Skip to main content

Full text of "Great expectations ; The mystery of Edwin Drood ; Mugby Junction ; Master Humphre's clock"

See other formats 


CONNOISSEUR  EDITION 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 


THE    MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN    DROOD 


MUGBY  JUNCTION 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK 


BY 


CHARLES  DICKENS 


%  II  w®  t  v  &  t  &  £* 


Ew&n) 


UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY  ASSOCIATION 

PHILADELPHIA 


CONNOISSEUR  EDITION 

This  Edition  of  the  Works  of  Charles  Dickens  is 
limited  to  One  Thousand  Numbered  and  Signed 
Sets,  of  which  this  is 

Dumber. 


University  Library  Association 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

By  F.  A.  Fraser,  J.  McLeaau  and  F.  O.  C.  Darley 

PAGK 

MRS.  GARGERY  ON  THE  RAMPAGE       ....        Frontispiece 

"TELL  us  TOUR  NAME!"  SAID  THE  MAN,  "QUICK"         .         .  2 

PIP  WAITS  ON  Miss  HAVISHAM  .......  53 

OLD  ORLICK  AMONG  THE  CINDERS 108 

"HALLOA,"  HE  GROWLED,  "WHERE  ARE  YOU  TWO  GOING?"  124 

"THIS  CHAP  MURDERED  HIS  MASTER" 189 

"OH,  YOU  MUST  TAKE  THE  PURSE" 281 

I  ROSE  OUT  OF  MY  CHAIR  AND  STOOD  WITH  MY  HAND  UPON  THE 

BACK  OF  IT  LOOKING  WILDLY  AT  HIM          .         ...         .  303 

I  ENTREATED  HER  TO  RISE     f1   ., 377 

"DO  YOU  KNOW  THIS?"  SAID  HE 403 

WITH  ESTELLA  AFTER  ALL 461 

EDWIN   DROOD 

By  S.  Luke  Fields 

UNDER  THE  TREES 26 

AT  THE  PIANO 57 

MR.  CRISPARKLE  is  OVERPAID    .                  96 

DURDLES    CAUTIONS    MR.    SAPSEA    AGAINST    BOASTING  .             .             .  116 

JASPER'S  SACRIFICES 197 

UP  THE  RIVER 226 

MUGBY  JUNCTION 

MUGBY  JUNCTION 44 

THE  SIGNAL  MAN 69 

MASTER   HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK 
By  Frederick  Barnard  and  Habldt  K.  Browne  ("  Phiz  ") 

THE    BOWYER'S    DAUGHTER   WOULD    LOOK    TIMIDLY   BACK   AT 

HUGH,  BESEECHING  HIM  TO  DRAW  NEARER          ...  19 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

THE  REJECTED  CANDIDATE 26 

"  AS  HE  SAT  UPON  A  LOW  SEAT  BESIDE  MY  WIFE,  I  WOULD  PEER 

AT  HIM  FOR  HOURS  TOGETHER  FROM  BEHIND  A  TREE  "  .  39 
MR.  PICKWICK  VISITS  MASTER  HUMPHREY  ....  47 
"POINTING  TO  A  BLACK  OBJECT  AT  SOME  DISTANCE,  ASKED 

WILL  IF  HE  SAW  THAT  YONDER" 69 

MR.  PICKWICK  ELECTED  A  MEMBER  .  .  ._  .78 

"  VlTH  THESE  WORDS  HE  RUSHES  INTO  THE  SHOP,  BREAKS  THE 

DUMMY'S  NOSE,"  ETC .90 


Great  Expectations 


GREAT    EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

MY  father's  family  name  beingNPirrip^  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  author- 
ity of  his  tombstone  and  my  sister — Mrs^  ^Toejjargery,  V" 
who  married  the  blacksmith.  As  I  never  sawjny ..father  '^  \ 
or  my  mother,  and  never  saw  any  likeness  of  either  of 
"thenT^for  Uieir  days  were  long  before  the  days  of  photo- 
graphs), 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^Qeorgiana^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  fiye  little  brother^  of  mine — 
who  gave  up  trying  to  get  a  living  exceedingly  eaHy"ln 
that  universal  struggle — I  am  indebted  for  a  belief  I  relig- 
iously 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  maj^sh-iujuiitry^.  down  by^the  river,  within, 
as  the  river  w<5imd,  twenty  miles  of  the  sea.  My  first 
most  vivid  and  broad  Impression  of  thlTTdentity  of  things, 
seems  to  me  to  have  been  gained  on  a  memorable  raw  after- 
noon towards  evening.  At  such  a  time  I  found  out  for  cer- 
tain, that  this  bleak  place  overgrown  with  nettles  was  the 
1 


2  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

churchyard;  and  that  Philip  Pirrip,  late  of  this  parish, 
and  also  Georgiana  wife"~6l~ the  above,  were  dead  and 
buried;  and  that  Alexander^  Ba£thokomejw^_Abrahani)  To-, 
bias,  and  Roger,  infant  childrenToT^ie  aforesaidTwere  also 
dead  andT  buried;  and  that  the  dark  flat  wilderness  beyond 
the  churchyard,  intersected  with  dykes  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  rush- 
ing, 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  mar^with^o^at^  and  with  broken  shoes,._and 
!  wit.fr  flTLPlrl ...T9rg  tift(TlFoiind~hTs  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 
I   briars;  who  limped,  and  shivered,  and  glared  and  growled ; 
/    and  whose  ttetfr~chatterecnn  nis  head  as  he  seized  me  by* 
l^the  chin.  • 

"O!  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. 

,  s  The  man,  after  looking  at  me  for  a  moment,  turned  me 
o>  \upside  down,  and  emptied  my  pockets.  There  was  nothing 
in  them  but  a  piece  of  bread.  When  the  church  came  to 
itself— forTie  was~so~isird3errahd  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  3 

"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  under- 
sized, 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  jhiaparisji." 

"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 — Mr^_J^e^^argerj:::::wife__of_Joe  Gar- 
gery,  the_blacksmith,  sjr.," 

'^lacksmitETehT^aid  he.     And  looked  down  at  his  leg. 

After  darkly  looking  at  his  leg  and  at  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. 


4  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  weather-cock.  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,  thatJUe^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  par- 
tickler,  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  manT  am  a 
A~ngei.  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  ^Saffielry^early  in  the  morning. 

"  Say,  Lord  strike  you  dead  if  you  don't!  "  said  the  man. 

I  saidso,  and  he  took  me  down. 

""^owT"  he  pursued,  "you  remember  what  you've  under- 
took, 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  to- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  5 

gether — and  Jumped  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 
w^.s  in. 

I  The  marshes  were  just  a  long  black  horizontal  line  then, 
as  I  stopped  to  look  after  him;  and  the  river  was  just  an- 
other 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  Slbeibd — like  an  un- 
hooped  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  stop- 
ping. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MY  sister,  Mrs.  Joe  Gargery,  was  more  than  twenty 
years'  5lde£jihan_L,  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 


«  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  GargerV)  and  I^jgeie  bQth_brojightttp  by  Land. 

She^fras  ifOta  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-4ajrman,  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,  withjjlackjiair  and  eyes,  had  such 
a  prevailing  redness  of  skin,  that  I  som£tinies_jised  to  won- 
der whether  it  was  possible  she  washed  herself  with  a  nut- 
meg-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  pinsand  needles.  She 
made  it  a  ijowerful_mftrit,  injierself,  and~a~stTDng-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  church- 
"yard,  the  forge^w^s-  shut  up,  and  Joe  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  kitchen.  Joe  and  I  being  fellow-sufferers,  and  having 
Qpniid£n£gs  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,  silting  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  sh<??-* ' -~ 

"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  depres- 
sion at  the  fire.  Tickler  was  a  wax-ended  piecejsf  cane, 
worn  smooth  by  collision  withinyTiCkled'ffame. 

"She  sot  down,"  said  Joe,  "and  she  got  up,  and  she 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  7 

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,  im- 
mediately divined  the  cause,  and  applied  Tickler  to  its  fur- 
tn~eil  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  wor- 
rit, or  I'd  have"you  out  or  tnal  corner  if  you  was  fifty  Pips, 
and  he  was  five  hundred  Gargerys." 

"I  have  only  been  to  the  churchward,"  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?"  ex- 
claimed my  sister. 

I  whimpered,  "I  don't  know." 

"7  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  dis- 
consolately 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. 


8  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Hah!"  said  Mrs.  Joe,  restoring  Tickler  to  his  station. 
"  Churchyard,  indeed !  You  may  well  say  churchyard,  you 
two."  One  of  us,  by-the-bye,  had  not  said  it  at  all. 
"You'll  drive  me  to  the  churchyard  betwixt  you,  one  of 
these  days,  aud  oh,  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  prac- 
tically  should  make,  under  the  grievous  circumstances  fore- 
shadowed. After  that,  he  sat  feeling  his  right-side  flaxen 
curls  and  whisker,  and  following  Mrs.  Joe  about  with  his 
blue  eye,  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  plaister — 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  plaister,  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  house- 
keeping to  be  of  the  strictest  kind,  and  that  my  larcenous 
researches  might  find  nothing  available  in  the  safe.  There- 
fore 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,  1  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 
tcTcompare  the  way  we  bit  through  our  slices,  by  silently 
holding  them  up  to  each  other's  admiration  now  and  then 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  9 

— which  stim^1a.t,ftrl  us  to  new  exertions.  To-night,  Joe 
several  times  invited  me,  by  the  display  of  his  fast-dimin- 
ishing 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  contem- 
plated must  be  done,  and  that  it  had  best  be  done  in  the 
least  imprflbjjple  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  sup- 
posed to  be  my  loss  o^ppetite,  andtook  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  Kit5  bilu  smd~  stared  at  me,  were  too  evi- 
dent 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  a  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  recom- 
mend you  to  doit,"  said  Joe,  ail  aghast.  "Manners  is 
manners,  but  still  your  elth's  your  elth.""" 

By  this  time,  my  sister  was  quite  desperate,  so  she 
pounced  on~Joe7  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  help- 
less bite,  and  looked  at  me  again. 

"You  know,  Pip,"  said  Joe,  solemnly,  with  his  last  bite 


10  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

in  his  cheek,  and  ^peaking  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  uncommon  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  BoltecL 
myself,  when  I  was  your  age — frequent — and  as  a  boy  I've1 
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  corre- 
spondent 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  boot- jack. 
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  tes£ify}-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  ^he  tire  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  11 

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  accred- 
ited 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  \oadjupon  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,  ana  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  ques- 
tions, 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  ques- 
tions. But  she  never  was  polite,  unless  there  was  com- 
pany. 

At  this  point,  Joe  greatly  augmented  my  curiosity  by 
taking  the  utmost  pains  to  open  his  mouth  very  wide,  and 


12  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  opened  his  mouth  very 
wide,  and  shook  the  form  of  a  most^mphatic  word  out  of 
it.  But  I  could  make  nothing  of  the  worcT 

"  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-sjiips,  right  'cross 
th'  meshes."  We  alwaysTised  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  des- 
peration. 

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  candie  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, 

t-        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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  13 

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  require- 
ment, in  the  secrecy  of  my  terror. 

If  I  slept  at  all  that  night,  it  was  only  to  imagine  my- 
self drifting  down  the  river  on  a  strong  spring-tide,  to  the 
Hulks;  a  ghostly  pirate  calling  out  to  me  through  a  speak- 
ing-trumpet, as  I  passed  the  gibbet-station,  that  I  had  bet- 
ter 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  in- 
toxicating-fluid,  Spanish-liquorice-water,  up  in  my  room; 
diluting  the  stone  bottle  from  a  jug  in  the  kitchen  cup- 
board), 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 


14  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

forge;  I  unlocked  and  unbolted  that  door,  aud  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,  aud  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  oeen  crying  there  all  night,  and  using  the  win- 
dow for  a  pocket-handkerchief.  Now  I  saw  the  damp  lying 
on  the  bare  hedges  and  spare  grass,  like  a  coarser  sort  of 
spider s^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  con- 
science 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,  every- 
thing seemed  to  run  at  me.  This  was  very  disagreeable  to 
a  guilty  mind.  The  gates  and  dykes  and  banks  came 
bursting  at  me  through  the  mist,  as  if  they  cried  as  plainly 
js  couM  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  lios- 
trils,  "Holloa,  young  thief!  "  One  black  ox,  with  a  white 
cravat  on — who  even  had  to  my  awakened  conscience  some- 
thing of  a  clerical  air — fixed  me  so  obstinately  with  his 
eyes,  and  moved  his  blunt  head  round  in  such  an  accusatory 
jnanner  as  I  moved  round,  that  IJjlubbered  out  to  him,  "  I 
couIcTrit  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  15 

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,  regu- 
lar]^_bojuid,  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  dispatch,  I  had  just  crossed  a  ditch  which  1 
knew  to  be  very  near  the  Battery,  and  had  just  scrambled 
up  the  mound  beyond  the  ditch,  when  I  saw  the  man  sit- 
ting 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  in- 
stantly jumped  up,  and  it  was  not  the  same  man,  but  an- 
other 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  w"as";""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  mo- 
ment, 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,  stum- 
bling 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,  tfiat  whein 
1  handed  him  the  file  and  he  Iaid_jt3fiwnj3njbhe  grass,  it 
occurred  to  me  he  would  have  £fied~to  eaTTtpif  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. 


16  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  put- 
ting 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.  Rheu- 
matic 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  arter- 
wards.  I'll  beat  the  shivers  so  far,  7'11  bet  you." 

He  was  gobbling  mincemeat,  meat  bone,  bread,  cheese, 
and  pork  pie,  all  at  once :  staring  distrustfully  while  he  did 
so  at  the  mist  all  round  us,  and  often  stopping — even  stop- 
ping 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,  rny  boy.     I  do." 

I  had  often  watched  a  large  dog  of  ours  eating  his  food; 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  17 

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  un- 
settled 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  keen- 
est 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  sjbared  at  me  so.  that  I  be- 
gan to  think  his  first  idea  about  cutting  mjTtnroat  had  re- 
yiveoL, 

"Dressed  like  you,  you  know,  only  with  a  hat,"  I  ex- 
plained, trembling;  "and — and" — I  was  very  anxious  to 
put  this  delicately — "  and  with — the  same  reason  for  want- 
ing 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  re- 
turned, "for  we  heard  it  up  at  home,  and  that's  further 
ar/ay,  and  we  were  shut  in  besides." 

"  Why,  see  now ! "  said  he.  "  When  a  man's  alone  on 
2 


18  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

these  flats,  with  a  light  head  and  a  light  stomach,  perish- 
ing 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  him- 
self 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  impre- 
cations at  it  and  his  leg.  The  last  I  heard  of  him,  I  stopped 
in  the  mist  to  listen,  and  the  file  was  still  going. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  19 


CHAPTER    IV. 

