. We agreed that his remaining many days in his +present hazard was not to be thought of. + +Next day I had the meanness to feign that I was under a binding promise +to go down to Joe; but I was capable of almost any meanness towards Joe +or his name. Provis was to be strictly careful while I was gone, and +Herbert was to take the charge of him that I had taken. I was to be +absent only one night, and, on my return, the gratification of his +impatience for my starting as a gentleman on a greater scale was to be +begun. It occurred to me then, and as I afterwards found to Herbert +also, that he might be best got away across the water, on that +pretence,—as, to make purchases, or the like. + +Having thus cleared the way for my expedition to Miss Havisham’s, I set +off by the early morning coach before it was yet light, and was out on +the open country road when the day came creeping on, halting and +whimpering and shivering, and wrapped in patches of cloud and rags of +mist, like a beggar. When we drove up to the Blue Boar after a drizzly +ride, whom should I see come out under the gateway, toothpick in hand, +to look at the coach, but Bentley Drummle! + +As he pretended not to see me, I pretended not to see him. It was a +very lame pretence on both sides; the lamer, because we both went into +the coffee-room, where he had just finished his breakfast, and where I +ordered mine. It was poisonous to me to see him in the town, for I very +well knew why he had come there. + +Pretending to read a smeary newspaper long out of date, which had +nothing half so legible in its local news, as the foreign matter of +coffee, pickles, fish sauces, gravy, melted butter, and wine with which +it was sprinkled all over, as if it had taken the measles in a highly +irregular form, I sat at my table while he stood before the fire. By +degrees it became an enormous injury to me that he stood before the +fire. And I got up, determined to have my share of it. I had to put my +hand behind his legs for the poker when I went up to the fireplace to +stir the fire, but still pretended not to know him. + +“Is this a cut?” said Mr. Drummle. + +“Oh!” said I, poker in hand; “it’s you, is it? How do you do? I was +wondering who it was, who kept the fire off.” + +With that, I poked tremendously, and having done so, planted myself +side by side with Mr. Drummle, my shoulders squared and my back to the +fire. + +“You have just come down?” said Mr. Drummle, edging me a little away +with his shoulder. + +“Yes,” said I, edging _him_ a little away with _my_ shoulder. + +“Beastly place,” said Drummle. “Your part of the country, I think?” + +“Yes,” I assented. “I am told it’s very like your Shropshire.” + +“Not in the least like it,” said Drummle. + +Here Mr. Drummle looked at his boots and I looked at mine, and then Mr. +Drummle looked at my boots, and I looked at his. + +“Have you been here long?” I asked, determined not to yield an inch of +the fire. + +“Long enough to be tired of it,” returned Drummle, pretending to yawn, +but equally determined. + +“Do you stay here long?” + +“Can’t say,” answered Mr. Drummle. “Do you?” + +“Can’t say,” said I. + +I felt here, through a tingling in my blood, that if Mr. Drummle’s +shoulder had claimed another hair’s breadth of room, I should have +jerked him into the window; equally, that if my own shoulder had urged +a similar claim, Mr. Drummle would have jerked me into the nearest box. +He whistled a little. So did I. + +“Large tract of marshes about here, I believe?” said Drummle. + +“Yes. What of that?” said I. + +Mr. Drummle looked at me, and then at my boots, and then said, “Oh!” +and laughed. + +“Are you amused, Mr. Drummle?” + +“No,” said he, “not particularly. I am going out for a ride in the +saddle. I mean to explore those marshes for amusement. Out-of-the-way +villages there, they tell me. Curious little public-houses—and +smithies—and that. Waiter!” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Is that horse of mine ready?” + +“Brought round to the door, sir.” + +“I say. Look here, you sir. The lady won’t ride to-day; the weather +won’t do.” + +“Very good, sir.” + +“And I don’t dine, because I’m going to dine at the lady’s.” + +“Very good, sir.” + +Then, Drummle glanced at me, with an insolent triumph on his +great-jowled face that cut me to the heart, dull as he was, and so +exasperated me, that I felt inclined to take him in my arms (as the +robber in the story-book is said to have taken the old lady) and seat +him on the fire. + +One thing was manifest to both of us, and that was, that until relief +came, neither of us could relinquish the fire. There we stood, well +squared up before it, shoulder to shoulder and foot to foot, with our +hands behind us, not budging an inch. The horse was visible outside in +the drizzle at the door, my breakfast was put on the table, Drummle’s +was cleared away, the waiter invited me to begin, I nodded, we both +stood our ground. + +“Have you been to the Grove since?” said Drummle. + +“No,” said I, “I had quite enough of the Finches the last time I was +there.” + +“Was that when we had a difference of opinion?” + +“Yes,” I replied, very shortly. + +“Come, come! They let you off easily enough,” sneered Drummle. “You +shouldn’t have lost your temper.” + +“Mr. Drummle,” said I, “you are not competent to give advice on that +subject. When I lose my temper (not that I admit having done so on that +occasion), I don’t throw glasses.” + +“I do,” said Drummle. + +After glancing at him once or twice, in an increased state of +smouldering ferocity, I said,— + +“Mr. Drummle, I did not seek this conversation, and I don’t think it an +agreeable one.” + +“I am sure it’s not,” said he, superciliously over his shoulder; “I +don’t think anything about it.” + +“And therefore,” I went on, “with your leave, I will suggest that we +hold no kind of communication in future.” + +“Quite my opinion,” said Drummle, “and what I should have suggested +myself, or done—more likely—without suggesting. But don’t lose your +temper. Haven’t you lost enough without that?” + +“What do you mean, sir?” + +“Waiter!” said Drummle, by way of answering me. + +The waiter reappeared. + +“Look here, you sir. You quite understand that the young lady don’t +ride to-day, and that I dine at the young lady’s?” + +“Quite so, sir!” + +When the waiter had felt my fast-cooling teapot with the palm of his +hand, and had looked imploringly at me, and had gone out, Drummle, +careful not to move the shoulder next me, took a cigar from his pocket +and bit the end off, but showed no sign of stirring. Choking and +boiling as I was, I felt that we could not go a word further, without +introducing Estella’s name, which I could not endure to hear him utter; +and therefore I looked stonily at the opposite wall, as if there were +no one present, and forced myself to silence. How long we might have +remained in this ridiculous position it is impossible to say, but for +the incursion of three thriving farmers—laid on by the waiter, I +think—who came into the coffee-room unbuttoning their great-coats and +rubbing their hands, and before whom, as they charged at the fire, we +were obliged to give way. + +I saw him through the window, seizing his horse’s mane, and mounting in +his blundering brutal manner, and sidling and backing away. I thought +he was gone, when he came back, calling for a light for the cigar in +his mouth, which he had forgotten. A man in a dust-coloured dress +appeared with what was wanted,—I could not have said from where: +whether from the inn yard, or the street, or where not,—and as Drummle +leaned down from the saddle and lighted his cigar and laughed, with a +jerk of his head towards the coffee-room windows, the slouching +shoulders and ragged hair of this man whose back was towards me +reminded me of Orlick. + +Too heavily out of sorts to care much at the time whether it were he or +no, or after all to touch the breakfast, I washed the weather and the +journey from my face and hands, and went out to the memorable old house +that it would have been so much the better for me never to have +entered, never to have seen. + + + + +Chapter XLIV. + + +In the room where the dressing-table stood, and where the wax-candles +burnt on the wall, I found Miss Havisham and Estella; Miss Havisham +seated on a settee near the fire, and Estella on a cushion at her feet. +Estella was knitting, and Miss Havisham was looking on. They both +raised their eyes as I went in, and both saw an alteration in me. I +derived that, from the look they interchanged. + +“And what wind,” said Miss Havisham, “blows you here, Pip?” + +Though she looked steadily at me, I saw that she was rather confused. +Estella, pausing a moment in her knitting with her eyes upon me, and +then going on, I fancied that I read in the action of her fingers, as +plainly as if she had told me in the dumb alphabet, that she perceived +I had discovered my real benefactor. + +“Miss Havisham,” said I, “I went to Richmond yesterday, to speak to +Estella; and finding that some wind had blown _her_ here, I followed.” + +Miss Havisham motioning to me for the third or fourth time to sit down, +I took the chair by the dressing-table, which I had often seen her +occupy. With all that ruin at my feet and about me, it seemed a natural +place for me, that day. + +“What I had to say to Estella, Miss Havisham, I will say before you, +presently—in a few moments. It will not surprise you, it will not +displease you. I am as unhappy as you can ever have meant me to be.” + +Miss Havisham continued to look steadily at me. I could see in the +action of Estella’s fingers as they worked that she attended to what I +said; but she did not look up. + +“I have found out who my patron is. It is not a fortunate discovery, +and is not likely ever to enrich me in reputation, station, fortune, +anything. There are reasons why I must say no more of that. It is not +my secret, but another’s.” + +As I was silent for a while, looking at Estella and considering how to +go on, Miss Havisham repeated, “It is not your secret, but another’s. +Well?” + +“When you first caused me to be brought here, Miss Havisham, when I +belonged to the village over yonder, that I wish I had never left, I +suppose I did really come here, as any other chance boy might have +come,—as a kind of servant, to gratify a want or a whim, and to be paid +for it?” + +“Ay, Pip,” replied Miss Havisham, steadily nodding her head; “you did.” + +“And that Mr. Jaggers—” + +“Mr. Jaggers,” said Miss Havisham, taking me up in a firm tone, “had +nothing to do with it, and knew nothing of it. His being my lawyer, and +his being the lawyer of your patron is a coincidence. He holds the same +relation towards numbers of people, and it might easily arise. Be that +as it may, it did arise, and was not brought about by any one.” + +Any one might have seen in her haggard face that there was no +suppression or evasion so far. + +“But when I fell into the mistake I have so long remained in, at least +you led me on?” said I. + +“Yes,” she returned, again nodding steadily, “I let you go on.” + +“Was that kind?” + +“Who am I,” cried Miss Havisham, striking her stick upon the floor and +flashing into wrath so suddenly that Estella glanced up at her in +surprise,—“who am I, for God’s sake, that I should be kind?” + +It was a weak complaint to have made, and I had not meant to make it. I +told her so, as she sat brooding after this outburst. + +“Well, well, well!” she said. “What else?” + +“I was liberally paid for my old attendance here,” I said, to soothe +her, “in being apprenticed, and I have asked these questions only for +my own information. What follows has another (and I hope more +disinterested) purpose. In humouring my mistake, Miss Havisham, you +punished—practised on—perhaps you will supply whatever term expresses +your intention, without offence—your self-seeking relations?” + +“I did. Why, they would have it so! So would you. What has been my +history, that I should be at the pains of entreating either them or you +not to have it so! You made your own snares. _I_ never made them.” + +Waiting until she was quiet again,—for this, too, flashed out of her in +a wild and sudden way,—I went on. + +“I have been thrown among one family of your relations, Miss Havisham, +and have been constantly among them since I went to London. I know them +to have been as honestly under my delusion as I myself. And I should be +false and base if I did not tell you, whether it is acceptable to you +or no, and whether you are inclined to give credence to it or no, that +you deeply wrong both Mr. Matthew Pocket and his son Herbert, if you +suppose them to be otherwise than generous, upright, open, and +incapable of anything designing or mean.” + +“They are your friends,” said Miss Havisham. + +“They made themselves my friends,” said I, “when they supposed me to +have superseded them; and when Sarah Pocket, Miss Georgiana, and +Mistress Camilla were not my friends, I think.” + +This contrasting of them with the rest seemed, I was glad to see, to do +them good with her. She looked at me keenly for a little while, and +then said quietly,— + +“What do you want for them?” + +“Only,” said I, “that you would not confound them with the others. They +may be of the same blood, but, believe me, they are not of the same +nature.” + +Still looking at me keenly, Miss Havisham repeated,— + +“What do you want for them?” + +“I am not so cunning, you see,” I said, in answer, conscious that I +reddened a little, “as that I could hide from you, even if I desired, +that I do want something. Miss Havisham, if you would spare the money +to do my friend Herbert a lasting service in life, but which from the +nature of the case must be done without his knowledge, I could show you +how.” + +“Why must it be done without his knowledge?” she asked, settling her +hands upon her stick, that she might regard me the more attentively. + +“Because,” said I, “I began the service myself, more than two years +ago, without his knowledge, and I don’t want to be betrayed. Why I fail +in my ability to finish it, I cannot explain. It is a part of the +secret which is another person’s and not mine.” + +She gradually withdrew her eyes from me, and turned them on the fire. +After watching it for what appeared in the silence and by the light of +the slowly wasting candles to be a long time, she was roused by the +collapse of some of the red coals, and looked towards me again—at +first, vacantly—then, with a gradually concentrating attention. All +this time Estella knitted on. When Miss Havisham had fixed her +attention on me, she said, speaking as if there had been no lapse in +our dialogue,— + +“What else?” + +“Estella,” said I, turning to her now, and trying to command my +trembling voice, “you know I love you. You know that I have loved you +long and dearly.” + +She raised her eyes to my face, on being thus addressed, and her +fingers plied their work, and she looked at me with an unmoved +countenance. I saw that Miss Havisham glanced from me to her, and from +her to me. + +“I should have said this sooner, but for my long mistake. It induced me +to hope that Miss Havisham meant us for one another. While I thought +you could not help yourself, as it were, I refrained from saying it. +But I must say it now.” + +Preserving her unmoved countenance, and with her fingers still going, +Estella shook her head. + +“I know,” said I, in answer to that action,—“I know. I have no hope +that I shall ever call you mine, Estella. I am ignorant what may become +of me very soon, how poor I may be, or where I may go. Still, I love +you. I have loved you ever since I first saw you in this house.” + +Looking at me perfectly unmoved and with her fingers busy, she shook +her head again. + +“It would have been cruel in Miss Havisham, horribly cruel, to practise +on the susceptibility of a poor boy, and to torture me through all +these years with a vain hope and an idle pursuit, if she had reflected +on the gravity of what she did. But I think she did not. I think that, +in the endurance of her own trial, she forgot mine, Estella.” + +I saw Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart and hold it there, as she +sat looking by turns at Estella and at me. + +“It seems,” said Estella, very calmly, “that there are sentiments, +fancies,—I don’t know how to call them,—which I am not able to +comprehend. When you say you love me, I know what you mean, as a form +of words; but nothing more. You address nothing in my breast, you touch +nothing there. I don’t care for what you say at all. I have tried to +warn you of this; now, have I not?” + +I said in a miserable manner, “Yes.” + +“Yes. But you would not be warned, for you thought I did not mean it. +Now, did you not think so?” + +“I thought and hoped you could not mean it. You, so young, untried, and +beautiful, Estella! Surely it is not in Nature.” + +“It is in _my_ nature,” she returned. And then she added, with a stress +upon the words, “It is in the nature formed within me. I make a great +difference between you and all other people when I say so much. I can +do no more.” + +“Is it not true,” said I, “that Bentley Drummle is in town here, and +pursuing you?” + +“It is quite true,” she replied, referring to him with the indifference +of utter contempt. + +“That you encourage him, and ride out with him, and that he dines with +you this very day?” + +She seemed a little surprised that I should know it, but again replied, +“Quite true.” + +“You cannot love him, Estella!” + +Her fingers stopped for the first time, as she retorted rather angrily, +“What have I told you? Do you still think, in spite of it, that I do +not mean what I say?” + +“You would never marry him, Estella?” + +She looked towards Miss Havisham, and considered for a moment with her +work in her hands. Then she said, “Why not tell you the truth? I am +going to be married to him.” + +I dropped my face into my hands, but was able to control myself better +than I could have expected, considering what agony it gave me to hear +her say those words. When I raised my face again, there was such a +ghastly look upon Miss Havisham’s, that it impressed me, even in my +passionate hurry and grief. + +“Estella, dearest Estella, do not let Miss Havisham lead you into this +fatal step. Put me aside for ever,—you have done so, I well know,—but +bestow yourself on some worthier person than Drummle. Miss Havisham +gives you to him, as the greatest slight and injury that could be done +to the many far better men who admire you, and to the few who truly +love you. Among those few there may be one who loves you even as +dearly, though he has not loved you as long, as I. Take him, and I can +bear it better, for your sake!” + +My earnestness awoke a wonder in her that seemed as if it would have +been touched with compassion, if she could have rendered me at all +intelligible to her own mind. + +“I am going,” she said again, in a gentler voice, “to be married to +him. The preparations for my marriage are making, and I shall be +married soon. Why do you injuriously introduce the name of my mother by +adoption? It is my own act.” + +“Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away upon a brute?” + +“On whom should I fling myself away?” she retorted, with a smile. +“Should I fling myself away upon the man who would the soonest feel (if +people do feel such things) that I took nothing to him? There! It is +done. I shall do well enough, and so will my husband. As to leading me +into what you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham would have had me +wait, and not marry yet; but I am tired of the life I have led, which +has very few charms for me, and I am willing enough to change it. Say +no more. We shall never understand each other.” + +“Such a mean brute, such a stupid brute!” I urged, in despair. + +“Don’t be afraid of my being a blessing to him,” said Estella; “I shall +not be that. Come! Here is my hand. Do we part on this, you visionary +boy—or man?” + +“O Estella!” I answered, as my bitter tears fell fast on her hand, do +what I would to restrain them; “even if I remained in England and could +hold my head up with the rest, how could I see you Drummle’s wife?” + +“Nonsense,” she returned,—“nonsense. This will pass in no time.” + +“Never, Estella!” + +“You will get me out of your thoughts in a week.” + +“Out of my thoughts! You are part of my existence, part of myself. You +have been in every line I have ever read since I first came here, the +rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been +in every prospect I have ever seen since,—on the river, on the sails of +the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the +darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You +have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever +become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London +buildings are made are not more real, or more impossible to be +displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to +me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my +life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the +little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation, I +associate you only with the good; and I will faithfully hold you to +that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me +feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!” + +In what ecstasy of unhappiness I got these broken words out of myself, +I don’t know. The rhapsody welled up within me, like blood from an +inward wound, and gushed out. I held her hand to my lips some lingering +moments, and so I left her. But ever afterwards, I remembered,—and soon +afterwards with stronger reason,—that while Estella looked at me merely +with incredulous wonder, the spectral figure of Miss Havisham, her hand +still covering her heart, seemed all resolved into a ghastly stare of +pity and remorse. + +All done, all gone! So much was done and gone, that when I went out at +the gate, the light of the day seemed of a darker colour than when I +went in. For a while, I hid myself among some lanes and by-paths, and +then struck off to walk all the way to London. For, I had by that time +come to myself so far as to consider that I could not go back to the +inn and see Drummle there; that I could not bear to sit upon the coach +and be spoken to; that I could do nothing half so good for myself as +tire myself out. + +It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge. Pursuing the narrow +intricacies of the streets which at that time tended westward near the +Middlesex shore of the river, my readiest access to the Temple was +close by the river-side, through Whitefriars. I was not expected till +to-morrow; but I had my keys, and, if Herbert were gone to bed, could +get to bed myself without disturbing him. + +As it seldom happened that I came in at that Whitefriars gate after the +Temple was closed, and as I was very muddy and weary, I did not take it +ill that the night-porter examined me with much attention as he held +the gate a little way open for me to pass in. To help his memory I +mentioned my name. + +“I was not quite sure, sir, but I thought so. Here’s a note, sir. The +messenger that brought it, said would you be so good as read it by my +lantern?” + +[Illustration] + +Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed to +Philip Pip, Esquire, and on the top of the superscription were the +words, “PLEASE READ THIS, HERE.” I opened it, the watchman holding up +his light, and read inside, in Wemmick’s writing,— + +“DON’T GO HOME.” + + + + +Chapter XLV. + + +Turning from the Temple gate as soon as I had read the warning, I made +the best of my way to Fleet Street, and there got a late hackney +chariot and drove to the Hummums in Covent Garden. In those times a bed +was always to be got there at any hour of the night, and the +chamberlain, letting me in at his ready wicket, lighted the candle next +in order on his shelf, and showed me straight into the bedroom next in +order on his list. It was a sort of vault on the ground floor at the +back, with a despotic monster of a four-post bedstead in it, straddling +over the whole place, putting one of his arbitrary legs into the +fireplace and another into the doorway, and squeezing the wretched +little washing-stand in quite a Divinely Righteous manner. + +As I had asked for a night-light, the chamberlain had brought me in, +before he left me, the good old constitutional rushlight of those +virtuous days—an object like the ghost of a walking-cane, which +instantly broke its back if it were touched, which nothing could ever +be lighted at, and which was placed in solitary confinement at the +bottom of a high tin tower, perforated with round holes that made a +staringly wide-awake pattern on the walls. When I had got into bed, and +lay there footsore, weary, and wretched, I found that I could no more +close my own eyes than I could close the eyes of this foolish Argus. +And thus, in the gloom and death of the night, we stared at one +another. + +What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There was an +inhospitable smell in the room, of cold soot and hot dust; and, as I +looked up into the corners of the tester over my head, I thought what a +number of blue-bottle flies from the butchers’, and earwigs from the +market, and grubs from the country, must be holding on up there, lying +by for next summer. This led me to speculate whether any of them ever +tumbled down, and then I fancied that I felt light falls on my face,—a +disagreeable turn of thought, suggesting other and more objectionable +approaches up my back. When I had lain awake a little while, those +extraordinary voices with which silence teems began to make themselves +audible. The closet whispered, the fireplace sighed, the little +washing-stand ticked, and one guitar-string played occasionally in the +chest of drawers. At about the same time, the eyes on the wall acquired +a new expression, and in every one of those staring rounds I saw +written, DON’T GO HOME. + +Whatever night-fancies and night-noises crowded on me, they never +warded off this DON’T GO HOME. It plaited itself into whatever I +thought of, as a bodily pain would have done. Not long before, I had +read in the newspapers, how a gentleman unknown had come to the Hummums +in the night, and had gone to bed, and had destroyed himself, and had +been found in the morning weltering in blood. It came into my head that +he must have occupied this very vault of mine, and I got out of bed to +assure myself that there were no red marks about; then opened the door +to look out into the passages, and cheer myself with the companionship +of a distant light, near which I knew the chamberlain to be dozing. But +all this time, why I was not to go home, and what had happened at home, +and when I should go home, and whether Provis was safe at home, were +questions occupying my mind so busily, that one might have supposed +there could be no more room in it for any other theme. Even when I +thought of Estella, and how we had parted that day forever, and when I +recalled all the circumstances of our parting, and all her looks and +tones, and the action of her fingers while she knitted,—even then I was +pursuing, here and there and everywhere, the caution, Don’t go home. +When at last I dozed, in sheer exhaustion of mind and body, it became a +vast shadowy verb which I had to conjugate. Imperative mood, present +tense: Do not thou go home, let him not go home, let us not go home, do +not ye or you go home, let not them go home. Then potentially: I may +not and I cannot go home; and I might not, could not, would not, and +should not go home; until I felt that I was going distracted, and +rolled over on the pillow, and looked at the staring rounds upon the +wall again. + +I had left directions that I was to be called at seven; for it was +plain that I must see Wemmick before seeing any one else, and equally +plain that this was a case in which his Walworth sentiments only could +be taken. It was a relief to get out of the room where the night had +been so miserable, and I needed no second knocking at the door to +startle me from my uneasy bed. + +The Castle battlements arose upon my view at eight o’clock. The little +servant happening to be entering the fortress with two hot rolls, I +passed through the postern and crossed the drawbridge in her company, +and so came without announcement into the presence of Wemmick as he was +making tea for himself and the Aged. An open door afforded a +perspective view of the Aged in bed. + +“Halloa, Mr. Pip!” said Wemmick. “You did come home, then?” + +“Yes,” I returned; “but I didn’t go home.” + +“That’s all right,” said he, rubbing his hands. “I left a note for you +at each of the Temple gates, on the chance. Which gate did you come +to?” + +I told him. + +“I’ll go round to the others in the course of the day and destroy the +notes,” said Wemmick; “it’s a good rule never to leave documentary +evidence if you can help it, because you don’t know when it may be put +in. I’m going to take a liberty with you. _Would_ you mind toasting +this sausage for the Aged P.?” + +I said I should be delighted to do it. + +“Then you can go about your work, Mary Anne,” said Wemmick to the +little servant; “which leaves us to ourselves, don’t you see, Mr. Pip?” +he added, winking, as she disappeared. + +I thanked him for his friendship and caution, and our discourse +proceeded in a low tone, while I toasted the Aged’s sausage and he +buttered the crumb of the Aged’s roll. + +“Now, Mr. Pip, you know,” said Wemmick, “you and I understand one +another. We are in our private and personal capacities, and we have +been engaged in a confidential transaction before to-day. Official +sentiments are one thing. We are extra official.” + +I cordially assented. I was so very nervous, that I had already lighted +the Aged’s sausage like a torch, and been obliged to blow it out. + +“I accidentally heard, yesterday morning,” said Wemmick, “being in a +certain place where I once took you,—even between you and me, it’s as +well not to mention names when avoidable—” + +“Much better not,” said I. “I understand you.” + +“I heard there by chance, yesterday morning,” said Wemmick, “that a +certain person not altogether of uncolonial pursuits, and not +unpossessed of portable property,—I don’t know who it may really be,—we +won’t name this person—” + +“Not necessary,” said I. + +“—Had made some little stir in a certain part of the world where a good +many people go, not always in gratification of their own inclinations, +and not quite irrespective of the government expense—” + +In watching his face, I made quite a firework of the Aged’s sausage, +and greatly discomposed both my own attention and Wemmick’s; for which +I apologised. + +“—By disappearing from such place, and being no more heard of +thereabouts. From which,” said Wemmick, “conjectures had been raised +and theories formed. I also heard that you at your chambers in Garden +Court, Temple, had been watched, and might be watched again.” + +“By whom?” said I. + +“I wouldn’t go into that,” said Wemmick, evasively, “it might clash +with official responsibilities. I heard it, as I have in my time heard +other curious things in the same place. I don’t tell it you on +information received. I heard it.” + +He took the toasting-fork and sausage from me as he spoke, and set +forth the Aged’s breakfast neatly on a little tray. Previous to placing +it before him, he went into the Aged’s room with a clean white cloth, +and tied the same under the old gentleman’s chin, and propped him up, +and put his nightcap on one side, and gave him quite a rakish air. Then +he placed his breakfast before him with great care, and said, “All +right, ain’t you, Aged P.?” To which the cheerful Aged replied, “All +right, John, my boy, all right!” As there seemed to be a tacit +understanding that the Aged was not in a presentable state, and was +therefore to be considered invisible, I made a pretence of being in +complete ignorance of these proceedings. + +“This watching of me at my chambers (which I have once had reason to +suspect),” I said to Wemmick when he came back, “is inseparable from +the person to whom you have adverted; is it?” + +Wemmick looked very serious. “I couldn’t undertake to say that, of my +own knowledge. I mean, I couldn’t undertake to say it was at first. But +it either is, or it will be, or it’s in great danger of being.” + +As I saw that he was restrained by fealty to Little Britain from saying +as much as he could, and as I knew with thankfulness to him how far out +of his way he went to say what he did, I could not press him. But I +told him, after a little meditation over the fire, that I would like to +ask him a question, subject to his answering or not answering, as he +deemed right, and sure that his course would be right. He paused in his +breakfast, and crossing his arms, and pinching his shirt-sleeves (his +notion of in-door comfort was to sit without any coat), he nodded to me +once, to put my question. + +“You have heard of a man of bad character, whose true name is +Compeyson?” + +He answered with one other nod. + +“Is he living?” + +One other nod. + +“Is he in London?” + +He gave me one other nod, compressed the post-office exceedingly, gave +me one last nod, and went on with his breakfast. + +“Now,” said Wemmick, “questioning being over,” which he emphasised and +repeated for my guidance, “I come to what I did, after hearing what I +heard. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you, I went to +Clarriker’s to find Mr. Herbert.” + +“And him you found?” said I, with great anxiety. + +“And him I found. Without mentioning any names or going into any +details, I gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody—Tom, +Jack, or Richard—being about the chambers, or about the immediate +neighbourhood, he had better get Tom, Jack, or Richard out of the way +while you were out of the way.” + +“He would be greatly puzzled what to do?” + +“He _was_ puzzled what to do; not the less, because I gave him my +opinion that it was not safe to try to get Tom, Jack, or Richard too +far out of the way at present. Mr. Pip, I’ll tell you something. Under +existing circumstances, there is no place like a great city when you +are once in it. Don’t break cover too soon. Lie close. Wait till things +slacken, before you try the open, even for foreign air.” + +I thanked him for his valuable advice, and asked him what Herbert had +done? + +“Mr. Herbert,” said Wemmick, “after being all of a heap for half an +hour, struck out a plan. He mentioned to me as a secret, that he is +courting a young lady who has, as no doubt you are aware, a bedridden +Pa. Which Pa, having been in the Purser line of life, lies a-bed in a +bow-window where he can see the ships sail up and down the river. You +are acquainted with the young lady, most probably?” + +“Not personally,” said I. + +The truth was, that she had objected to me as an expensive companion +who did Herbert no good, and that, when Herbert had first proposed to +present me to her, she had received the proposal with such very +moderate warmth, that Herbert had felt himself obliged to confide the +state of the case to me, with a view to the lapse of a little time +before I made her acquaintance. When I had begun to advance Herbert’s +prospects by stealth, I had been able to bear this with cheerful +philosophy: he and his affianced, for their part, had naturally not +been very anxious to introduce a third person into their interviews; +and thus, although I was assured that I had risen in Clara’s esteem, +and although the young lady and I had long regularly interchanged +messages and remembrances by Herbert, I had never seen her. However, I +did not trouble Wemmick with these particulars. + +“The house with the bow-window,” said Wemmick, “being by the +river-side, down the Pool there between Limehouse and Greenwich, and +being kept, it seems, by a very respectable widow who has a furnished +upper floor to let, Mr. Herbert put it to me, what did I think of that +as a temporary tenement for Tom, Jack, or Richard? Now, I thought very +well of it, for three reasons I’ll give you. That is to say: _Firstly_. +It’s altogether out of all your beats, and is well away from the usual +heap of streets great and small. _Secondly_. Without going near it +yourself, you could always hear of the safety of Tom, Jack, or Richard, +through Mr. Herbert. _Thirdly_. After a while and when it might be +prudent, if you should want to slip Tom, Jack, or Richard on board a +foreign packet-boat, there he is—ready.” + +Much comforted by these considerations, I thanked Wemmick again and +again, and begged him to proceed. + +“Well, sir! Mr. Herbert threw himself into the business with a will, +and by nine o’clock last night he housed Tom, Jack, or +Richard,—whichever it may be,—you and I don’t want to know,—quite +successfully. At the old lodgings it was understood that he was +summoned to Dover, and, in fact, he was taken down the Dover road and +cornered out of it. Now, another great advantage of all this is, that +it was done without you, and when, if any one was concerning himself +about your movements, you must be known to be ever so many miles off +and quite otherwise engaged. This diverts suspicion and confuses it; +and for the same reason I recommended that, even if you came back last +night, you should not go home. It brings in more confusion, and you +want confusion.” + +Wemmick, having finished his breakfast, here looked at his watch, and +began to get his coat on. + +“And now, Mr. Pip,” said he, with his hands still in the sleeves, “I +have probably done the most I can do; but if I can ever do more,—from a +Walworth point of view, and in a strictly private and personal +capacity,—I shall be glad to do it. Here’s the address. There can be no +harm in your going here to-night, and seeing for yourself that all is +well with Tom, Jack, or Richard, before you go home,—which is another +reason for your not going home last night. But, after you have gone +home, don’t go back here. You are very welcome, I am sure, Mr. Pip”; +his hands were now out of his sleeves, and I was shaking them; “and let +me finally impress one important point upon you.” He laid his hands +upon my shoulders, and added in a solemn whisper: “Avail yourself of +this evening to lay hold of his portable property. You don’t know what +may happen to him. Don’t let anything happen to the portable property.” + +Quite despairing of making my mind clear to Wemmick on this point, I +forbore to try. + +“Time’s up,” said Wemmick, “and I must be off. If you had nothing more +pressing to do than to keep here till dark, that’s what I should +advise. You look very much worried, and it would do you good to have a +perfectly quiet day with the Aged,—he’ll be up presently,—and a little +bit of—you remember the pig?” + +“Of course,” said I. + +“Well; and a little bit of _him_. That sausage you toasted was his, and +he was in all respects a first-rater. Do try him, if it is only for old +acquaintance sake. Good-bye, Aged Parent!” in a cheery shout. + +“All right, John; all right, my boy!” piped the old man from within. + +I soon fell asleep before Wemmick’s fire, and the Aged and I enjoyed +one another’s society by falling asleep before it more or less all day. +We had loin of pork for dinner, and greens grown on the estate; and I +nodded at the Aged with a good intention whenever I failed to do it +drowsily. When it was quite dark, I left the Aged preparing the fire +for toast; and I inferred from the number of teacups, as well as from +his glances at the two little doors in the wall, that Miss Skiffins was +expected. + + + + +Chapter XLVI. + + +Eight o’clock had struck before I got into the air, that was scented, +not disagreeably, by the chips and shavings of the long-shore +boat-builders, and mast, oar, and block makers. All that water-side +region of the upper and lower Pool below Bridge was unknown ground to +me; and when I struck down by the river, I found that the spot I wanted +was not where I had supposed it to be, and was anything but easy to +find. It was called Mill Pond Bank, Chinks’s Basin; and I had no other +guide to Chinks’s Basin than the Old Green Copper Rope-walk. + +It matters not what stranded ships repairing in dry docks I lost myself +among, what old hulls of ships in course of being knocked to pieces, +what ooze and slime and other dregs of tide, what yards of +ship-builders and ship-breakers, what rusty anchors blindly biting into +the ground, though for years off duty, what mountainous country of +accumulated casks and timber, how many rope-walks that were not the Old +Green Copper. After several times falling short of my destination and +as often overshooting it, I came unexpectedly round a corner, upon Mill +Pond Bank. It was a fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered, +where the wind from the river had room to turn itself round; and there +were two or three trees in it, and there was the stump of a ruined +windmill, and there was the Old Green Copper Rope-walk,—whose long and +narrow vista I could trace in the moonlight, along a series of wooden +frames set in the ground, that looked like superannuated +haymaking-rakes which had grown old and lost most of their teeth. + +Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond Bank a house with a +wooden front and three stories of bow-window (not bay-window, which is +another thing), I looked at the plate upon the door, and read there, +Mrs. Whimple. That being the name I wanted, I knocked, and an elderly +woman of a pleasant and thriving appearance responded. She was +immediately deposed, however, by Herbert, who silently led me into the +parlour and shut the door. It was an odd sensation to see his very +familiar face established quite at home in that very unfamiliar room +and region; and I found myself looking at him, much as I looked at the +corner-cupboard with the glass and china, the shells upon the +chimney-piece, and the coloured engravings on the wall, representing +the death of Captain Cook, a ship-launch, and his Majesty King George +the Third in a state coachman’s wig, leather-breeches, and top-boots, +on the terrace at Windsor. + +“All is well, Handel,” said Herbert, “and he is quite satisfied, though +eager to see you. My dear girl is with her father; and if you’ll wait +till she comes down, I’ll make you known to her, and then we’ll go +upstairs. _That’s_ her father.” + +I had become aware of an alarming growling overhead, and had probably +expressed the fact in my countenance. + +“I am afraid he is a sad old rascal,” said Herbert, smiling, “but I +have never seen him. Don’t you smell rum? He is always at it.” + +“At rum?” said I. + +“Yes,” returned Herbert, “and you may suppose how mild it makes his +gout. He persists, too, in keeping all the provisions upstairs in his +room, and serving them out. He keeps them on shelves over his head, and +_will_ weigh them all. His room must be like a chandler’s shop.” + +While he thus spoke, the growling noise became a prolonged roar, and +then died away. + +“What else can be the consequence,” said Herbert, in explanation, “if +he _will_ cut the cheese? A man with the gout in his right hand—and +everywhere else—can’t expect to get through a Double Gloucester without +hurting himself.” + +He seemed to have hurt himself very much, for he gave another furious +roar. + +“To have Provis for an upper lodger is quite a godsend to Mrs. +Whimple,” said Herbert, “for of course people in general won’t stand +that noise. A curious place, Handel; isn’t it?” + +It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean. + +“Mrs. Whimple,” said Herbert, when I told him so, “is the best of +housewives, and I really do not know what my Clara would do without her +motherly help. For, Clara has no mother of her own, Handel, and no +relation in the world but old Gruffandgrim.” + +“Surely that’s not his name, Herbert?” + +“No, no,” said Herbert, “that’s my name for him. His name is Mr. +Barley. But what a blessing it is for the son of my father and mother +to love a girl who has no relations, and who can never bother herself +or anybody else about her family!” + +Herbert had told me on former occasions, and now reminded me, that he +first knew Miss Clara Barley when she was completing her education at +an establishment at Hammersmith, and that on her being recalled home to +nurse her father, he and she had confided their affection to the +motherly Mrs. Whimple, by whom it had been fostered and regulated with +equal kindness and discretion, ever since. It was understood that +nothing of a tender nature could possibly be confided to old Barley, by +reason of his being totally unequal to the consideration of any subject +more psychological than Gout, Rum, and Purser’s stores. + +As we were thus conversing in a low tone while Old Barley’s sustained +growl vibrated in the beam that crossed the ceiling, the room door +opened, and a very pretty, slight, dark-eyed girl of twenty or so came +in with a basket in her hand: whom Herbert tenderly relieved of the +basket, and presented, blushing, as “Clara.” She really was a most +charming girl, and might have passed for a captive fairy, whom that +truculent Ogre, Old Barley, had pressed into his service. + +“Look here,” said Herbert, showing me the basket, with a compassionate +and tender smile, after we had talked a little; “here’s poor Clara’s +supper, served out every night. Here’s her allowance of bread, and +here’s her slice of cheese, and here’s her rum,—which I drink. This is +Mr. Barley’s breakfast for to-morrow, served out to be cooked. Two +mutton-chops, three potatoes, some split peas, a little flour, two +ounces of butter, a pinch of salt, and all this black pepper. It’s +stewed up together, and taken hot, and it’s a nice thing for the gout, +I should think!” + +There was something so natural and winning in Clara’s resigned way of +looking at these stores in detail, as Herbert pointed them out; and +something so confiding, loving, and innocent in her modest manner of +yielding herself to Herbert’s embracing arm; and something so gentle in +her, so much needing protection on Mill Pond Bank, by Chinks’s Basin, +and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk, with Old Barley growling in the +beam,—that I would not have undone the engagement between her and +Herbert for all the money in the pocket-book I had never opened. + +I was looking at her with pleasure and admiration, when suddenly the +growl swelled into a roar again, and a frightful bumping noise was +heard above, as if a giant with a wooden leg were trying to bore it +through the ceiling to come at us. Upon this Clara said to Herbert, +“Papa wants me, darling!” and ran away. + +“There is an unconscionable old shark for you!” said Herbert. “What do +you suppose he wants now, Handel?” + +“I don’t know,” said I. “Something to drink?” + +“That’s it!” cried Herbert, as if I had made a guess of extraordinary +merit. “He keeps his grog ready mixed in a little tub on the table. +Wait a moment, and you’ll hear Clara lift him up to take some. There he +goes!” Another roar, with a prolonged shake at the end. “Now,” said +Herbert, as it was succeeded by silence, “he’s drinking. Now,” said +Herbert, as the growl resounded in the beam once more, “he’s down again +on his back!” + +Clara returned soon afterwards, and Herbert accompanied me upstairs to +see our charge. As we passed Mr. Barley’s door, he was heard hoarsely +muttering within, in a strain that rose and fell like wind, the +following Refrain, in which I substitute good wishes for something +quite the reverse:— + +“Ahoy! Bless your eyes, here’s old Bill Barley. Here’s old Bill Barley, +bless your eyes. Here’s old Bill Barley on the flat of his back, by the +Lord. Lying on the flat of his back like a drifting old dead flounder, +here’s your old Bill Barley, bless your eyes. Ahoy! Bless you.” + +In this strain of consolation, Herbert informed me the invisible Barley +would commune with himself by the day and night together; Often, while +it was light, having, at the same time, one eye at a telescope which +was fitted on his bed for the convenience of sweeping the river. + +In his two cabin rooms at the top of the house, which were fresh and +airy, and in which Mr. Barley was less audible than below, I found +Provis comfortably settled. He expressed no alarm, and seemed to feel +none that was worth mentioning; but it struck me that he was +softened,—indefinably, for I could not have said how, and could never +afterwards recall how when I tried, but certainly. + +The opportunity that the day’s rest had given me for reflection had +resulted in my fully determining to say nothing to him respecting +Compeyson. For anything I knew, his animosity towards the man might +otherwise lead to his seeking him out and rushing on his own +destruction. Therefore, when Herbert and I sat down with him by his +fire, I asked him first of all whether he relied on Wemmick’s judgment +and sources of information? + +“Ay, ay, dear boy!” he answered, with a grave nod, “Jaggers knows.” + +“Then, I have talked with Wemmick,” said I, “and have come to tell you +what caution he gave me and what advice.” + +This I did accurately, with the reservation just mentioned; and I told +him how Wemmick had heard, in Newgate prison (whether from officers or +prisoners I could not say), that he was under some suspicion, and that +my chambers had been watched; how Wemmick had recommended his keeping +close for a time, and my keeping away from him; and what Wemmick had +said about getting him abroad. I added, that of course, when the time +came, I should go with him, or should follow close upon him, as might +be safest in Wemmick’s judgment. What was to follow that I did not +touch upon; neither, indeed, was I at all clear or comfortable about it +in my own mind, now that I saw him in that softer condition, and in +declared peril for my sake. As to altering my way of living by +enlarging my expenses, I put it to him whether in our present unsettled +and difficult circumstances, it would not be simply ridiculous, if it +were no worse? + +He could not deny this, and indeed was very reasonable throughout. His +coming back was a venture, he said, and he had always known it to be a +venture. He would do nothing to make it a desperate venture, and he had +very little fear of his safety with such good help. + +Herbert, who had been looking at the fire and pondering, here said that +something had come into his thoughts arising out of Wemmick’s +suggestion, which it might be worth while to pursue. “We are both good +watermen, Handel, and could take him down the river ourselves when the +right time comes. No boat would then be hired for the purpose, and no +boatmen; that would save at least a chance of suspicion, and any chance +is worth saving. Never mind the season; don’t you think it might be a +good thing if you began at once to keep a boat at the Temple stairs, +and were in the habit of rowing up and down the river? You fall into +that habit, and then who notices or minds? Do it twenty or fifty times, +and there is nothing special in your doing it the twenty-first or +fifty-first.” + +I liked this scheme, and Provis was quite elated by it. We agreed that +it should be carried into execution, and that Provis should never +recognise us if we came below Bridge, and rowed past Mill Pond Bank. +But we further agreed that he should pull down the blind in that part +of his window which gave upon the east, whenever he saw us and all was +right. + +Our conference being now ended, and everything arranged, I rose to go; +remarking to Herbert that he and I had better not go home together, and +that I would take half an hour’s start of him. “I don’t like to leave +you here,” I said to Provis, “though I cannot doubt your being safer +here than near me. Good-bye!” + +“Dear boy,” he answered, clasping my hands, “I don’t know when we may +meet again, and I don’t like good-bye. Say good-night!” + +“Good-night! Herbert will go regularly between us, and when the time +comes you may be certain I shall be ready. Good-night, good-night!” + +We thought it best that he should stay in his own rooms; and we left +him on the landing outside his door, holding a light over the +stair-rail to light us downstairs. Looking back at him, I thought of +the first night of his return, when our positions were reversed, and +when I little supposed my heart could ever be as heavy and anxious at +parting from him as it was now. + +Old Barley was growling and swearing when we repassed his door, with no +appearance of having ceased or of meaning to cease. When we got to the +foot of the stairs, I asked Herbert whether he had preserved the name +of Provis. He replied, certainly not, and that the lodger was Mr. +Campbell. He also explained that the utmost known of Mr. Campbell there +was, that he (Herbert) had Mr. Campbell consigned to him, and felt a +strong personal interest in his being well cared for, and living a +secluded life. So, when we went into the parlour where Mrs. Whimple and +Clara were seated at work, I said nothing of my own interest in Mr. +Campbell, but kept it to myself. + +When I had taken leave of the pretty, gentle, dark-eyed girl, and of +the motherly woman who had not outlived her honest sympathy with a +little affair of true love, I felt as if the Old Green Copper Rope-walk +had grown quite a different place. Old Barley might be as old as the +hills, and might swear like a whole field of troopers, but there were +redeeming youth and trust and hope enough in Chinks’s Basin to fill it +to overflowing. And then I thought of Estella, and of our parting, and +went home very sadly. + +All things were as quiet in the Temple as ever I had seen them. The +windows of the rooms on that side, lately occupied by Provis, were dark +and still, and there was no lounger in Garden Court. I walked past the +fountain twice or thrice before I descended the steps that were between +me and my rooms, but I was quite alone. Herbert, coming to my bedside +when he came in,—for I went straight to bed, dispirited and +fatigued,—made the same report. Opening one of the windows after that, +he looked out into the moonlight, and told me that the pavement was as +solemnly empty as the pavement of any cathedral at that same hour. + +Next day I set myself to get the boat. It was soon done, and the boat +was brought round to the Temple stairs, and lay where I could reach her +within a minute or two. Then, I began to go out as for training and +practice: sometimes alone, sometimes with Herbert. I was often out in +cold, rain, and sleet, but nobody took much note of me after I had been +out a few times. At first, I kept above Blackfriars Bridge; but as the +hours of the tide changed, I took towards London Bridge. It was Old +London Bridge in those days, and at certain states of the tide there +was a race and fall of water there which gave it a bad reputation. But +I knew well enough how to ‘shoot’ the bridge after seeing it done, and +so began to row about among the shipping in the Pool, and down to +Erith. The first time I passed Mill Pond Bank, Herbert and I were +pulling a pair of oars; and, both in going and returning, we saw the +blind towards the east come down. Herbert was rarely there less +frequently than three times in a week, and he never brought me a single +word of intelligence that was at all alarming. Still, I knew that there +was cause for alarm, and I could not get rid of the notion of being +watched. Once received, it is a haunting idea; how many undesigning +persons I suspected of watching me, it would be hard to calculate. + +In short, I was always full of fears for the rash man who was in +hiding. Herbert had sometimes said to me that he found it pleasant to +stand at one of our windows after dark, when the tide was running down, +and to think that it was flowing, with everything it bore, towards +Clara. But I thought with dread that it was flowing towards Magwitch, +and that any black mark on its surface might be his pursuers, going +swiftly, silently, and surely, to take him. + + + + +Chapter XLVII. + + +Some weeks passed without bringing any change. We waited for Wemmick, +and he made no sign. If I had never known him out of Little Britain, +and had never enjoyed the privilege of being on a familiar footing at +the Castle, I might have doubted him; not so for a moment, knowing him +as I did. + +My worldly affairs began to wear a gloomy appearance, and I was pressed +for money by more than one creditor. Even I myself began to know the +want of money (I mean of ready money in my own pocket), and to relieve +it by converting some easily spared articles of jewelery into cash. But +I had quite determined that it would be a heartless fraud to take more +money from my patron in the existing state of my uncertain thoughts and +plans. Therefore, I had sent him the unopened pocket-book by Herbert, +to hold in his own keeping, and I felt a kind of satisfaction—whether +it was a false kind or a true, I hardly know—in not having profited by +his generosity since his revelation of himself. + +As the time wore on, an impression settled heavily upon me that Estella +was married. Fearful of having it confirmed, though it was all but a +conviction, I avoided the newspapers, and begged Herbert (to whom I had +confided the circumstances of our last interview) never to speak of her +to me. Why I hoarded up this last wretched little rag of the robe of +hope that was rent and given to the winds, how do I know? Why did you +who read this, commit that not dissimilar inconsistency of your own +last year, last month, last week? + +It was an unhappy life that I lived; and its one dominant anxiety, +towering over all its other anxieties, like a high mountain above a +range of mountains, never disappeared from my view. Still, no new cause +for fear arose. Let me start from my bed as I would, with the terror +fresh upon me that he was discovered; let me sit listening, as I would +with dread, for Herbert’s returning step at night, lest it should be +fleeter than ordinary, and winged with evil news,—for all that, and +much more to like purpose, the round of things went on. Condemned to +inaction and a state of constant restlessness and suspense, I rowed +about in my boat, and waited, waited, waited, as I best could. + +There were states of the tide when, having been down the river, I could +not get back through the eddy-chafed arches and starlings of old London +Bridge; then, I left my boat at a wharf near the Custom House, to be +brought up afterwards to the Temple stairs. I was not averse to doing +this, as it served to make me and my boat a commoner incident among the +water-side people there. From this slight occasion sprang two meetings +that I have now to tell of. + +One afternoon, late in the month of February, I came ashore at the +wharf at dusk. I had pulled down as far as Greenwich with the ebb tide, +and had turned with the tide. It had been a fine bright day, but had +become foggy as the sun dropped, and I had had to feel my way back +among the shipping, pretty carefully. Both in going and returning, I +had seen the signal in his window, All well. + +As it was a raw evening, and I was cold, I thought I would comfort +myself with dinner at once; and as I had hours of dejection and +solitude before me if I went home to the Temple, I thought I would +afterwards go to the play. The theatre where Mr. Wopsle had achieved +his questionable triumph was in that water-side neighbourhood (it is +nowhere now), and to that theatre I resolved to go. I was aware that +Mr. Wopsle had not succeeded in reviving the Drama, but, on the +contrary, had rather partaken of its decline. He had been ominously +heard of, through the play-bills, as a faithful Black, in connection +with a little girl of noble birth, and a monkey. And Herbert had seen +him as a predatory Tartar of comic propensities, with a face like a red +brick, and an outrageous hat all over bells. + +I dined at what Herbert and I used to call a geographical chop-house, +where there were maps of the world in porter-pot rims on every +half-yard of the tablecloths, and charts of gravy on every one of the +knives,—to this day there is scarcely a single chop-house within the +Lord Mayor’s dominions which is not geographical,—and wore out the time +in dozing over crumbs, staring at gas, and baking in a hot blast of +dinners. By and by, I roused myself, and went to the play. + +There, I found a virtuous boatswain in His Majesty’s service,—a most +excellent man, though I could have wished his trousers not quite so +tight in some places, and not quite so loose in others,—who knocked all +the little men’s hats over their eyes, though he was very generous and +brave, and who wouldn’t hear of anybody’s paying taxes, though he was +very patriotic. He had a bag of money in his pocket, like a pudding in +the cloth, and on that property married a young person in +bed-furniture, with great rejoicings; the whole population of +Portsmouth (nine in number at the last census) turning out on the beach +to rub their own hands and shake everybody else’s, and sing “Fill, +fill!” A certain dark-complexioned Swab, however, who wouldn’t fill, or +do anything else that was proposed to him, and whose heart was openly +stated (by the boatswain) to be as black as his figure-head, proposed +to two other Swabs to get all mankind into difficulties; which was so +effectually done (the Swab family having considerable political +influence) that it took half the evening to set things right, and then +it was only brought about through an honest little grocer with a white +hat, black gaiters, and red nose, getting into a clock, with a +gridiron, and listening, and coming out, and knocking everybody down +from behind with the gridiron whom he couldn’t confute with what he had +overheard. This led to Mr. Wopsle’s (who had never been heard of +before) coming in with a star and garter on, as a plenipotentiary of +great power direct from the Admiralty, to say that the Swabs were all +to go to prison on the spot, and that he had brought the boatswain down +the Union Jack, as a slight acknowledgment of his public services. The +boatswain, unmanned for the first time, respectfully dried his eyes on +the Jack, and then cheering up, and addressing Mr. Wopsle as Your +Honour, solicited permission to take him by the fin. Mr. Wopsle, +conceding his fin with a gracious dignity, was immediately shoved into +a dusty corner, while everybody danced a hornpipe; and from that +corner, surveying the public with a discontented eye, became aware of +me. + +The second piece was the last new grand comic Christmas pantomime, in +the first scene of which, it pained me to suspect that I detected Mr. +Wopsle with red worsted legs under a highly magnified phosphoric +countenance and a shock of red curtain-fringe for his hair, engaged in +the manufacture of thunderbolts in a mine, and displaying great +cowardice when his gigantic master came home (very hoarse) to dinner. +But he presently presented himself under worthier circumstances; for, +the Genius of Youthful Love being in want of assistance,—on account of +the parental brutality of an ignorant farmer who opposed the choice of +his daughter’s heart, by purposely falling upon the object, in a +flour-sack, out of the first-floor window,—summoned a sententious +Enchanter; and he, coming up from the antipodes rather unsteadily, +after an apparently violent journey, proved to be Mr. Wopsle in a +high-crowned hat, with a necromantic work in one volume under his arm. +The business of this enchanter on earth being principally to be talked +at, sung at, butted at, danced at, and flashed at with fires of various +colours, he had a good deal of time on his hands. And I observed, with +great surprise, that he devoted it to staring in my direction as if he +were lost in amazement. + +There was something so remarkable in the increasing glare of Mr. +Wopsle’s eye, and he seemed to be turning so many things over in his +mind and to grow so confused, that I could not make it out. I sat +thinking of it long after he had ascended to the clouds in a large +watch-case, and still I could not make it out. I was still thinking of +it when I came out of the theatre an hour afterwards, and found him +waiting for me near the door. + +“How do you do?” said I, shaking hands with him as we turned down the +street together. “I saw that you saw me.” + +“Saw you, Mr. Pip!” he returned. “Yes, of course I saw you. But who +else was there?” + +“Who else?” + +“It is the strangest thing,” said Mr. Wopsle, drifting into his lost +look again; “and yet I could swear to him.” + +Becoming alarmed, I entreated Mr. Wopsle to explain his meaning. + +“Whether I should have noticed him at first but for your being there,” +said Mr. Wopsle, going on in the same lost way, “I can’t be positive; +yet I think I should.” + +Involuntarily I looked round me, as I was accustomed to look round me +when I went home; for these mysterious words gave me a chill. + +“Oh! He can’t be in sight,” said Mr. Wopsle. “He went out before I went +off. I saw him go.” + +Having the reason that I had for being suspicious, I even suspected +this poor actor. I mistrusted a design to entrap me into some +admission. Therefore I glanced at him as we walked on together, but +said nothing. + +“I had a ridiculous fancy that he must be with you, Mr. Pip, till I saw +that you were quite unconscious of him, sitting behind you there like a +ghost.” + +My former chill crept over me again, but I was resolved not to speak +yet, for it was quite consistent with his words that he might be set on +to induce me to connect these references with Provis. Of course, I was +perfectly sure and safe that Provis had not been there. + +“I dare say you wonder at me, Mr. Pip; indeed, I see you do. But it is +so very strange! You’ll hardly believe what I am going to tell you. I +could hardly believe it myself, if you told me.” + +“Indeed?” said I. + +“No, indeed. Mr. Pip, you remember in old times a certain Christmas +Day, when you were quite a child, and I dined at Gargery’s, and some +soldiers came to the door to get a pair of handcuffs mended?” + +“I remember it very well.” + +“And you remember that there was a chase after two convicts, and that +we joined in it, and that Gargery took you on his back, and that I took +the lead, and you kept up with me as well as you could?” + +“I remember it all very well.” Better than he thought,—except the last +clause. + +“And you remember that we came up with the two in a ditch, and that +there was a scuffle between them, and that one of them had been +severely handled and much mauled about the face by the other?” + +“I see it all before me.” + +“And that the soldiers lighted torches, and put the two in the centre, +and that we went on to see the last of them, over the black marshes, +with the torchlight shining on their faces,—I am particular about +that,—with the torchlight shining on their faces, when there was an +outer ring of dark night all about us?” + +“Yes,” said I. “I remember all that.” + +“Then, Mr. Pip, one of those two prisoners sat behind you tonight. I +saw him over your shoulder.” + +“Steady!” I thought. I asked him then, “Which of the two do you suppose +you saw?” + +“The one who had been mauled,” he answered readily, “and I’ll swear I +saw him! The more I think of him, the more certain I am of him.” + +“This is very curious!” said I, with the best assumption I could put on +of its being nothing more to me. “Very curious indeed!” + +I cannot exaggerate the enhanced disquiet into which this conversation +threw me, or the special and peculiar terror I felt at Compeyson’s +having been behind me “like a ghost.” For if he had ever been out of my +thoughts for a few moments together since the hiding had begun, it was +in those very moments when he was closest to me; and to think that I +should be so unconscious and off my guard after all my care was as if I +had shut an avenue of a hundred doors to keep him out, and then had +found him at my elbow. I could not doubt, either, that he was there, +because I was there, and that, however slight an appearance of danger +there might be about us, danger was always near and active. + +I put such questions to Mr. Wopsle as, When did the man come in? He +could not tell me that; he saw me, and over my shoulder he saw the man. +It was not until he had seen him for some time that he began to +identify him; but he had from the first vaguely associated him with me, +and known him as somehow belonging to me in the old village time. How +was he dressed? Prosperously, but not noticeably otherwise; he thought, +in black. Was his face at all disfigured? No, he believed not. I +believed not too, for, although in my brooding state I had taken no +especial notice of the people behind me, I thought it likely that a +face at all disfigured would have attracted my attention. + +When Mr. Wopsle had imparted to me all that he could recall or I +extract, and when I had treated him to a little appropriate +refreshment, after the fatigues of the evening, we parted. It was +between twelve and one o’clock when I reached the Temple, and the gates +were shut. No one was near me when I went in and went home. + +Herbert had come in, and we held a very serious council by the fire. +But there was nothing to be done, saving to communicate to Wemmick what +I had that night found out, and to remind him that we waited for his +hint. As I thought that I might compromise him if I went too often to +the Castle, I made this communication by letter. I wrote it before I +went to bed, and went out and posted it; and again no one was near me. +Herbert and I agreed that we could do nothing else but be very +cautious. And we were very cautious indeed,—more cautious than before, +if that were possible,—and I for my part never went near Chinks’s +Basin, except when I rowed by, and then I only looked at Mill Pond Bank +as I looked at anything else. + + + + +Chapter XLVIII. + + +The second of the two meetings referred to in the last chapter occurred +about a week after the first. I had again left my boat at the wharf +below Bridge; the time was an hour earlier in the afternoon; and, +undecided where to dine, I had strolled up into Cheapside, and was +strolling along it, surely the most unsettled person in all the busy +concourse, when a large hand was laid upon my shoulder by some one +overtaking me. It was Mr. Jaggers’s hand, and he passed it through my +arm. + +“As we are going in the same direction, Pip, we may walk together. +Where are you bound for?” + +“For the Temple, I think,” said I. + +“Don’t you know?