I  FULLY  expected  to  find  a  Constable  in  the  kitchen, 
waiting  to  take  me  up.  But  not  only  was  there  no  Con- 
stable 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  door-step  to  keep  him  out  of  the 
dust-pan — an  article  into  which  his  dgstia-y  always  led  him, 
sooner  or  later",  When  "my"  sis"ter~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,  /  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 
dust-pan  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  monu- 
mental 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  ar- 
rangements 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  wash- 
ing up  now,  with  what  I've  got  before  me,  I  promise  you! " 


20  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

So,  we  had  our  slices  served  out,  as  if  we  were  two  thou- 
sand troops  on  a  forced  march  instead  of  a  man  and  boy  at 
home;  and  we  took  gulps  of  milk  and  water,  with  apolo- 
getic 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  pa- 
per, which  even  extended  to  the  four  little  white  crockery 
poodles  on  the  mantelshelf,  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  uncom- 
fortable 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  al- 
ways treated  as  if  I  had  insisted  on  being  born  in  opposi- 
tion 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  21 

what  my  hands  had  done.  Under  the  weight  of  my  wicked 
secretj  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  con- 
ceived 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  con- 
ference in  the  vestry.  I  am  far  from  being  sure  that  I 
might  not  have  astonished  our  small  congregation  by  re- 
sorting 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  appropri- 
ated him),  who  was  a  well-to-do  cornchandler  in  the  near- 
est 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  dress- 
ing, 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_i£_any  relief  to  my 
feelings,  and  the  company  came.  <ffir.  Jflj^slgP  united  to 
a  Koman  nose  and  a  large  shining  baldforehead,  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  around  the 
congregation  first,  as  much  as  to  say,  "You  have  heard 
our  friend  overhead;  oblige  me  with  your  opinion  of  this 
style  !  " 

I  opened  the  door  to  the  company  —  making  believe  that 
it  was  a  habit.^f  ours  to  open  that  door  —  and  I  opened  it 
first  t0  Mr,  Wopsle^  next  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hubble^and  last, 
'  TP' 


nTnNechook'^jy.B.    1  was  not  allowedto 
cldl  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, 


22  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  pro- 
found novelty,  with  exactly  the  same  words,  and  carrying 
the  two  bottles  like  dumb-bells.  Every  Christmas  Day, 
Mrs.  Joe  replied,  as  she  now  replied,  "  Oh,  Un — cle  Pum — 
ble — chook!  This  is  kind!"  Every  Christinas  Day,  he 
retorted,  as  he  now  retorted,  "It's  no  more  than  your 
merits.  And  now  are  you  all  bobbish,  and  how's  Sixpen- 
north  of  halfpence?  "  meaning  me. 

We  dined  on  these  occasions  in  the  kitchen,  and  ad- 
journed, for  the  nuts  and  oranges  and  apples,  to  the  par- 
lour; which  was  a  change  very  like  Joe's  change  from  his 
working  clothes  to  his  Sunday  dress.  My  sister  was  un- 
commonly 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  conven- 
tionally jjivenile  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  sawdust}' 
fragrance,  with Tiis  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 
table-cloth,  with  the  table  in  my  chest,  and  the  Pumble- 
chookian  elbow  in  my  eye,  nor  because  I  was  not  allowed 
to  speak  (I  didn't  want  to  speak),  nor  because  I  was  re- 
galed with  the  scaly  tips  of  the  drumsticks  of  the  fowTs7 
and  with  those  obscure  corners  of  pork  of  which  the  pig, 
when  living,  had  haoBie  least  reason  to  be  vain.  No;  I 
should  not  have  minded  jhat  if  they  would  "rjly  havp  Iff* 
mealone^  But  they  wouldn't  leave  me  alone.  They 
stjemed  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  ha/ve  been  an  unfortunate  little 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  23 

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  Ghosj; 
in  Hamlet  with  Bichard  the  Third — and  ended  with"  the 
Tery  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  un- 
til Mr.  Hubble  tersely  solved  it  by  saying,  "laterally 
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  iny  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  fa- 
vouring them  with  some  heads  of  that  discourse,  he  re- 
marked 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  in- 
terval of  reflection,  "Look  at  Pork  alone.  There's  a  sub- 
ject !  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." 


24  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

("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  em- 
phatically. 

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  roll- 
ing 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  pen- 
knife 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  25 

"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  i 
grave,  and  I  had  contumaciouslyj;efused  to  go  there.     s 

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  every- 
body 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. 

0  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. 

1  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.     In- 
stantly afterwards,  the  company  were  seized  with  unspeak- 
able consternation,  owing  to  his  springing  to  his  feet,  turn- 
ing round  several  times  in  an  appalling  spasmodic  whoop- 
ing-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  appar- 
ently out  of  his  mind. 


26  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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^ank 
down  into  his  chair  with  the  one  significant  gasp,  ^Tajr ! " 

I  had  filled  up  the  bottle  from  the  tar-water  jug.  I 
knew  he  would  be  worse  by-and-bye.  I  moved  the  table, 
like  a  Medium  of  the  present  day,  by  the  vigour  of  my  un- 
seen 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  sub- 
ject, 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  at  least,  I  was  saved. 
I  still  held  on  to  the  leg  of  the  table,  but  clutched  it  now 
with  the  fervour  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  termi- 
nated, 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 
savoury  pork  pie." 

The  company  murmured  their  compliments.  Uncle 
Pumblechook,  sensible  of  having  deserved  well  of  his  fel- 
low-creatures, said — quite  vivaciously,  all  things  consid- 
ered— "Well,  Mrs.  Joe,  we'll  do  our  best  endeavours;  let 
us  have  a  cut  at  this  same  pie." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  27 

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  sa- 
voury pork  pie  would  lay  atop  of  anything  you  could  men- 
tion, 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  hear  no  more,  and  that  I  must  run  away.  I  released 
the  leg  of  the  table,  and  ran  for  my  life. 

But  I  ran  no  further  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 
butt-ends  of  their  loaded  muskets  on  our  door-step,  caused 
the  dinner-party  to  rise  from  the  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  gentlemen,"  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  lit- 
tle job  done." 


28  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

This  was  received  as  rather  neat  in  the  sergeant;  inso- 
much 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  ser- 
geant, "as  it's  on  his  Majesty's  service.  And  if  my  men 
can  bear  a  hand  anywhere,  they'll  make  themselves  use- 
ful." 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,  begin- 
ning 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,  ad- 
dressing 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,  here- 
abouts? 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  29 

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  com- 
pliments 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  thou- 
sand 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 


30  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  pity- 
ing 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  ap- 
proved. 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  go- 
ing. 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  whis- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  31 

pered  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  hur- 
ried 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  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,  charg- 
ing at  the  ditches  like  a  hunter,  and  stimulating  Mr.  Wop- 
sle  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  into  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  con- 
victs. 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 


32  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  ths  course  should 
be  changed,  and  that  his  men  should  make  towards  it  "at 
the  double."  So  we  started  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 
dykes,  and  breaking  among  coarse  rushes :  no  man  cared 
where  he  went.  As  we  came  nearer  to  the  shouting,  it  be- 
came 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.  Aiid 
when  it  had  come  to  this,  the  soldiers  ran  like  deer,  and 
Joe  too. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  33 

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  ooth  men ! "  panted  the  sergeant,  struggling 
at  the  bottom  of  a  ditch.  "  Surrender,  you  two !  and  con- 
found 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  strug- 
gling; 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;  "  /took  him !  /give  him  up  to  you !  Mind  that ! " 

"It's  not  much  to  be  particular  about,"  said  the  ser- 
geant; "  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  hand- 
cuffed, but  leaned  upon  a  soldier  to  keep  himself  from  fall- 
ing. 

"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  mur- 
der 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.  "  Sin- 
gle-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 

a 


34  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

flats  likewise — look  at  my  leg:  you  won't  find  much  iron 
on  it — if  I  hadn't  made  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. 

,x-—   "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  sol- 
diers. "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 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  36 

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  strag- 
gle, 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  dyke  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  pris- 
oners 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  to- 
bacco and  whitewash,  and  a  bright  fire,  and  a  lamp,  and  a 


36  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  /  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?  Then  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  37 

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  star- 
ing drearily  at  my  for  ever  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  fire- 

• 


38  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

side  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  imi- 
tated 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  ex- 
communicated 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  cir- 
cumstantial 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.  Pum- 
blechook 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  39 

malice  of  a  tired  man;  but,  as  he  had  no  theory,  and  no 
coat  on,  he  was  unanimously  set  at  nought — 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  calcu- 
lated 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  exal- 
tation to  a  better  world ;  and  if  any  one  of  my  deceased  re- 
lations 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  dec- 
laration 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  (.Id  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  supe- 
rior position  might  not  be  compromised  thereby,  a  money- 
box was  kept  on  the  kitchen  mantel-shelf,  into  which  it 


40  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

was  publicly  made  known  that  all  ray  earnings  were 
dropped.  I  have  an  impression  that  they  were  to  be  con- 
tributed eventually  towards  the  liquidation  of  the  National 
Debt,  but  I  know  I  had  no  hope  of  any  personal  participa- 
tion 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  twopence  per  week  each,  for  the  improving 
opportunity  of  seeing  her  do  it.  She  rented  a  small  cot- 
tage, and  Mr.  Wopsle  had  the  room  upstairs,  where  we 
students  used  to  overhear  him  reading  aloud  in  a  most  dig- 
nified 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  occa- 
sions 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  Educa- 
tional 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  limita- 
tion. On  Sundays  she  went  to  church  elaborated. 

Much  of  my  unassisted  self,  and  more  by  the  help  of 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  41 

Biddy  than  of  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt,  I  struggled  through 
the  alphabet  as  if  it  had  been  a  bramble-bush;  getting  con- 
siderably 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  : 


"  M!  DEER  JO  i  orE  U  R  KRWiTE  WELL  i  opE  i 
soN  B  HABELL  4  2  TEEDGE  U  JO  AN  THEN  wE  snORL  B 
sO  GL,ODD  AN  wEN  i  M  PRENGTD  2  u  JO  woT  LARX  AN 

BLEvE  ME  INF  XN  PlP." 

There  was  no  indispensable  necessity  for  my  communi- 
cating with  Joe  by  letter,  inasmuch  as  he  sat  beside  me  and 
we  were  alone.  But,  I  delivered  this  written  communica- 
tion (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  !  Ain'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  any- 
think!  Here's  a  J  and  a  0,  Pip,  and  a  J-0,  Joe." 

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,  Joe." 

"The  rest,  eh,  Pip?"  said  Joe,  looking  at  it  with  a 
slowly  searching  eye,  "One,  two,  three.  Why,  here's 
three  J's,  and  three  O's,  and  three  J-0,  Joes,  in  it,  Pip!  " 


42  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  uncom- 
mon 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  0,  and  says 
you,  '  Here,  at  last,  is  a  J-0,  Joe,'  how  interesting  reading 
is!" 

I  derived  from  this  last,  that  Joe's  education,  like 
Steam,  wac  yet  in  its  infancy.  Pursuing  the  subject,  I  in- 
quired : 

"  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  ham- 
mering he  did,  indeed,  'xcepting  at  myself.  And  he  ham- 
mered at  me  with  a  wigour  only  to  be  equalled  by  the  wig- 
our  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  43 

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  ou  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  pur- 
ple 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  hart." 

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  waren'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 


44  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  follow- 
ing, "  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.  "  1  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  ex- 
pressive 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 
opinions  of  yourself ! " 

Not  exactly  relishing  this,  I  said,  "  Never  mind  me,  Joe." 

"But  I  did  mind  you,  Pip,"  he  returned,  with  ten- 
der 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;  ain'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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  46 

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  favour  of  the  Lords  of  the 
Admiralty,  or  Treasury. 

"  Given  to  government,"  said  Joe.  "  Which  I  rneantersay 
the  government  of  you  and  myself." 

"Oh!" 

"And  she  ain'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  Barn-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  B's. 

"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  cir- 
cularly, 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  serous  to  you,  old 
chap — I  see  so  much  in  my  poor  mother,  of  a  woman  drudg- 


46  GREAT   EXPECTATIONS. 

ing  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  my- 
self; 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  sensa- 
tion 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  'ern,  and  she's  not  come  home  yet! 
I  hope  Uncle  Pumblechook's  mare  mayn't  have  set  a  fore- 
foot 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  win- 
dow, 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  47 

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  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  shoul- 
ders where  it  hung  by  the  strings :  "if  this  boy  ain't  grate- 
ful this  night,  he  never  will  be ! " 

I  looked  as  grateful  as  any  boy  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  occa- 
sions, 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,  "men- 
tioned she." 

"  And  she  is iashg,  T  suppose?  "  said  my  sister.  "  Un- 
less you  call  ^STIss^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.  ^Snd  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  Jn  a_  large  and 
dismal  house  barric^ae^IagaIn«t-robbersJLa.nd  who  led  a  life 
of  seclusion. 

"Well  to  be  sure!"  said  Joe,  astounded.  "I  wonder 
how  she  comes  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.*' 


48  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  some- 
times— 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  man- 
ner, 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-mor- 
row 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  wait- 
ing, 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  on  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  har- 
rowed, and  rasped,  until  I  really  was  quite  beside  myself. 
(I  may  here  remark  that  I  suppose  myself  to  be  better  ac- 
quainted 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  49 

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  for  ever  grateful  to  all  friends, 
but  especially  unto  them  which  brought  you  up  by  hand ! " 

"Goodbye,  Joe!" 

"  God  bless  you,  Pip,  old  chap ! " 

I  had  never  parted  from  him  before,  and  what  with  my 
feelings  and  what  with  soap-suds,  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  char- 
acter, as  the  premises  of  a  corn-chandler  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  oriTHe  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  en- 
tertained 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  eye- 
brows. 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 
4 


50  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

conduct  his  business  by  looking  across  the  street  at  the 
saddler,  who  appeared  to  transact  his  business  by  keeping 
his  eye  on  the  coach-maker,  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  in  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  jp  Combination  with  as  little  butter,  and  put- 
ting sjjcji_a4j>uantity  ot  warm  water  into  my  milk  that  it 
would  have  been  more  candid  to  have  left  the  milk  out  al- 
together— his  conversation  consisted  of  nothing  but  arith- 
metic. On  my  politely  bidding  him  Good  morning,  he 
said,  pompously,  "  Seven  times  nine,  boy? "  And  how 
should  /  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,  \t_was 
as  much  as  I  could  do  to  get  a  bite  or  a  sup,  before  the 
next  came;  While  1m  bial  at'  lilij  «as"tj  guessing  nothing,  and 
eating  bacon  and  IlUt  roll,  in  (n  1  may  be  allowed  the  ex- 
pression) a  gorging  and  gormandising  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  1  should 
acquit  mysellr  under  that  lady's^  roof  WijUjin  ^quarter 
of  an  hour  we- came  to  Miss  Havisham's  house,  which  was 
of  old  brick,  and  dismal^_afi^ha^~a  gresrt  in^y_iron_bars 
to  it.  Some  of  the  windows  had  been  walled  UP:  of  thoge_ 
that  remained,  all  the  lower  were  rustily  barred.  There 
was  a  courtyard  in  front,  and  that  was  barred;  so,  we  had 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  51 

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  pre- 
tended 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 
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  joung__lady  came  across  the  courtyard, 
with  keys  in  her  hUficL 

"This,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  "is  Pip." 

"This  is  Pip,  is  it?"  returned  the  young  lady,  who  was 
vgjjL^retty  and  seemed  very  proud;  "come  in,  Pip." 

MrT^umblecKOoirwas  coming  in  also,  when  she  stopped 
him  with  the  gate. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said.  "  Did  you  wish  to  see  Miss  Havis- 
ham?  " 

"If  Miss  Hajustiain__wished  to  see  me,"  returned  Mr. 
Pumblechook,  ^Jiscomfitedj 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  girl;  'HDut  you  see  she  don't." 

She  said  it  sojinallv.  and  in  such  an  undiscussable  way, 
that  Mr .  "TumbTechook,  though  in  a  condition  of  ruffled 
dignity,  could  not  protest.  But  he  eyed  me  severely — as 
if  /  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,""0 And  sixteen?"  But  he 
didn't. 

My  young  conductress  locked  the  gate,  and  we  went 
across  the  courtyardT~~~It  was  payed  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 
stoodopen^  away  to  the  high  ejicifising  wall;  and  all 
was~empty  and  disused.  The  cold  wmd^seemed  to  blow 
colder  there,  than  outside  the  gate;  and  it  made  a  shrill 
noise  in  howling  (in  and  outjat  the  open  sides  of  the  brew- 
ery, like  Tlie"  Iiws«  of  wind  in  the  rigging  of  a  ship  jit 
sea. 

She  saw  me  looking  at  it,  and  she  said,  "  You  could 


52  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  bser,  there's  enough  of  it  in  the  cel- 
lars already,  to  drown  the  Manor  House." 

"  Is  that  the  name  of  this~EouTse^~5iiSs?-y 

"One  of  its  names,  boy." 

"  It  has  more  than  one,  then,  miss?  '^_ 

"One  more.  Its  other  name  wasGSatifs;  which  is  Greek, 
or  Latin,  or  Hebrew,  or  all  three— orall  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  sat- 
isfied in  those  days,  I  should  think.  But  don't  loiter, 
boy." 

Though  she  called  me  "  boy  "  so  often,  and  with  a  care- 
lessness that  was  far  from  complimentary,  she  was  of.about 
joy  own  age.  She  seemed  much  older  than  I,  of  course^ 
being  a  girl,  and  beautiful  and  selF-p6~ssessed;  and  she  was 
as  scornful  of  me  as  if  she  had  been  one-and-twenty,  and  a 
que<eiT 

/*    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    ) 
I  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  53 

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  g1impic.of  day- 
light was  to  be  seen  in  it.  It  was  a  dressing-room,  as  I 
supposed  from  the  furniture,  tir-m^Vi  mn»h  of  it  was  of 
forms  and  uses_then  quite  unknown  to  me.  5ul  prominent 
in  it  was  a  dja.pe4.  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  rating  on  the  table  and  her 
head  leaning  on  that  hand,  sat  the  strangest  lady_I  have 
ever  seen,  or  shall  exeju-stie~r— 

She  was  dressed  in  rich  materials^-satins,  and  lace,  and 
silks — all  of  white*.  Her •  sjioetrgeia  w^tt^BT^'Aiad^Be 
aTlong~~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  con- 
fusedly heaped  about  the  looking-glass. 

It  was  not  in  the  first  few  moments  that  1  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  wJucJi^u^htto  be  white,  had  been  white  long  ago, 
and  had  Jlpst  its  lustre)  and  was  faded  and  yellow.  I  saw 
that  the"  bride  withni  the  bridal  dress  had  withered  like 
the  dress,  and  like  the  flowers^  ajnd  had  mrbrightness^ef* 
but  the  brightness  of  heT  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, 
tad"  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  skele' 


54  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ton  in  the  ashes  of  a  rich  dress,  that  had  been  dugout  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  enor- 
mous 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  eflger  look,  and  with  strong 
emphasis,  and  with  a  weird  smile  that  had  a  kind  of  boast 
in  it.  Afterwards,  she  kept  her  hands  thereTror  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  perform- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  55 

ance  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  pla^"  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  mel- 
ancholy  "  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,  aud  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  un- 
known house,  bawling  Estella  to  a  scornful  young  lady 
neither  visible  nor  responsive,  and  feeling  it  a  dreadful 
j^erty  so  to  roar  out  her  name,  was  almost  as  bad  as  play- 
mg~Tio  order!  Hut,  she  answered  jit  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  nie  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 


56  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS, 

time  ago.  I  noticed  that  Miss  Havisham  put__down  the 
jewel  exactly  onthesppt  from  which  she  hacf  taken  it  up. 
As  Estella  dealFthe  cards,  i  glanced  at  the  dressing-table 
again,  and  saw  that  the  shoe  upon  it,  once  white,  now  yel- 
low, 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  wmte,  now^ellow,  had  been  trodden 
ragged.  Without  this  arrest  of  everything,  this  standing 
still  of  all  the  pale  decayetl"  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  frill- 
ings  and  trimmings  on  her  bridal  dress,  looking  like  earthy 
paper.  I  knew  nothing  then  of  the  discoveries  that  are  oc- 
casionally made  of  bodies  buried  in  ancienT  times,  which 
fall  to  powder  in  the  moment  or  oeing  distinctly  seen;  but, 
I  have  often  thought  since,  that  she  must  have  looked  as  if 
the  admissionof  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  be- 
fore ;  but  I  began  to  consider  them  a  very  indifferent  pair. 
Her  contempt  for  me  was  so  strong,  that  it  became  infec- 
tious, 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  labour- 
ing-boy. 

"  You  say  nothing  of  her,"  remarked  Miss  Havisham  to 
me,  as  she  looked  on.  "  She  says  many  hard  things  of 
you,  yet  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.) 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  57 

"  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  beg- 
gared 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  Hav- 
isham. "Le<- me  think." 

I  was  beginning  to  remind  her  that  to-day  was  Wednes- 
day, when  she  checked  me  with  her  former  impatient  move- 
ment 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  dis- 
appeared and  closed  the  door. 

I  took  the  opportunity  of  being  alone  in  the  courtyard, 


58  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  can- 
not hit  upon  the  right  name  for  the  smart — God  knows 
what  its  name  was — that  tears  started  tpmy  eyes.  The 
moment  they  sprang  there ^the~girl  Too1fe3^at  me  with  a 
quick  delight  in  having  be^nJJie_caiise~Di-  theinl This  gave 
me  power~t6~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  bit- 
ter 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,  whoso- 
ever brings  them  up,  there  is  nothing  so  finely  perceived 
and  so  finely  felt,  as  injustice.  It  may  be  only  small  in- 
justice 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  baby- 
hood, 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  tpjne^  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  59 

to  my  communing  so  much  with  it,  in  a  solitary  and  unpro- 
tected 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  ac- 
ceptable, 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  pig- 
eons 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  store-house,  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  bye-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  ac- 
cepted 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  gar- 
den 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  every- 
where. For,  when  I  yielded  to  the  temptation  presented 
by  the  casks,  and  began  to  walk  on  them,  I  saw  her  walk- 
ing 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 


60  GREAT  EXPECTATION& 

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,  could  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  fright- 
ened; and  she  should  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- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  61 

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  reser- 
vations. I  felt  convinced  that  if  I  described  Miss  Havis- 
ham'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  rny 
dragging  her  as  she  really  was  (to  say  nothing  of  Miss 
Estella)  before  the  contemplation  of  Mrs.  Joe.  Conse- 
quently, 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?  " 


62  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  dis- 
covered 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  Hun- 
dred Pound,"  and  finding  them  against  me,  went  as  near 
the  answer  as  I  could — which  was  somewhere  about  eight- 
pence  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  tri- 
umphantly 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  six 
pence  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  an- 
swer spoilt  his  joke,  and  brought  him  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Boy!  What  like  is  Miss  Havisham?  "  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  63 

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  to-day?  "  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,  1 
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,  be- 
cause 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  nighty,  you  know — 
very  nighty — 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, 


64  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  spoken  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  Avaved  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  counte- 
nance, 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  un- 
doubtedly 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,  how- 
ever, 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  over- 
taken 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  Hav- 
isham's  acquaintance  and  favour.  They  had  no  doubt  that 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  65 

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  pre- 
sented 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  re- 
member 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 ch?"  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  contem^  jed 
me  in  dismay.  "Pip,  old  chap!  This  won't  do,  old  fel- 
low !  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,  let- 
ting his  shirt  sleeve  go,  and  sitting  down  in  the  ashes  at 
5 


66  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  Pum- 
blechook,  who  were  so  rude  to  me,  and  that  there  had  been 
a  beautiful  young  lady  at  Miss  Havisham^s  who  was  dread- 
fully 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  alto- 
gether 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.  How- 
sever  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  oncommou  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  gentle- 
folks!— 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  Parlia- 
ment in  print,  without  having  begun,  when  he  were  a  un- 
promoted  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  1  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  con- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  67 

tinuing  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  inten- 
tional. 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 — al- 
luding to  them  which  bordered  on  weal-cutlets  and  dog 
righting — 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,  in- 
stead of  one  that  had  risen  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. 


68  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE  felicitous  idea  occurred  to  me  a  morning  or  two  later 
when  I  woke,  that  the  best  step  I  could  take  towards  mak- 
ing myself  uncommon  was  to  get  out  of  Biddy  everything 
she  knew.  In  pursuance  of  this  luminous  conception,  I 
mentioned  toJBiddly^when  I  went  to  Mr.  WopgieJLs  great- 
aunt's  at  night,  that  I  had  a  particular  reason  for  wishing 
to  get  on  ill  "rife,  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  rheu- 
matic paroxysm.  The  pupils  then  entered  among  them- 
selves 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  stu- 
dents. When  the  fights  were  over,  Biddy  gave  out  the  num- 
ber of  a  page,  and  then  we  all  read  aloud  what  we  could — 
or  what  we  couldn't — in  a  frightful  chorus j  Biddy  leading 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  69 

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  stag- 
gered 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  ac- 
count of  the  little  general  shop  in  which  the  classes  were 
holden — and  which  was  also  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt's  sit- 
ting-room and  bed-chamber — 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  un- 
common under  these  circumstances :  nevertheless,  I  resolved 
to  try  it,  and  that  very  evening  Biddy  entered  on  our  spe- 
cial 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  newspa- 
per, 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  alarm- 
ingly long  chalk  scores  in~!t  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  oppor- 
tunity of  turning  it  to  account. 

It  being  Saturday  night,  I  found  the  kjmllord^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  pas- 
sage, where  there  was  a  bright  large  kitchen  fire,  and  where 


70  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Jojj  was  smoking  his  pip^jn  company-witli  Mr.  Wopsle  and 
a  stranger.  Joe  greeted  me  as  usual  with  "  Halloa,  Pip, 
7>ftt~cEap ! "  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  be- 
fore. 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  nod- 
ded, and  then  he  nodded  again,  and  made  room  on  the 
settle  beside  him  that  I  might  sit  down  there. 

But,  as  I  was  us^d  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  at- 
tention 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  land- 
lord. "  Glasses  round !  " 

"This  other  gentleman,"  observed  Joe,  by  way  of  intro- 
ducing Mr.  Wppsle,  "  is  a  gentleman  that  you  would  like 
to  hear  give  if  out.  Our  clerk  at  church." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  71 

**  Aba ! "  said  the  stranger,  quickly,  and  cocking  his  eye 
at  me.  "The  lonely  church,  right  out  on  the  marshes, 
with  the  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  gipsies,  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  discom- 
fiture, 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  a  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  be- 
cause it  was  the  way  at  the  Jolly  Bargemen  to  seem  to  con- 
sider deeply  about  everything  that  was  discussed  over  pipes; 
"well—no.  No,  he  ain't." 

"  Nevvy?  "  said  the  strange  man. 


72  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  con- 
ceive why  everybody  of  his  standing  who  visited  at  our 
house  should  always  have  put  me  through  the  same  inflam- 
matory process  under  similar  circumstances.  Yet  I  do  not 
call  to  mind  that  I  was  ever  in  my  earlier  youth  the  sub- 
ject of  remark  in  our  social  family  circle,  but  some  large- 
handed  person  took  some  such  ophthalmic  steps  to  patron- 
ise 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-aud- 
water  pointedly  at  me.  And  he  stirred  it  and  he  tasted  it: 
not  with  a  spoon  that  was  brought  to  him^bnt^tfA  a  file. 

He  did  this  so  that  nobody  but  I  saw  £he_file4  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,  spellbound.  But  he  now  reclined  on  his 
settle,  taking  very  little  notice  of  me,  and  talking  princi- 
pally about  turnips. 

There  was  a  delicious  sense  of  cleaning-up  and  making  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  73 

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  the  humour  for  talk- 
ing, the  talk  must  have  been  all  on  my  side,  for  Mr. 
Wopsle  parted  from  us  at  the  door  of  the  Jolly  JBaigemen,- 
and  Joe  went  all  the  way  home  with  his  rffouth  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  pre- 
sented 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,  tri- 
umphantly, "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  g'one  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, 


74  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

but  that  he,  Joe,  had  left  word  at  the  Three  Jolly  Barge- 
men 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  in- 
visible 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  Wed- 
nesday; and  in  my  sleep  I  saw  the  file  coming  at  me  out 
of  a  door,  without  seeing  who  held  it,  and  I  screamed  my- 
self 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  precedeclme'"  ink)  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,  su- 
perciliously 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  ex- 
tinct 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  75 

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  miser- 
able 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  3hmmg_pf  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  convey ed  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  ad- 
mission 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  some- 
body's pleasure,  and  the  most  talkative  of  the  ladies  had 
to  speak  quite  rigidly  to  suppress  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  feat- 
ures. Indeed,  when  I  knew  her  better' I  began  to  think  it 
was  a  mergy  she  had  any  fgajauee-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  v/ould  be  mnnh  more  commendable  to  be  somebody 
else's  enemy,"  said  the  gentleman;  "far  more  natural." 