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Well,” I returned, glad for once to get the better of him in +cross-examination, “I do _not_ know, for I have not made up my mind.” + +“You are going to dine?” said Mr. Jaggers. “You don’t mind admitting +that, I suppose?” + +“No,” I returned, “I don’t mind admitting that.” + +“And are not engaged?” + +“I don’t mind admitting also that I am not engaged.” + +“Then,” said Mr. Jaggers, “come and dine with me.” + +I was going to excuse myself, when he added, “Wemmick’s coming.” So I +changed my excuse into an acceptance,—the few words I had uttered, +serving for the beginning of either,—and we went along Cheapside and +slanted off to Little Britain, while the lights were springing up +brilliantly in the shop windows, and the street lamp-lighters, scarcely +finding ground enough to plant their ladders on in the midst of the +afternoon’s bustle, were skipping up and down and running in and out, +opening more red eyes in the gathering fog than my rushlight tower at +the Hummums had opened white eyes in the ghostly wall. + +At the office in Little Britain there was the usual letter-writing, +hand-washing, candle-snuffing, and safe-locking, that closed the +business of the day. As I stood idle by Mr. Jaggers’s fire, its rising +and falling flame made the two casts on the shelf look as if they were +playing a diabolical game at bo-peep with me; while the pair of coarse, +fat office candles that dimly lighted Mr. Jaggers as he wrote in a +corner were decorated with dirty winding-sheets, as if in remembrance +of a host of hanged clients. + +We went to Gerrard Street, all three together, in a hackney-coach: And, +as soon as we got there, dinner was served. Although I should not have +thought of making, in that place, the most distant reference by so much +as a look to Wemmick’s Walworth sentiments, yet I should have had no +objection to catching his eye now and then in a friendly way. But it +was not to be done. He turned his eyes on Mr. Jaggers whenever he +raised them from the table, and was as dry and distant to me as if +there were twin Wemmicks, and this was the wrong one. + +“Did you send that note of Miss Havisham’s to Mr. Pip, Wemmick?” Mr. +Jaggers asked, soon after we began dinner. + +“No, sir,” returned Wemmick; “it was going by post, when you brought +Mr. Pip into the office. Here it is.” He handed it to his principal +instead of to me. + +“It’s a note of two lines, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, handing it on, “sent +up to me by Miss Havisham on account of her not being sure of your +address. She tells me that she wants to see you on a little matter of +business you mentioned to her. You’ll go down?” + +“Yes,” said I, casting my eyes over the note, which was exactly in +those terms. + +“When do you think of going down?” + +“I have an impending engagement,” said I, glancing at Wemmick, who was +putting fish into the post-office, “that renders me rather uncertain of +my time. At once, I think.” + +“If Mr. Pip has the intention of going at once,” said Wemmick to Mr. +Jaggers, “he needn’t write an answer, you know.” + +Receiving this as an intimation that it was best not to delay, I +settled that I would go to-morrow, and said so. Wemmick drank a glass +of wine, and looked with a grimly satisfied air at Mr. Jaggers, but not +at me. + +“So, Pip! Our friend the Spider,” said Mr. Jaggers, “has played his +cards. He has won the pool.” + +It was as much as I could do to assent. + +“Hah! He is a promising fellow—in his way—but he may not have it all +his own way. The stronger will win in the end, but the stronger has to +be found out first. If he should turn to, and beat her—” + +“Surely,” I interrupted, with a burning face and heart, “you do not +seriously think that he is scoundrel enough for that, Mr. Jaggers?” + +“I didn’t say so, Pip. I am putting a case. If he should turn to and +beat her, he may possibly get the strength on his side; if it should be +a question of intellect, he certainly will not. It would be chance work +to give an opinion how a fellow of that sort will turn out in such +circumstances, because it’s a toss-up between two results.” + +“May I ask what they are?” + +“A fellow like our friend the Spider,” answered Mr. Jaggers, “either +beats or cringes. He may cringe and growl, or cringe and not growl; but +he either beats or cringes. Ask Wemmick _his_ opinion.” + +“Either beats or cringes,” said Wemmick, not at all addressing himself +to me. + +“So here’s to Mrs. Bentley Drummle,” said Mr. Jaggers, taking a +decanter of choicer wine from his dumb-waiter, and filling for each of +us and for himself, “and may the question of supremacy be settled to +the lady’s satisfaction! To the satisfaction of the lady _and_ the +gentleman, it never will be. Now, Molly, Molly, Molly, Molly, how slow +you are to-day!” + +She was at his elbow when he addressed her, putting a dish upon the +table. As she withdrew her hands from it, she fell back a step or two, +nervously muttering some excuse. And a certain action of her fingers, +as she spoke, arrested my attention. + +“What’s the matter?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Nothing. Only the subject we were speaking of,” said I, “was rather +painful to me.” + +The action of her fingers was like the action of knitting. She stood +looking at her master, not understanding whether she was free to go, or +whether he had more to say to her and would call her back if she did +go. Her look was very intent. Surely, I had seen exactly such eyes and +such hands on a memorable occasion very lately! + +He dismissed her, and she glided out of the room. But she remained +before me as plainly as if she were still there. I looked at those +hands, I looked at those eyes, I looked at that flowing hair; and I +compared them with other hands, other eyes, other hair, that I knew of, +and with what those might be after twenty years of a brutal husband and +a stormy life. I looked again at those hands and eyes of the +housekeeper, and thought of the inexplicable feeling that had come over +me when I last walked—not alone—in the ruined garden, and through the +deserted brewery. I thought how the same feeling had come back when I +saw a face looking at me, and a hand waving to me from a stage-coach +window; and how it had come back again and had flashed about me like +lightning, when I had passed in a carriage—not alone—through a sudden +glare of light in a dark street. I thought how one link of association +had helped that identification in the theatre, and how such a link, +wanting before, had been riveted for me now, when I had passed by a +chance swift from Estella’s name to the fingers with their knitting +action, and the attentive eyes. And I felt absolutely certain that this +woman was Estella’s mother. + +Mr. Jaggers had seen me with Estella, and was not likely to have missed +the sentiments I had been at no pains to conceal. He nodded when I said +the subject was painful to me, clapped me on the back, put round the +wine again, and went on with his dinner. + +Only twice more did the housekeeper reappear, and then her stay in the +room was very short, and Mr. Jaggers was sharp with her. But her hands +were Estella’s hands, and her eyes were Estella’s eyes, and if she had +reappeared a hundred times I could have been neither more sure nor less +sure that my conviction was the truth. + +It was a dull evening, for Wemmick drew his wine, when it came round, +quite as a matter of business,—just as he might have drawn his salary +when that came round,—and with his eyes on his chief, sat in a state of +perpetual readiness for cross-examination. As to the quantity of wine, +his post-office was as indifferent and ready as any other post-office +for its quantity of letters. From my point of view, he was the wrong +twin all the time, and only externally like the Wemmick of Walworth. + +We took our leave early, and left together. Even when we were groping +among Mr. Jaggers’s stock of boots for our hats, I felt that the right +twin was on his way back; and we had not gone half a dozen yards down +Gerrard Street in the Walworth direction, before I found that I was +walking arm in arm with the right twin, and that the wrong twin had +evaporated into the evening air. + +“Well!” said Wemmick, “that’s over! He’s a wonderful man, without his +living likeness; but I feel that I have to screw myself up when I dine +with him,—and I dine more comfortably unscrewed.” + +I felt that this was a good statement of the case, and told him so. + +“Wouldn’t say it to anybody but yourself,” he answered. “I know that +what is said between you and me goes no further.” + +I asked him if he had ever seen Miss Havisham’s adopted daughter, Mrs. +Bentley Drummle. He said no. To avoid being too abrupt, I then spoke of +the Aged and of Miss Skiffins. He looked rather sly when I mentioned +Miss Skiffins, and stopped in the street to blow his nose, with a roll +of the head, and a flourish not quite free from latent boastfulness. + +“Wemmick,” said I, “do you remember telling me, before I first went to +Mr. Jaggers’s private house, to notice that housekeeper?” + +“Did I?” he replied. “Ah, I dare say I did. Deuce take me,” he added, +suddenly, “I know I did. I find I am not quite unscrewed yet.” + +“A wild beast tamed, you called her.” + +“And what do _you_ call her?” + +“The same. How did Mr. Jaggers tame her, Wemmick?” + +“That’s his secret. She has been with him many a long year.” + +“I wish you would tell me her story. I feel a particular interest in +being acquainted with it. You know that what is said between you and me +goes no further.” + +“Well!” Wemmick replied, “I don’t know her story,—that is, I don’t know +all of it. But what I do know I’ll tell you. We are in our private and +personal capacities, of course.” + +“Of course.” + +“A score or so of years ago, that woman was tried at the Old Bailey for +murder, and was acquitted. She was a very handsome young woman, and I +believe had some gypsy blood in her. Anyhow, it was hot enough when it +was up, as you may suppose.” + +“But she was acquitted.” + +“Mr. Jaggers was for her,” pursued Wemmick, with a look full of +meaning, “and worked the case in a way quite astonishing. It was a +desperate case, and it was comparatively early days with him then, and +he worked it to general admiration; in fact, it may almost be said to +have made him. He worked it himself at the police-office, day after day +for many days, contending against even a committal; and at the trial +where he couldn’t work it himself, sat under counsel, and—every one +knew—put in all the salt and pepper. The murdered person was a woman,—a +woman a good ten years older, very much larger, and very much stronger. +It was a case of jealousy. They both led tramping lives, and this woman +in Gerrard Street here had been married very young, over the broomstick +(as we say), to a tramping man, and was a perfect fury in point of +jealousy. The murdered woman,—more a match for the man, certainly, in +point of years—was found dead in a barn near Hounslow Heath. There had +been a violent struggle, perhaps a fight. She was bruised and scratched +and torn, and had been held by the throat, at last, and choked. Now, +there was no reasonable evidence to implicate any person but this +woman, and on the improbabilities of her having been able to do it Mr. +Jaggers principally rested his case. You may be sure,” said Wemmick, +touching me on the sleeve, “that he never dwelt upon the strength of +her hands then, though he sometimes does now.” + +I had told Wemmick of his showing us her wrists, that day of the dinner +party. + +“Well, sir!” Wemmick went on; “it happened—happened, don’t you +see?—that this woman was so very artfully dressed from the time of her +apprehension, that she looked much slighter than she really was; in +particular, her sleeves are always remembered to have been so skilfully +contrived that her arms had quite a delicate look. She had only a +bruise or two about her,—nothing for a tramp,—but the backs of her +hands were lacerated, and the question was, Was it with finger-nails? +Now, Mr. Jaggers showed that she had struggled through a great lot of +brambles which were not as high as her face; but which she could not +have got through and kept her hands out of; and bits of those brambles +were actually found in her skin and put in evidence, as well as the +fact that the brambles in question were found on examination to have +been broken through, and to have little shreds of her dress and little +spots of blood upon them here and there. But the boldest point he made +was this: it was attempted to be set up, in proof of her jealousy, that +she was under strong suspicion of having, at about the time of the +murder, frantically destroyed her child by this man—some three years +old—to revenge herself upon him. Mr. Jaggers worked that in this way: +“We say these are not marks of finger-nails, but marks of brambles, and +we show you the brambles. You say they are marks of finger-nails, and +you set up the hypothesis that she destroyed her child. You must accept +all consequences of that hypothesis. For anything we know, she may have +destroyed her child, and the child in clinging to her may have +scratched her hands. What then? You are not trying her for the murder +of her child; why don’t you? As to this case, if you _will_ have +scratches, we say that, for anything we know, you may have accounted +for them, assuming for the sake of argument that you have not invented +them?” “To sum up, sir,” said Wemmick, “Mr. Jaggers was altogether too +many for the jury, and they gave in.” + +“Has she been in his service ever since?” + +“Yes; but not only that,” said Wemmick, “she went into his service +immediately after her acquittal, tamed as she is now. She has since +been taught one thing and another in the way of her duties, but she was +tamed from the beginning.” + +“Do you remember the sex of the child?” + +“Said to have been a girl.” + +“You have nothing more to say to me to-night?” + +“Nothing. I got your letter and destroyed it. Nothing.” + +We exchanged a cordial good-night, and I went home, with new matter for +my thoughts, though with no relief from the old. + + + + +Chapter XLIX. + + +Putting Miss Havisham’s note in my pocket, that it might serve as my +credentials for so soon reappearing at Satis House, in case her +waywardness should lead her to express any surprise at seeing me, I +went down again by the coach next day. But I alighted at the Halfway +House, and breakfasted there, and walked the rest of the distance; for +I sought to get into the town quietly by the unfrequented ways, and to +leave it in the same manner. + +The best light of the day was gone when I passed along the quiet +echoing courts behind the High Street. The nooks of ruin where the old +monks had once had their refectories and gardens, and where the strong +walls were now pressed into the service of humble sheds and stables, +were almost as silent as the old monks in their graves. The cathedral +chimes had at once a sadder and a more remote sound to me, as I hurried +on avoiding observation, than they had ever had before; so, the swell +of the old organ was borne to my ears like funeral music; and the +rooks, as they hovered about the grey tower and swung in the bare high +trees of the priory garden, seemed to call to me that the place was +changed, and that Estella was gone out of it for ever. + +An elderly woman, whom I had seen before as one of the servants who +lived in the supplementary house across the back courtyard, opened the +gate. The lighted candle stood in the dark passage within, as of old, +and I took it up and ascended the staircase alone. Miss Havisham was +not in her own room, but was in the larger room across the landing. +Looking in at the door, after knocking in vain, I saw her sitting on +the hearth in a ragged chair, close before, and lost in the +contemplation of, the ashy fire. + +Doing as I had often done, I went in, and stood touching the old +chimney-piece, where she could see me when she raised her eyes. There +was an air of utter loneliness upon her, that would have moved me to +pity though she had wilfully done me a deeper injury than I could +charge her with. As I stood compassionating her, and thinking how, in +the progress of time, I too had come to be a part of the wrecked +fortunes of that house, her eyes rested on me. She stared, and said in +a low voice, “Is it real?” + +“It is I, Pip. Mr. Jaggers gave me your note yesterday, and I have lost +no time.” + +“Thank you. Thank you.” + +As I brought another of the ragged chairs to the hearth and sat down, I +remarked a new expression on her face, as if she were afraid of me. + +“I want,” she said, “to pursue that subject you mentioned to me when +you were last here, and to show you that I am not all stone. But +perhaps you can never believe, now, that there is anything human in my +heart?” + +When I said some reassuring words, she stretched out her tremulous +right hand, as though she was going to touch me; but she recalled it +again before I understood the action, or knew how to receive it. + +“You said, speaking for your friend, that you could tell me how to do +something useful and good. Something that you would like done, is it +not?” + +“Something that I would like done very much.” + +“What is it?” + +I began explaining to her that secret history of the partnership. I had +not got far into it, when I judged from her looks that she was thinking +in a discursive way of me, rather than of what I said. It seemed to be +so; for, when I stopped speaking, many moments passed before she showed +that she was conscious of the fact. + +“Do you break off,” she asked then, with her former air of being afraid +of me, “because you hate me too much to bear to speak to me?” + +“No, no,” I answered, “how can you think so, Miss Havisham! I stopped +because I thought you were not following what I said.” + +“Perhaps I was not,” she answered, putting a hand to her head. “Begin +again, and let me look at something else. Stay! Now tell me.” + +She set her hand upon her stick in the resolute way that sometimes was +habitual to her, and looked at the fire with a strong expression of +forcing herself to attend. I went on with my explanation, and told her +how I had hoped to complete the transaction out of my means, but how in +this I was disappointed. That part of the subject (I reminded her) +involved matters which could form no part of my explanation, for they +were the weighty secrets of another. + +“So!” said she, assenting with her head, but not looking at me. “And +how much money is wanting to complete the purchase?” + +I was rather afraid of stating it, for it sounded a large sum. “Nine +hundred pounds.” + +“If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep my secret as +you have kept your own?” + +“Quite as faithfully.” + +“And your mind will be more at rest?” + +“Much more at rest.” + +“Are you very unhappy now?” + +She asked this question, still without looking at me, but in an +unwonted tone of sympathy. I could not reply at the moment, for my +voice failed me. She put her left arm across the head of her stick, and +softly laid her forehead on it. + +“I am far from happy, Miss Havisham; but I have other causes of +disquiet than any you know of. They are the secrets I have mentioned.” + +After a little while, she raised her head, and looked at the fire +again. + +“It is noble in you to tell me that you have other causes of +unhappiness. Is it true?” + +“Too true.” + +“Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend? Regarding that as +done, is there nothing I can do for you yourself?” + +“Nothing. I thank you for the question. I thank you even more for the +tone of the question. But there is nothing.” + +She presently rose from her seat, and looked about the blighted room +for the means of writing. There were none there, and she took from her +pocket a yellow set of ivory tablets, mounted in tarnished gold, and +wrote upon them with a pencil in a case of tarnished gold that hung +from her neck. + +“You are still on friendly terms with Mr. Jaggers?” + +“Quite. I dined with him yesterday.” + +“This is an authority to him to pay you that money, to lay out at your +irresponsible discretion for your friend. I keep no money here; but if +you would rather Mr. Jaggers knew nothing of the matter, I will send it +to you.” + +“Thank you, Miss Havisham; I have not the least objection to receiving +it from him.” + +She read me what she had written; and it was direct and clear, and +evidently intended to absolve me from any suspicion of profiting by the +receipt of the money. I took the tablets from her hand, and it trembled +again, and it trembled more as she took off the chain to which the +pencil was attached, and put it in mine. All this she did without +looking at me. + +“My name is on the first leaf. If you can ever write under my name, “I +forgive her,” though ever so long after my broken heart is dust pray do +it!” + +“O Miss Havisham,” said I, “I can do it now. There have been sore +mistakes; and my life has been a blind and thankless one; and I want +forgiveness and direction far too much, to be bitter with you.” + +She turned her face to me for the first time since she had averted it, +and, to my amazement, I may even add to my terror, dropped on her knees +at my feet; with her folded hands raised to me in the manner in which, +when her poor heart was young and fresh and whole, they must often have +been raised to heaven from her mother’s side. + +To see her with her white hair and her worn face kneeling at my feet +gave me a shock through all my frame. I entreated her to rise, and got +my arms about her to help her up; but she only pressed that hand of +mine which was nearest to her grasp, and hung her head over it and +wept. I had never seen her shed a tear before, and, in the hope that +the relief might do her good, I bent over her without speaking. She was +not kneeling now, but was down upon the ground. + +“O!” she cried, despairingly. “What have I done! What have I done!” + +“If you mean, Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me, let me +answer. Very little. I should have loved her under any circumstances. +Is she married?” + +“Yes.” + +It was a needless question, for a new desolation in the desolate house +had told me so. + +“What have I done! What have I done!” She wrung her hands, and crushed +her white hair, and returned to this cry over and over again. “What +have I done!” + +I knew not how to answer, or how to comfort her. That she had done a +grievous thing in taking an impressionable child to mould into the form +that her wild resentment, spurned affection, and wounded pride found +vengeance in, I knew full well. But that, in shutting out the light of +day, she had shut out infinitely more; that, in seclusion, she had +secluded herself from a thousand natural and healing influences; that, +her mind, brooding solitary, had grown diseased, as all minds do and +must and will that reverse the appointed order of their Maker, I knew +equally well. And could I look upon her without compassion, seeing her +punishment in the ruin she was, in her profound unfitness for this +earth on which she was placed, in the vanity of sorrow which had become +a master mania, like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, +the vanity of unworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that have been +curses in this world? + +“Until you spoke to her the other day, and until I saw in you a +looking-glass that showed me what I once felt myself, I did not know +what I had done. What have I done! What have I done!” And so again, +twenty, fifty times over, What had she done! + +“Miss Havisham,” I said, when her cry had died away, “you may dismiss +me from your mind and conscience. But Estella is a different case, and +if you can ever undo any scrap of what you have done amiss in keeping a +part of her right nature away from her, it will be better to do that +than to bemoan the past through a hundred years.” + +“Yes, yes, I know it. But, Pip—my dear!” There was an earnest womanly +compassion for me in her new affection. “My dear! Believe this: when +she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. At +first, I meant no more.” + +“Well, well!” said I. “I hope so.” + +“But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did +worse, and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my teachings, +and with this figure of myself always before her, a warning to back and +point my lessons, I stole her heart away, and put ice in its place.” + +“Better,” I could not help saying, “to have left her a natural heart, +even to be bruised or broken.” + +With that, Miss Havisham looked distractedly at me for a while, and +then burst out again, What had she done! + +“If you knew all my story,” she pleaded, “you would have some +compassion for me and a better understanding of me.” + +“Miss Havisham,” I answered, as delicately as I could, “I believe I may +say that I do know your story, and have known it ever since I first +left this neighbourhood. It has inspired me with great commiseration, +and I hope I understand it and its influences. Does what has passed +between us give me any excuse for asking you a question relative to +Estella? Not as she is, but as she was when she first came here?” + +She was seated on the ground, with her arms on the ragged chair, and +her head leaning on them. She looked full at me when I said this, and +replied, “Go on.” + +“Whose child was Estella?” + +She shook her head. + +“You don’t know?” + +She shook her head again. + +“But Mr. Jaggers brought her here, or sent her here?” + +“Brought her here.” + +“Will you tell me how that came about?” + +She answered in a low whisper and with caution: “I had been shut up in +these rooms a long time (I don’t know how long; you know what time the +clocks keep here), when I told him that I wanted a little girl to rear +and love, and save from my fate. I had first seen him when I sent for +him to lay this place waste for me; having read of him in the +newspapers, before I and the world parted. He told me that he would +look about him for such an orphan child. One night he brought her here +asleep, and I called her Estella.” + +“Might I ask her age then?” + +“Two or three. She herself knows nothing, but that she was left an +orphan and I adopted her.” + +So convinced I was of that woman’s being her mother, that I wanted no +evidence to establish the fact in my own mind. But, to any mind, I +thought, the connection here was clear and straight. + +What more could I hope to do by prolonging the interview? I had +succeeded on behalf of Herbert, Miss Havisham had told me all she knew +of Estella, I had said and done what I could to ease her mind. No +matter with what other words we parted; we parted. + +Twilight was closing in when I went downstairs into the natural air. I +called to the woman who had opened the gate when I entered, that I +would not trouble her just yet, but would walk round the place before +leaving. For I had a presentiment that I should never be there again, +and I felt that the dying light was suited to my last view of it. + +By the wilderness of casks that I had walked on long ago, and on which +the rain of years had fallen since, rotting them in many places, and +leaving miniature swamps and pools of water upon those that stood on +end, I made my way to the ruined garden. I went all round it; round by +the corner where Herbert and I had fought our battle; round by the +paths where Estella and I had walked. So cold, so lonely, so dreary +all! + +Taking the brewery on my way back, I raised the rusty latch of a little +door at the garden end of it, and walked through. I was going out at +the opposite door,—not easy to open now, for the damp wood had started +and swelled, and the hinges were yielding, and the threshold was +encumbered with a growth of fungus,—when I turned my head to look back. +A childish association revived with wonderful force in the moment of +the slight action, and I fancied that I saw Miss Havisham hanging to +the beam. So strong was the impression, that I stood under the beam +shuddering from head to foot before I knew it was a fancy,—though to be +sure I was there in an instant. + +The mournfulness of the place and time, and the great terror of this +illusion, though it was but momentary, caused me to feel an +indescribable awe as I came out between the open wooden gates where I +had once wrung my hair after Estella had wrung my heart. Passing on +into the front courtyard, I hesitated whether to call the woman to let +me out at the locked gate of which she had the key, or first to go +upstairs and assure myself that Miss Havisham was as safe and well as I +had left her. I took the latter course and went up. + +I looked into the room where I had left her, and I saw her seated in +the ragged chair upon the hearth close to the fire, with her back +towards me. In the moment when I was withdrawing my head to go quietly +away, I saw a great flaming light spring up. In the same moment I saw +her running at me, shrieking, with a whirl of fire blazing all about +her, and soaring at least as many feet above her head as she was high. + +I had a double-caped great-coat on, and over my arm another thick coat. +That I got them off, closed with her, threw her down, and got them over +her; that I dragged the great cloth from the table for the same +purpose, and with it dragged down the heap of rottenness in the midst, +and all the ugly things that sheltered there; that we were on the +ground struggling like desperate enemies, and that the closer I covered +her, the more wildly she shrieked and tried to free herself,—that this +occurred I knew through the result, but not through anything I felt, or +thought, or knew I did. I knew nothing until I knew that we were on the +floor by the great table, and that patches of tinder yet alight were +floating in the smoky air, which, a moment ago, had been her faded +bridal dress. + +Then, I looked round and saw the disturbed beetles and spiders running +away over the floor, and the servants coming in with breathless cries +at the door. I still held her forcibly down with all my strength, like +a prisoner who might escape; and I doubt if I even knew who she was, or +why we had struggled, or that she had been in flames, or that the +flames were out, until I saw the patches of tinder that had been her +garments no longer alight but falling in a black shower around us. + +She was insensible, and I was afraid to have her moved, or even +touched. Assistance was sent for, and I held her until it came, as if I +unreasonably fancied (I think I did) that, if I let her go, the fire +would break out again and consume her. When I got up, on the surgeon’s +coming to her with other aid, I was astonished to see that both my +hands were burnt; for, I had no knowledge of it through the sense of +feeling. + +On examination it was pronounced that she had received serious hurts, +but that they of themselves were far from hopeless; the danger lay +mainly in the nervous shock. By the surgeon’s directions, her bed was +carried into that room and laid upon the great table, which happened to +be well suited to the dressing of her injuries. When I saw her again, +an hour afterwards, she lay, indeed, where I had seen her strike her +stick, and had heard her say that she would lie one day. + +Though every vestige of her dress was burnt, as they told me, she still +had something of her old ghastly bridal appearance; for, they had +covered her to the throat with white cotton-wool, and as she lay with a +white sheet loosely overlying that, the phantom air of something that +had been and was changed was still upon her. + +I found, on questioning the servants, that Estella was in Paris, and I +got a promise from the surgeon that he would write to her by the next +post. Miss Havisham’s family I took upon myself; intending to +communicate with Mr. Matthew Pocket only, and leave him to do as he +liked about informing the rest. This I did next day, through Herbert, +as soon as I returned to town. + +There was a stage, that evening, when she spoke collectedly of what had +happened, though with a certain terrible vivacity. Towards midnight she +began to wander in her speech; and after that it gradually set in that +she said innumerable times in a low solemn voice, “What have I done!” +And then, “When she first came, I meant to save her from misery like +mine.” And then, “Take the pencil and write under my name, ‘I forgive +her!’” She never changed the order of these three sentences, but she +sometimes left out a word in one or other of them; never putting in +another word, but always leaving a blank and going on to the next word. + +As I could do no service there, and as I had, nearer home, that +pressing reason for anxiety and fear which even her wanderings could +not drive out of my mind, I decided, in the course of the night that I +would return by the early morning coach, walking on a mile or so, and +being taken up clear of the town. At about six o’clock of the morning, +therefore, I leaned over her and touched her lips with mine, just as +they said, not stopping for being touched, “Take the pencil and write +under my name, ‘I forgive her.’” + + + + +Chapter L. + + +My hands had been dressed twice or thrice in the night, and again in +the morning. My left arm was a good deal burned to the elbow, and, less +severely, as high as the shoulder; it was very painful, but the flames +had set in that direction, and I felt thankful it was no worse. My +right hand was not so badly burnt but that I could move the fingers. It +was bandaged, of course, but much less inconveniently than my left hand +and arm; those I carried in a sling; and I could only wear my coat like +a cloak, loose over my shoulders and fastened at the neck. My hair had +been caught by the fire, but not my head or face. + +When Herbert had been down to Hammersmith and seen his father, he came +back to me at our chambers, and devoted the day to attending on me. He +was the kindest of nurses, and at stated times took off the bandages, +and steeped them in the cooling liquid that was kept ready, and put +them on again, with a patient tenderness that I was deeply grateful +for. + +At first, as I lay quiet on the sofa, I found it painfully difficult, I +might say impossible, to get rid of the impression of the glare of the +flames, their hurry and noise, and the fierce burning smell. If I dozed +for a minute, I was awakened by Miss Havisham’s cries, and by her +running at me with all that height of fire above her head. This pain of +the mind was much harder to strive against than any bodily pain I +suffered; and Herbert, seeing that, did his utmost to hold my attention +engaged. + +Neither of us spoke of the boat, but we both thought of it. That was +made apparent by our avoidance of the subject, and by our +agreeing—without agreement—to make my recovery of the use of my hands a +question of so many hours, not of so many weeks. + +My first question when I saw Herbert had been of course, whether all +was well down the river? As he replied in the affirmative, with perfect +confidence and cheerfulness, we did not resume the subject until the +day was wearing away. But then, as Herbert changed the bandages, more +by the light of the fire than by the outer light, he went back to it +spontaneously. + +“I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two good hours.” + +“Where was Clara?” + +“Dear little thing!” said Herbert. “She was up and down with +Gruffandgrim all the evening. He was perpetually pegging at the floor +the moment she left his sight. I doubt if he can hold out long, though. +What with rum and pepper,—and pepper and rum,—I should think his +pegging must be nearly over.” + +“And then you will be married, Herbert?” + +“How can I take care of the dear child otherwise?