76  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  im- 
portance 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.  "  1  bought  them.  And  I  shall 
often  think  of  that  with  peace,  when  .1  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-de-a ! " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  77 

As  we  were  going  with  our  candle  along  the  dark  pas- 
sage, 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.  <-.':*'•  -1 

"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  a^dtiurned  up 
my  face  to  have  a  look  at  me  by  the  light  of  the  candle. 
He  was  pr.ematurp.1y  ba.1rf.nn  the  top  of  his  head,  and  had 
bushy  blaja.  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  it  he  Sad  let  them.  He  was  / 
nothing  to  me,  and  I  could  have  had  no  foresight  then, 


78  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  ex- 
perience 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  these  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  com- 
pletely excluded,  and  it  had  an  airless  smell  that  was  op- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  79 

pressive.  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 
chimneypiece  faintly  lighted  the  chamber;  or,  it  would  be 
more  expressive  to  say,  faintly  troubled  its  darkness.  It 
was  spacious,  and  I  dare  say  had  on ce_ been  handsome,  but 
every  discernible  thing  in  it  was  covered  with  dust  and 
mould,  and  dropping  to  pieces.  The  most  prominent  ob- 
ject 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  epergiie  or  centre-piece  of  some 
kind  was  in  the  middle  of  this  cloth;  it  was  so  heavily 
overhung  with  cobwebs  that  its  forni^  was  quite  undistin-_ 
.gJHsEble ;  and,  as  I  looked  along  the  yeltow  expaiiafi.out 
of  which  I  remember  its  seeming  to  grow,  like  a  black 
fungus,  I  saw  speckled-legged,  spiders  with  blotchy  bodies 
running  home  to  it,  and  running  out  from  it,  as  if  some 
circumstance  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  blackbeetles  took  no  notice  of  the  agitation,  and 
groped  about  the  hearth  in  a  ponderous  elderly  way,  as  if 
they  were  shortsighted  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  realisa- 
tion 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  1 " 


80  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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.  Accord- 
ingly, I  started  at  once,  and  she  leaned  upon  my  shoulder, 
and  we  went  away  at  a  pace  that  might  have  been  an  imi- 
tation (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  thoughtswent  fast. 
After  a  while  she  said,  "  Call  Estellat""  -so  "fwent  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  pro- 
ceedings, I  should  have  felt  sufficiently  jjjgcontented ;  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"^  Fut,  Miss  Havisham 
twitched  my  shoulder,  and  we  posted  on — with  a  shame- 
faced consciousness  on  my  part  that  they  would  think  it 

IT -T.Q.  •£-£_—  J 

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." 

Qami  1  ^brightened  when  Miss  Pocket  met  with  this  re- 
buff; and  she  murmured,  as  she  plaintively  contemplated 
Miss  Havisham,  "  Poor  dear  soul !  Certainly  not  to  be  ex- 
pected 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  Hav- 
isham, with  exceeding  sharpness. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  81 

"  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  repress- 
ing a  sob,  while  a  hitch  came  into  her  upper  lip,  and_her 
4ea¥6-Q££rfl  o wed .  "  Raymond  is  a  witness  what  ginger  and 
sal  volatile  I  am  obliged  to  take  in  the  night.  Raymond 
is  a  witness  what  nprvop<;  jprVinp-a  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  jron  set  of  nerves.  I  am  sure  I 
wish  it  «>uld  "Be  so.  But  as  to  not  thinking  of  you  in  the 
night — the  idear !  "  Here,  a  burst  of  tears. 

The  Raymond  referred  to,  I  understood  to  be  the  gentle- 
man present,  and  him  I  understood  to  be  Mx^Gajnilla.  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  t6  the  extent  of  making  one  of  your  legs  snorter  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_JBocket,  whom  I  now  saw  to  be  a  little  dry 
brown  corrugated  qldvroman,  with  a  small  face  that  might 
have  been  made  of  "walnuFshells,  and  a  large  mouth  like  a        / 
cat's  without  the  whiskers,  supported  this  position  by  say-       I 
ing,  "  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  feel- 
ings appeared  to  rise  from  her  legs  to  herBSSOnTf  "  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 
6 


82  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  stay-lace 
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  ac- 
count 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  your- 
self 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  pianoforte-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  Hav- 
isham 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  j  "  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  hus- 
band's there !  And  SarahJPocket'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  Ca- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  S3 

milla,  "but  comply  and  depart.  It's  something  to  have 
seen  the  object  of  one's  love  and  duty,  even  for  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  kiss- 
ing 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  lat- 
ter 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  Hav- 
isham 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  /  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. 


84  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  re- 
turned, and  she  too  remained  quiet.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
we  continued  thus  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  de- 
grees, but  in  an  instant,  Miss  Havisham  said,  "  Let  me  see 
you  two  play  at  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  Hav- 
isham 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;  ex- 
cept 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  ia  not  much  to  the  purpose  whether  a  gate  in  that  gar- 
den wall  which  I  ITad  scrambled  up  to  peep  over  .on  the  last 
occasion  was,  on  that  fasTTOeeasion,  ojgen  or  shut.  Enough 
that  I  saw  no~gHte  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 
gtrolled  into  the  garden,  and  strolled  all  over  it.  It  was 
qui£e""'a  wilderness,  and  there  were  old  melon-frames  and 
cucumber-irames  in  it,  which  seemed  in  their  decline  to 
have  produced  a  spontaneous  growth  of  weak  attempts  at 
pieces  of  old  hats land^boTJts,  with  now  and  then  a  weedy 
offshoot  into  the  likenesg  of  a  battered  saucepan. 

When  1  had  exhausted  the  garden  and  a  greenhouse  with 
nothing  in  it  buTaTfallen-down  grape-vine  and  some  bottles, 
I  found  myself  in  the  dismal  corner  upon  which  I  had 
looked  out  of  window.  Isevei1  questioning  for  a  moment 
that  the  house  was  now  empty,  I  looked  in  at  another  win- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  85 

dow,  and  found  myself,  to  my  great  surprise,  exchanging  a 
broad  stare  with  a  pale  young  gentleman  with  redjsjelids 
and  light  hair. 

This  pale  young  gentleman  quickly  disappeared,  and  re- 
appeared 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,  /  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  nnal  and  I  was  SQ  astonished,  that  I  fol- 
lowed where  he  leH,  as  if  I  had  been  under  a  spell. 

"Stop  a  minute,  though,"  he  said,  wheeling  round  be- 
fore we  had  gone  many  paces.  "  I  ought  to  give  you  a 
reason  for  fighting,  too.  TEere  it  is!  "  In  a  most  irritat- 
ing manner  he  instantly  slapped  his  hands  against  one  an- 
other, daintily  flung  one  oThis  legs  up  behind  him,  pulled 
my  hair,  slapped  his  hands  again,  djjDped  his  head,  and 
butted  it  into  my  stomach.  ^  7~"* 

The  bull-like  proceeding(last  mentioned,  besides  that  it 
was  unquestionably  to  be  regarded  in  tBe  light  of  a  liberty, 
was  particularly  disagreeable  just  after  bread  amTTneat. 
I  therefore  hit  out  at  him,  and  was  going  to  hit  out  again, 
when  he  sara,  ^Anal  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  afraicTof  him  when  I  saw  him  so  dexter- 
ous; but,  I  felt  morally  and  physically  convinced  that  his 
light  head  of  hair  could  have  jiad  no  business  in  the  pit  of 


86  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  j unction j)f  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,  anc[  quickly  returned  with  a  bottle  of  ^water 
and  a  sponge  dipped  in  vinegar.  "Available  for  both,"  he 
said,  placing  tn"§5e~  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  on  his  mouth — these  dread- 
ful preparations  quite  appalled  me.  I  judged  him  to  be 
about  my  own  age,  but  he  was  much  taller,  and  he  had  a 
way-crfTSpiilmng' himself  about  that  was  full~o'f  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_blpody  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  ajalack  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  87 

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  re- 
garded myself  while  dressing,  as  a  speciespf  savage  young 
wolf,  or  other  wild  beast.  However/1  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  hap- 
pened tcTdelight  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,  Tfelfr  jjhat  the  kiss  was  given  to  the  coarse  common 
boy  Ssapiece  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*~mo?e"  I  thought  of  the  fight,  and 
recalled  the  pale  young  gentleman  on  his  back  in  various 
stages  of  puffy  and  incrimsoned  countenance,  the  more  cer- 
tain it  appeared  that  something  would  be  done  to  me.  I 
felt  that  the  pale  young  gentleman's  blood  was  on  my  head, 


88  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  coun- 
try, ravaging  the  houses  of  gentlefolks  and  pitching  into 
the  studious  youth  of  England,  without  laying  themselves 
openTo  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,  specially  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  mer- 
cenaries— 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  gen- 
tleman's existence.  There  were  traces  of  his  gore  in  that 
spot,  and  I  covered  them  with  garden-mould  from  the  eye 
of  man. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  89 

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  Hav- 
isham 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  en- 
larged upon  my  knowing  nothing  and  wanting  to  know 
everything,  in  the  hope  that  she  might  offer  some  help  tow- 
ards 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 even  stipulate  that"  I  shduldl)6~-paTo!:"t6r  my  services. 

Estella  was  always  about,  and  always  let  me  in  and  out, 
but  never  told  me  I  mightkiss  her  again.  Sometimes,  she 

,  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  Hav- 
isham 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 


90  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  very  ceremonious  way  of  rendering  homage  to  a  patron 
saint;  but  I  believe  Old  Clem  stood  in  that  relation  toward 
smiths.  It  was  a  song  that  imitated  the  measure  of  beat- 
ing upon  iron,  and  was  a  mere  lyrical  excuse  for  the  intro- 
duction 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  gen- 
tleman, 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  Hav- 
isham 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  for  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  exas- 
perated 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  91 

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  for  ever  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  nonsen- 
sical 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  Pumble- 
chook,  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  him- 
self, self-constituted  my  patron,  would  sit  supervising  me 
with  a  depreciatory  eye,  like  the  architect  of  my  fortunes 
who  thought  himself  engaged  in  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  in- 
nocent 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 


92  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  medi- 
tative look,  that  this  might  be  occasioned  by  circumstances 
over  which  [  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  Gar- 
gery 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  alone  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  com- 
pany we  graciously  thought  she  was  fit  for?  When  she 
had  exhausted  a  torrent  of  such  inquiries,  she  threw  a  can- 
dlestick at  Joe,  burst  into  a  loud  sobbing,  got  out  the  dust- 
pan— 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  scrub- 
bing-brush, and  cleaned  us  out  of  house  and  home,  so  that 
we  stood  shivering  in  the  backyard.  It  was  ten  o'clock  at 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  93 

night  before  we  ventured  to  creep  in  again,  and  then  she 
asked  Joe  why  he  had  not  married  a  Negress  Slave  at 
once?  Joe  offered  no  answer,  poor  fellow,  but  stood  feel- 
ing his  whiskers  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  arrayjjig  himself  in  his  Sunday  clothes  to  accom- 
pany me  to  Mi&3  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  l  Knew  He  made  himself  so  dreadfully  un- 
comfortable,  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  ni3  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  Pumble- 
chook's,  and  called  for  "when  we  had  done  with  our  fine 
ladies " — a  way  of  puttir*"  fV>0  n^^^rrun  which  Joe  ap- 
peared 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"Lhy  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 


94  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  par- 
ticular to  half  a  quarter  of  an  ouncel 

Estella  took  no  notice  of  either  of  us,  but  led  ustheway 
that  I  knew  so  well.  I  followed  next  to  her,  and"Joe  came 
Jagt,  When  I  looked  back  at  Joe  in  the  long__pj,ssage,  he 
was  still  weighing  his  hat  with  the  greatest  care,  and  was 
coming  after  us  in  long  strides  on  theTaps  01  ius"  toes. 

Estella  told  me  we  were""Eoth  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;  stand- 
ing, 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  expressivg  of  forcible  argumenta- 
tion,  strict  confidence,  and  great  politeness,  "  as  1  hup  and 
married  your  sister,  and  I  were  at^  frha  t.ijnp.  what  you 
might  call  (if  you  was  any  ways  inclined)  a  single  man." 

"Well!"  said  Miss  Havisham.  "And  you  have  reared 
the  boy,  with  the  intention  of  taking  him  for  your  appren- 
tice; is  that  so,  Mr.  Gargery?" 

"You  know,  Pip,"  replied  Joe,  "as  you  and  me  were 
ever  friends,  and  it  were  looked  forward  to  betwixt  us,  as 
being  calc'latedT  to  lead  to  larks.  KdTTbut  what,  Pip,  if 
you  had  ever  made  objections  to  thf,  .business — such  as  its 
being  open  to  black  and  sut,  or^mch-likj^ — not  but  what 
tKey~"Wwild  have  been  attended  to^Htonfyon  see?  " 

"Has  the  boy,"  saioMlHs^Havisham,  "ever  made  any 
objection?  Does  he  like  the  trade?  " 

"Which  it  is  well  beknown_to  yourself,  Pip,"  returned 
Joe,  strengthenihg-4»s^former  mixture  of  argumentation, 
confidence,  and  politeness,  "  that  it  were  the  wish  of  your 
own  hart."  (I  saw  the  idea  suddenly  break  upjon  him  that 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  95 

he  would  adapt  his  epitaph  to  the  occasion,  before  he  went 
on  to  say)  7rAnd  there  weren't  im  objection  on  your  part, 
and  Pip  it  were  the  great  wish  of  your  hart! " 

It  was  quite  in  vamTor  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  be- 
ing to  Me.  ^v 

"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,  mid  gave  them,  not  to  Miss  Hav- 
isham, but  to  me.  I  am  afraid  I  was  ashamed  of  the  dear 
good  fellow — I  know  I  jEaajishamed  of  him — when  I  saw 
that  Estella  stood  at  the  bacKof~MTss  Havisham's  chair, 
and  that  her  eyes  laughed  mischievously.  I  took  the  in- 
dentures 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  ineantersay  that  were  not  a  question  requir- 
ing 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  won- 
der awakened  in  him  by  her  strange  figure  and  the  strange 
room,  Joe,  even  at  this  pass,  persisted  in  addressing  me. 

"This  is  very  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 
tnen  of  freezing,  for  I  felt  as  if  that  familiar  expression 


96  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  res- 
cued 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  re- 
mained 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,  be- 
came conversational  and  able  to  walk  away. 

I  have  reason  to  think  that  Joe's  intellects  were  bright- 
ened 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  condescended 
to  come  back  to  such  poor  society  as  this,  I  am  sune  I 
do!" 

"Miss  Havisham,"  said  Joe,  with  a  fixed  look  at  me, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  97 

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  kuow'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,  laugh- 
ing. Positively,  laughing! 