—Lay your arm out upon +the back of the sofa, my dear boy, and I’ll sit down here, and get the +bandage off so gradually that you shall not know when it comes. I was +speaking of Provis. Do you know, Handel, he improves?” + +“I said to you I thought he was softened when I last saw him.” + +“So you did. And so he is. He was very communicative last night, and +told me more of his life. You remember his breaking off here about some +woman that he had had great trouble with.—Did I hurt you?” + +I had started, but not under his touch. His words had given me a start. + +“I had forgotten that, Herbert, but I remember it now you speak of it.” + +“Well! He went into that part of his life, and a dark wild part it is. +Shall I tell you? Or would it worry you just now?” + +“Tell me by all means. Every word.” + +Herbert bent forward to look at me more nearly, as if my reply had been +rather more hurried or more eager than he could quite account for. +“Your head is cool?” he said, touching it. + +“Quite,” said I. “Tell me what Provis said, my dear Herbert.” + +“It seems,” said Herbert, “—there’s a bandage off most charmingly, and +now comes the cool one,—makes you shrink at first, my poor dear fellow, +don’t it? but it will be comfortable presently,—it seems that the woman +was a young woman, and a jealous woman, and a revengeful woman; +revengeful, Handel, to the last degree.” + +“To what last degree?” + +“Murder.—Does it strike too cold on that sensitive place?” + +“I don’t feel it. How did she murder? Whom did she murder?” + +“Why, the deed may not have merited quite so terrible a name,” said +Herbert, “but, she was tried for it, and Mr. Jaggers defended her, and +the reputation of that defence first made his name known to Provis. It +was another and a stronger woman who was the victim, and there had been +a struggle—in a barn. Who began it, or how fair it was, or how unfair, +may be doubtful; but how it ended is certainly not doubtful, for the +victim was found throttled.” + +“Was the woman brought in guilty?” + +“No; she was acquitted.—My poor Handel, I hurt you!” + +“It is impossible to be gentler, Herbert. Yes? What else?” + +“This acquitted young woman and Provis had a little child; a little +child of whom Provis was exceedingly fond. On the evening of the very +night when the object of her jealousy was strangled as I tell you, the +young woman presented herself before Provis for one moment, and swore +that she would destroy the child (which was in her possession), and he +should never see it again; then she vanished.—There’s the worst arm +comfortably in the sling once more, and now there remains but the right +hand, which is a far easier job. I can do it better by this light than +by a stronger, for my hand is steadiest when I don’t see the poor +blistered patches too distinctly.—You don’t think your breathing is +affected, my dear boy? You seem to breathe quickly.” + +“Perhaps I do, Herbert. Did the woman keep her oath?” + +“There comes the darkest part of Provis’s life. She did.” + +“That is, he says she did.” + +“Why, of course, my dear boy,” returned Herbert, in a tone of surprise, +and again bending forward to get a nearer look at me. “He says it all. +I have no other information.” + +“No, to be sure.” + +“Now, whether,” pursued Herbert, “he had used the child’s mother ill, +or whether he had used the child’s mother well, Provis doesn’t say; but +she had shared some four or five years of the wretched life he +described to us at this fireside, and he seems to have felt pity for +her, and forbearance towards her. Therefore, fearing he should be +called upon to depose about this destroyed child, and so be the cause +of her death, he hid himself (much as he grieved for the child), kept +himself dark, as he says, out of the way and out of the trial, and was +only vaguely talked of as a certain man called Abel, out of whom the +jealousy arose. After the acquittal she disappeared, and thus he lost +the child and the child’s mother.” + +“I want to ask—” + +“A moment, my dear boy, and I have done. That evil genius, Compeyson, +the worst of scoundrels among many scoundrels, knowing of his keeping +out of the way at that time and of his reasons for doing so, of course +afterwards held the knowledge over his head as a means of keeping him +poorer and working him harder. It was clear last night that this barbed +the point of Provis’s animosity.” + +“I want to know,” said I, “and particularly, Herbert, whether he told +you when this happened?” + +“Particularly? Let me remember, then, what he said as to that. His +expression was, ‘a round score o’ year ago, and a’most directly after I +took up wi’ Compeyson.’ How old were you when you came upon him in the +little churchyard?” + +“I think in my seventh year.” + +“Ay. It had happened some three or four years then, he said, and you +brought into his mind the little girl so tragically lost, who would +have been about your age.” + +“Herbert,” said I, after a short silence, in a hurried way, “can you +see me best by the light of the window, or the light of the fire?” + +“By the firelight,” answered Herbert, coming close again. + +“Look at me.” + +“I do look at you, my dear boy.” + +“Touch me.” + +“I do touch you, my dear boy.” + +“You are not afraid that I am in any fever, or that my head is much +disordered by the accident of last night?” + +“N-no, my dear boy,” said Herbert, after taking time to examine me. +“You are rather excited, but you are quite yourself.” + +“I know I am quite myself. And the man we have in hiding down the +river, is Estella’s Father.” + + + + +Chapter LI. + + +What purpose I had in view when I was hot on tracing out and proving +Estella’s parentage, I cannot say. It will presently be seen that the +question was not before me in a distinct shape until it was put before +me by a wiser head than my own. + +But when Herbert and I had held our momentous conversation, I was +seized with a feverish conviction that I ought to hunt the matter +down,—that I ought not to let it rest, but that I ought to see Mr. +Jaggers, and come at the bare truth. I really do not know whether I +felt that I did this for Estella’s sake, or whether I was glad to +transfer to the man in whose preservation I was so much concerned some +rays of the romantic interest that had so long surrounded me. Perhaps +the latter possibility may be the nearer to the truth. + +Any way, I could scarcely be withheld from going out to Gerrard Street +that night. Herbert’s representations that, if I did, I should probably +be laid up and stricken useless, when our fugitive’s safety would +depend upon me, alone restrained my impatience. On the understanding, +again and again reiterated, that, come what would, I was to go to Mr. +Jaggers to-morrow, I at length submitted to keep quiet, and to have my +hurts looked after, and to stay at home. Early next morning we went out +together, and at the corner of Giltspur Street by Smithfield, I left +Herbert to go his way into the City, and took my way to Little Britain. + +There were periodical occasions when Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick went over +the office accounts, and checked off the vouchers, and put all things +straight. On these occasions, Wemmick took his books and papers into +Mr. Jaggers’s room, and one of the upstairs clerks came down into the +outer office. Finding such clerk on Wemmick’s post that morning, I knew +what was going on; but I was not sorry to have Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick +together, as Wemmick would then hear for himself that I said nothing to +compromise him. + +My appearance, with my arm bandaged and my coat loose over my +shoulders, favoured my object. Although I had sent Mr. Jaggers a brief +account of the accident as soon as I had arrived in town, yet I had to +give him all the details now; and the speciality of the occasion caused +our talk to be less dry and hard, and less strictly regulated by the +rules of evidence, than it had been before. While I described the +disaster, Mr. Jaggers stood, according to his wont, before the fire. +Wemmick leaned back in his chair, staring at me, with his hands in the +pockets of his trousers, and his pen put horizontally into the post. +The two brutal casts, always inseparable in my mind from the official +proceedings, seemed to be congestively considering whether they didn’t +smell fire at the present moment. + +My narrative finished, and their questions exhausted, I then produced +Miss Havisham’s authority to receive the nine hundred pounds for +Herbert. Mr. Jaggers’s eyes retired a little deeper into his head when +I handed him the tablets, but he presently handed them over to Wemmick, +with instructions to draw the check for his signature. While that was +in course of being done, I looked on at Wemmick as he wrote, and Mr. +Jaggers, poising and swaying himself on his well-polished boots, looked +on at me. “I am sorry, Pip,” said he, as I put the check in my pocket, +when he had signed it, “that we do nothing for _you_.” + +“Miss Havisham was good enough to ask me,” I returned, “whether she +could do nothing for me, and I told her No.” + +“Everybody should know his own business,” said Mr. Jaggers. And I saw +Wemmick’s lips form the words “portable property.” + +“I should _not_ have told her No, if I had been you,” said Mr Jaggers; +“but every man ought to know his own business best.” + +“Every man’s business,” said Wemmick, rather reproachfully towards me, +“is portable property.” + +As I thought the time was now come for pursuing the theme I had at +heart, I said, turning on Mr. Jaggers:— + +“I did ask something of Miss Havisham, however, sir. I asked her to +give me some information relative to her adopted daughter, and she gave +me all she possessed.” + +“Did she?” said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at his boots and +then straightening himself. “Hah! I don’t think I should have done so, +if I had been Miss Havisham. But _she_ ought to know her own business +best.” + +“I know more of the history of Miss Havisham’s adopted child than Miss +Havisham herself does, sir. I know her mother.” + +Mr. Jaggers looked at me inquiringly, and repeated “Mother?” + +“I have seen her mother within these three days.” + +“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“And so have you, sir. And you have seen her still more recently.” + +“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Perhaps I know more of Estella’s history than even you do,” said I. “I +know her father too.” + +A certain stop that Mr. Jaggers came to in his manner—he was too +self-possessed to change his manner, but he could not help its being +brought to an indefinably attentive stop—assured me that he did not +know who her father was. This I had strongly suspected from Provis’s +account (as Herbert had repeated it) of his having kept himself dark; +which I pieced on to the fact that he himself was not Mr. Jaggers’s +client until some four years later, and when he could have no reason +for claiming his identity. But, I could not be sure of this +unconsciousness on Mr. Jaggers’s part before, though I was quite sure +of it now. + +“So! You know the young lady’s father, Pip?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Yes,” I replied, “and his name is Provis—from New South Wales.” + +Even Mr. Jaggers started when I said those words. It was the slightest +start that could escape a man, the most carefully repressed and the +sooner checked, but he did start, though he made it a part of the +action of taking out his pocket-handkerchief. How Wemmick received the +announcement I am unable to say; for I was afraid to look at him just +then, lest Mr. Jaggers’s sharpness should detect that there had been +some communication unknown to him between us. + +“And on what evidence, Pip,” asked Mr. Jaggers, very coolly, as he +paused with his handkerchief half way to his nose, “does Provis make +this claim?” + +“He does not make it,” said I, “and has never made it, and has no +knowledge or belief that his daughter is in existence.” + +For once, the powerful pocket-handkerchief failed. My reply was so +unexpected, that Mr. Jaggers put the handkerchief back into his pocket +without completing the usual performance, folded his arms, and looked +with stern attention at me, though with an immovable face. + +Then I told him all I knew, and how I knew it; with the one reservation +that I left him to infer that I knew from Miss Havisham what I in fact +knew from Wemmick. I was very careful indeed as to that. Nor did I look +towards Wemmick until I had finished all I had to tell, and had been +for some time silently meeting Mr. Jaggers’s look. When I did at last +turn my eyes in Wemmick’s direction, I found that he had unposted his +pen, and was intent upon the table before him. + +“Hah!” said Mr. Jaggers at last, as he moved towards the papers on the +table. “What item was it you were at, Wemmick, when Mr. Pip came in?” + +But I could not submit to be thrown off in that way, and I made a +passionate, almost an indignant appeal, to him to be more frank and +manly with me. I reminded him of the false hopes into which I had +lapsed, the length of time they had lasted, and the discovery I had +made: and I hinted at the danger that weighed upon my spirits. I +represented myself as being surely worthy of some little confidence +from him, in return for the confidence I had just now imparted. I said +that I did not blame him, or suspect him, or mistrust him, but I wanted +assurance of the truth from him. And if he asked me why I wanted it, +and why I thought I had any right to it, I would tell him, little as he +cared for such poor dreams, that I had loved Estella dearly and long, +and that although I had lost her, and must live a bereaved life, +whatever concerned her was still nearer and dearer to me than anything +else in the world. And seeing that Mr. Jaggers stood quite still and +silent, and apparently quite obdurate, under this appeal, I turned to +Wemmick, and said, “Wemmick, I know you to be a man with a gentle +heart. I have seen your pleasant home, and your old father, and all the +innocent, cheerful playful ways with which you refresh your business +life. And I entreat you to say a word for me to Mr. Jaggers, and to +represent to him that, all circumstances considered, he ought to be +more open with me!” + +I have never seen two men look more oddly at one another than Mr. +Jaggers and Wemmick did after this apostrophe. At first, a misgiving +crossed me that Wemmick would be instantly dismissed from his +employment; but it melted as I saw Mr. Jaggers relax into something +like a smile, and Wemmick become bolder. + +“What’s all this?” said Mr. Jaggers. “You with an old father, and you +with pleasant and playful ways?” + +“Well!” returned Wemmick. “If I don’t bring ’em here, what does it +matter?” + +“Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, laying his hand upon my arm, and smiling +openly, “this man must be the most cunning impostor in all London.” + +“Not a bit of it,” returned Wemmick, growing bolder and bolder. “I +think you’re another.” + +Again they exchanged their former odd looks, each apparently still +distrustful that the other was taking him in. + +“_You_ with a pleasant home?” said Mr. Jaggers. + +“Since it don’t interfere with business,” returned Wemmick, “let it be +so. Now, I look at you, sir, I shouldn’t wonder if _you_ might be +planning and contriving to have a pleasant home of your own one of +these days, when you’re tired of all this work.” + +Mr. Jaggers nodded his head retrospectively two or three times, and +actually drew a sigh. “Pip,” said he, “we won’t talk about ‘poor +dreams;’ you know more about such things than I, having much fresher +experience of that kind. But now about this other matter. I’ll put a +case to you. Mind! I admit nothing.” + +He waited for me to declare that I quite understood that he expressly +said that he admitted nothing. + +“Now, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “put this case. Put the case that a +woman, under such circumstances as you have mentioned, held her child +concealed, and was obliged to communicate the fact to her legal +adviser, on his representing to her that he must know, with an eye to +the latitude of his defence, how the fact stood about that child. Put +the case that, at the same time he held a trust to find a child for an +eccentric rich lady to adopt and bring up.” + +“I follow you, sir.” + +“Put the case that he lived in an atmosphere of evil, and that all he +saw of children was their being generated in great numbers for certain +destruction. Put the case that he often saw children solemnly tried at +a criminal bar, where they were held up to be seen; put the case that +he habitually knew of their being imprisoned, whipped, transported, +neglected, cast out, qualified in all ways for the hangman, and growing +up to be hanged. Put the case that pretty nigh all the children he saw +in his daily business life he had reason to look upon as so much spawn, +to develop into the fish that were to come to his net,—to be +prosecuted, defended, forsworn, made orphans, bedevilled somehow.” + +“I follow you, sir.” + +“Put the case, Pip, that here was one pretty little child out of the +heap who could be saved; whom the father believed dead, and dared make +no stir about; as to whom, over the mother, the legal adviser had this +power: “I know what you did, and how you did it. You came so and so, +you did such and such things to divert suspicion. I have tracked you +through it all, and I tell it you all. Part with the child, unless it +should be necessary to produce it to clear you, and then it shall be +produced. Give the child into my hands, and I will do my best to bring +you off. If you are saved, your child is saved too; if you are lost, +your child is still saved.” Put the case that this was done, and that +the woman was cleared.” + +“I understand you perfectly.” + +“But that I make no admissions?” + +“That you make no admissions.” And Wemmick repeated, “No admissions.” + +“Put the case, Pip, that passion and the terror of death had a little +shaken the woman’s intellects, and that when she was set at liberty, +she was scared out of the ways of the world, and went to him to be +sheltered. Put the case that he took her in, and that he kept down the +old, wild, violent nature whenever he saw an inkling of its breaking +out, by asserting his power over her in the old way. Do you comprehend +the imaginary case?” + +“Quite.” + +“Put the case that the child grew up, and was married for money. That +the mother was still living. That the father was still living. That the +mother and father, unknown to one another, were dwelling within so many +miles, furlongs, yards if you like, of one another. That the secret was +still a secret, except that you had got wind of it. Put that last case +to yourself very carefully.” + +“I do.” + +“I ask Wemmick to put it to _him_self very carefully.” + +And Wemmick said, “I do.” + +“For whose sake would you reveal the secret? For the father’s? I think +he would not be much the better for the mother. For the mother’s? I +think if she had done such a deed she would be safer where she was. For +the daughter’s? I think it would hardly serve her to establish her +parentage for the information of her husband, and to drag her back to +disgrace, after an escape of twenty years, pretty secure to last for +life. But add the case that you had loved her, Pip, and had made her +the subject of those ‘poor dreams’ which have, at one time or another, +been in the heads of more men than you think likely, then I tell you +that you had better—and would much sooner when you had thought well of +it—chop off that bandaged left hand of yours with your bandaged right +hand, and then pass the chopper on to Wemmick there, to cut _that_ off +too.” + +I looked at Wemmick, whose face was very grave. He gravely touched his +lips with his forefinger. I did the same. Mr. Jaggers did the same. +“Now, Wemmick,” said the latter then, resuming his usual manner, “what +item was it you were at when Mr. Pip came in?” + +Standing by for a little, while they were at work, I observed that the +odd looks they had cast at one another were repeated several times: +with this difference now, that each of them seemed suspicious, not to +say conscious, of having shown himself in a weak and unprofessional +light to the other. For this reason, I suppose, they were now +inflexible with one another; Mr. Jaggers being highly dictatorial, and +Wemmick obstinately justifying himself whenever there was the smallest +point in abeyance for a moment. I had never seen them on such ill +terms; for generally they got on very well indeed together. + +But they were both happily relieved by the opportune appearance of +Mike, the client with the fur cap and the habit of wiping his nose on +his sleeve, whom I had seen on the very first day of my appearance +within those walls. This individual, who, either in his own person or +in that of some member of his family, seemed to be always in trouble +(which in that place meant Newgate), called to announce that his eldest +daughter was taken up on suspicion of shoplifting. As he imparted this +melancholy circumstance to Wemmick, Mr. Jaggers standing magisterially +before the fire and taking no share in the proceedings, Mike’s eye +happened to twinkle with a tear. + +“What are you about?” demanded Wemmick, with the utmost indignation. +“What do you come snivelling here for?” + +“I didn’t go to do it, Mr. Wemmick.” + +“You did,” said Wemmick. “How dare you? You’re not in a fit state to +come here, if you can’t come here without spluttering like a bad pen. +What do you mean by it?” + +“A man can’t help his feelings, Mr. Wemmick,” pleaded Mike. + +“His what?” demanded Wemmick, quite savagely. “Say that again!” + +“Now look here my man,” said Mr. Jaggers, advancing a step, and +pointing to the door. “Get out of this office. I’ll have no feelings +here. Get out.” + +“It serves you right,” said Wemmick, “Get out.” + +So, the unfortunate Mike very humbly withdrew, and Mr. Jaggers and +Wemmick appeared to have re-established their good understanding, and +went to work again with an air of refreshment upon them as if they had +just had lunch. + + + + +Chapter LII. + + +From Little Britain I went, with my check in my pocket, to Miss +Skiffins’s brother, the accountant; and Miss Skiffins’s brother, the +accountant, going straight to Clarriker’s and bringing Clarriker to me, +I had the great satisfaction of concluding that arrangement. It was the +only good thing I had done, and the only completed thing I had done, +since I was first apprised of my great expectations. + +Clarriker informing me on that occasion that the affairs of the House +were steadily progressing, that he would now be able to establish a +small branch-house in the East which was much wanted for the extension +of the business, and that Herbert in his new partnership capacity would +go out and take charge of it, I found that I must have prepared for a +separation from my friend, even though my own affairs had been more +settled. And now, indeed, I felt as if my last anchor were loosening +its hold, and I should soon be driving with the winds and waves. + +But there was recompense in the joy with which Herbert would come home +of a night and tell me of these changes, little imagining that he told +me no news, and would sketch airy pictures of himself conducting Clara +Barley to the land of the Arabian Nights, and of me going out to join +them (with a caravan of camels, I believe), and of our all going up the +Nile and seeing wonders. Without being sanguine as to my own part in +those bright plans, I felt that Herbert’s way was clearing fast, and +that old Bill Barley had but to stick to his pepper and rum, and his +daughter would soon be happily provided for. + +We had now got into the month of March. My left arm, though it +presented no bad symptoms, took, in the natural course, so long to heal +that I was still unable to get a coat on. My right arm was tolerably +restored; disfigured, but fairly serviceable. + +On a Monday morning, when Herbert and I were at breakfast, I received +the following letter from Wemmick by the post. + +“Walworth. Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week, or say +Wednesday, you might do what you know of, if you felt disposed to try +it. Now burn.” + +When I had shown this to Herbert and had put it in the fire—but not +before we had both got it by heart—we considered what to do. For, of +course my being disabled could now be no longer kept out of view. + +“I have thought it over again and again,” said Herbert, “and I think I +know a better course than taking a Thames waterman. Take Startop. A +good fellow, a skilled hand, fond of us, and enthusiastic and +honourable.” + +I had thought of him more than once. + +“But how much would you tell him, Herbert?” + +“It is necessary to tell him very little. Let him suppose it a mere +freak, but a secret one, until the morning comes: then let him know +that there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and away. +You go with him?” + +“No doubt.” + +“Where?” + +It had seemed to me, in the many anxious considerations I had given the +point, almost indifferent what port we made for,—Hamburg, Rotterdam, +Antwerp,—the place signified little, so that he was out of England. Any +foreign steamer that fell in our way and would take us up would do. I +had always proposed to myself to get him well down the river in the +boat; certainly well beyond Gravesend, which was a critical place for +search or inquiry if suspicion were afoot. As foreign steamers would +leave London at about the time of high-water, our plan would be to get +down the river by a previous ebb-tide, and lie by in some quiet spot +until we could pull off to one. The time when one would be due where we +lay, wherever that might be, could be calculated pretty nearly, if we +made inquiries beforehand. + +Herbert assented to all this, and we went out immediately after +breakfast to pursue our investigations. We found that a steamer for +Hamburg was likely to suit our purpose best, and we directed our +thoughts chiefly to that vessel. But we noted down what other foreign +steamers would leave London with the same tide, and we satisfied +ourselves that we knew the build and colour of each. We then separated +for a few hours: I, to get at once such passports as were necessary; +Herbert, to see Startop at his lodgings. We both did what we had to do +without any hindrance, and when we met again at one o’clock reported it +done. I, for my part, was prepared with passports; Herbert had seen +Startop, and he was more than ready to join. + +Those two should pull a pair of oars, we settled, and I would steer; +our charge would be sitter, and keep quiet; as speed was not our +object, we should make way enough. We arranged that Herbert should not +come home to dinner before going to Mill Pond Bank that evening; that +he should not go there at all to-morrow evening, Tuesday; that he +should prepare Provis to come down to some stairs hard by the house, on +Wednesday, when he saw us approach, and not sooner; that all the +arrangements with him should be concluded that Monday night; and that +he should be communicated with no more in any way, until we took him on +board. + +These precautions well understood by both of us, I went home. + +On opening the outer door of our chambers with my key, I found a letter +in the box, directed to me; a very dirty letter, though not +ill-written. It had been delivered by hand (of course, since I left +home), and its contents were these:— + +“If you are not afraid to come to the old marshes to-night or to-morrow +night at nine, and to come to the little sluice-house by the limekiln, +you had better come. If you want information regarding _your uncle +Provis_, you had much better come and tell no one, and lose no time. +_You must come alone_. Bring this with you.” + +I had had load enough upon my mind before the receipt of this strange +letter. What to do now, I could not tell. And the worst was, that I +must decide quickly, or I should miss the afternoon coach, which would +take me down in time for to-night. To-morrow night I could not think of +going, for it would be too close upon the time of the flight. And +again, for anything I knew, the proffered information might have some +important bearing on the flight itself. + +If I had had ample time for consideration, I believe I should still +have gone. Having hardly any time for consideration,—my watch showing +me that the coach started within half an hour,—I resolved to go. I +should certainly not have gone, but for the reference to my Uncle +Provis. That, coming on Wemmick’s letter and the morning’s busy +preparation, turned the scale. + +It is so difficult to become clearly possessed of the contents of +almost any letter, in a violent hurry, that I had to read this +mysterious epistle again twice, before its injunction to me to be +secret got mechanically into my mind. Yielding to it in the same +mechanical kind of way, I left a note in pencil for Herbert, telling +him that as I should be so soon going away, I knew not for how long, I +had decided to hurry down and back, to ascertain for myself how Miss +Havisham was faring. I had then barely time to get my great-coat, lock +up the chambers, and make for the coach-office by the short by-ways. If +I had taken a hackney-chariot and gone by the streets, I should have +missed my aim; going as I did, I caught the coach just as it came out +of the yard. I was the only inside passenger, jolting away knee-deep in +straw, when I came to myself. + +For I really had not been myself since the receipt of the letter; it +had so bewildered me, ensuing on the hurry of the morning. The morning +hurry and flutter had been great; for, long and anxiously as I had +waited for Wemmick, his hint had come like a surprise at last. And now +I began to wonder at myself for being in the coach, and to doubt +whether I had sufficient reason for being there, and to consider +whether I should get out presently and go back, and to argue against +ever heeding an anonymous communication, and, in short, to pass through +all those phases of contradiction and indecision to which I suppose +very few hurried people are strangers. Still, the reference to Provis +by name mastered everything. I reasoned as I had reasoned already +without knowing it,—if that be reasoning,—in case any harm should +befall him through my not going, how could I ever forgive myself! + +It was dark before we got down, and the journey seemed long and dreary +to me, who could see little of it inside, and who could not go outside +in my disabled state. Avoiding the Blue Boar, I put up at an inn of +minor reputation down the town, and ordered some dinner. While it was +preparing, I went to Satis House and inquired for Miss Havisham; she +was still very ill, though considered something better. + +My inn had once been a part of an ancient ecclesiastical house, and I +dined in a little octagonal common-room, like a font. As I was not able +to cut my dinner, the old landlord with a shining bald head did it for +me. This bringing us into conversation, he was so good as to entertain +me with my own story,—of course