"  What  would  present  company  say  to  ten  pound?  "  de- 
manded 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  nod- 
ded, 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 ! " 


98  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  patronising  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  is  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,  witn~a  right  of  patronage  that  left 
all  his  former  criminality  far  behind. 

"Now  you  see,  Joseph  and  wife,"  said  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook, 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  corn- 
chandler.  "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  appren- 
tice 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  IK  MY  CELL. 

The  Hall  was  a  queer  place,  I  thought,  with  higher  pews 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS,  99 

in  it  than  a  church — and  with  people  hanging  over  the  pews 
looking  on — and  with  mighty  Justices  (one  with  a  pow- 
dered 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-plaister.  Here,  in  a  comer,  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  disap- 
pointed to  find  that  my  friends  were  merely  rallying  round 
me,  we  went  back  to  Pumblechook' s.  A.n&  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  Mr.  Pumblechook 
must  go  over  in  his  chaise-cart,  and  bring  the  Hubbies  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  that  I  was  enjoying  my- 
self— when  I  wasn't! 

However,  they  were  grown  up  and  had  their  own  way, 
and  made  the  most  of  it.  That  swindling  Pumblechook, 
exalted  into  the  beneficenijiontriver  of  the  whole  occasion, 
actually  took  the  tojTof  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  in- 
evitable, 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 


100  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

myself.  That,  rather  late  in  the  evening  Mr.  Wopsle  gave 
us  Collins' s  ode,  and  threw  his  blood-stain'd  sword  in 
thunder  down,  with  such  effect  that  a  waiter  came  in  and 
said,  "  The  Commercials  underneath  sent  up  their  compli- 
ments, 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  bed- 
room, 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  pun- 
ishment 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,  be- 
cause of  my  sister's  temper.  But,  Joe  had  sanctified  it, 
and  I  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  dona 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  101 

Once,  it  had  seemed  to  me  that  when  I  should  at  last 
roll  up  my  shirt-sleeves  and  go  into  the  forge,  Joe's  'pren- 
tice, I  should  be  distinguished  and  happy.  Now  the  reality 
was  in  my  hold,  I  only  felt  that  I  was  dusty  with  the  dust 
of  the  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  beToreme  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  be- 
cause I  was  faithful,  but  because  Joe  was  faithful,  that  I 
never  ran  away  and  w.ent  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  indus- 
try, 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  restless  aspiring  discontented 
me. 

What  I  wanted,  who  can  say?  How  can  /  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 


102  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  seein  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  tow- 
ards those  panels  of  black  night  in  the  wall  which  the 
wooden  windows  then  Avere,  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  un- 
gracious breast. 


CHAPTER     XV. 

As  I  was  getting  too  big  for  Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt's 
room,  my  education  under  that  preposterous  female  termi- 
nated. 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  halfpenny.  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  nil 
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  contra- 
dicted and  embraced  and  wept  over  and  bullied  and 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  103 

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  EsteKa'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  saga- 
cious 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  Hav- 
isham  and  Estella;  and  whenever  the  light  struck  aslant, 
afar  off,  upon  a  cloud  or  sail  or  green  hill-side  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  pay  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 


104  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

remains  open  to  the  question,  Pip.  But  in  regard  of  wisit- 
ing  Miss  Havisham.  She  might  think  you  wanted  some- 
thing— 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  mean- 
ing 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  com- 
forting to  me  to  find  that  he  had  thought  of  itj  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  re- 
member 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  act  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  105 

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  misrepre- 
sentations. 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  mak- 
ing 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-holi- 
day to-morrow,  I  think  I  would  go  up-town  and  make  a 
call  on  Miss  Est — Havisham." 

"Which  her  name,"  said  Joe,  gravely,  "ain't  Estavis- 
ham,  Pip,  unless  she  have  been  rechris'eued." 

"  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  ul- 
terior object,  but  was  simply  one  of  gratitude  for  a  favour 
received,  then  this  experimental  trip  should  have  no  suc- 
cessor. By  these  conditions  I  promised  to  abide. 

Now,  Joe  kept  a  journeyman  at  weekly  wages  whose 
name  was  Qrlick.  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  havebeen 
the  prey  of  no  delusion  in  this  particular,  but  wilfully  1» 
have  imposed  that  name  upon  the  village  as  an  affront  to 
its  understanding.  He  was  a  broad-shouldered  loose-limbed 
swarthy  fellow  of  great  strength,  never  in  a  hurry,  and  al- 
ways slouching.  He  never  even  seemed  to  come  to  his 
work  on  purpose,  but  would  slouch  in  as  if  by  mere  acci- 
dent; and  when  he  went  to  the  Jolly  Bargemen  to  eat  his 


106  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  sluice-gates,  or  stood 
against  ricks  and  barns.  He  always  slouched,  locomotively, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  ground;  and,  when  accosted  or  other- 
wise required  to  raise  them,  he  looked  up  in  a  half  resent- 
ful, 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  boj',  and 
that  I  might  c&nsider  myself  fuel.  -  When  I  became  Joe's 
'prentice,  Qrlick_was  perhaps  confirmeTPm^om^-ettsptciffn 
ttrartrTshould  displace'  him]~Kow1belt,  heTikeci  me  stiTTtess. 
iSot  that  he  ever  saTd  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-bye 
he  said,  leaning  on  his  hammer : 

"Now,  master!  Sure  you're  not  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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  107 

"Don't  lose  your  temper,"  said  Joe. 

"  Shall  if  I  like,"  growled  Orlick.  "  Some  and  their  up- 
towning!  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  /  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  Or- 
lick say  to  me,  Pip?  What  did  he  call  me,  with  my  hus- 
band standing  by?  0 !  0 1  0 ! "  Each  of  these  exclama- 


108  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tions  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  that  he  gave  me  before  the  base  man  who 
swore  to  defend  me?  O !  Hold  me !  O ! " 

"  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.) 

"  0 !  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 !  0 !  O ! "  Here  my  sister,  after  a  fit  of  clap- 
pings 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  disre- 
garded parenthetical  interruptions,  but  stand  up  to  his 
journeyman,  and  ask  him  what  he  meant  by  interfering  be- 
twixt 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  up  long  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  109 

connected  with  such  a  lull — namely,  that  it  was  Sunday, 
and  somebody  was  dead — I  went  upstairs  to  dress  myself. 

When  I  came  down  again,  I  found  Joe  and  Orlick  sweep- 
ing 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  peace- 
able 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 
Kampage,  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  lit- 
tle 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-TshTJtrtcT' 
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 


110  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  dis- 
consolately at  the  shop  windows,  and  thinking  what  I 
would  buy  if  I  were  a  gentleman,  who  should  come  out  of 
the  bookshop  but  Mtr-Wopsle.  Mr.  Wopsle  had  in  his 
haiid~t!ie  affecting  tragedy  of -George  Barnwell,  in  which  he 
had  that  moment  invested  sixpence,  with  the~view  of  heap- 
ing 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 
BarnjEell,  I  don't  know  how  long  it  may  usually  takefBut 
Tknow  very  well  that  it  took  until  half -past  nina  o'clock 
that  night,  and  that  when  Mr.  Wopsle  got  into^Newgate,  I 
thought  he  never  would  go  to  the  scaffold,  he ibecrnrre  so 
much  slower  than  at  any  former  period  of  his  disgraceful 
career.  I  thought  it  a  little  too  much  that  he  should  com- 
plain 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  iden- 
tification of  the  whole  affair  with  my  unoffending  self. 
When  Barnwell  began  to  go  wrong,  I  declare  I  felt  posi- 
tively 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  Ill 

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  char- 
acter. Even  after  I  was  happily  hanged  and  Wopsle  had 
closed  the  book,  Pumblechook  sat  staring  at  me,  and  shak- 
ing his  head,  and  saying,  "Take  warning,  boy,  take  warn- 
ing!" 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-bye,  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 


112  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  Cambejwell.  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  Bos- 
worth  Field,  and  in  tlie-greatest  agonies  at  Glastonbrrry. 
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  eievenVctock — 
in  a  state  of  commotion,  with  the  door  wide  open,  and  un- 
wonted 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.  Sup- 
posed 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  was 
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  with- 
out 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  Kam- 
page  again,  while  she  was  the  wife  of  Joe. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  113 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

WITH  my  head  full  of^George  Barnwell^  I  was  at  first 
disposed  to  believe  that  1  must  have  had  some  hand  in  the 
attack  upon  my  sister,  or  at  all  events  that  as  her  near  re- 
lation, 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  stand- 
ing  at  the  kitchen  door  and  had  exchanged  Good  Night 
with  a^JafnuI^bourer  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  min- 
utes 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,  ex- 
cepting such  as  she  herself  had  made,  in  falling  and  bleed- 
ing. 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  con- 
siderable 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,  de- 
clared it  to  have  been  filed  asunder  some  time  ago.  The 
hue  and  cry  going  off  to  the  Hulks,  and  people  coming 
8 


114  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  two  convicts  who  had 
escaped  last  night.  Further,  one  of  those  two  was  already 
re-taken,  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  tc(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  ray  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  re- 
considered whether  I  should  at  last  dissolve  that  spell  of  my 
childhood  and  tell  Joe  all  the  story.  For  months  after- 
wards, I  every  day  settled  the  question  finally  in  the  nega- 
tive, 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  assert  it  with  the  fabulous  dogs 
and  veal-cutlets  as  a  monstrous  invention.  However,  I 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  115 

temporised  with  myself,  of  course — for,  was  I  not  waver- 
ing 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-waist- 
coated  police — were  about  the  house  for  a  week  or  two,  and 
did  pretty  much  what  I  have  heard  and  read  of  like  au- 
thorities 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  cir- 
cumstances 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  tea- 
cups and  wine-glasses  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,  extraor- 
dinary complications  arose  between  them,  which  I  was  al- 
ways called  in  to  solve.  The  administration  of  mutton  in- 
stead of  medicine,  the  substitution  of  Tea  for  Joe,  and  the 
baker  for  bacon,  were  among  the  mildest  of  my  own  mis- 
takes. 

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  after- 
wards, 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,  un- 
til a  circumstance  happened  conveniently  to  relieve  us 


116  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Mr.  Wopsle's  great-aunt  conquered  a  confirmed  habit  of 
living  into  which  she  had  fallen,  and  Biddy  became  a  part 
of  our  establishment.  '^^/\^/^\j 

It  may  have  been  a  month  after  my  sister's  reappearance 
in  the  kitchen,  when  Biddy  came  to  us  with  a  small  spec- 
kled 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 ! n  Biddy  instantly  taking  the  cleverest  charge 
of  her  as  though  she  had  studied  her  from  infancy,  Joe  be- 
came 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.  There- 
upon, 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  un- 
derstand her,  this  mysterious  sign  reappeared  on  the  slate. 
Biddy  looked  thoughtfully  at  it,  heard  my  explanation, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  117 

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  propitia- 
tion 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  ar- 
rival 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 


118  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

taking  the  guinea  on  the  first  occasion,  but  with  no  bettei 
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  tne  actual 
fack 11  bevVildyrud  me1,  and  under  its  influence  I  con- 
tinued gt.  hp^rt^tn  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  lay- 
ing 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  her  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  every- 
thing 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  119 

"I  might  as  well  agk  you,"  said  Biddy,  "how  you  man- 
age? " 

"  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  Fifjrly  Rpwin^nwny  with  her  head  on  one 
side,  I  began/tg  think  he£°ratKeT~HTr^i:traordinarv  girl. 
For,  I  Called  "to"  mind  nowyEhni  she  tfas  equally  accom- 
pli shed^^p^^ra^^rour  trade,  and  the  names  of  our  dif- 
ferent SOTts~Tif-^wo*kfand  our  various  tools.  In  short,  what- 
ever I  knew,  Biddy  knew.  Theoretically,  she  was  already 
as  good  a  blacksmith  as  I,  or  better. 

"You  are  one  of  those,  Biddy,"  said  I,  "^wluj-Htafee  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  beenjintilMr.  Wopsle's  gre 
successfully  overcame  that  bad  Kabit  of  living£lsojiighly 
desirable  to  be  got  rid  of  by  some  people.  I 


hopeless  circumstances  by  which  she  had  been  surrounded 
in  the  miserable  little  shop  ancl  the  miserable  little  noisy 
evening  school,  with  that  miserable  old  bundle  of  incom- 
petence 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 


occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  I  had  not  been  suffi- 
ciently grateful  to  Biddy.  I  might  have  been  too  reserved, 
and  should  have  patronised  her  more  (though  I  did  not 


120  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

use  that  precise  word  in  my  meditations),  with  my  confi- 
dence. 

"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  comfort- 
able :  "  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  church-yard,  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,  1  resolved  Lhatrtt  was  a  good  time  and 

ace  for  the  admission  of  Biddy  into  my  inner  confidence. 

"Biddy,"  said  I,  after  binding  her  to  secrecy,  "I  want 
to  be  a  gentleman." 

"  Oh,  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  hap- 
pier 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  eye- 
brows; "  I  am  sorry  for  that;  I  didn't  mean  to  be.  I  only 
want  you  to  do  well,  and  be  comfortable." 

"  Well,  then,  understand  once  for  all  that  I  never  shall 
or  can  be  comfortable — or  anything  but  miserable — there, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  121 


Biddy ! — unless  rcan  lead  a  very  different,  sm-tof  life  from 
the  life  I  lead  ngjsu*'"" 

z< That's  a  pity7!"  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  hfv  spnHnmtL* 
and  my  own.  I  told  her  she  was  right,  and  I  knew  it  was 
mTfch  to  be  regretted,  but  still  it  was  not  to  be  Jielped. 

"  If  I  could  have  settled  down,"  I  said" 'to  Biddy,  pluck- 

)ing  up  the  short  grass  within  reach,  much^aslhad  once 
upQu_fl*-biine  pulled _jny  feelings^out-of  my  hair  and  locked 
them  into  the  brewery  well :  "if  I  could  have  settlecTclown 
and  been  but  half  as  fonoTTTr^the  forge  as  I  was  when  I  was 
little,  I  know  it  would  have  been  much  better  for  me.  You 
and  I  and  Joe  iEould  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  com- 
pany with  you,  and  we  might  have  sat  on  this  very  bank 
on  a  fine  Sunday,  quite  different  people.  I  should  have 
been  good  enough  tovyou;  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.  Dissat- 
isfied, 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  any- 
body 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  f ollowingjt 


122  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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.  Ex- 
actly what  was  perfectly  manifest  to  me  at  the  moment. 
But  how  could  I,  a  poor  dazed  village  lad,  avoid  that  won- 
derful inconsistency  into  which  the  best  and  wisest  of  men 
fall  every  day? 