with the popular feature that +Pumblechook was my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortunes. + +“Do you know the young man?” said I. + +“Know him!” repeated the landlord. “Ever since he was—no height at +all.” + +“Does he ever come back to this neighbourhood?” + +“Ay, he comes back,” said the landlord, “to his great friends, now and +again, and gives the cold shoulder to the man that made him.” + +“What man is that?” + +“Him that I speak of,” said the landlord. “Mr. Pumblechook.” + +“Is he ungrateful to no one else?” + +“No doubt he would be, if he could,” returned the landlord, “but he +can’t. And why? Because Pumblechook done everything for him.” + +“Does Pumblechook say so?” + +“Say so!” replied the landlord. “He han’t no call to say so.” + +“But does he say so?” + +“It would turn a man’s blood to white wine winegar to hear him tell of +it, sir,” said the landlord. + +I thought, “Yet Joe, dear Joe, _you_ never tell of it. Long-suffering +and loving Joe, _you_ never complain. Nor you, sweet-tempered Biddy!” + +“Your appetite’s been touched like by your accident,” said the +landlord, glancing at the bandaged arm under my coat. “Try a tenderer +bit.” + +“No, thank you,” I replied, turning from the table to brood over the +fire. “I can eat no more. Please take it away.” + +I had never been struck at so keenly, for my thanklessness to Joe, as +through the brazen impostor Pumblechook. The falser he, the truer Joe; +the meaner he, the nobler Joe. + +My heart was deeply and most deservedly humbled as I mused over the +fire for an hour or more. The striking of the clock aroused me, but not +from my dejection or remorse, and I got up and had my coat fastened +round my neck, and went out. I had previously sought in my pockets for +the letter, that I might refer to it again; but I could not find it, +and was uneasy to think that it must have been dropped in the straw of +the coach. I knew very well, however, that the appointed place was the +little sluice-house by the limekiln on the marshes, and the hour nine. +Towards the marshes I now went straight, having no time to spare. + +[Illustration] + + + + +Chapter LIII. + + +It was a dark night, though the full moon rose as I left the enclosed +lands, and passed out upon the marshes. Beyond their dark line there +was a ribbon of clear sky, hardly broad enough to hold the red large +moon. In a few minutes she had ascended out of that clear field, in +among the piled mountains of cloud. + +There was a melancholy wind, and the marshes were very dismal. A +stranger would have found them insupportable, and even to me they were +so oppressive that I hesitated, half inclined to go back. But I knew +them well, and could have found my way on a far darker night, and had +no excuse for returning, being there. So, having come there against my +inclination, I went on against it. + +The direction that I took was not that in which my old home lay, nor +that in which we had pursued the convicts. My back was turned towards +the distant Hulks as I walked on, and, though I could see the old +lights away on the spits of sand, I saw them over my shoulder. I knew +the limekiln as well as I knew the old Battery, but they were miles +apart; so that, if a light had been burning at each point that night, +there would have been a long strip of the blank horizon between the two +bright specks. + +At first, I had to shut some gates after me, and now and then to stand +still while the cattle that were lying in the banked-up pathway arose +and blundered down among the grass and reeds. But after a little while +I seemed to have the whole flats to myself. + +It was another half-hour before I drew near to the kiln. The lime was +burning with a sluggish stifling smell, but the fires were made up and +left, and no workmen were visible. Hard by was a small stone-quarry. It +lay directly in my way, and had been worked that day, as I saw by the +tools and barrows that were lying about. + +Coming up again to the marsh level out of this excavation,—for the rude +path lay through it,—I saw a light in the old sluice-house. I quickened +my pace, and knocked at the door with my hand. Waiting for some reply, +I looked about me, noticing how the sluice was abandoned and broken, +and how the house—of wood with a tiled roof—would not be proof against +the weather much longer, if it were so even now, and how the mud and +ooze were coated with lime, and how the choking vapour of the kiln +crept in a ghostly way towards me. Still there was no answer, and I +knocked again. No answer still, and I tried the latch. + +It rose under my hand, and the door yielded. Looking in, I saw a +lighted candle on a table, a bench, and a mattress on a truckle +bedstead. As there was a loft above, I called, “Is there any one here?” +but no voice answered. Then I looked at my watch, and, finding that it +was past nine, called again, “Is there any one here?” There being still +no answer, I went out at the door, irresolute what to do. + +It was beginning to rain fast. Seeing nothing save what I had seen +already, I turned back into the house, and stood just within the +shelter of the doorway, looking out into the night. While I was +considering that some one must have been there lately and must soon be +coming back, or the candle would not be burning, it came into my head +to look if the wick were long. I turned round to do so, and had taken +up the candle in my hand, when it was extinguished by some violent +shock; and the next thing I comprehended was, that I had been caught in +a strong running noose, thrown over my head from behind. + +“Now,” said a suppressed voice with an oath, “I’ve got you!” + +“What is this?” I cried, struggling. “Who is it? Help, help, help!” + +Not only were my arms pulled close to my sides, but the pressure on my +bad arm caused me exquisite pain. Sometimes, a strong man’s hand, +sometimes a strong man’s breast, was set against my mouth to deaden my +cries, and with a hot breath always close to me, I struggled +ineffectually in the dark, while I was fastened tight to the wall. “And +now,” said the suppressed voice with another oath, “call out again, and +I’ll make short work of you!” + +Faint and sick with the pain of my injured arm, bewildered by the +surprise, and yet conscious how easily this threat could be put in +execution, I desisted, and tried to ease my arm were it ever so little. +But, it was bound too tight for that. I felt as if, having been burnt +before, it were now being boiled. + +The sudden exclusion of the night, and the substitution of black +darkness in its place, warned me that the man had closed a shutter. +After groping about for a little, he found the flint and steel he +wanted, and began to strike a light. I strained my sight upon the +sparks that fell among the tinder, and upon which he breathed and +breathed, match in hand, but I could only see his lips, and the blue +point of the match; even those but fitfully. The tinder was damp,—no +wonder there,—and one after another the sparks died out. + +The man was in no hurry, and struck again with the flint and steel. As +the sparks fell thick and bright about him, I could see his hands, and +touches of his face, and could make out that he was seated and bending +over the table; but nothing more. Presently I saw his blue lips again, +breathing on the tinder, and then a flare of light flashed up, and +showed me Orlick. + +Whom I had looked for, I don’t know. I had not looked for him. Seeing +him, I felt that I was in a dangerous strait indeed, and I kept my eyes +upon him. + +He lighted the candle from the flaring match with great deliberation, +and dropped the match, and trod it out. Then he put the candle away +from him on the table, so that he could see me, and sat with his arms +folded on the table and looked at me. I made out that I was fastened to +a stout perpendicular ladder a few inches from the wall,—a fixture +there,—the means of ascent to the loft above. + +“Now,” said he, when we had surveyed one another for some time, “I’ve +got you.” + +“Unbind me. Let me go!” + +“Ah!” he returned, “_I_’ll let you go. I’ll let you go to the moon, +I’ll let you go to the stars. All in good time.” + +“Why have you lured me here?” + +“Don’t you know?” said he, with a deadly look. + +“Why have you set upon me in the dark?” + +“Because I mean to do it all myself. One keeps a secret better than +two. O you enemy, you enemy!” + +His enjoyment of the spectacle I furnished, as he sat with his arms +folded on the table, shaking his head at me and hugging himself, had a +malignity in it that made me tremble. As I watched him in silence, he +put his hand into the corner at his side, and took up a gun with a +brass-bound stock. + +“Do you know this?” said he, making as if he would take aim at me. “Do +you know where you saw it afore? Speak, wolf!” + +“Yes,” I answered. + +[Illustration] + +“You cost me that place. You did. Speak!” + +“What else could I do?” + +“You did that, and that would be enough, without more. How dared you to +come betwixt me and a young woman I liked?” + +“When did I?” + +“When didn’t you? It was you as always give Old Orlick a bad name to +her.” + +“You gave it to yourself; you gained it for yourself. I could have done +you no harm, if you had done yourself none.” + +“You’re a liar. And you’ll take any pains, and spend any money, to +drive me out of this country, will you?” said he, repeating my words to +Biddy in the last interview I had with her. “Now, I’ll tell you a piece +of information. It was never so well worth your while to get me out of +this country as it is to-night. Ah! If it was all your money twenty +times told, to the last brass farden!” As he shook his heavy hand at +me, with his mouth snarling like a tiger’s, I felt that it was true. + +“What are you going to do to me?” + +“I’m a-going,” said he, bringing his fist down upon the table with a +heavy blow, and rising as the blow fell to give it greater force,—“I’m +a-going to have your life!” + +He leaned forward staring at me, slowly unclenched his hand and drew it +across his mouth as if his mouth watered for me, and sat down again. + +“You was always in Old Orlick’s way since ever you was a child. You +goes out of his way this present night. He’ll have no more on you. +You’re dead.” + +I felt that I had come to the brink of my grave. For a moment I looked +wildly round my trap for any chance of escape; but there was none. + +“More than that,” said he, folding his arms on the table again, “I +won’t have a rag of you, I won’t have a bone of you, left on earth. +I’ll put your body in the kiln,—I’d carry two such to it, on my +shoulders—and, let people suppose what they may of you, they shall +never know nothing.” + +My mind, with inconceivable rapidity followed out all the consequences +of such a death. Estella’s father would believe I had deserted him, +would be taken, would die accusing me; even Herbert would doubt me, +when he compared the letter I had left for him with the fact that I had +called at Miss Havisham’s gate for only a moment; Joe and Biddy would +never know how sorry I had been that night, none would ever know what I +had suffered, how true I had meant to be, what an agony I had passed +through. The death close before me was terrible, but far more terrible +than death was the dread of being misremembered after death. And so +quick were my thoughts, that I saw myself despised by unborn +generations,—Estella’s children, and their children,—while the wretch’s +words were yet on his lips. + +“Now, wolf,” said he, “afore I kill you like any other beast,—which is +wot I mean to do and wot I have tied you up for,—I’ll have a good look +at you and a good goad at you. O you enemy!” + +It had passed through my thoughts to cry out for help again; though few +could know better than I, the solitary nature of the spot, and the +hopelessness of aid. But as he sat gloating over me, I was supported by +a scornful detestation of him that sealed my lips. Above all things, I +resolved that I would not entreat him, and that I would die making some +last poor resistance to him. Softened as my thoughts of all the rest of +men were in that dire extremity; humbly beseeching pardon, as I did, of +Heaven; melted at heart, as I was, by the thought that I had taken no +farewell, and never now could take farewell of those who were dear to +me, or could explain myself to them, or ask for their compassion on my +miserable errors,—still, if I could have killed him, even in dying, I +would have done it. + +He had been drinking, and his eyes were red and bloodshot. Around his +neck was slung a tin bottle, as I had often seen his meat and drink +slung about him in other days. He brought the bottle to his lips, and +took a fiery drink from it; and I smelt the strong spirits that I saw +flash into his face. + +“Wolf!” said he, folding his arms again, “Old Orlick’s a-going to tell +you somethink. It was you as did for your shrew sister.” + +Again my mind, with its former inconceivable rapidity, had exhausted +the whole subject of the attack upon my sister, her illness, and her +death, before his slow and hesitating speech had formed these words. + +“It was you, villain,” said I. + +“I tell you it was your doing,—I tell you it was done through you,” he +retorted, catching up the gun, and making a blow with the stock at the +vacant air between us. “I come upon her from behind, as I come upon you +to-night. _I_ giv’ it her! I left her for dead, and if there had been a +limekiln as nigh her as there is now nigh you, she shouldn’t have come +to life again. But it warn’t Old Orlick as did it; it was you. You was +favoured, and he was bullied and beat. Old Orlick bullied and beat, eh? +Now you pays for it. You done it; now you pays for it.” + +He drank again, and became more ferocious. I saw by his tilting of the +bottle that there was no great quantity left in it. I distinctly +understood that he was working himself up with its contents to make an +end of me. I knew that every drop it held was a drop of my life. I knew +that when I was changed into a part of the vapour that had crept +towards me but a little while before, like my own warning ghost, he +would do as he had done in my sister’s case,—make all haste to the +town, and be seen slouching about there drinking at the alehouses. My +rapid mind pursued him to the town, made a picture of the street with +him in it, and contrasted its lights and life with the lonely marsh and +the white vapour creeping over it, into which I should have dissolved. + +It was not only that I could have summed up years and years and years +while he said a dozen words, but that what he did say presented +pictures to me, and not mere words. In the excited and exalted state of +my brain, I could not think of a place without seeing it, or of persons +without seeing them. It is impossible to overstate the vividness of +these images, and yet I was so intent, all the time, upon him +himself,—who would not be intent on the tiger crouching to spring!—that +I knew of the slightest action of his fingers. + +When he had drunk this second time, he rose from the bench on which he +sat, and pushed the table aside. Then, he took up the candle, and, +shading it with his murderous hand so as to throw its light on me, +stood before me, looking at me and enjoying the sight. + +“Wolf, I’ll tell you something more. It was Old Orlick as you tumbled +over on your stairs that night.” + +I saw the staircase with its extinguished lamps. I saw the shadows of +the heavy stair-rails, thrown by the watchman’s lantern on the wall. I +saw the rooms that I was never to see again; here, a door half open; +there, a door closed; all the articles of furniture around. + +“And why was Old Orlick there? I’ll tell you something more, wolf. You +and her _have_ pretty well hunted me out of this country, so far as +getting a easy living in it goes, and I’ve took up with new companions, +and new masters. Some of ’em writes my letters when I wants ’em +wrote,—do you mind?—writes my letters, wolf! They writes fifty hands; +they’re not like sneaking you, as writes but one. I’ve had a firm mind +and a firm will to have your life, since you was down here at your +sister’s burying. I han’t seen a way to get you safe, and I’ve looked +arter you to know your ins and outs. For, says Old Orlick to himself, +‘Somehow or another I’ll have him!’ What! When I looks for you, I finds +your uncle Provis, eh?” + +Mill Pond Bank, and Chinks’s Basin, and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk, +all so clear and plain! Provis in his rooms, the signal whose use was +over, pretty Clara, the good motherly woman, old Bill Barley on his +back, all drifting by, as on the swift stream of my life fast running +out to sea! + +“_You_ with a uncle too! Why, I know’d you at Gargery’s when you was so +small a wolf that I could have took your weazen betwixt this finger and +thumb and chucked you away dead (as I’d thoughts o’ doing, odd times, +when I see you loitering amongst the pollards on a Sunday), and you +hadn’t found no uncles then. No, not you! But when Old Orlick come for +to hear that your uncle Provis had most like wore the leg-iron wot Old +Orlick had picked up, filed asunder, on these meshes ever so many year +ago, and wot he kep by him till he dropped your sister with it, like a +bullock, as he means to drop you—hey?—when he come for to hear +that—hey?” + +In his savage taunting, he flared the candle so close at me that I +turned my face aside to save it from the flame. + +“Ah!” he cried, laughing, after doing it again, “the burnt child dreads +the fire! Old Orlick knowed you was burnt, Old Orlick knowed you was +smuggling your uncle Provis away, Old Orlick’s a match for you and +know’d you’d come to-night! Now I’ll tell you something more, wolf, and +this ends it. There’s them that’s as good a match for your uncle Provis +as Old Orlick has been for you. Let him ’ware them, when he’s lost his +nevvy! Let him ’ware them, when no man can’t find a rag of his dear +relation’s clothes, nor yet a bone of his body. There’s them that can’t +and that won’t have Magwitch,—yes, _I_ know the name!—alive in the same +land with them, and that’s had such sure information of him when he was +alive in another land, as that he couldn’t and shouldn’t leave it +unbeknown and put them in danger. P’raps it’s them that writes fifty +hands, and that’s not like sneaking you as writes but one. ’Ware +Compeyson, Magwitch, and the gallows!” + +He flared the candle at me again, smoking my face and hair, and for an +instant blinding me, and turned his powerful back as he replaced the +light on the table. I had thought a prayer, and had been with Joe and +Biddy and Herbert, before he turned towards me again. + +There was a clear space of a few feet between the table and the +opposite wall. Within this space, he now slouched backwards and +forwards. His great strength seemed to sit stronger upon him than ever +before, as he did this with his hands hanging loose and heavy at his +sides, and with his eyes scowling at me. I had no grain of hope left. +Wild as my inward hurry was, and wonderful the force of the pictures +that rushed by me instead of thoughts, I could yet clearly understand +that, unless he had resolved that I was within a few moments of surely +perishing out of all human knowledge, he would never have told me what +he had told. + +Of a sudden, he stopped, took the cork out of his bottle, and tossed it +away. Light as it was, I heard it fall like a plummet. He swallowed +slowly, tilting up the bottle by little and little, and now he looked +at me no more. The last few drops of liquor he poured into the palm of +his hand, and licked up. Then, with a sudden hurry of violence and +swearing horribly, he threw the bottle from him, and stooped; and I saw +in his hand a stone-hammer with a long heavy handle. + +The resolution I had made did not desert me, for, without uttering one +vain word of appeal to him, I shouted out with all my might, and +struggled with all my might. It was only my head and my legs that I +could move, but to that extent I struggled with all the force, until +then unknown, that was within me. In the same instant I heard +responsive shouts, saw figures and a gleam of light dash in at the +door, heard voices and tumult, and saw Orlick emerge from a struggle of +men, as if it were tumbling water, clear the table at a leap, and fly +out into the night. + +After a blank, I found that I was lying unbound, on the floor, in the +same place, with my head on some one’s knee. My eyes were fixed on the +ladder against the wall, when I came to myself,—had opened on it before +my mind saw it,—and thus as I recovered consciousness, I knew that I +was in the place where I had lost it. + +Too indifferent at first, even to look round and ascertain who +supported me, I was lying looking at the ladder, when there came +between me and it a face. The face of Trabb’s boy! + +“I think he’s all right!” said Trabb’s boy, in a sober voice; “but +ain’t he just pale though!” + +At these words, the face of him who supported me looked over into mine, +and I saw my supporter to be— + +“Herbert! Great Heaven!” + +“Softly,” said Herbert. “Gently, Handel. Don’t be too eager.” + +“And our old comrade, Startop!” I cried, as he too bent over me. + +“Remember what he is going to assist us in,” said Herbert, “and be +calm.” + +The allusion made me spring up; though I dropped again from the pain in +my arm. “The time has not gone by, Herbert, has it? What night is +to-night? How long have I been here?” For, I had a strange and strong +misgiving that I had been lying there a long time—a day and a +night,—two days and nights,—more. + +“The time has not gone by. It is still Monday night.” + +“Thank God!” + +“And you have all to-morrow, Tuesday, to rest in,” said Herbert. “But +you can’t help groaning, my dear Handel. What hurt have you got? Can +you stand?” + +“Yes, yes,” said I, “I can walk. I have no hurt but in this throbbing +arm.” + +They laid it bare, and did what they could. It was violently swollen +and inflamed, and I could scarcely endure to have it touched. But, they +tore up their handkerchiefs to make fresh bandages, and carefully +replaced it in the sling, until we could get to the town and obtain +some cooling lotion to put upon it. In a little while we had shut the +door of the dark and empty sluice-house, and were passing through the +quarry on our way back. Trabb’s boy—Trabb’s overgrown young man +now—went before us with a lantern, which was the light I had seen come +in at the door. But, the moon was a good two hours higher than when I +had last seen the sky, and the night, though rainy, was much lighter. +The white vapour of the kiln was passing from us as we went by, and as +I had thought a prayer before, I thought a thanksgiving now. + +Entreating Herbert to tell me how he had come to my rescue,—which at +first he had flatly refused to do, but had insisted on my remaining +quiet,—I learnt that I had in my hurry dropped the letter, open, in our +chambers, where he, coming home to bring with him Startop whom he had +met in the street on his way to me, found it, very soon after I was +gone. Its tone made him uneasy, and the more so because of the +inconsistency between it and the hasty letter I had left for him. His +uneasiness increasing instead of subsiding, after a quarter of an +hour’s consideration, he set off for the coach-office with Startop, who +volunteered his company, to make inquiry when the next coach went down. +Finding that the afternoon coach was gone, and finding that his +uneasiness grew into positive alarm, as obstacles came in his way, he +resolved to follow in a post-chaise. So he and Startop arrived at the +Blue Boar, fully expecting there to find me, or tidings of me; but, +finding neither, went on to Miss Havisham’s, where they lost me. +Hereupon they went back to the hotel (doubtless at about the time when +I was hearing the popular local version of my own story) to refresh +themselves and to get some one to guide them out upon the marshes. +Among the loungers under the Boar’s archway happened to be Trabb’s +Boy,—true to his ancient habit of happening to be everywhere where he +had no business,—and Trabb’s boy had seen me passing from Miss +Havisham’s in the direction of my dining-place. Thus Trabb’s boy became +their guide, and with him they went out to the sluice-house, though by +the town way to the marshes, which I had avoided. Now, as they went +along, Herbert reflected, that I might, after all, have been brought +there on some genuine and serviceable errand tending to Provis’s +safety, and, bethinking himself that in that case interruption must be +mischievous, left his guide and Startop on the edge of the quarry, and +went on by himself, and stole round the house two or three times, +endeavouring to ascertain whether all was right within. As he could +hear nothing but indistinct sounds of one deep rough voice (this was +while my mind was so busy), he even at last began to doubt whether I +was there, when suddenly I cried out loudly, and he answered the cries, +and rushed in, closely followed by the other two. + +When I told Herbert what had passed within the house, he was for our +immediately going before a magistrate in the town, late at night as it +was, and getting out a warrant. But, I had already considered that such +a course, by detaining us there, or binding us to come back, might be +fatal to Provis. There was no gainsaying this difficulty, and we +relinquished all thoughts of pursuing Orlick at that time. For the +present, under the circumstances, we deemed it prudent to make rather +light of the matter to Trabb’s boy; who, I am convinced, would have +been much affected by disappointment, if he had known that his +intervention saved me from the limekiln. Not that Trabb’s boy was of a +malignant nature, but that he had too much spare vivacity, and that it +was in his constitution to want variety and excitement at anybody’s +expense. When we parted, I presented him with two guineas (which seemed +to meet his views), and told him that I was sorry ever to have had an +ill opinion of him (which made no impression on him at all). + +Wednesday being so close upon us, we determined to go back to London +that night, three in the post-chaise; the rather, as we should then be +clear away before the night’s adventure began to be talked of. Herbert +got a large bottle of stuff for my arm; and by dint of having this +stuff dropped over it all the night through, I was just able to bear +its pain on the journey. It was daylight when we reached the Temple, +and I went at once to bed, and lay in bed all day. + +My terror, as I lay there, of falling ill, and being unfitted for +to-morrow, was so besetting, that I wonder it did not disable me of +itself. It would have done so, pretty surely, in conjunction with the +mental wear and tear I had suffered, but for the unnatural strain upon +me that to-morrow was. So anxiously looked forward to, charged with +such consequences, its results so impenetrably hidden, though so near. + +No precaution could have been more obvious than our refraining from +communication with him that day; yet this again increased my +restlessness. I started at every footstep and every sound, believing +that he was discovered and taken, and this was the messenger to tell me +so. I persuaded myself that I knew he was taken; that there was +something more upon my mind than a fear or a presentiment; that the +fact had occurred, and I had a mysterious knowledge of it. As the days +wore on, and no ill news came, as the day closed in and darkness fell, +my overshadowing dread of being disabled by illness before to-morrow +morning altogether mastered me. My burning arm throbbed, and my burning +head throbbed, and I fancied I was beginning to wander. I counted up to +high numbers, to make sure of myself, and repeated passages that I knew +in prose and verse. It happened sometimes that in the mere escape of a +fatigued mind, I dozed for some moments or forgot; then I would say to +myself with a start, “Now it has come, and I am turning delirious!” + +They kept me very quiet all day, and kept my arm constantly dressed, +and gave me cooling drinks. Whenever I fell asleep, I awoke with the +notion I had had in the sluice-house, that a long time had elapsed and +the opportunity to save him was gone. About midnight I got out of bed +and went to Herbert, with the conviction that I had been asleep for +four-and-twenty hours, and that Wednesday was past. It was the last +self-exhausting effort of my fretfulness, for after that I slept +soundly. + +Wednesday morning was dawning when I looked out of window. The winking +lights upon the bridges were already pale, the coming sun was like a +marsh of fire on the horizon. The river, still dark and mysterious, was +spanned by bridges that were turning coldly grey, with here and there +at top a warm touch from the burning in the sky. As I looked along the +clustered roofs, with church-towers and spires shooting into the +unusually clear air, the sun rose up, and a veil seemed to be drawn +from the river, and millions of sparkles burst out upon its waters. +From me too, a veil seemed to be drawn, and I felt strong and well. + +Herbert lay asleep in his bed, and our old fellow-student lay asleep on +the sofa. I could not dress myself without help; but I made up the +fire, which was still burning, and got some coffee ready for them. In +good time they too started up strong and well, and we admitted the +sharp morning air at the windows, and looked at the tide that was still +flowing towards us. + +“When it turns at nine o’clock,” said Herbert, cheerfully, “look out +for us, and stand ready, you over there at Mill Pond Bank!” + + + + +Chapter LIV. + + +It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind +blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. We +had our pea-coats with us, and I took a bag. Of all my worldly +possessions I took no more than the few necessaries that filled the +bag. Where I might go, what I might do, or when I might return, were +questions utterly unknown to me; nor did I vex my mind with them, for +it was wholly set on Provis’s safety. I only wondered for the passing +moment, as I stopped at the door and looked back, under what altered +circumstances I should next see those rooms, if ever. + +We loitered down to the Temple stairs, and stood loitering there, as if +we were not quite decided to go upon the water at all. Of course, I had +taken care that the boat should be ready and everything in order. After +a little show of indecision, which there were none to see but the two +or three amphibious creatures belonging to our Temple stairs, we went +on board and cast off; Herbert in the bow, I steering. It was then +about high-water,—half-past eight. + +Our plan was this. The tide, beginning to run down at nine, and being +with us until three, we intended still to creep on after it had turned, +and row against it until dark. We should then be well in those long +reaches below Gravesend, between Kent and Essex, where the river is +broad and solitary, where the water-side inhabitants are very few, and +where lone public-houses are scattered here and there, of which we +could choose one for a resting-place. There, we meant to lie by all +night. The steamer for Hamburg and the steamer for Rotterdam would +start from London at about nine on Thursday morning. We should know at +what time to expect them, according to where we were, and would hail +the first; so that, if by any accident we were not taken abroad, we +should have another chance. We knew the distinguishing marks of each +vessel. + +The relief of being at last engaged in the execution of the purpose was +so great to me that I felt it difficult to realise the condition in +which I had been a few hours before. The crisp air, the sunlight, the +movement on the river, and the moving river itself,—the road that ran +with us, seeming to sympathise with us, animate us, and encourage us +on,—freshened me with new hope. I felt mortified to be of so little use +in the boat; but, there were few better oarsmen than my two friends, +and they rowed with a steady stroke that was to last all day. + +At that time, the steam-traffic on the Thames was far below its present +extent, and watermen’s boats were far more numerous. Of barges, sailing +colliers, and coasting-traders, there were perhaps, as many as now; but +of steam-ships, great and small, not a tithe or a twentieth part so +many. Early as it was, there were plenty of scullers going here and +there that morning, and plenty of barges dropping down with the tide; +the navigation of the river between bridges, in an open boat, was a +much easier and commoner matter in those days than it is in these; and +we went ahead among many skiffs and wherries briskly. + +Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate Market with its +oyster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor’s Gate, and +we were in among the tiers of shipping. Here were the Leith, Aberdeen, +and Glasgow steamers, loading and unloading goods, and looking +immensely high out of the water as we passed alongside; here, were +colliers by the score and score, with the coal-whippers plunging off +stages on deck, as counterweights to measures of coal swinging up, +which were then rattled over the side into barges; here, at her +moorings was to-morrow’s steamer for Rotterdam, of which we took good +notice; and here to-morrow’s for Hamburg, under whose bowsprit we +crossed. And now I, sitting in the stern, could see, with a faster +beating heart, Mill Pond Bank and Mill Pond stairs. + +“Is he there?” said Herbert. + +“Not yet.” + +“Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his +signal?” + +“Not well from here; but I think I see it.