"  It  may  be  all  quite  true,"  said  I  to  Biddy,  "  but  I  ad- 
mire her  dreadfully."  ______ 

In  short,  I  turned  over  on  my  face  \dlenl  came  to 
and  got  a  good  grasp  on  the  hair,  on  each  side  of  my 
and  wrenched  it  well.  All  the  while  knowing  the  madness 
of  my  heartfTo  bejscT  veryjfrad  and  misplaced,  that  I  was 
quite  conscious  it-yon  |ri__Tia;vp,  served  my  face  right,  if  I 
had  lifted  it  up  by  my  hair,  and  knocked  it  against5*?h"e 
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  presenj-tkaer^ho  thiitks~5ite 
knows  what  lessoni^he  would  sej>)  But  it  would  be  a  hard 
one  to  learn,  and  you  have~goTT)eyond  hej,  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  further,  or  go  home?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  123 

j 

"Biddy,"  I  cried,  getting  up,  putting  my  arm  around 
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  further,  or  go 
home?  " 

I  said  to  Biddy  we  would  walk  a  little  further,  and  we 
jjid  so,  and  the  summer  afternoon  toned  down  into  the~ 
summer  evening,  and  it  was  very  beautiful.    X  began  to 
consider  whether  I  was  not  more  naturally  and  wholesomely 
situated,  ^terall,)in  these  circumstances,  than  pla,p»g^ 
beggar  my  neTghboup^y  candlelight  £n  the^yoom/with  the  } 
stopped  clocks  /amT^eingo^es^sed  by  EsIeTIa.    I  thoughiric 
would  be  very  "gooa  for  me\if\I  could  get  her  out  of  my 
head  witmall  the  rest  of  those  remembrances  and  fancies, 
and  CO%M   go  to  work  d^tem-iined    tn  rp^isfo  what.  T   harl 

~ 


do,  ^nd  stick  to  it.  and/make  the  best  of  it.~\I  asked  my- 
^ etH&^^ 


self  the^question  whetH&^^I  did  not_-su¥e^y  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  capri- 
cious, 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  havp  wnnin^prl  hp.r  own 
breast  than  mine  How  could  it  be,  then,  that  I  did  not 
lifre'lTeT  much  Lhe  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  ac- 
quaintance? " 

"  Oh  dear,uiot  at  all  !  "  said  Biddy.     "  Don't  mind  me." 

"  If  I  could  only  get  myself  to  do  it,  that  would  be  the 
thing  for  me." 


124  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"But  you  never  will,  you  see,"  said  Biddy. 

It  did  not  appear  quite  so  unlikely  to  me  that  evening, 
asit  would,  Viavp  firm  p.  if  we  had  discussed  it  a  few  hours 
before.  I  therefore  observed  I  was  notquite  sure  of  that. 
But  Biddy  said  she  was,  and  she  said  iTcTecisively. In  my 
heart  I  believed  her  to  be  right •r^nd__jfiJb_I_tQQk_it  rather 
ill,  too,  that  shejjhjoul4-bc  so  poaitivc.£m  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  •vv.as  a  favourite  supposi- 
titious case  of  his^  He.  attached  no  definite  myabllig  CcTthe 
wolld  llml  I~a5r~aware  of,  but  used  it,  like  his  own  pre- 
tended 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  laugh- 
ter, 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,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  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  attach- 
ment, I  did  not  doubt  the  accuracy  of  the  interpretation. 


"HULLOA,"     HE    GROWLED;    "WHERE    ARE    YOU    TWO    GOING?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  125 

I  was  very  hot  indeed  upon  Old  Orlick's  daring  to  admire 
her;  as  hotjf  i*-  W^T  Q™  r>nn-flgo  riTLjnyself.  - 

"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  sud- 
den fancy  for  him,  or  I  should  have  tried  to  get  him  dis- 
missed. He  quite  understood  and  reciprocated  my  good 
intentions,  as  I  had  reason  to  know  thereafter. 

•4nd  now,  because  my  mind  was  not  confused  enough  be- 
fore/1  complicated  its  confusion  tiffy  t-.hnnsanfUfoldT  by 
having  states  and  seasons  when  I  was  clear  that  Biddy  was 
immeasurably  J^ettej^than  Estella,  and  that  the  plain  honest 
wording  life  ^Q^whichT)!  was  born  had  nothing  in  it  to  be 
ashamed  of  ?  butbfl'ered  me  sufficient  means  of  self-respect 
and  happiness.  At  those  times,  1  would  decide  conclu- 
sively that  my  disaffection  to  dear  old  Joe  and  the  forge, 
was  gone,  and  that  I  was  growing  up  in  afajr  way  to  be 
partners  with  Joe  aiid_tokeep  company  ^vTtlTBiddy  —  when 
a  momenfc  somejxmtounding  remembrance  of  the  Hav- 

lrl   fall  npnn   pip]   likp  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  directionsHby  one  stray 
thought,  that  perhaps  after  all  Miss  Havisham  was  going 
to  make  my  " 


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  broughTrte-ft-premature  end,  as  I 
proceed  to  relate  . 


126  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

IT  was  in  the  fourth  year  of  my  apprenticeship  to  Joe, 
and  it  was  a  Saturday  night.  There  was  a  group  assem- 
bled round  the  fire  at  the  Three  Jolly  Bargemen,  attentive 
to  Mr.  Wopsle  as  he  read  the  newspaper  aloud.  Qt  that 
group  I  was  one. 

Shighly  nepular  murder  had  been  committed,  and  Mr. 
Wopsle  wasy^mbme^in  blood  to  the  eyebrows.  H^glpateoS 
over  every  abhorrent  adjeulivy  in  Lhe  description,  anoideli- 
tified  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^_asthe  murderer.  He  gave 
the  medical  testimony,  in  ^JpintecK  imitation  of  our  local 
practitioner;  and  he  piped  ano!~T5iiotyk,  as  the  aged  turnpike- 
keeper  who  had  heard  blows,  to  an  extent  so  very  paralytic 
a^Jo_^uggest-a^lQubtregarding  the  in^ntal^colnggteTTcy  of 
That  witngss.  ThecoroTTer,  in  MirWopsle's! hands7T)ecame 
Timon  of  Athens;  the  beadle,  Coriolanus.  He  enjoyed 
himself  thoroughly,  and  we  all  enjoyed  ourselves,  and  were 
delightfully  comfortable.  In  this  cozy  state  of  mind  we 
came  to  the  verdict  of  Wilful  Murder. 

Then,  and  not  sooner,  I  became  aware  of  a  strange  gen- 
tleman 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  sat- 
isfaction, I  have  no  doubt?  " 

Everybody  started  and  looked  up,  as  if  it  were  the  mur- 
derer. He  looked  at  everybody  coldly  and  sarcastically. 

"  Guilty,  of  course?  "  said  he.     "  Out  with  it.     Come !  " 

" ^iJ^-retnTnedTSTr.  Wopsle,  "without  having  the  hon- 
our of  your  acquaintance,  I  do  say  Guilty."  Upon  this  we 
all  took  courage  to  unite  in  a  confirmatory  nmimur. 

"  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  sup- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  127 

poses  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  nead  on  one  side  and  himself  on  ono 
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  pos- 
session 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-ex- 
amined? 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. 


128  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  re- 
serve 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,  bit- 
terly. "  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  gentle- 
man, 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  re- 
turn 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  reck- 
less career  while  there  ™*a  y^Jinie. 

The  strang^-gontloman,  "WitE  an  air  of  authority  not  to 
be  disputed,  and  with  a  manner  expressive  of  knowing 
something  secret  about  every  one  of  us  that  would  effect- 
ually 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  stand- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  129 

ing  :  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  yon,  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,  "com- 
monly known  as  Pip?  Is  he  here?  " 

"  I  am  here  !  "  I  cried. 

The  stranger  did  not  recognise  me,  but  J  ff^grmftd  hi 


as  the  gentleman  I  had  met  on  the  stair  s,(^on  the  occasion^) 
of  my  second  visit  to  Miss  Havishain.     I  had  known  hini  . 
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  com- 
plexion, his  deep-set  eyes,  his  bushy  black  eyebrows,  his 
large  watch-chain,  his  strong  black  dots  of  beard  and  whis- 
ker, 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;  y/ou_willimpart  as  much  or  as  little_ot'  it.  as  yniL 
please  to  your'ii'ienas  aitBrwards;  i  nave  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  occa- 
sion 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 
9 


130  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Lon^gn.  I  am  pretty  well  known.  I  have  unusual  busi- 
ness 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  a  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  stand- 
ing in  Pip's  way,"  said  Joe,  staring. 

"  Lord  forbidding  is  pious,  but  not  to  the  purpose,"  re- 
turned 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  consid- 
ered 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.  "Kecollect  the  admis- 
sion 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  that 
Hpjdjastasabetter.  Bear  that  in  mind,  will  you?  "  re- 
peated 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  131 

My  dream  was  out;  iny  wild  fancy  was  surpassed  by 
sober  reality;  Miss  Havisham  was  going  to  make  my  for- 
tune 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  men- 
tion it." 

My  heart  was  beating  so  fast,  and  there  was  such  a  sing- 
ing in  my  ears,  that  I  could  scarcely  stammer  I  had  no  ob- 
jection. 

"  I  should  think  not !  Now  you  are  to  understand,  sec- 
ondly, Mr.  Pip,  that  the  name  of  the  person  who  is  your 
lj.beral-bfiae|^ctpr  remains  a  profound  secret,  until  the  per- 
son 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,  how- 
ever distant,  to  any  individual  whomsoever  as  the  individ- 
ual, in  all  the  communications  you  may  have  with  me.  If 
you  have  a  suspicion  in  your  own  breast,  keep  that  suspi- 
cion 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  a  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  ihat  I  am 
charged  with,  by  the  person  from  whom  I  take  my  instruc- 
"fibns,  and  tor  whomj  am  not,  otherwise  responsible.  ThatT 
person  18  the  person  from  whom  you  derive  your  expecta- 
tions, 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  ob- 
jection to  it,  this  is  the  time  to  mention  it.  Speak  out." 

Once  more,  I  stammered  with  difficulty  that  I  had  no 
objection. 

i(  I  should  think  not !     Now,  Mr.  Pip,  I  have  done  with 


132  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

stipulations."  Though  he  called  me  Mr.  Pip,  and  began 
rather  to  make  up  to  me,  he  still  could  not  get  rid  of  a  cer- 
tain air  of  bullying  suspicion;  and  even  now  he  occasion- 
ally 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  use  the  term  '  expecta- 
tions '  more  than  once,  you  are  not  endowed  with  expec- 
tations only.  There  is  already  lodged  in  my  hands,  a  sum 
of  money  amply  sufficient  for  your  suitable,  education  and 
maintenance.  YojjTwin^lHas&^QnMdgrtiie  youl^guardian. 
Olrn*  IOT  I  was  going  to  thank  him^"**"!  tetTyouTaTonce,  I 
am  paid  for  my  services,  or  I  shouldn't  render  them.  It 
is  considered  that  you  must  be  better  educated,  in  accord- 
ance 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  knowl- 
edge, who  I  think  might  suit  the  purpose,"  said  Mr.  Jag- 
gers.  "I  don't  recommend  him,  observe;  because  I  never 
recommend  anybody.  The  gentleman  I  speak  of  is  one  Mr. 
Ma^thewPociet. " 

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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  133 

"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,  motion- 
less), that][  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  dumbfouudered? " 

"  I  am  !  "  said  Joe,  in  a  very  decided  manner. 

"  It  was  understood  that  you  wanted  nothing  for  your- 
self, remember?  " 

"It  were  understood,"  said  Joe.  "And  it  are  under- 
stood. 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 


134  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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 ! — " 

0  dear  good  Joe,  whom  I  was  so  ready  to  leave  and  so 
unthankful  to,  I  see  you  again,  with  your  muscular  black- 
smith's arm  before  your  eyes,  and  your  broad  chest  heav- 
ing, 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  bye- 
paths  we  had  trodden  together.  I  begged  Joe  to  be  com- 
forted, 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  recog- 
nized 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  demon- 
stration 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  mean ter say  and 
stand  or  fall  by ! " 

1  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 


r 
GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  135 

Joe  demonstrated,  and  had  backed  near  the  door.  With- 
out evincing  any  inclination  to  come  in  again,  he  there  de- 
livered 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.  Under- 
stand 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  dan- 
gerous, 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. " 


136  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  congratula- 
tions 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  mys- 
terious 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  with- 
out 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; 


r 
GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  137 

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." 

"  MrJ__ajad_JMj-s.u_Hubble  might  like  to  see  you  in  your 
new  genteel  figure  too,  Pip,"  said  Joe,  industriously  cut- 
ting his  bread  with  his  cheese  on  it,  in  the  palm  of  his  left 
hand,  and  glajicing  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  com- 
pliment." 

"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  your- 
self 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 


138  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  con- 
fused 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  talk- 
ing 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  da\y  a  filler  veiled  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  might  be  either 
greatly  deteriorated  or  clean  gone. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  139 

Joe  and  Biddy  were  very  sympathetic  and  pleasant  when 
I  spoke  of  our  approaching  separation;  but  they  only  re- 
ferred 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,  proposing 
to  finish  off  the  marshes  at  once,  and  get  them  done  with. 
As  I  passed  the  church,  I  felt  (as  I  had  felt  during  ser- 
vice in  the  morning)  a  sublime  compassion  for  the  poor 
creatures  who  were  destined  to  go  there,  Sunday  after  Sun- 
day, 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  Jin  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  dykes  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,  monot- 
onous 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  cheer- 
ful smile  on  my  opening  my  eyes,  and  said : 

"As  being  the  last  time,  Pip,  I  thought  I'd  f oiler." 


140  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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,  "/'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  cer- 
tain 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  re- 
mark 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  when  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  prop- 
erty 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  back- 
ward in  some  things.  For  instance,  Biddy,  in  his  learning 
and  his  manners." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  141 

Although  I  was  looking  at  Biddy  as  I  spoke,  and  al- 
though she  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  when  I  had  spoken, 
she  did  not  look  at  me. 

"  Oh,  his  manners !  won't  his  manners  do,  then?  "  asked 
Biddy,  plucking  a  black-currant  leaf. 

"  My  dear  Biddy,  they  do  very  well  here " 

"  Oh !  they  do  very  well  here?  "  interrupted  Biddy,  look- 
ing 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  provoking  question  (for  it  had  never  in  the 
most  distant  manner  occurred  to  me),  that  I  said,  snap- 
pishly, "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. 

"Oh!  there  are  many  kinds  of  pride,"  said  Biddy,  look- 
ing 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  com- 
petent 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  improv- 
ing dear  Joe.  But  after  this,  I  ask  you  nothing.  I  am 


142  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  de- 
jected stroll  until  supper-time;  again  feeling  it  very  sor- 
rowful 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  ex- 
tended 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^TrabJ^thetailor;  who  was  having  his 
breakfast  in  the  parlour  behimTMs  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  cov- 
ering it  up.  He  was  a  prosperous  old^hachelor,  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  table-cloth,  exclaiming,  "  Lord  bless  my  soul ! " 

"  I  am  going  up  to  my  guardian  in  London,"  said  I,  casu- 
ally drawing  some  guineas  out  of  my  pocket  and  looking 
at  them;  "  and  I  want  a  fashionable  suit  of  clothes  to  go  in 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  143 

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  Ms  arms,  and  took  the  liberty  of  touching 
me  on  the  outside  of  each  elbow,  "  don't  hurt  me  by  men- 
tioning that.  May  I  venture  to  congratulate  you?  Would 
you  do  me  the  favour  of  stepping  into  the  shop?  " 

Mr.  Trabb's-teoy.~was  the  most  audacious  boy  in  all  that 
country-side.  When  1  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  pos- 
sible 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  recom- 
mend 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  un- 
til 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  ar- 
ticle 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-towns- 
man'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 


144  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

measured.  For,  although  Mr.  Trabb  had  my  measure  al- 
ready, and  had  previously  been  quite  contented  with  it,  he 
said  apologetically  that  it  "  wouldn't  do  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances, 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  him- 
self 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  Pumblechpok^s,  and,  as  I  approached  that  gentle- 
man'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  per- 
son passed. 

"My  dear  friend,"  said  Mr..  Pumblechook;  taking  me  by 
both  hands,  when  he  and  f  anoTbEe  colMion  were  alone, 
"  I  give  you  joy  of  your  good  fortune.  Well  deserved,  well 
deserved ! " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  145 

This  was  coming  to  the  point,  and  I  thought  it  a  sensible 
way  of  expressing  himself. 

"To  think,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  after  snorting  ad- 
miration 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.  Pumble- 
chook, in  the  way  lof  a  compassionate  adjuration.  "Jo- 
seph ! !  Joseph ! ! !  r  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 
favoiirites  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 
10 


146  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

Thoroughfares  of  Pork  now),  and  took,  comparatively 
speaking,  no  care  of  himself  at  all.  "  Ah !  poultry,  poul- 
try! You  little  thought,"  said  Mr.  Pumblechook,  apostro- 
phising the  fowl  in  the  dish,  "when  you  was  a  young 
fledgeling,  what  was  in  store  for  yon.  You  little  thought 
you  was  to  be  refreshment  beneath  this  humble  roof  for  one 
as — Call  it  a  weakness,  if  you  will,"  said  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook, 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  eat- 
ing, "  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  cer- 
tainly 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  ap- 
pearance 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.  Pumble- 
chook, "  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  get- 
ting 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  de- 
siring 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  147 

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  be- 
fore 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  aplpeared  to  him  (Pumblechook)  that  if 
that  capital  were  gotfinto  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  me  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  cer- 
tainly 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  fearful  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  turnpikewithout  having  taken 
any  account  of  the  road. 


148  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

There,  I  was  roused  by  Mr.  Pumblecliook'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 
eame  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-scanj;  luggage  to  take  with  me  to  London,  for  little 
of  thft  liftlp.  T  possessedwas  adapted  to  my  new  station. 
But,  I  began  packing  tnat  s~kme  afternoon,  and  wildly 
packed-itpthings  that  I  knew  I  should  want  next  morning, 
in  ajjctioiT^hat  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  hadhad  my  new  suit 
on,  some  half  an  hour,  and  had  gone  through  an  immensity 
of  posturing  with  Mr.  Pumblechook's  very  limited  dress- 
ing-glass, in  the  futile  endeavour  to  see  my  legs,  it  seemed 
to  fit  me  better.  It  being  market  morning  at  a  neighbour- 
ing 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 
^  was  all  as  it  should  _be^  and  I  went  out 
in  my^pjwarra^l  teariuiiy  ashamed  of  having  to  pass  the 
shopmaftTlignrsuspicious  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,  ou  accorislnpTthe 
sj^ff  long  fingers  of  my  gloves?  SaTalrToc^elrnasreto  the 
gate,  and  positively  ^eeleSxback  when  she  saw  me  so 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  149 

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  her  entrance, 
she  stopped  and  turned.  She  was  then  just  abreast  of  the 
rotted  bride-cake.  \ 

"Don't  go,  Sarah,7  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  grate- 
ful for  it,  Miss  Havisham !  " 

"  Ay,  ay !  "  said  she,  looking  at  the  discomfited  and  envi- 
ous 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?  n 

"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  be- 
fore you.  Be  good — deserve  it — and  abide  by  Mr.  Jag- 
gers' s  instructions."  She  looked  at  me,  and  looked  at  Sa- 
jah,  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." 


150  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Yes,  Miss  Havisham." 

"Goodbye,  Pip!" 

She  stretched  out  her  hand,  and  I  went  down  on  my 
knee  and  put  it  to  my  lips.  I  had  not  considered  how  1 
should  take  leave  of  her;  ik_came  naturally  to  me  at  the 
moment,  to  do  this.  She  looked  at  Sarah  PockeFwith  tri- 
umph 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  host  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  bun- 
dle 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  anoTmore  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,  carry- 
ing 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  com* 
pelled  to  admit  that  it  might  be  done  so,  and  had  an  im^ 
pulse  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  151 

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  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  unstrappjing  my  small  portmanteau  and  lock- 
ing and  strapping  it  ^ip  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  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  lit- 
tle 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 


152  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  even- 
ing 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  those  deliberations,  I  would  fancy  an  exact  resem- 
blance 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^ve^ours^  It  was~~a~  little' past  mid-day 
when  the  four-horse  stage-coach  by  which  I  was  a  passen- 
ger, got  into  the  ravel  of  traffic  grayed  out  by  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  everytKmgl  otherwise,  while  I  was  scared  by  the  im- 
mensity of  London,  I  think  I  might  have  had  some  fjii^t 
doubts  whether  it  was  not  rather  ugly,  crooked,  narrow, 
and  dirty. 

Mr.  Jaggers  had  duly  sent  me  his  address;  it  wagXittle 
Britain,  and  he  had  written  after  it  on  his  card,  "  just  out 
oiMSimthneldr-ftnd  close  by  the  coach-office."  Neverthe- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  153 

less,  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  weatherfstained)  pea-green 


hammercloth,  moth-eaten  into  rags,  was  j^uifo  a  wnrlc  of 

th  six 


It  was  a  wonderful  je^uipagej,  with  sixgreat  coronets 
outside,  and  ragged  things  benmd  for  I  don't  know  how 
many  footmen"  to1  huld  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  thej  horses'  nose-bags  were  kept  inside, 
when  I  observed  the  coachman  beginning  to  get  down,  as 
if  we  were  going  to  step  presently.  And  stop  we  presently 
did,  in  a  gloomy  street,  at  certain  offices  with  an  open  door, 
whereon  was  painted  MB.  JAGGEBS. 

"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- 
'Bfeeches,  who  wiped  his  nose  with  his  sleeve  on  being  in- 
terrupted in  the  perusal  of  the  newspaper. 


154  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


"  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 
patched  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  dread- 
ful casts  on  a  shelf,  of  faces  peculiarly  swollen,  and  twitchy 
about  the  nose.  Mr.  Jaggers's  own  high-backed  chair  was 
of  deadly  black  horse-hair,  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  oppo- 
site 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  at- 
mosphere 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  155 

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  shameluTplaceT^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  tKe  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  ap- 
pointment, he  was  so  good  as  to  take  me  into  a  yard  and 
show  me  where  the  gallows  was  kept,  and  also  where  peo- 
ple 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)  mil- 
dewed 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  circum- 
stances 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. 
Tliis  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 


156  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I.  There  were  two  men  of  secret  appearance  lounging  in 
^Bartholcuaew-Ofose,  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,  per- 
forming a  jig  of  anxiety  under  a  lamp-post,  and  accompany- 
ing himself,  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  with  the  words,  "  Oh  Jag- 
gerth,  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  Bar- 
tholomew 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  any- 
thing 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  Wej»- 


e  made  the  money  up  this  morning,  sir,"  said  one  of 
the  men  submissively,  while  the  other  perused  Mr.  Jag- 
gers '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.*' 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  157 

"  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  Avhere  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  tyo  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?  " 

"  Oh  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  Wem- 
mick?  " 

"Oh  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  most 
devastating  strain.  "What  does  this  fellow  want?" 

"  Ma  thear  Mithter  Jaggerth.  Hown  brother  to  Habra- 
ham  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  thuth- 
pithion  of  plate." 


158  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  Ha- 
braham  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  prethenth 
minute  to  hoffer  him  hany  termth.  Mithter  Jaggerth! 
Half  a  quarter  of  a  moment !  If  you'd  have  the  conde- 
thenthun  to  be  brought  off  from  the  t'other  thide — at  any 
thuperior  prithe ! — money  no  object ! — Mithter  Jaggerth — 
Mithter—-!" 

My  guardian  threw  his  supplicant  off  with  supreme  indif- 
ference, 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  vel- 
veteen 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  Kobin  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'  trou- 
ble, 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  ever  you  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, 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS  159 

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  man- 
ner, "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  re- 
covery, 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  Iijn,"  to_ypung  Mr.J£ocket's 
rooms,  where  a  bed  had  Been^senffTn  for  my-^ccommoda- 
tion;  I  was  to  remain  with  young  Mr.  Pocket  until  Mon- 
day; on  Monday  I  was  to  go  with  him  to  his  father's  house 
on/3,  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 


160  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  cask-full,  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  sen- 
timent, I  asked  Mr.  Jaggers  if  I  could  send  for  a  coach? 
He  said  it  was  not  worth  while,  I  was  so  near  my  destina- 
tion^ 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  Mj\  Wemmick  as  we  went  along, 
to  see  what  he  was  like  in  £EeTight>6f  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,  be- 
sides a  brooch  representing  a  lady  and  a  weeping  willow 
at  a  tomb  with  an  urn  on  it.  I  noticed,  too,  that  several 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  161 

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.  Wem- 
mick  to  me. 

"No,  "said  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  wicke^  place?  "  I  asked,  more  for  the  sake 
of  saying  something  than  for  information. 

"  You  may  get  cheated,  robbed,  and  murdered,  in  Lon- 
don. 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. 

"Oh!  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  me- 
chanical 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.  Matth£w  Pocket  lives?"  I 
asked  Mr.  Wemmick. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  nodding  in  the  direction.     "AtJHam- 
jnersmithj  west  of  London." 
~ 


"  Well  !     Say  five  miles." 
"  Do  you  know  him?  " 

"Why,  you  are  a  regular  cross-examiner!"    said  Mr. 
Wemmick,  looking  at  me  with  an  approving  air.     "  Yes, 
him.     1  know  him  !  " 
11 


162  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  establish- 
ment to  be  an  hotel  kept  by  Mr.JBarnard,_to  which  the 
Blue  JJoar  in  oiiftown  was  a  rner^TpuWuxhouse .  Whereas 
I  now  found  Barnard  to  be  a  disembodied  spirit,  or  a  fic- 
tion, 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  lit- 
tle square  that  looked  to  me  like  a  flat  bury  ing-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  frouzy  morning  of  soot  and 
smoke  attired  this  forlorn  creation  of  Barnard,  and  it  had 
strewed  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  163 

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  guillo- 
tine. 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 


164  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

might  like  a  little  fruit  after  dinner,  and  I  went  to  Covent 
Garden-Market  to  get  it  good." 

~nFor  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-mor- 
row 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  sit- 
ting-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  table-cloth  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  165 

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  an- 
other 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  thatJIr.^HerbejtJPocket  (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.  /  was  rather  on  the  look-out  for  good  fortune 
then." 

" Indeed? " 

"  Yes.  Miss  Havisham  had  sent  for  me,  to  see  if  she 
could  take  a  fancv  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  pro- 
vided 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  hav- 


166  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ing  made  this  lapse  of  a  word.  "Affianced,"  he  explained, 
still  busy  with  the  fruit.  "Betrothed.  Engaged.  What's- 
his-uamed.  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." 

"MissHavisham?" 

"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  re- 
venge on  all  the  male  sex." 
/*'  What  relation  is  she  to  Miss  Havisham?  " 
|   "None,"  said  he.     "Only  adopted." 
A  ^.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  con- 
viction 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-Hazisham'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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  167 

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  any- 
thing 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  success- 
ful 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  f aceT^brrt  it  was  better  than  hand- 
some :  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  there- 
fofe  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  black- 
smith 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  proph- 
esy 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  neigh- 


168  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

bourhood.  I  tell  you  what  I  should  like.  We  are  so  har- 
monious, and  you  have  been  a  blacksmith — would  you 
mind  it?  " 

"I  shouldn't  mind  anything  that  you  propose,"  I  an- 
swered, "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  Harmo- 
nious Blacksmith." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much." 

"Then,  my  dear  IJandel."  said  he,  turning  round  as  the 
door  opened,  "  here  isthedinner,  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  gipsy  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  circum- 
jacent region  of  sitting-room  was  of  a  comparatively  pas- 
tureless  and  shifty  character :  imposing  on  the  waiter  t"he 
wandering  habits  of  putting  the  covers  on  the  floor  (where 
he  fell  over  them),  the  melted  butter  in  the  armchair,  the 
bread  on  the  bookshelves,  the  cheese  in  the  coalscuttle, 
and  the  boiled  fowl  into  my  bed  in  the  next  room — where  I 
found  much  of  its  parsley  and  butter  in  a  state  of  congela- 
tion 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  re- 
minded Herbert  of  his  promise  to  tell  me  about  Miss  Hav- 
isham. 

"True,"  he  replied.  "I'll  redeem  it  at  once.  Let  me 
introduce  the  topic,  Handel,  by  mentioning  that  inJUondpii 
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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  169 

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  noth- 
ing. 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  indis- 
putable 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  prL 
vately  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  fa- 
ther disinherited  him;  but  he  softened  when  he  was  dy- 
ing, 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  re- 
cital. I  thanked  him  and  apologised.  He  said,  "  Not  at 
all,"  and  resumed. 