—Now I see him! Pull both. +Easy, Herbert. Oars!” + +We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board, +and we were off again. He had a boat-cloak with him, and a black canvas +bag; and he looked as like a river-pilot as my heart could have wished. + +“Dear boy!” he said, putting his arm on my shoulder, as he took his +seat. “Faithful dear boy, well done. Thankye, thankye!” + +Again among the tiers of shipping, in and out, avoiding rusty +chain-cables frayed hempen hawsers and bobbing buoys, sinking for the +moment floating broken baskets, scattering floating chips of wood and +shaving, cleaving floating scum of coal, in and out, under the +figure-head of the _John of Sunderland_ making a speech to the winds +(as is done by many Johns), and the _Betsy of Yarmouth_ with a firm +formality of bosom and her knobby eyes starting two inches out of her +head; in and out, hammers going in ship-builders’ yards, saws going at +timber, clashing engines going at things unknown, pumps going in leaky +ships, capstans going, ships going out to sea, and unintelligible +sea-creatures roaring curses over the bulwarks at respondent +lightermen, in and out,—out at last upon the clearer river, where the +ships’ boys might take their fenders in, no longer fishing in troubled +waters with them over the side, and where the festooned sails might fly +out to the wind. + +At the stairs where we had taken him abroad, and ever since, I had +looked warily for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none. We +certainly had not been, and at that time as certainly we were not +either attended or followed by any boat. If we had been waited on by +any boat, I should have run in to shore, and have obliged her to go on, +or to make her purpose evident. But we held our own without any +appearance of molestation. + +He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural +part of the scene. It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he +had led accounted for it) that he was the least anxious of any of us. +He was not indifferent, for he told me that he hoped to live to see his +gentleman one of the best of gentlemen in a foreign country; he was not +disposed to be passive or resigned, as I understood it; but he had no +notion of meeting danger half way. When it came upon him, he confronted +it, but it must come before he troubled himself. + +“If you knowed, dear boy,” he said to me, “what it is to sit here +alonger my dear boy and have my smoke, arter having been day by day +betwixt four walls, you’d envy me. But you don’t know what it is.” + +“I think I know the delights of freedom,” I answered. + +“Ah,” said he, shaking his head gravely. “But you don’t know it equal +to me. You must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it +equal to me,—but I ain’t a-going to be low.” + +It occurred to me as inconsistent, that, for any mastering idea, he +should have endangered his freedom, and even his life. But I reflected +that perhaps freedom without danger was too much apart from all the +habit of his existence to be to him what it would be to another man. I +was not far out, since he said, after smoking a little:— + +“You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t’other side the world, I +was always a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for +all I was a growing rich. Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could +come, and Magwitch could go, and nobody’s head would be troubled about +him. They ain’t so easy concerning me here, dear boy,—wouldn’t be, +leastwise, if they knowed where I was.” + +“If all goes well,” said I, “you will be perfectly free and safe again +within a few hours.” + +“Well,” he returned, drawing a long breath, “I hope so.” + +“And think so?” + +He dipped his hand in the water over the boat’s gunwale, and said, +smiling with that softened air upon him which was not new to me:— + +“Ay, I s’pose I think so, dear boy. We’d be puzzled to be more quiet +and easy-going than we are at present. But—it’s a flowing so soft and +pleasant through the water, p’raps, as makes me think it—I was a +thinking through my smoke just then, that we can no more see to the +bottom of the next few hours than we can see to the bottom of this +river what I catches hold of. Nor yet we can’t no more hold their tide +than I can hold this. And it’s run through my fingers and gone, you +see!” holding up his dripping hand. + +“But for your face I should think you were a little despondent,” said +I. + +“Not a bit on it, dear boy! It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of +that there rippling at the boat’s head making a sort of a Sunday tune. +Maybe I’m a growing a trifle old besides.” + +He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of +face, and sat as composed and contented as if we were already out of +England. Yet he was as submissive to a word of advice as if he had been +in constant terror; for, when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer +into the boat, and he was stepping out, I hinted that I thought he +would be safest where he was, and he said. “Do you, dear boy?” and +quietly sat down again. + +The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the +sunshine was very cheering. The tide ran strong, I took care to lose +none of it, and our steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By +imperceptible degrees, as the tide ran out, we lost more and more of +the nearer woods and hills, and dropped lower and lower between the +muddy banks, but the tide was yet with us when we were off Gravesend. +As our charge was wrapped in his cloak, I purposely passed within a +boat or two’s length of the floating Custom House, and so out to catch +the stream, alongside of two emigrant ships, and under the bows of a +large transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us. And +soon the tide began to slacken, and the craft lying at anchor to swing, +and presently they had all swung round, and the ships that were taking +advantage of the new tide to get up to the Pool began to crowd upon us +in a fleet, and we kept under the shore, as much out of the strength of +the tide now as we could, standing carefully off from low shallows and +mudbanks. + +Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive +with the tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour’s rest +proved full as much as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery +stones while we ate and drank what we had with us, and looked about. It +was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim +horizon; while the winding river turned and turned, and the great +floating buoys upon it turned and turned, and everything else seemed +stranded and still. For now the last of the fleet of ships was round +the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, +straw-laden, with a brown sail, had followed; and some +ballast-lighters, shaped like a child’s first rude imitation of a boat, +lay low in the mud; and a little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles +stood crippled in the mud on stilts and crutches; and slimy stakes +stuck out of the mud, and slimy stones stuck out of the mud, and red +landmarks and tidemarks stuck out of the mud, and an old landing-stage +and an old roofless building slipped into the mud, and all about us was +stagnation and mud. + +We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder +work now, but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed and rowed and +rowed until the sun went down. By that time the river had lifted us a +little, so that we could see above the bank. There was the red sun, on +the low level of the shore, in a purple haze, fast deepening into +black; and there was the solitary flat marsh; and far away there were +the rising grounds, between which and us there seemed to be no life, +save here and there in the foreground a melancholy gull. + +As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full, +would not rise early, we held a little council; a short one, for +clearly our course was to lie by at the first lonely tavern we could +find. So, they plied their oars once more, and I looked out for +anything like a house. Thus we held on, speaking little, for four or +five dull miles. It was very cold, and, a collier coming by us, with +her galley-fire smoking and flaring, looked like a comfortable home. +The night was as dark by this time as it would be until morning; and +what light we had, seemed to come more from the river than the sky, as +the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars. + +At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that we +were followed. As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular +intervals against the shore; and whenever such a sound came, one or +other of us was sure to start, and look in that direction. Here and +there, the set of the current had worn down the bank into a little +creek, and we were all suspicious of such places, and eyed them +nervously. Sometimes, “What was that ripple?” one of us would say in a +low voice. Or another, “Is that a boat yonder?” And afterwards we would +fall into a dead silence, and I would sit impatiently thinking with +what an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels. + +At length we descried a light and a roof, and presently afterwards ran +alongside a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard +by. Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light +to be in a window of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough, and I +dare say not unknown to smuggling adventurers; but there was a good +fire in the kitchen, and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various +liquors to drink. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms,—“such as +they were,” the landlord said. No other company was in the house than +the landlord, his wife, and a grizzled male creature, the “Jack” of the +little causeway, who was as slimy and smeary as if he had been +low-water mark too. + +With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came +ashore, and brought out the oars, and rudder and boat-hook, and all +else, and hauled her up for the night. We made a very good meal by the +kitchen fire, and then apportioned the bedrooms: Herbert and Startop +were to occupy one; I and our charge the other. We found the air as +carefully excluded from both, as if air were fatal to life; and there +were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under the beds than I should have +thought the family possessed. But we considered ourselves well off, +notwithstanding, for a more solitary place we could not have found. + +While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the +Jack—who was sitting in a corner, and who had a bloated pair of shoes +on, which he had exhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon, as +interesting relics that he had taken a few days ago from the feet of a +drowned seaman washed ashore—asked me if we had seen a four-oared +galley going up with the tide? When I told him No, he said she must +have gone down then, and yet she “took up too,” when she left there. + +“They must ha’ thought better on’t for some reason or another,” said +the Jack, “and gone down.” + +“A four-oared galley, did you say?” said I. + +“A four,” said the Jack, “and two sitters.” + +“Did they come ashore here?” + +“They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ been +glad to pison the beer myself,” said the Jack, “or put some rattling +physic in it.” + +“Why?” + +“_I_ know why,” said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice, as if much +mud had washed into his throat. + +“He thinks,” said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a pale +eye, who seemed to rely greatly on his Jack,—“he thinks they was, what +they wasn’t.” + +“_I_ knows what I thinks,” observed the Jack. + +“_You_ thinks Custom ’Us, Jack?” said the landlord. + +“I do,” said the Jack. + +“Then you’re wrong, Jack.” + +“AM I!” + +In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in +his views, the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it, +knocked a few stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on +again. He did this with the air of a Jack who was so right that he +could afford to do anything. + +“Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons then, +Jack?” asked the landlord, vacillating weakly. + +“Done with their buttons?” returned the Jack. “Chucked ’em overboard. +Swallered ’em. Sowed ’em, to come up small salad. Done with their +buttons!” + +“Don’t be cheeky, Jack,” remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy and +pathetic way. + +“A Custom ’Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons,” said the +Jack, repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt, “when +they comes betwixt him and his own light. A four and two sitters don’t +go hanging and hovering, up with one tide and down with another, and +both with and against another, without there being Custom ’Us at the +bottom of it.” Saying which he went out in disdain; and the landlord, +having no one to reply upon, found it impracticable to pursue the +subject. + +This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind +was muttering round the house, the tide was flapping at the shore, and +I had a feeling that we were caged and threatened. A four-oared galley +hovering about in so unusual a way as to attract this notice was an +ugly circumstance that I could not get rid of. When I had induced +Provis to go up to bed, I went outside with my two companions (Startop +by this time knew the state of the case), and held another council. +Whether we should remain at the house until near the steamer’s time, +which would be about one in the afternoon, or whether we should put off +early in the morning, was the question we discussed. On the whole we +deemed it the better course to lie where we were, until within an hour +or so of the steamer’s time, and then to get out in her track, and +drift easily with the tide. Having settled to do this, we returned into +the house and went to bed. + +I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a +few hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house +(the Ship) was creaking and banging about, with noises that startled +me. Rising softly, for my charge lay fast asleep, I looked out of the +window. It commanded the causeway where we had hauled up our boat, and, +as my eyes adapted themselves to the light of the clouded moon, I saw +two men looking into her. They passed by under the window, looking at +nothing else, and they did not go down to the landing-place which I +could discern to be empty, but struck across the marsh in the direction +of the Nore. + +My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going +away. But reflecting, before I got into his room, which was at the back +of the house and adjoined mine, that he and Startop had had a harder +day than I, and were fatigued, I forbore. Going back to my window, I +could see the two men moving over the marsh. In that light, however, I +soon lost them, and, feeling very cold, lay down to think of the +matter, and fell asleep again. + +We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, before +breakfast, I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our +charge was the least anxious of the party. It was very likely that the +men belonged to the Custom House, he said quietly, and that they had no +thought of us. I tried to persuade myself that it was so,—as, indeed, +it might easily be. However, I proposed that he and I should walk away +together to a distant point we could see, and that the boat should take +us aboard there, or as near there as might prove feasible, at about +noon. This being considered a good precaution, soon after breakfast he +and I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern. + +He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me +on the shoulder. One would have supposed that it was I who was in +danger, not he, and that he was reassuring me. We spoke very little. As +we approached the point, I begged him to remain in a sheltered place, +while I went on to reconnoitre; for it was towards it that the men had +passed in the night. He complied, and I went on alone. There was no +boat off the point, nor any boat drawn up anywhere near it, nor were +there any signs of the men having embarked there. But, to be sure, the +tide was high, and there might have been some footprints under water. + +When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I +waved my hat to him to come up, he rejoined me, and there we waited; +sometimes lying on the bank, wrapped in our coats, and sometimes moving +about to warm ourselves, until we saw our boat coming round. We got +aboard easily, and rowed out into the track of the steamer. By that +time it wanted but ten minutes of one o’clock, and we began to look out +for her smoke. + +But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke, and soon afterwards +we saw behind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on +at full speed, we got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity of +saying good-bye to Herbert and Startop. We had all shaken hands +cordially, and neither Herbert’s eyes nor mine were quite dry, when I +saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the bank but a little way +ahead of us, and row out into the same track. + +A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer’s smoke, +by reason of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible, +coming head on. I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the +tide, that she might see us lying by for her, and I adjured Provis to +sit quite still, wrapped in his cloak. He answered cheerily, “Trust to +me, dear boy,” and sat like a statue. Meantime the galley, which was +very skilfully handled, had crossed us, let us come up with her, and +fallen alongside. Leaving just room enough for the play of the oars, +she kept alongside, drifting when we drifted, and pulling a stroke or +two when we pulled. Of the two sitters one held the rudder-lines, and +looked at us attentively,—as did all the rowers; the other sitter was +wrapped up, much as Provis was, and seemed to shrink, and whisper some +instruction to the steerer as he looked at us. Not a word was spoken in +either boat. + +Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first, +and gave me the word “Hamburg,” in a low voice, as we sat face to face. +She was nearing us very fast, and the beating of her peddles grew +louder and louder. I felt as if her shadow were absolutely upon us, +when the galley hailed us. I answered. + +“You have a returned Transport there,” said the man who held the lines. +“That’s the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, +otherwise Provis. I apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender, +and you to assist.” + +At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew, +he ran the galley abroad of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke +ahead, had got their oars in, had run athwart us, and were holding on +to our gunwale, before we knew what they were doing. This caused great +confusion on board the steamer, and I heard them calling to us, and +heard the order given to stop the paddles, and heard them stop, but +felt her driving down upon us irresistibly. In the same moment, I saw +the steersman of the galley lay his hand on his prisoner’s shoulder, +and saw that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide, +and saw that all hands on board the steamer were running forward quite +frantically. Still, in the same moment, I saw the prisoner start up, +lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck of the +shrinking sitter in the galley. Still in the same moment, I saw that +the face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long ago. +Still, in the same moment, I saw the face tilt backward with a white +terror on it that I shall never forget, and heard a great cry on board +the steamer, and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink +from under me. + +It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand +mill-weirs and a thousand flashes of light; that instant past, I was +taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there; +but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone. + +What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of +her steam, and her driving on, and our driving on, I could not at first +distinguish sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the +galley righted her with great speed, and, pulling certain swift strong +strokes ahead, lay upon their oars, every man looking silently and +eagerly at the water astern. Presently a dark object was seen in it, +bearing towards us on the tide. No man spoke, but the steersman held up +his hand, and all softly backed water, and kept the boat straight and +true before it. As it came nearer, I saw it to be Magwitch, swimming, +but not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled +at the wrists and ankles. + +The galley was kept steady, and the silent, eager look-out at the water +was resumed. But, the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently not +understanding what had happened, came on at speed. By the time she had +been hailed and stopped, both steamers were drifting away from us, and +we were rising and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out +was kept, long after all was still again and the two steamers were +gone; but everybody knew that it was hopeless now. + +At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern +we had lately left, where we were received with no little surprise. +Here I was able to get some comforts for Magwitch,—Provis no +longer,—who had received some very severe injury in the chest, and a +deep cut in the head. + +He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of the +steamer, and to have been struck on the head in rising. The injury to +his chest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought +he had received against the side of the galley. He added that he did +not pretend to say what he might or might not have done to Compeyson, +but that, in the moment of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify +him, that villain had staggered up and staggered back, and they had +both gone overboard together, when the sudden wrenching of him +(Magwitch) out of our boat, and the endeavour of his captor to keep him +in it, had capsized us. He told me in a whisper that they had gone down +fiercely locked in each other’s arms, and that there had been a +struggle under water, and that he had disengaged himself, struck out, +and swum away. + +I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he thus told +me. The officer who steered the galley gave the same account of their +going overboard. + +When I asked this officer’s permission to change the prisoner’s wet +clothes by purchasing any spare garments I could get at the +public-house, he gave it readily: merely observing that he must take +charge of everything his prisoner had about him. So the pocket-book +which had once been in my hands passed into the officer’s. He further +gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London; but declined to +accord that grace to my two friends. + +The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone +down, and undertook to search for the body in the places where it was +likeliest to come ashore. His interest in its recovery seemed to me to +be much heightened when he heard that it had stockings on. Probably, it +took about a dozen drowned men to fit him out completely; and that may +have been the reason why the different articles of his dress were in +various stages of decay. + +We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then +Magwitch was carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and +Startop were to get to London by land, as soon as they could. We had a +doleful parting, and when I took my place by Magwitch’s side, I felt +that that was my place henceforth while he lived. + +For now, my repugnance to him had all melted away; and in the hunted, +wounded, shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man +who had meant to be my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately, +gratefully, and generously, towards me with great constancy through a +series of years. I only saw in him a much better man than I had been to +Joe. + +His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on, +and often he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm +I could use, in any easy position; but it was dreadful to think that I +could not be sorry at heart for his being badly hurt, since it was +unquestionably best that he should die. That there were, still living, +people enough who were able and willing to identify him, I could not +doubt. That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope. He who had +been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since broken +prison and had been tried again, who had returned from transportation +under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who +was the cause of his arrest. + +As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us, +and as the stream of our hopes seemed all running back, I told him how +grieved I was to think that he had come home for my sake. + +“Dear boy,” he answered, “I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve +seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me.” + +No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No. +Apart from any inclinations of my own, I understood Wemmick’s hint now. +I foresaw that, being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to +the Crown. + +“Lookee here, dear boy,” said he “It’s best as a gentleman should not +be knowed to belong to me now. Only come to see me as if you come by +chance alonger Wemmick. Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for +the last o’ many times, and I don’t ask no more.” + +“I will never stir from your side,” said I, “when I am suffered to be +near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!” + +I felt his hand tremble as it held mine, and he turned his face away as +he lay in the bottom of the boat, and I heard that old sound in his +throat,—softened now, like all the rest of him. It was a good thing +that he had touched this point, for it put into my mind what I might +not otherwise have thought of until too late,—that he need never know +how his hopes of enriching me had perished. + + + + +Chapter LV. + + +He was taken to the Police Court next day, and would have been +immediately committed for trial, but that it was necessary to send down +for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once escaped, +to speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but Compeyson, who had +meant to depose to it, was tumbling on the tides, dead, and it happened +that there was not at that time any prison officer in London who could +give the required evidence. I had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his +private house, on my arrival over night, to retain his assistance, and +Mr. Jaggers on the prisoner’s behalf would admit nothing. It was the +sole resource; for he told me that the case must be over in five +minutes when the witness was there, and that no power on earth could +prevent its going against us. + +I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of the +fate of his wealth. Mr. Jaggers was querulous and angry with me for +having “let it slip through my fingers,” and said we must memorialise +by and by, and try at all events for some of it. But he did not conceal +from me that, although there might be many cases in which the +forfeiture would not be exacted, there were no circumstances in this +case to make it one of them. I understood that very well. I was not +related to the outlaw, or connected with him by any recognisable tie; +he had put his hand to no writing or settlement in my favour before his +apprehension, and to do so now would be idle. I had no claim, and I +finally resolved, and ever afterwards abided by the resolution, that my +heart should never be sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to +establish one. + +There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer had +hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture, and had obtained some +accurate knowledge of Magwitch’s affairs. When his body was found, many +miles from the scene of his death, and so horribly disfigured that he +was only recognisable by the contents of his pockets, notes were still +legible, folded in a case he carried. Among these were the name of a +banking-house in New South Wales, where a sum of money was, and the +designation of certain lands of considerable value. Both these heads of +information were in a list that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr. +Jaggers, of the possessions he supposed I should inherit. His +ignorance, poor fellow, at last served him; he never mistrusted but +that my inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers’s aid. + +After three days’ delay, during which the crown prosecution stood over +for the production of the witness from the prison-ship, the witness +came, and completed the easy case. He was committed to take his trial +at the next Sessions, which would come on in a month. + +It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one +evening, a good deal cast down, and said,— + +“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you.” + +His partner having prepared me for that, I was less surprised than he +thought. + +“We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo, and I am +very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me.” + +“Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you; but +my need is no greater now than at another time.” + +“You will be so lonely.” + +“I have not leisure to think of that,” said I. “You know that I am +always with him to the full extent of the time allowed, and that I +should be with him all day long, if I could. And when I come away from +him, you know that my thoughts are with him.” + +The dreadful condition to which he was brought, was so appalling to +both of us, that we could not refer to it in plainer words. + +“My dear fellow,” said Herbert, “let the near prospect of our +separation—for, it is very near—be my justification for troubling you +about yourself. Have you thought of your future?” + +“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.” + +“But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed, my dear dear Handel, it must +not be dismissed. I wish you would enter on it now, as far as a few +friendly words go, with me.” + +“I will,” said I. + +“In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a—” + +I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, “A +clerk.” + +“A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand (as a +clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now, +Handel,—in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?” + +There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner in +which after saying “Now, Handel,” as if it were the grave beginning of +a portentous business exordium, he had suddenly given up that tone, +stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a schoolboy. + +“Clara and I have talked about it again and again,” Herbert pursued, +“and the dear little thing begged me only this evening, with tears in +her eyes, to say to you that, if you will live with us when we come +together, she will do her best to make you happy, and to convince her +husband’s friend that he is her friend too. We should get on so well, +Handel!” + +I thanked her heartily, and I thanked him heartily, but said I could +not yet make sure of joining him as he so kindly offered. Firstly, my +mind was too preoccupied to be able to take in the subject clearly. +Secondly,—Yes! Secondly, there was a vague something lingering in my +thoughts that will come out very near the end of this slight narrative. + +“But if you thought, Herbert, that you could, without doing any injury +to your business, leave the question open for a little while—” + +“For any while,” cried Herbert. “Six months, a year!” + +“Not so long as that,” said I. “Two or three months at most.” + +Herbert was highly delighted when we shook hands on this arrangement, +and said he could now take courage to tell me that he believed he must +go away at the end of the week. + +“And Clara?” said I. + +“The dear little thing,” returned Herbert, “holds dutifully to her +father as long as he lasts; but he won’t last long. Mrs. Whimple +confides to me that he is certainly going.” + +“Not to say an unfeeling thing,” said I, “he cannot do better than go.” + +“I am afraid that must be admitted,” said Herbert; “and then I shall +come back for the dear little thing, and the dear little thing and I +will walk quietly into the nearest church. Remember! The blessed +darling comes of no family, my dear Handel, and never looked into the +red book, and hasn’t a notion about her grandpapa. What a fortune for +the son of my mother!” + +On the Saturday in that same week, I took my leave of Herbert,—full of +bright hope, but sad and sorry to leave me,—as he sat on one of the +seaport mail coaches. I went into a coffee-house to write a little note +to Clara, telling her he had gone off, sending his love to her over and +over again, and then went to my lonely home,—if it deserved the name; +for it was now no home to me, and I had no home anywhere. + +On the stairs I encountered Wemmick, who was coming down, after an +unsuccessful application of his knuckles to my door. I had not seen him +alone since the disastrous issue of the attempted flight; and he had +come, in his private and personal capacity, to say a few words of +explanation in reference to that failure. + +“The late Compeyson,” said Wemmick, “had by little and little got at +the bottom of half of the regular business now transacted; and it was +from the talk of some of his people in trouble (some of his people +being always in trouble) that I heard what I did. I kept my ears open, +seeming to have them shut, until I heard that he was absent, and I +thought that would be the best time for making the attempt. I can only +suppose now, that it was a part of his policy, as a very clever man, +habitually to deceive his own instruments. You don’t blame me, I hope, +Mr. Pip? I am sure I tried to serve you, with all my heart.” + +“I am as sure of that, Wemmick, as you can be, and I thank you most +earnestly for all your interest and friendship.” + +“Thank you, thank you very much. It’s a bad job,” said Wemmick, +scratching his head, “and I assure you I haven’t been so cut up for a +long time. What I look at is the sacrifice of so much portable +property. Dear me!” + +“What _I_ think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property.” + +“Yes, to be sure,” said Wemmick. “Of course, there can be no objection +to your being sorry for him, and I’d put down a five-pound note myself +to get him out of it. But what I look at is this. The late Compeyson +having been beforehand with him in intelligence of his return, and +being so determined to bring him to book, I do not think he could have +been saved. Whereas, the portable property certainly could have been +saved. That’s the difference between the property and the owner, don’t +you see?” + +I invited Wemmick to come upstairs, and refresh himself with a glass of +grog before walking to Walworth. He accepted the invitation. While he +was drinking his moderate allowance, he said, with nothing to lead up +to it, and after having appeared rather fidgety,— + +“What do you think of my meaning to take a holiday on Monday, Mr. Pip?” + +“Why, I suppose you have not done such a thing these twelve months.” + +“These twelve years, more likely,” said Wemmick. “Yes. I’m going to +take a holiday. More than that; I’m going to take a walk. More than +that; I’m going to ask you to take a walk with me.” + +I was about to excuse myself, as being but a bad companion just then, +when Wemmick anticipated me. + +“I know your engagements,” said he, “and I know you are out of sorts, +Mr. Pip. But if you _could_ oblige me, I should take it as a kindness. +It ain’t a long walk, and it’s an early one. Say it might occupy you +(including breakfast on the walk) from eight to twelve. Couldn’t you +stretch a point and manage it?” + +He had done so much for me at various times, that this was very little +to do for him. I said I could manage it,—would manage it,—and he was so +very much pleased by my acquiescence, that I was pleased too. At his +particular request, I appointed to call for him at the Castle at half +past eight on Monday morning, and so we parted for the time. + +Punctual to my appointment, I rang at the Castle gate on the Monday +morning, and was received by Wemmick himself, who struck me as looking +tighter than usual, and having a sleeker hat on. Within, there were two +glasses of rum and milk prepared, and two biscuits. The Aged must have +been stirring with the lark, for, glancing into the perspective of his +bedroom, I observed that his bed was empty. + +When we had fortified ourselves with the rum and milk and biscuits, and +were going out for the walk with that training preparation on us, I was +considerably surprised to see Wemmick take up a fishing-rod, and put it +over his shoulder. “Why, we are not going fishing!” said I. “No,” +returned Wemmick, “but I like to walk with one.” + +I thought this odd; however, I said nothing, and we set off. We went +towards Camberwell Green, and when we were thereabouts, Wemmick said +suddenly,— + +“Halloa! Here’s a church!” + +There was nothing very surprising in that; but again, I was rather +surprised, when he said, as if he were animated by a brilliant idea,— + +“Let’s go in!” + +We went in, Wemmick leaving his fishing-rod in the porch, and looked +all round. In the mean time, Wemmick was diving into his coat-pockets, +and getting something out of paper there. + +“Halloa!” said he. “Here’s a couple of pair of gloves! Let’s put ’em +on!” + +As the gloves were white kid gloves, and as the post-office was widened +to its utmost extent, I now began to have my strong suspicions. They +were strengthened into certainty when I beheld the Aged enter at a side +door, escorting a lady. + +“Halloa!” said Wemmick. “Here’s Miss Skiffins! Let’s have a wedding.” + +That discreet damsel was attired as usual, except that she was now +engaged in substituting for her green kid gloves a pair of white. The +Aged was likewise occupied in preparing a similar sacrifice for the +altar of Hymen. The old gentleman, however, experienced so much +difficulty in getting his gloves on, that Wemmick found it necessary to +put him with his back against a pillar, and then to get behind the +pillar himself and pull away at them, while I for my part held the old +gentleman round the waist, that he might present an equal and safe +resistance. By dint of this ingenious scheme, his gloves were got on to +perfection. + +The clerk and clergyman then appearing, we were ranged in order at +those fatal rails. True to his notion of seeming to do it all without +preparation, I heard Wemmick say to himself, as he took something out +of his waistcoat-pocket before the service began, “Halloa! Here’s a +ring!” + +I acted in the capacity of backer, or best-man, to the bridegroom; +while a little limp pew-opener in a soft bonnet like a baby’s, made a +feint of being the bosom friend of Miss Skiffins. The responsibility of +giving the lady away devolved upon the Aged, which led to the +clergyman’s being unintentionally scandalised, and it happened thus. +When he said, “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?” the +old gentleman, not in the least knowing what point of the ceremony we +had arrived at, stood most amiably beaming at the ten commandments. +Upon which, the clergyman said again, “WHO giveth this woman to be +married to this man?” The old gentleman being still in a state of most +estimable unconsciousness, the bridegroom cried out in his accustomed +voice, “Now Aged P. you know; who giveth?” To which the Aged replied +with great briskness, before saying that _he_ gave, “All right, John, +all right, my boy!” And the clergyman came to so gloomy a pause upon +it, that I had doubts for the moment whether we should get completely +married that day. + +It was completely done, however, and when we were going out of church +Wemmick took the cover off the font, and put his white gloves in it, +and put the cover on again. Mrs. Wemmick, more heedful of the future, +put her white gloves in her pocket and assumed her green. “_Now_, Mr. +Pip,” said Wemmick, triumphantly shouldering the fishing-rod as we came +out, “let me ask you whether anybody would suppose this to be a +wedding-party!” + +Breakfast had been ordered at a pleasant little tavern, a mile or so +away upon the rising ground beyond the green; and there was a bagatelle +board in the room, in case we should desire to unbend our minds after +the solemnity. It was pleasant to observe that Mrs. Wemmick no longer +unwound Wemmick’s arm when it adapted itself to her figure, but sat in +a high-backed chair against the wall, like a violoncello in its case, +and submitted to be embraced as that melodious instrument might have +done. + +We had an excellent breakfast, and when any one declined anything on +table, Wemmick said, “Provided by contract, you know; don’t be afraid +of it!” I drank to the new couple, drank to the Aged, drank to the +Castle, saluted the bride at parting, and made myself as agreeable as I +could. + +Wemmick came down to the door with me, and I again shook hands with +him, and wished him joy. + +“Thankee!” said Wemmick, rubbing his hands. “She’s such a manager of +fowls, you have no idea. You shall have some eggs, and judge for +yourself. I say, Mr. Pip!” calling me back, and speaking low. “This is +altogether a Walworth sentiment, please.” + +“I understand. Not to be mentioned in Little Britain,” said I. + +Wemmick nodded. “After what you let out the other day, Mr. Jaggers may +as well not know of it. He might think my brain was softening, or +something of the kind.” + + + + +Chapter LVI. + + +He lay in prison very ill, during the whole interval between his +committal for trial and the coming round of the Sessions. He had broken +two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathed with great +pain and difficulty, which increased daily. It was a consequence of his +hurt that he spoke so low as to be scarcely audible; therefore he spoke +very little. But he was ever ready to listen to me; and it became the +first duty of my life to say to him, and read to him, what I knew he +ought to hear. + +Being far too ill to remain in the common prison, he was removed, after +the first day or so, into the infirmary. This gave me opportunities of +being with him that I could not otherwise have had. And but for his +illness he would have been put in irons, for he was regarded as a +determined prison-breaker, and I know not what else. + +Although I saw him every day, it was for only a short time; hence, the +regularly recurring spaces of our separation were long enough to record +on his face any slight changes that occurred in his physical state. I +do not recollect that I once saw any change in it for the better; he +wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, day by day, from the day +when the prison door closed upon him. + +The kind of submission or resignation that he showed was that of a man +who was tired out. I sometimes derived an impression, from his manner +or from a whispered word or two which escaped him, that he pondered +over the question whether he might have been a better man under better +circumstances. But he never justified himself by a hint tending that +way, or tried to bend the past out of its eternal shape. + +It happened on two or three occasions in my presence, that his +desperate reputation was alluded to by one or other of the people in +attendance on him. A smile crossed his face then, and he turned his +eyes on me with a trustful look, as if he were confident that I had +seen some small redeeming touch in him, even so long ago as when I was +a little child. As to all the rest, he was humble and contrite, and I +never knew him complain. + +When the Sessions came round, Mr. Jaggers caused an application to be +made for the postponement of his trial until the following Sessions. It +was obviously made with the assurance that he could not live so long, +and was refused. The trial came on at once, and, when he was put to the +bar, he was seated in a chair. No objection was made to my getting +close to the dock, on the outside of it, and holding the hand that he +stretched forth to me. + +The trial was very short and very clear. Such things as could be said +for him were said,—how he had taken to industrious habits, and had +thriven lawfully and reputably. But nothing could unsay the fact that +he had returned, and was there in presence of the Judge and Jury. It +was impossible to try him for that, and do otherwise than find him +guilty. + +At that time, it was the custom (as I learnt from my terrible +experience of that Sessions) to devote a concluding day to the passing +of Sentences, and to make a finishing effect with the Sentence of +Death. But for the indelible picture that my remembrance now holds +before me, I could scarcely believe, even as I write these words, that +I saw two-and-thirty men and women put before the Judge to receive that +sentence together. Foremost among the two-and-thirty was he; seated, +that he might get breath enough to keep life in him. + +The whole scene starts out again in the vivid colours of the moment, +down to the drops of April rain on the windows of the court, glittering +in the rays of April sun. Penned in the dock, as I again stood outside +it at the corner with his hand in mine, were the two-and-thirty men and +women; some defiant, some stricken with terror, some sobbing and +weeping, some covering their faces, some staring gloomily about. There +had been shrieks from among the women convicts; but they had been +stilled, and a hush had succeeded. The sheriffs with their great chains +and nosegays, other civic gewgaws and monsters, criers, ushers, a great +gallery full of people,—a large theatrical audience,—looked on, as the +two-and-thirty and the Judge were solemnly confronted. Then the Judge +addressed them. Among the wretched creatures before him whom he must +single out for special address was one who almost from his infancy had +been an offender against the laws; who, after repeated imprisonments +and punishments, had been at length sentenced to exile for a term of +years; and who, under circumstances of great violence and daring, had +made his escape and been re-sentenced to exile for life. That miserable +man would seem for a time to have become convinced of his errors, when +far removed from the scenes of his old offences, and to have lived a +peaceable and honest life. But in a fatal moment, yielding to those +propensities and passions, the indulgence of which had so long rendered +him a scourge to society, he had quitted his haven of rest and +repentance, and had come back to the country where he was proscribed. +Being here presently denounced, he had for a time succeeded in evading +the officers of Justice, but being at length seized while in the act of +flight, he had resisted them, and had—he best knew whether by express +design, or in the blindness of his hardihood—caused the death of his +denouncer, to whom his whole career was known. The appointed punishment +for his return to the land that had cast him out, being Death, and his +case being this aggravated case, he must prepare himself to Die. + +The sun was striking in at the great windows of the court, through the +glittering drops of rain upon the glass, and it made a broad shaft of +light between the two-and-thirty and the Judge, linking both together, +and perhaps reminding some among the audience how both were passing on, +with absolute equality, to the greater Judgment that knoweth all +things, and cannot err. Rising for a moment, a distinct speck of face +in this way of light, the prisoner said, “My Lord, I have received my +sentence of Death from the Almighty, but I bow to yours,” and sat down +again. There was some hushing, and the Judge went on with what he had +to say to the rest. Then they were all formally doomed, and some of +them were supported out, and some of them sauntered out with a haggard +look of bravery, and a few nodded to the gallery, and two or three +shook hands, and others went out chewing the fragments of herb they had +taken from the sweet herbs lying about. He went last of all, because of +having to be helped from his chair, and to go very slowly; and he held +my hand while all the others were removed, and while the audience got +up (putting their dresses right, as they might at church or elsewhere), +and pointed down at this criminal or at that, and most of all at him +and me. + +I earnestly hoped and prayed that he might die before the Recorder’s +Report was made; but, in the dread of his lingering on, I began that +night to write out a petition to the Home Secretary of State, setting +forth my knowledge of him, and how it was that he had come back for my +sake. I wrote it as fervently and pathetically as I could; and when I +had finished it and sent it in, I wrote out other petitions to such men +in authority as I hoped were the most merciful, and drew up one to the +Crown itself. For several days and nights after he was sentenced I took +no rest except when I fell asleep in my chair, but was wholly absorbed +in these appeals. And after I had sent them in, I could not keep away +from the places where they were, but felt as if they were more hopeful +and less desperate when I was near them. In this unreasonable +restlessness and pain of mind I would roam the streets of an evening, +wandering by those offices and houses where I had left the petitions. +To the present hour, the weary western streets of London on a cold, +dusty spring night, with their ranges of stern, shut-up mansions, and +their long rows of lamps, are melancholy to me from this association. + +The daily visits I could make him were shortened now, and he was more +strictly kept. Seeing, or fancying, that I was suspected of an +intention of carrying poison to him, I asked to be searched before I +sat down at his bedside, and told the officer who was always there, +that I was willing to do anything that would assure him of the +singleness of my designs. Nobody was hard with him or with me. There +was duty to be done, and it was done, but not harshly. The officer +always gave me the assurance that he was worse, and some other sick +prisoners in the room, and some other prisoners who attended on them as +sick nurses, (malefactors, but not incapable of kindness, God be +thanked!) always joined in the same report. + +As the days went on, I noticed more and more that he would lie placidly +looking at the white ceiling, with an absence of light in his face +until some word of mine brightened it for an instant, and then it would +subside again. Sometimes he was almost or quite unable to speak, then +he would answer me with slight pressures on my hand, and I grew to +understand his meaning very well. + +The number of the days had risen to ten, when I saw a greater change in +him than I had seen yet. His eyes were turned towards the door, and +lighted up as I entered. + +“Dear boy,” he said, as I sat down by his bed: “I thought you was late. +But I knowed you couldn’t be that.” + +“It is just the time,” said I. “I waited for it at the gate.” + +“You always waits at the gate; don’t you, dear boy?” + +“Yes. Not to lose a moment of the time.” + +“Thank’ee dear boy, thank’ee. God bless you! You’ve never deserted me, +dear boy.” + +I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I had once +meant to desert him. + +“And what’s the best of all,” he said, “you’ve been more comfortable +alonger me, since I was under a dark cloud, than when the sun shone. +That’s best of all.” + +He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty. Do what he would, +and love me though he did, the light left his face ever and again, and +a film came over the placid look at the white ceiling. + +“Are you in much pain to-day?” + +“I don’t complain of none, dear boy.” + +“You never do complain.” + +He had spoken his last words. He smiled, and I understood his touch to +mean that he wished to lift my hand, and lay it on his breast. I laid +it there, and he smiled again, and put both his hands upon it. + +The allotted time ran out, while we were thus; but, looking round, I +found the governor of the prison standing near me, and he whispered, +“You needn’t go yet.” I thanked him gratefully, and asked, “Might I +speak to him, if he can hear me?” + +The governor stepped aside, and beckoned the officer away. The change, +though it was made without noise, drew back the film from the placid +look at the white ceiling, and he looked most affectionately at me. + +“Dear Magwitch, I must tell you now, at last. You understand what I +say?” + +A gentle pressure on my hand. + +“You had a child once, whom you loved and lost.” + +A stronger pressure on my hand. + +“She lived, and found powerful friends. She is living now. She is a +lady and very beautiful. And I love her!” + +With a last faint effort, which would have been powerless but for my +yielding to it and assisting it, he raised my hand to his lips. Then, +he gently let it sink upon his breast again, with his own hands lying +on it. The placid look at the white ceiling came back, and passed away, +and his head dropped quietly on his breast. + +Mindful, then, of what we had read together, I thought of the two men +who went up into the Temple to pray, and I knew there were no better +words that I could say beside his bed, than “O Lord, be merciful to him +a sinner!” + + + + +Chapter LVII. + + +Now that I was left wholly to myself, I gave notice of my intention to +quit the chambers in the Temple as soon as my tenancy could legally +determine, and in the meanwhile to underlet them. At once I put bills +up in the windows; for, I was in debt, and had scarcely any money, and +began to be seriously alarmed by the state of my affairs. I ought +rather to write that I should have been alarmed if I had had energy and +concentration enough to help me to the clear perception of any truth +beyond the fact that I was falling very ill. The late stress upon me +had enabled me to put off illness, but not to put it away; I knew that +it was coming on me now, and I knew very little else, and was even +careless as to that. + +For a day or two, I lay on the sofa, or on the floor,—anywhere, +according as I happened to sink down,—with a heavy head and aching +limbs, and no purpose, and no power. Then there came, one night which +appeared of great duration, and which teemed with anxiety and horror; +and when in the morning I tried to sit up in my bed and think of it, I +found I could not do so. + +Whether I really had been down in Garden Court in the dead of the +night, groping about for the boat that I supposed to be there; whether +I had two or three times come to myself on the staircase with great +terror, not knowing how I had got out of bed; whether I had found +myself lighting the lamp, possessed by the idea that he was coming up +the stairs, and that the lights were blown out; whether I had been +inexpressibly harassed by the distracted talking, laughing, and +groaning of some one, and had half suspected those sounds to be of my +own making; whether there had been a closed iron furnace in a dark +corner of the room, and a voice had called out, over and over again, +that Miss Havisham was consuming within it,—these were things that I +tried to settle with myself and get into some order, as I lay that +morning on my bed. But the vapour of a limekiln would come between me +and them, disordering them all, and it was through the vapour at last +that I saw two men looking at me. + +“What do you want?” I asked, starting; “I don’t know you.” + +“Well, sir,” returned one of them, bending down and touching me on the +shoulder, “this is a matter that you’ll soon arrange, I dare say, but +you’re arrested.” + +“What is the debt?” + +“Hundred and twenty-three pound, fifteen, six. Jeweller’s account, I +think.” + +“What is to be done?” + +“You had better come to my house,” said the man. “I keep a very nice +house.” + +I made some attempt to get up and dress myself. When I next attended to +them, they were standing a little off from the bed, looking at me. I +still lay there. + +“You see my state,” said I. “I would come with you if I could; but +indeed I am quite unable. If you take me from here, I think I shall die +by the way.” + +Perhaps they replied, or argued the point, or tried to encourage me to +believe that I was better than I thought. Forasmuch as they hang in my +memory by only this one slender thread, I don’t know what they did, +except that they forbore to remove me. + +That I had a fever and was avoided, that I suffered greatly, that I +often lost my reason, that the time seemed interminable, that I +confounded impossible existences with my own identity; that I was a +brick in the house-wall, and yet entreating to be released from the +giddy place where the builders had set me; that I was a steel beam of a +vast engine, clashing and whirling over a gulf, and yet that I implored +in my own person to have the engine stopped, and my part in it hammered +off; that I passed through these phases of disease, I know of my own +remembrance, and did in some sort know at the time. That I sometimes +struggled with real people, in the belief that they were murderers, and +that I would all at once comprehend that they meant to do me good, and +would then sink exhausted in their arms, and suffer them to lay me +down, I also knew at the time. But, above all, I knew that there was a +constant tendency in all these people,—who, when I was very ill, would +present all kinds of extraordinary transformations of the human face, +and would be much dilated in size,—above all, I say, I knew that there +was an extraordinary tendency in all these people, sooner or later, to +settle down into the likeness of Joe. + +After I had turned the worst point of my illness, I began to notice +that while all its other features changed, this one consistent feature +did not change. Whoever came about me, still settled down into Joe. I +opened my eyes in the night, and I saw, in the great chair at the +bedside, Joe. I opened my eyes in the day, and, sitting on the +window-seat, smoking his pipe in the shaded open window, still I saw +Joe. I asked for cooling drink, and the dear hand that gave it me was +Joe’s. I sank back on my pillow after drinking, and the face that +looked so hopefully and tenderly upon me was the face of Joe. + +At last, one day, I took courage, and said, “_Is_ it Joe?” + +And the dear old home-voice answered, “Which it air, old chap.” + +“O Joe, you break my heart! Look angry at me, Joe. Strike me, Joe. Tell +me of my ingratitude. Don’t be so good to me!” + +For Joe had actually laid his head down on the pillow at my side, and +put his arm round my neck, in his joy that I knew him. + +“Which dear old Pip, old chap,” said Joe, “you and me was ever friends. +And when you’re well enough to go out for a ride—what larks!” + +After which, Joe withdrew to the window, and stood with his back +towards me, wiping his eyes. And as my extreme weakness prevented me +from getting up and going to him, I lay there, penitently whispering, +“O God bless him! O God bless this gentle Christian man!” + +Joe’s eyes were red when I next found him beside me; but I was holding +his hand, and we both felt happy. + +“How long, dear Joe?” + +“Which you meantersay, Pip, how long have your illness lasted, dear old +chap?” + +“Yes, Joe.” + +“It’s the end of May, Pip. To-morrow is the first of June.” + +“And have you been here all that time, dear Joe?” + +“Pretty nigh, old chap. For, as I says to Biddy when the news of your +being ill were brought by letter, which it were brought by the post, +and being formerly single he is now married though underpaid for a deal +of walking and shoe-leather, but wealth were not a object on his part, +and marriage were the great wish of his hart—” + +“It is so delightful to hear you, Joe! But I interrupt you in what you +said to Biddy.” + +“Which it were,” said Joe, “that how you might be amongst strangers, +and that how you and me having been ever friends, a wisit at such a +moment might not prove unacceptabobble. And Biddy, her word were, ‘Go +to him, without loss of time.’ That,” said Joe, summing up with his +judicial air, “were the word of Biddy. ‘Go to him,’ Biddy say, ‘without +loss of time.’ In short, I shouldn’t greatly deceive you,” Joe added, +after a little grave reflection, “if I represented to you that the word +of that young woman were, ‘without a minute’s loss of time.’” + +There Joe cut himself short, and informed me that I was to be talked to +in great moderation, and that I was to take a little nourishment at +stated frequent times, whether I felt inclined for it or not, and that +I was to submit myself to all his orders. So I kissed his hand, and lay +quiet, while he proceeded to indite a note to Biddy, with my love in +it. + +Evidently Biddy had taught Joe to write. As I lay in bed looking at +him, it made me, in my weak state, cry again with pleasure to see the +pride with which he set about his letter. My bedstead, divested of its +curtains, had been removed, with me upon it, into the sitting-room, as +the airiest and largest, and the carpet had been taken away, and the +room kept always fresh and wholesome night and day. At my own +writing-table, pushed into a corner and cumbered with little bottles, +Joe now sat down to his great work, first choosing a pen from the +pen-tray as if it were a chest of large tools, and tucking up his +sleeves as if he were going to wield a crow-bar or sledgehammer. It was +necessary for Joe to hold on heavily to the table with his left elbow, +and to get his right leg well out behind him, before he could begin; +and when he did begin he made every downstroke so slowly that it might +have been six feet long, while at every upstroke I could hear his pen +spluttering extensively. He had a curious idea that the inkstand was on +the side of him where it was not, and constantly dipped his pen into +space, and seemed quite satisfied with the result. Occasionally, he was +tripped up by some orthographical stumbling-block; but on the whole he +got on very well indeed; and when he had signed his name, and had +removed a finishing blot from the paper to the crown of his head with +his two forefingers, he got up and hovered about the table, trying the +effect of his performance from various points of view, as it lay there, +with unbounded satisfaction. + +Not to make Joe uneasy by talking too much, even if I had been able to +talk much, I deferred asking him about Miss Havisham until next day. He +shook his head when I then asked him if she had recovered. + +“Is she dead, Joe?” + +“Why you see, old chap,” said Joe, in a tone of remonstrance, and by +way of getting at it by degrees, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, +for that’s a deal to say; but she ain’t—” + +“Living, Joe?” + +“That’s nigher where it is,” said Joe; “she ain’t living.” + +“Did she linger long, Joe?” + +“Arter you was took ill, pretty much about what you might call (if you +was put to it) a week,” said Joe; still determined, on my account, to +come at everything by degrees. + +“Dear Joe, have you heard what becomes of her property?” + +“Well, old chap,” said Joe, “it do appear that she had settled the most +of it, which I meantersay tied it up, on Miss Estella. But she had +wrote out a little coddleshell in her own hand a day or two afore the +accident, leaving a cool four thousand to Mr. Matthew Pocket. And why, +do you suppose, above all things, Pip, she left that cool four thousand +unto him? ‘Because of Pip’s account of him, the said Matthew.’ I am +told by Biddy, that air the writing,” said Joe, repeating the legal +turn as if it did him infinite good, “‘account of him the said +Matthew.’ And a cool four thousand, Pip!” + +I never discovered from whom Joe derived the conventional temperature +of the four thousand pounds; but it appeared to make the sum of money +more to him, and he had a manifest relish in insisting on its being +cool. + +This account gave me great joy, as it perfected the only good thing I +had done. I asked Joe whether he had heard if any of the other +relations had any legacies? + +“Miss Sarah,” said Joe, “she have twenty-five pound perannium fur to +buy pills, on account of being bilious. Miss Georgiana, she have twenty +pound down. Mrs.—what’s the name of them wild beasts with humps, old +chap?” + +“Camels?” said I, wondering why he could possibly want to know. + +Joe nodded. “Mrs. Camels,” by which I presently understood he meant +Camilla, “she have five pound fur to buy rushlights to put her in +spirits when she wake up in the night.” + +The accuracy of these recitals was sufficiently obvious to me, to give +me great confidence in Joe’s information. “And now,” said Joe, “you +ain’t that strong yet, old chap, that you can take in more nor one +additional shovelful to-day. Old Orlick he’s been a bustin’ open a +dwelling-ouse.” + +“Whose?” said I. + +“Not, I grant you, but what his manners is given to blusterous,” said +Joe, apologetically; “still, a Englishman’s ouse is his Castle, and +castles must not be busted ’cept when done in war time. And wotsume’er +the failings on his part, he were a corn and seedsman in his hart.” + +“Is it Pumblechook’s house that has been broken into, then?” + +“That’s it, Pip,” said Joe; “and they took his till, and they took his +cash-box, and they drinked his wine, and they partook of his wittles, +and they slapped his face, and they pulled his nose, and they tied him +up to his bedpust, and they giv’ him a dozen, and they stuffed his +mouth full of flowering annuals to prewent his crying out. But he +knowed Orlick, and Orlick’s in the county jail.” + +By these approaches we arrived at unrestricted conversation. I was slow +to gain strength, but I did slowly and surely become less weak, and Joe +stayed with me, and I fancied I was little Pip again. + +For the tenderness of Joe was so beautifully proportioned to my need, +that I was like a child in his hands. He would sit and talk to me in +the old confidence, and with the old simplicity, and in the old +unassertive protecting way, so that I would half believe that all my +life since the days of the old kitchen was one of the mental troubles +of the fever that was gone. He did everything for me except the +household work, for which he had engaged a very decent woman, after +paying off the laundress on his first arrival. “Which I do assure you, +Pip,” he would often say, in explanation of that liberty; “I found her +a tapping the spare bed, like a cask of beer, and drawing off the +feathers in a bucket, for sale. Which she would have tapped yourn next, +and draw’d it off with you a laying on it, and was then a carrying away +the coals gradiwally in the soup-tureen and wegetable-dishes, and the +wine and spirits in your Wellington boots.” + +We looked forward to the day when I should go out for a ride, as we had +once looked forward to the day of my apprenticeship. And when the day +came, and an open carriage was got into the Lane, Joe wrapped me up, +took me in his arms, carried me down to it, and put me in, as if I were +still the small helpless creature to whom he had so abundantly given of +the wealth of his great nature. + +And Joe got in beside me, and we drove away together into the country, +where the rich summer growth was already on the trees and on the grass, +and sweet summer scents filled all the air. The day happened to be +Sunday, and when I looked on the loveliness around me, and thought how +it had grown and changed, and how the little wild-flowers had been +forming, and the voices of the birds had been strengthening, by day and +by night, under the sun and under the stars, while poor I lay burning +and tossing on my bed, the mere remembrance of having burned and tossed +there came like a check upon my peace. But when I heard the Sunday +bells, and looked around a little more upon the outspread beauty, I +felt that I was not nearly thankful enough,—that I was too weak yet to +be even that,—and I laid my head on Joe’s shoulder, as I had laid it +long ago when he had taken me to the Fair or where not, and it was too +much for my young senses. + +More composure came to me after a while, and we talked as we used to +talk, lying on the grass at the old Battery. There was no change +whatever in Joe. Exactly what he had been in my eyes then, he was in my +eyes still; just as simply faithful, and as simply right. + +When we got back again, and he lifted me out, and carried me—so +easily!—across the court and up the stairs, I thought of that eventful +Christmas Day when he had carried me over the marshes. We had not yet +made any allusion to my change of fortune, nor did I know how much of +my late history he was acquainted with. I was so doubtful of myself +now, and put so much trust in him, that I could not satisfy myself +whether I ought to refer to it when he did not. + +“Have you heard, Joe,” I asked him that evening, upon further +consideration, as he smoked his pipe at the window, “who my patron +was?” + +“I heerd,” returned Joe, “as it were not Miss Havisham, old chap.” + +“Did you hear who it was, Joe?” + +“Well! I heerd as it were a person what sent the person what giv’ you +the bank-notes at the Jolly Bargemen, Pip.” + +“So it was.” + +“Astonishing!” said Joe, in the placidest way. + +“Did you hear that he was dead, Joe?” I presently asked, with +increasing diffidence. + +“Which? Him as sent the bank-notes, Pip?” + +“Yes.” + +“I think,” said Joe, after meditating a long time, and looking rather +evasively at the window-seat, “as I _did_ hear tell that how he were +something or another in a general way in that direction.” + +“Did you hear anything of his circumstances, Joe?” + +“Not partickler, Pip.” + +“If you would like to hear, Joe—” I was beginning, when Joe got up and +came to my sofa. + +“Lookee here, old chap,” said Joe, bending over me. “Ever the best of +friends; ain’t us, Pip?” + +I was ashamed to answer him. + +“Wery good, then,” said Joe, as if I _had_ answered; “that’s all right; +that’s agreed upon. Then why go into subjects, old chap, which as +betwixt two sech must be for ever onnecessary? There’s subjects enough +as betwixt two sech, without onnecessary ones. Lord! To think of your +poor sister and her Rampages! And don’t you remember Tickler?” + +“I do indeed, Joe.” + +“Lookee here, old chap,” said Joe. “I done what I could to keep you and +Tickler in sunders, but my power were not always fully equal to my +inclinations. For when your poor sister had a mind to drop into you, it +were not so much,” said Joe, in his favourite argumentative way, “that +she dropped into me too, if I put myself in opposition to her, but that +she dropped into you always heavier for it. I noticed that. It ain’t a +grab at a man’s whisker, not yet a shake or two of a man (to which your +sister was quite welcome), that ’ud put a man off from getting a little +child out of punishment. But when that little child is dropped into +heavier for that grab of whisker or shaking, then that man naterally up +and says to himself, ‘Where is the good as you are a-doing? I grant you +I see the ’arm,’ says the man, ‘but I don’t see the good. I call upon +you, sir, therefore, to pint out the good.’” + +“The man says?” I observed, as Joe waited for me to speak. + +“The man says,” Joe assented. “Is he right, that man?” + +“Dear Joe, he is always right.” + +“Well, old chap,” said Joe, “then abide by your words. If he’s always +right (which in general he’s more likely wrong), he’s right when he +says this: Supposing ever you kep any little matter to yourself, when +you was a little child, you kep it mostly because you know’d as J. +Gargery’s power to part you and Tickler in sunders were not fully equal +to his inclinations. Theerfore, think no more of it as betwixt two +sech, and do not let us pass remarks upon onnecessary subjects. Biddy +giv’ herself a deal o’ trouble with me afore I left (for I am almost +awful dull), as I should view it in this light, and, viewing it in this +light, as I should so put it. Both of which,” said Joe, quite charmed +with his logical arrangement, “being done, now this to you a true +friend, say. Namely. You mustn’t go a overdoing on it, but you must +have your supper and your wine and water, and you must be put betwixt +the sheets.” + +The delicacy with which Joe dismissed this theme, and the sweet tact +and kindness with which Biddy—who with her woman’s wit had found me out +so soon—had prepared him for it, made a deep impression on my mind. But +whether Joe knew how poor I was, and how my great expectations had all +dissolved, like our own marsh mists before the sun, I could not +understand. + +Another thing in Joe that I could not understand when it first began to +develop itself, but which I soon arrived at a sorrowful comprehension +of, was this: As I became stronger and better, Joe became a little less +easy with me. In my weakness and entire dependence on him, the dear +fellow had fallen into the old tone, and called me by the old names, +the dear “old Pip, old chap,” that now were music in my ears. I too had +fallen into the old ways, only happy and thankful that he let me. But, +imperceptibly, though I held by them fast, Joe’s hold upon them began +to slacken; and whereas I wondered at this, at first, I soon began to +understand that the cause of it was in me, and that the fault of it was +all mine. + +Ah! Had I given Joe no reason to doubt my constancy, and to think that +in prosperity I should grow cold to him and cast him off? Had I given +Joe’s innocent heart no cause to feel instinctively that as I got +stronger, his hold upon me would be weaker, and that he had better +loosen it in time and let me go, before I plucked myself away? + +It was on the third or fourth occasion of my going out walking in the +Temple Gardens leaning on Joe’s arm, that I saw this change in him very +plainly. We had been sitting in the bright warm sunlight, looking at +the river, and I chanced to say as we got up,— + +“See, Joe! I can walk quite strongly. Now, you shall see me walk back +by myself.” + +“Which do not overdo it, Pip,” said Joe; “but I shall be happy fur to +see you able, sir.” + +The last word grated on me; but how could I remonstrate! I walked no +further than the gate of the gardens, and then pretended to be weaker +than I was, and asked Joe for his arm. Joe gave it me, but was +thoughtful. + +I, for my part, was thoughtful too; for, how best to check this growing +change in Joe was a great perplexity to my remorseful thoughts. That I +was ashamed to tell him exactly how I was placed, and what I had come +down to, I do not seek to conceal; but I hope my reluctance was not +quite an unworthy one. He would want to help me out of his little +savings, I knew, and I knew that he ought not to help me, and that I +must not suffer him to do it. + +It was a thoughtful evening with both of us. But, before we went to +bed, I had resolved that I would wait over to-morrow,—to-morrow being +Sunday,—and would begin my new course with the new week. On Monday +morning I would speak to Joe about this change, I would lay aside this +last vestige of reserve, I would tell him what I had in my thoughts +(that Secondly, not yet arrived at), and why I had not decided to go +out to Herbert, and then the change would be conquered for ever. As I +cleared, Joe cleared, and it seemed as though he had sympathetically +arrived at a resolution too. + +We had a quiet day on the Sunday, and we rode out into the country, and +then walked in the fields. + +“I feel thankful that I have been ill, Joe,” I said. + +“Dear old Pip, old chap, you’re a’most come round, sir.” + +“It has been a memorable time for me, Joe.” + +“Likeways for myself, sir,” Joe returned. + +“We have had a time together, Joe, that I can never forget. There were +days once, I know, that I did for a while forget; but I never shall +forget these.” + +“Pip,” said Joe, appearing a little hurried and troubled, “there has +been larks. And, dear sir, what have been betwixt us—have been.” + +At night, when I had gone to bed, Joe came into my room, as he had done +all through my recovery. He asked me if I felt sure that I was as well +as in the morning? + +“Yes, dear Joe, quite.” + +“And are always a getting stronger, old chap?” + +“Yes, dear Joe, steadily.” + +Joe patted the coverlet on my shoulder with his great good hand, and +said, in what I thought a husky voice, “Good night!” + +When I got up in the morning, refreshed and stronger yet, I was full of +my resolution to tell Joe all, without delay. I would tell him before +breakfast. I would dress at once and go to his room and surprise him; +for, it was the first day I had been up early. I went to his room, and +he was not there. Not only was he not there, but his box was gone. + +I hurried then to the breakfast-table, and on it found a letter. These +were its brief contents:— + +“Not wishful to intrude I have departured fur you are well again dear +Pip and will do better without + + +JO. + + +“P.S. Ever the best of friends.” + + +Enclosed in the letter was a receipt for the debt and costs on which I +had been arrested. Down to that moment, I had vainly supposed that my +creditor had withdrawn, or suspended proceedings until I should be +quite recovered. I had never dreamed of Joe’s having paid the money; +but Joe had paid it, and the receipt was in his name. + +What remained for me now, but to follow him to the dear old forge, and +there to have out my disclosure to him, and my penitent remonstrance +with him, and there to relieve my mind and heart of that reserved +Secondly, which had begun as a vague something lingering in my +thoughts, and had formed into a settled purpose? + +The purpose was, that I would go to Biddy, that I would show her how +humbled and repentant I came back, that I would tell her how I had lost +all I once hoped for, that I would remind her of our old confidences in +my first unhappy time. Then I would say to her, “Biddy, I think you +once liked me very well, when my errant heart, even while it strayed +away from you, was quieter and better with you than it ever has been +since. If you can like me only half as well once more, if you can take +me with all my faults and disappointments on my head, if you can +receive me like a forgiven child (and indeed I am as sorry, Biddy, and +have as much need of a hushing voice and a soothing hand), I hope I am +a little worthier of you that I was,—not much, but a little. And, +Biddy, it shall rest with you to say whether I shall work at the forge +with Joe, or whether I shall try for any different occupation down in +this country, or whether we shall go away to a distant place where an +opportunity awaits me which I set aside, when it was offered, until I +knew your answer. And now, dear Biddy, if you can tell me that you will +go through the world with me, you will surely make it a better world +for me, and me a better man for it, and I will try hard to make it a +better world for you.” + +Such was my purpose. After three days more of recovery, I went down to +the old place to put it in execution. And how I sped in it is all I +have left to tell. + + + + +Chapter LVIII. + + +The tidings of my high fortunes having had a heavy fall had got down to +my native place and its neighbourhood before I got there. I found the +Blue Boar in possession of the intelligence, and I found that it made a +great change in the Boar’s demeanour. Whereas the Boar had cultivated +my good opinion with warm assiduity when I was coming into property, +the Boar was exceedingly cool on the subject now that I was going out +of property. + +It was evening when I arrived, much fatigued by the journey I had so +often made so easily. The Boar could not put me into my usual bedroom, +which was engaged (probably by some one who had expectations), and +could only assign me a very indifferent chamber among the pigeons and +post-chaises up the yard. But I had as sound a sleep in that lodging as +in the most superior accommodation the Boar could have given me, and +the quality of my dreams was about the same as in the best bedroom. + +Early in the morning, while my breakfast was getting ready, I strolled +round by Satis House. There were printed bills on the gate and on bits +of carpet hanging out of the windows, announcing a sale by auction of +the Household Furniture and Effects, next week. The House itself was to +be sold as old building materials, and pulled down. LOT 1 was marked in +whitewashed knock-knee letters on the brew house; LOT 2 on that part of +the main building which had been so long shut up. Other lots were +marked off on other parts of the structure, and the ivy had been torn +down to make room for the inscriptions, and much of it trailed low in +the dust and was withered already. Stepping in for a moment at the open +gate, and looking around me with the uncomfortable air of a stranger +who had no business there, I saw the auctioneer’s clerk walking on the +casks and telling them off for the information of a catalogue-compiler, +pen in hand, who made a temporary desk of the wheeled chair I had so +often pushed along to the tune of Old Clem. + +When I got back to my breakfast in the Boar’s coffee-room, I found Mr. +Pumblechook conversing with the landlord. Mr. Pumblechook (not improved +in appearance by his late nocturnal adventure) was waiting for me, and +addressed me in the following terms:— + +“Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low. But what else could be +expected! what else could be expected!” + +As he extended his hand with a magnificently forgiving air, and as I +was broken by illness and unfit to quarrel, I took it. + +“William,” said Mr. Pumblechook to the waiter, “put a muffin on table. +And has it come to this! Has it come to this!” + +I frowningly sat down to my breakfast. Mr. Pumblechook stood over me +and poured out my tea—before I could touch the teapot—with the air of a +benefactor who was resolved to be true to the last. + +“William,” said Mr. Pumblechook, mournfully, “put the salt on. In +happier times,” addressing me, “I think you took sugar? And did you +take milk? You did. Sugar and milk. William, bring a watercress.” + +“Thank you,” said I, shortly, “but I don’t eat watercresses.” + +“You don’t eat ’em,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, sighing and nodding his +head several times, as if he might have expected that, and as if +abstinence from watercresses were consistent with my downfall. “True. +The simple fruits of the earth. No. You needn’t bring any, William.” + +I went on with my breakfast, and Mr. Pumblechook continued to stand +over me, staring fishily and breathing noisily, as he always did. + +“Little more than skin and bone!” mused Mr. Pumblechook, aloud. “And +yet when he went from here (I may say with my blessing), and I spread +afore him my humble store, like the Bee, he was as plump as a Peach!” + +This reminded me of the wonderful difference between the servile manner +in which he had offered his hand in my new prosperity, saying, “May I?” +and the ostentatious clemency with which he had just now exhibited the +same fat five fingers. + +“Hah!” he went on, handing me the bread and butter. “And air you +a-going to Joseph?” + +“In heaven’s name,” said I, firing in spite of myself, “what does it +matter to you where I am going? Leave that teapot alone.” + +It was the worst course I could have taken, because it gave Pumblechook +the opportunity he wanted. + +“Yes, young man,” said he, releasing the handle of the article in +question, retiring a step or two from my table, and speaking for the +behoof of the landlord and waiter at the door, “I _will_ leave that +teapot alone. You are right, young man. For once you are right. I +forgit myself when I take such an interest in your breakfast, as to +wish your frame, exhausted by the debilitating effects of +prodigygality, to be stimilated by the ’olesome nourishment of your +forefathers. And yet,” said Pumblechook, turning to the landlord and +waiter, and pointing me out at arm’s length, “this is him as I ever +sported with in his days of happy infancy! Tell me not it cannot be; I +tell you this is him!” + +A low murmur from the two replied. The waiter appeared to be +particularly affected. + +“This is him,” said Pumblechook, “as I have rode in my shay-cart. This +is him as I have seen brought up by hand. This is him untoe the sister +of which I was uncle by marriage, as her name was Georgiana M’ria from +her own mother, let him deny it if he can!” + +The waiter seemed convinced that I could not deny it, and that it gave +the case a black look. + +“Young man,” said Pumblechook, screwing his head at me in the old +fashion, “you air a-going to Joseph. What does it matter to me, you ask +me, where you air a-going? I say to you, Sir, you air a-going to +Joseph.” + +The waiter coughed, as if he modestly invited me to get over that. + +“Now,” said Pumblechook, and all this with a most exasperating air of +saying in the cause of virtue what was perfectly convincing and +conclusive, “I will tell you what to say to Joseph. Here is Squires of +the Boar present, known and respected in this town, and here is +William, which his father’s name was Potkins if I do not deceive +myself.” + +“You do not, sir,” said William. + +“In their presence,” pursued Pumblechook, “I will tell you, young man, +what to say to Joseph. Says you, “Joseph, I have this day seen my +earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortun’s. I will name no +names, Joseph, but so they are pleased to call him up town, and I have +seen that man.” + +“I swear I don’t see him here,” said I. + +“Say that likewise,” retorted Pumblechook. “Say you said that, and even +Joseph will probably betray surprise.” + +“There you quite mistake him,” said I. “I know better.” + +“Says you,” Pumblechook went on, “‘Joseph, I have seen that man, and +that man bears you no malice and bears me no malice. He knows your +character, Joseph, and is well acquainted with your pig-headedness and +ignorance; and he knows my character, Joseph, and he knows my want of +gratitoode. Yes, Joseph,’ says you,” here Pumblechook shook his head +and hand at me, “‘he knows my total deficiency of common human +gratitoode. _He_ knows it, Joseph, as none can. _You_ do not know it, +Joseph, having no call to know it, but that man do.’” + +Windy donkey as he was, it really amazed me that he could have the face +to talk thus to mine. + +“Says you, ‘Joseph, he gave me a little message, which I will now +repeat. It was that, in my being brought low, he saw the finger of +Providence. He knowed that finger when he saw Joseph, and he saw it +plain. It pinted out this writing, Joseph. _Reward of ingratitoode to +his earliest benefactor, and founder of fortun’s_. But that man said he +did not repent of what he had done, Joseph. Not at all. It was right to +do it, it was kind to do it, it was benevolent to do it, and he would +do it again.’” + +“It’s pity,” said I, scornfully, as I finished my interrupted +breakfast, “that the man did not say what he had done and would do +again.” + +“Squires of the Boar!” Pumblechook was now addressing the landlord, +“and William! I have no objections to your mentioning, either up town +or down town, if such should be your wishes, that it was right to do +it, kind to do it, benevolent to do it, and that I would do it again.” + +With those words the Impostor shook them both by the hand, with an air, +and left the house; leaving me much more astonished than delighted by +the virtues of that same indefinite “it.” I was not long after him in +leaving the house too, and when I went down the High Street I saw him +holding forth (no doubt to the same effect) at his shop door to a +select group, who honoured me with very unfavourable glances as I +passed on the opposite side of the way. + +But, it was only the pleasanter to turn to Biddy and to Joe, whose +great forbearance shone more brightly than before, if that could be, +contrasted with this brazen pretender. I went towards them slowly, for +my limbs were weak, but with a sense of increasing relief as I drew +nearer to them, and a sense of leaving arrogance and untruthfulness +further and further behind. + +The June weather was delicious. The sky was blue, the larks were +soaring high over the green corn, I thought all that countryside more +beautiful and peaceful by far than I had ever known it to be yet. Many +pleasant pictures of the life that I would lead there, and of the +change for the better that would come over my character when I had a +guiding spirit at my side whose simple faith and clear home wisdom I +had proved, beguiled my way. They awakened a tender emotion in me; for +my heart was softened by my return, and such a change had come to pass, +that I felt like one who was toiling home barefoot from distant travel, +and whose wanderings had lasted many years. + +The schoolhouse where Biddy was mistress I had never seen; but, the +little roundabout lane by which I entered the village, for quietness’ +sake, took me past it. I was disappointed to find that the day was a +holiday; no children were there, and Biddy’s house was closed. Some +hopeful notion of seeing her, busily engaged in her daily duties, +before she saw me, had been in my mind and was defeated. + +But the forge was a very short distance off, and I went towards it +under the sweet green limes, listening for the clink of Joe’s hammer. +Long after I ought to have heard it, and long after I had fancied I +heard it and found it but a fancy, all was still. The limes were there, +and the white thorns were there, and the chestnut-trees were there, and +their leaves rustled harmoniously when I stopped to listen; but, the +clink of Joe’s hammer was not in the midsummer wind. + +Almost fearing, without knowing why, to come in view of the forge, I +saw it at last, and saw that it was closed. No gleam of fire, no +glittering shower of sparks, no roar of bellows; all shut up, and +still. + +But the house was not deserted, and the best parlour seemed to be in +use, for there were white curtains fluttering in its window, and the +window was open and gay with flowers. I went softly towards it, meaning +to peep over the flowers, when Joe and Biddy stood before me, arm in +arm. + +At first Biddy gave a cry, as if she thought it was my apparition, but +in another moment she was in my embrace. I wept to see her, and she +wept to see me; I, because she looked so fresh and pleasant; she, +because I looked so worn and white. + +“But dear Biddy, how smart you are!” + +“Yes, dear Pip.” + +“And Joe, how smart _you_ are!” + +“Yes, dear old Pip, old chap.” + +I looked at both of them, from one to the other, and then— + +“It’s my wedding-day!” cried Biddy, in a burst of happiness, “and I am +married to Joe!” + +They had taken me into the kitchen, and I had laid my head down on the +old deal table. Biddy held one of my hands to her lips, and Joe’s +restoring touch was on my shoulder. “Which he warn’t strong enough, my +dear, fur to be surprised,” said Joe. And Biddy said, “I ought to have +thought of it, dear Joe, but I was too happy.” They were both so +overjoyed to see me, so proud to see me, so touched by my coming to +them, so delighted that I should have come by accident to make their +day complete! + +My first thought was one of great thankfulness that I had never +breathed this last baffled hope to Joe. How often, while he was with me +in my illness, had it risen to my lips! How irrevocable would have been +his knowledge of it, if he had remained with me but another hour! + +“Dear Biddy,” said I, “you have the best husband in the whole world, +and if you could have seen him by my bed you would have—But no, you +couldn’t love him better than you do.” + +“No, I couldn’t indeed,” said Biddy. + +“And, dear Joe, you have the best wife in the whole world, and she will +make you as happy as even you deserve to be, you dear, good, noble +Joe!” + +Joe looked at me with a quivering lip, and fairly put his sleeve before +his eyes. + +“And Joe and Biddy both, as you have been to church to-day, and are in +charity and love with all mankind, receive my humble thanks for all you +have done for me, and all I have so ill repaid! And when I say that I +am going away within the hour, for I am soon going abroad, and that I +shall never rest until I have worked for the money with which you have +kept me out of prison, and have sent it to you, don’t think, dear Joe +and Biddy, that if I could repay it a thousand times over, I suppose I +could cancel a farthing of the debt I owe you, or that I would do so if +I could!” + +They were both melted by these words, and both entreated me to say no +more. + +“But I must say more. Dear Joe, I hope you will have children to love, +and that some little fellow will sit in this chimney-corner of a winter +night, who may remind you of another little fellow gone out of it for +ever. Don’t tell him, Joe, that I was thankless; don’t tell him, Biddy, +that I was ungenerous and unjust; only tell him that I honoured you +both, because you were both so good and true, and that, as your child, +I said it would be natural to him to grow up a much better man than I +did.” + +“I ain’t a-going,” said Joe, from behind his sleeve, “to tell him +nothink o’ that natur, Pip. Nor Biddy ain’t. Nor yet no one ain’t.” + +“And now, though I know you have already done it in your own kind +hearts, pray tell me, both, that you forgive me! Pray let me hear you +say the words, that I may carry the sound of them away with me, and +then I shall be able to believe that you can trust me, and think better +of me, in the time to come!” + +“O dear old Pip, old chap,” said Joe. “God knows as I forgive you, if I +have anythink to forgive!” + +“Amen! And God knows I do!” echoed Biddy. + +“Now let me go up and look at my old little room, and rest there a few +minutes by myself. And then, when I have eaten and drunk with you, go +with me as far as the finger-post, dear Joe and Biddy, before we say +good-bye!” + + + + +I sold all I had, and put aside as much as I could, for a composition +with my creditors,—who gave me ample time to pay them in full,—and I +went out and joined Herbert. Within a month, I had quitted England, and +within two months I was clerk to Clarriker and Co., and within four +months I assumed my first undivided responsibility. For the beam across +the parlour ceiling at Mill Pond Bank had then ceased to tremble under +old Bill Barley’s growls and was at peace, and Herbert had gone away to +marry Clara, and I was left in sole charge of the Eastern Branch until +he brought her back. + +Many a year went round before I was a partner in the House; but I lived +happily with Herbert and his wife, and lived frugally, and paid my +debts, and maintained a constant correspondence with Biddy and Joe. It +was not until I became third in the Firm, that Clarriker betrayed me to +Herbert; but he then declared that the secret of Herbert’s partnership +had been long enough upon his conscience, and he must tell it. So he +told it, and Herbert was as much moved as amazed, and the dear fellow +and I were not the worse friends for the long concealment. I must not +leave it to be supposed that we were ever a great House, or that we +made mints of money. We were not in a grand way of business, but we had +a good name, and worked for our profits, and did very well. We owed so +much to Herbert’s ever cheerful industry and readiness, that I often +wondered how I had conceived that old idea of his inaptitude, until I +was one day enlightened by the reflection, that perhaps the inaptitude +had never been in him at all, but had been in me. + + + + +Chapter LIX. + + +For eleven years, I had not seen Joe nor Biddy with my bodily +eyes,—though they had both been often before my fancy in the +East,—when, upon an evening in December, an hour or two after dark, I +laid my hand softly on the latch of the old kitchen door. I touched it +so softly that I was not heard, and looked in unseen. There, smoking +his pipe in the old place by the kitchen firelight, as hale and as +strong as ever, though a little grey, sat Joe; and there, fenced into +the corner with Joe’s leg, and sitting on my own little stool looking +at the fire, was—I again! + +“We giv’ him the name of Pip for your sake, dear old chap,” said Joe, +delighted, when I took another stool by the child’s side (but I did +_not_ rumple his hair), “and we hoped he might grow a little bit like +you, and we think he do.” + +I thought so too, and I took him out for a walk next morning, and we +talked immensely, understanding one another to perfection. And I took +him down to the churchyard, and set him on a certain tombstone there, +and he showed me from that elevation which stone was sacred to the +memory of Philip Pirrip, late of this Parish, and Also Georgiana, Wife +of the Above. + +“Biddy,” said I, when I talked with her after dinner, as her little +girl lay sleeping in her lap, “you must give Pip to me one of these +days; or lend him, at all events.” + +“No, no,” said Biddy, gently. “You must marry.” + +“So Herbert and Clara say, but I don’t think I shall, Biddy. I have so +settled down in their home, that it’s not at all likely. I am already +quite an old bachelor.” + +Biddy looked down at her child, and put its little hand to her lips, +and then put the good matronly hand with which she had touched it into +mine. There was something in the action, and in the light pressure of +Biddy’s wedding-ring, that had a very pretty eloquence in it. + +“Dear Pip,” said Biddy, “you are sure you don’t fret for her?” + +“O no,—I think not, Biddy.” + +“Tell me as an old, old friend. Have you quite forgotten her? + +“My dear Biddy, I have forgotten nothing in my life that ever had a +foremost place there, and little that ever had any place there. But +that poor dream, as I once used to call it, has all gone by, Biddy,—all +gone by!” + +Nevertheless, I knew, while I said those words, that I secretly +intended to revisit the site of the old house that evening, alone, for +her sake. Yes, even so. For Estella’s sake. + +I had heard of her as leading a most unhappy life, and as being +separated from her husband, who had used her with great cruelty, and +who had become quite renowned as a compound of pride, avarice, +brutality, and meanness. And I had heard of the death of her husband, +from an accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a horse. This +release had befallen her some two years before; for anything I knew, +she was married again. + +The early dinner hour at Joe’s, left me abundance of time, without +hurrying my talk with Biddy, to walk over to the old spot before dark. +But, what with loitering on the way to look at old objects and to think +of old times, the day had quite declined when I came to the place. + +There was no house now, no brewery, no building whatever left, but the +wall of the old garden. The cleared space had been enclosed with a +rough fence, and looking over it, I saw that some of the old ivy had +struck root anew, and was growing green on low quiet mounds of ruin. A +gate in the fence standing ajar, I pushed it open, and went in. + +A cold silvery mist had veiled the afternoon, and the moon was not yet +up to scatter it. But, the stars were shining beyond the mist, and the +moon was coming, and the evening was not dark. I could trace out where +every part of the old house had been, and where the brewery had been, +and where the gates, and where the casks. I had done so, and was +looking along the desolate garden walk, when I beheld a solitary figure +in it. + +The figure showed itself aware of me, as I advanced. It had been moving +towards me, but it stood still. As I drew nearer, I saw it to be the +figure of a woman. As I drew nearer yet, it was about to turn away, +when it stopped, and let me come up with it. Then, it faltered, as if +much surprised, and uttered my name, and I cried out,— + +“Estella!” + +“I am greatly changed. I wonder you know me.” + +The freshness of her beauty was indeed gone, but its indescribable +majesty and its indescribable charm remained. Those attractions in it, +I had seen before; what I had never seen before, was the saddened, +softened light of the once proud eyes; what I had never felt before was +the friendly touch of the once insensible hand. + +We sat down on a bench that was near, and I said, “After so many years, +it is strange that we should thus meet again, Estella, here where our +first meeting was! Do you often come back?” + +“I have never been here since.” + +“Nor I.” + +The moon began to rise, and I thought of the placid look at the white +ceiling, which had passed away. The moon began to rise, and I thought +of the pressure on my hand when I had spoken the last words he had +heard on earth. + +Estella was the next to break the silence that ensued between us. + +“I have very often hoped and intended to come back, but have been +prevented by many circumstances. Poor, poor old place!” + +The silvery mist was touched with the first rays of the moonlight, and +the same rays touched the tears that dropped from her eyes. Not knowing +that I saw them, and setting herself to get the better of them, she +said quietly,— + +“Were you wondering, as you walked along, how it came to be left in +this condition?” + +“Yes, Estella.” + +“The ground belongs to me. It is the only possession I have not +relinquished. Everything else has gone from me, little by little, but I +have kept this. It was the subject of the only determined resistance I +made in all the wretched years.” + +“Is it to be built on?” + +“At last, it is. I came here to take leave of it before its change. And +you,” she said, in a voice of touching interest to a wanderer,—“you +live abroad still?” + +“Still.” + +“And do well, I am sure?” + +“I work pretty hard for a sufficient living, and therefore—yes, I do +well.” + +“I have often thought of you,” said Estella. + +“Have you?” + +“Of late, very often. There was a long hard time when I kept far from +me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant +of its worth. But since my duty has not been incompatible with the +admission of that remembrance, I have given it a place in my heart.” + +“You have always held your place in my heart,” I answered. + +And we were silent again until she spoke. + +“I little thought,” said Estella, “that I should take leave of you in +taking leave of this spot. I am very glad to do so.” + +“Glad to part again, Estella? To me, parting is a painful thing. To me, +the remembrance of our last parting has been ever mournful and +painful.” + +“But you said to me,” returned Estella, very earnestly, “‘God bless +you, God forgive you!’ And if you could say that to me then, you will +not hesitate to say that to me now,—now, when suffering has been +stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what +your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into a +better shape. Be as considerate and good to me as you were, and tell me +we are friends.” + +“We are friends,” said I, rising and bending over her, as she rose from +the bench. + +“And will continue friends apart,” said Estella. + +I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as +the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so +the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of +tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting +from her. + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1400 *** |