"  Miss  Havisham  was  now  an  heiress,  and  you  may  sup- 
pose was  looked  after  as  a  great  match.  Her  half-brother 
had  now  ample  means  again,  but  what  with  debts  and  what 


170  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  sus- 
pected 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.' 

f"  There  appeared  upon  the  scene — say  at  the  races,  or 
ihe  public  balls,  or  anywhere  else  you  like — a  certain  man, 
Vho  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  assev- 
erates; 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  pro- 
fessed to  be  devoted  to  her.  I  believe  she  had  not  shown 
much  susceptibility  up  to  that  time;  but  all  the  susceptibil- 
ity she  possessed,  certainly  came  out  then,  and  she  passion- 
ately loved  him.  There  is  no  doubt  that  she  perfectly 
idolized  him.  He  practised  on  her  affection  in  that  system- 
atic 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  hus- 
band he  must  hold  and  manage  it  all.  Your  guardian  was 
not  at  that  time  in  Miss  Havisham's  councils,  and  she  was 
too  haughty  and  too  much  in  love,  to  be  advised  by  any 
one.  Her  relations  were  poor  and  scheming,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  my  father;  he  was  poor  enough,  but  not  time- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  171 

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  a  letter " 

"Which  she  received,"  I  struck  in,  "when  she  was  dress- 
ing 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  mar- 
riage 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  mis- 
placed 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  mor- 
tification may  have  been  a  part  of  her  half-brother's 
scheme,"  said  Herbert.  "Mind!  I  don't  know  that." 


172  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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 
Havisharn,  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  I  know  about  Miss  Havis- 
ham, you  know." 

"And  all  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  un- 
derstood 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,  '^Ajcagitalist 
. — 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  In- 
surers 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  impres- 
sion that  Herbert  Pocket  would  never  be  very  successful  or 
rich. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  173 

"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. 

"  I  think  I  shall  trade,  also,"  said  he,  putting  his  thumbs 
in  his  waistcoat  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  trans- 
actions, I  asked  him  where  the  ships  he  insured  mostly 
traded  to  at  present? 

"  I  haven't  begun  insuring  yet,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  look- 
ing 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  diffi- 
cult 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  count- 
ing-house, you  know,  and  you  look  about  you." 


174  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  pov- 
erty, 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  AbJaey,  and  in  the  afternoon  we 
walked  in  the  "jfarfcs;  arid  I  wondered  who  shod  all  the 
horses  there,  ancTwlslied  Joe  did. 

On  a  moderate  computation,  it  was  many  months,  that 
Sunday,  since  I  had  left  Joe  and  Biddy.  The  space  inter- 
posed between  myself  and  them,  partook  of  that  expan- 
sion, 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  combina- 
tion 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^TftjLJLeart.^ 

On  the  Monday  morning  at  a  quarter  before  nine,  Her- 
bert went  to  the  counting-house  to  report  himself — to  look 
about  him,  too,  I  suppose — and  I  bore  him  company.  He 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  175 

was  to  come  away  in  an  hour  or  two  to  attend  me  to~Ham- 
mersinith,  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  re- 
paired 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  an- 
other 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  table-cloths  and  knives  and  wait- 
ers' 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^theafteTTiodii; 
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  nursemaids  were  looking  about  them 
while  the  children  played.  "  Mama,"  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 


176  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

you've  dropped  it,  Mum!"  Upon  which  Mrs.  Pocket 
laughed  and  said,  "Thank  you,^Flopson, " and  settling  her- 
self in  one  chair  only,  resumed  her~l3oeter  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  mama  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  com- 
pliments, when  the  nurse  came  to  my  rescue. 

"  Well !  "  she  cried,  picking  up  the  pocket-handkerchief, 
"if  that  don't  make  seven  times!  What  ABB  you  a  doing 
of  this  afternoon,  Mum ! "  Mrs.  Pocket  received  her  prop- 
erty, at  first  with  a  look  of  unutterable  surprise  as  if  she 
had  never  seen  it  before,  and  then  with  a  laugh  of  recogni- 
tion, 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  dole- 
fully. 

"  If  there  ain't  Baby ! "  said  Flopson,  appearing  to  think 
it  most  surprising.  "  Make  haste  up,  MillersJ_" 

M_Uler^-wio~wa84^~otbe3Muirse,  refired  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  suppose,  for  Mr.  Pocket  to  come  out 
to  us;  at  any  rate  we  waited  there,  and  so  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity 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  astonish- 
ment, 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-bye  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  177 

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?  " 

"  7  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  acquain- 
tance, 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  per- 
ception 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 
12 


178  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

black  and  handsome,  "  Belinda^  I  hope  you  have  welcomed 
Mr.  Pip?  "  And  she  Tooted  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  transactions,  I  considered  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  Anight,  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  Ministers,  the  Lord 
Chancellor's,  the  Archbishop  of  Can  terbu£y-%  any  body'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  vel- 
lum, 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  de- 
cided whether  to  mount  to  the  Woolsack,  or  to  roof  him- 
self 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  judi- 
cious 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  179 

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-loo~king  young,  ^ 
man  "o~f~a   heavy"  order   of  architecture,    was   whistling.     / 
Startop,  younger  in  years  and  appearance,  was  reading  and    L 
holding  his  head,  as  if  he  thought  himself  in  danger  of  ex-  ^ 
ploding  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  trou- 
ble; 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  neighbour- 
ing lady  with  whom  the  family  were  personally  unac- 
quainted, wrote  in  to  say  that  she  had  seen  Millers  slap- 
ping the  baby.  This  greatly  distressed  MrsTTPocket,  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  influen- 


180  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tial,  were  always  going  to  help  him  to  preferment,  but 
always  forgot  to  do  it  when  the  blades  had  left  the  Grind- 
stone— 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  sympatheticTiatttfe^tEaTshe  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  tak- 
ing her  down  to  dirHrerronThe  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  con- 
fidence (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  be- 
fore. 

" — 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  Brummie,  while  I  was  attentive  to  my 
knife  and  fork,  8petjn7~giasses,  and  other  instruments  of 
self-destruction,  that  Brummie,  whose  Christian  name  was 
Bentley,  was  actually  thV^ejct_h^ir_butjpne  to.  a-  baronetcy. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  181 

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.  Coiier  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  announce- 
ment 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  ex- 
traordinary, 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  dis- 
turbed 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  Flop- 
son  and  Millers,  much  as  though  those  two  non-commis- 
sioned 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 


182  GREAT  EXPECTATION 

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  the  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. 

_FlojD§.Q.n,  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  nutcrackers  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~fefttEe~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 
falling  into  a  discussion  with  Drummle  respecting  two  bar- 
onetcies 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  nutcrackers.  At  length 
little  Jane  perceived  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 ! " 

"Mama,  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 ! " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  183 

./^  .  ^\ 

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  tKeTabTe,  "  how  can  you  T5e~sTrvS?easonable?    Jane  only      I 
interfered  for  the  protection  of  baby."  £> ---^^ 

"I  will  not  allow  anybody  to  interfere,"  said(Mrs.  Pock-   ' 
et.     "I  am  surprised,  MattheV,  that  you  shoul3"expbse 
me  to  the  affront  of  interference!" 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  Mr.  Pocket,  in  an  outbreak  of  des- 
olate desperation.  "  Are  infants  to  be  nutcrackered  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  nutcrackered  dead,  for  people' spoor  grandpapa's 
positions !  "  Then  he  let  himself  down  again,  and  became 
silent. 

We  all  looked  awkwardly  at  the  table-cloth  while  this 
was  going  on.  A  pause  succeeded,  during  which  the  hon- 
est 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  the  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  dim- 
pled 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 


184  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  andJStestop  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  hfid  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  dig- 
nity 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  house- 
T  maidy  "  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,  re- 
turning 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 ! " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  185 

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  nie  downstairs,  Belinda,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Pocket,  "and  sh<j»wn  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  1  was  born- to  be  a  Duchess." 

There  was  a  sofa  where  Mr.  Pocket  stood,  and  he  dropped 
upon  it  in  the  attitude  of  a  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  Lou- 
don  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  circum- 
stances. )  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  di- 
rector of  all  my  studies.  He  hoped  that  with  intelligent 
assistance  I  should  meet  with  little  to  discourage  me,  and 


186  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  com- 
pact 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  com- 
pliment 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  communi- 
cation 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  his  delicacy  arose  out  of  the 
consideration  that  the  plan  would  save  Herbert  some  ex- 
pense, 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?  " 

.1  said  I  didn't  know  how  much. 

"Come!"  retorted  Mr.  Jaggers.  "How  much?  Fifty 
pounds?  " 

"Oh,  not  nearly  so  much." 

"Five  pounds?"  said  Mr.  Jaggers. 

This  was  such  a  great  fall,  that  I  said  in  discomfiture, 
"Oh!  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?" 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  187 

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  1  make  At,  my  friend,"  observed  Mr. 
Jaggers,  with  a  knowing  and  contradictory  toss  of  the 
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  ne ver_Jattghed ;  but  he  wore 
great  bright  creaking  boots;  and,  in  poising  himself  on 
those  boots,  with  his  large  head  bent  down  and  his  eye- 
brows 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,"  an- 
swered 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  sym- 
metrically 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 


188  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  some- 
where down  his  back,  and  produced  from  his  coat-collar 
like  an  iron  pigtail,  we  went  fipstairs.  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  atten- 
tively engaged  with  three  or  four  people  of  shabby  appear- 
ance, 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  crop- 
ping 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  down- 
stairs 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 


"THIS    CHAP    MURDERED    HIS    MASTER." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  189 

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  apos- 
trophe, by  touching  his  brooch  representing  the  lady  and 
the  weeping  willow  at  the  tomb  with  the  urn  upon  it,  and 
said,  "  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  ladylike  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  horsehair  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  jewellery  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. 


190  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Oh  yes,"  he  returned,  "these  are  all  gifts  of  that  kind. 
One  brings  another,  you  see;  that's  the  way  of  it.  I  al- 
ways take  'em.  They're  curiosities.  And  they're  property. 
They  may  not  be  worth  much,  but,  after  all,  they're  prop- 
erty and  portable.  It  don't  signify  to  you  with  your  bril- 
liant look-out,  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  curi- 
osities 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  de- 
pends 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  curi- 
osity that  his  preparation  awakened.  As  I  was  taking  my 
departure,  he  asked  me  if  I  would  like  to  devote  five  min- 
utes 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  re- 
plied 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  with 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  191 

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  admis- 
sion, he  said,  "Now  I  have  got  you!"  The  magistrates 
shivered  under  a  single  bite  of  his  finger.  Thieves  and 
thieftakers  hung  in  dread  rapturex  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  him- 
self 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  quali- 
ties 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  gentle-- 
man, and  half  a  dozen  heads  thicker  than  most  gentlemen. 

Startop  \had  been  spoiled  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  meas- 
ure. 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, 


192  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  pre- 
sented 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  Mr^_Camjlla  turned  up.  Camilla  was  Mr.  Pocket's 
sisterr^jgpjgiafiSfwhom  I  had  s'iSeTTat  MislTHavishain's 
"~on"the  same  occasion,  also  turned  up.  She" was  a  cousin — 
an  indigestive  single  woman,  who  called  her  rigidity  re- 
ligion, 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  in- 
fant 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  con- 
tracted 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  193 

with  him  on  a  certain  evening.  He  replied  that  it  wouM 
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've  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  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  pur- 
sued, 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.' 
13 


194  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Lord  bless  you,  I  have  heard  him,  a  hundred  times  if  I 
have  heard  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,  cut- 
ting 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  hun- 
dred 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  con- 
versation of  a  more  general  nature,  did  Mr.  Wemmick  and 
I  beguile  the  time  and  the  road,  until  he  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  we  had  arrived  in  the  district  of  Walwortkr 

It  appeared  to  be  a  collection  of  black  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  midsToi  plots  Cf~~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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  195 

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  loo~k  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  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;  smil- 
ing 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  sep- 
arate fortress,  constructed  of  lattice- work.  It  was  protected 
from  the  weather  by  an  ingenious  little  tarpaulin  contriv- 
ance 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,  smil- 
ing 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  / 


196  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

all  Trades,"  said  Wemmick,  in  acknowledging  my  compli- 
ments. "  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(xtTofi^;  all  right! "  replied  the  old  man. 

"Here's  MrTPip,  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  beauti- 
ful 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 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  197 

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  Weinmick  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  prelimi- 
nary to  the  performance  of  this  great  nightly  ceremony. 
Wemmick  stood  with  his  watch  in  his  hand  until  the  mo- 
ment 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  ex- 
ultingly,  "  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  the  means  of 


198  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

egress,  and  she  withdrew  for  the  night.  The  supper  was 
excellent;  and  though  the  Cattle  was  rather  subject  to  dry- 
rot,  insomuch  that  it  taatelllike  a  bad  nut,  and  though  the 
pig  might  have  been  farther  off,  I  was  heartily  pleased 
with  my  whole  entertainment.  Nor  was  there  any  draw- 
back 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  gar- 
dening, 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  estab- 
lishment with  that  of  his  cashier  and  clerk.  My  guardian 
was  in  his  room,  washing-4»s^and?~wttE~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  it  were  a  surgeon  or  a  dentist.  He  had 
a  closet  in  his  room,  fitted  up  for  the  purpose,  which  smelt 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

of  the  scented  soap  like  a  perfumer's  sh'op.  It  had  an  un- 
usually 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  de- 
canters on  it,  and  four  dishes  of  fruit  for  desert.  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, 


200  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  .Spjder  ?  " 

"The  spider?"  said  I. 

"  The -blotchy,  sprawly,  sulkv_fellow.w 

"That's  Beal^-efttmlnle,"  freplied;  "the  one  with 
the  delicate  face  isStarto  i 

NoTf  makmg-tfce-least  account  of  "  the  one  with  the  deli- 
cate 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  ap- 
parently 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 
'  hswe  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  be- 
fore, and  that  her  face  looked  to  me  as  if  it  were  all  dis- 
turbed 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  house- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  201 

keeper  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  any- 
thing 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  gaily,  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  Druinmle:  the  development  of  whose  in- 
clination 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 
Drumrnle  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 


202  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  in- 
terest 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  sud- 
denly and  smartly  did  he  do  this,  that  we  all  stopped  in 
our  foolish  contention. 

"If  you  talk  of  strength,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "J'll  show 
you  a  wrist.  Molly,  let  them  see  your  wrist." 

Her  entrapp%5~"ftand  was  on  the  table,  but  she  had  al- 
ready put  her  other  hand  behind  her  waist.  "  Master,"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice,  with  her  eyes  attentively  and  entreat- 
ingly  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  ob- 
stinately 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 

pmuch  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  succes- 
sion as  we  sat.  The  moment  he  ceased,  she  looked  at  him 
again.  "That'll  do,  Molly,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  giving  her 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  203 

a  slight  nod;  "you  have  been  admired,  and  can  go."  She 
withdrew  her  hands  and  went  orit  of  the  room,  and  Mr. 
Jaggers,  putting  the  decanters  qn  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  down- 
right intolerable.  Through  all  his  stages,  Mr.  Jaggers  fol- 
lowed 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  be- 
came particularly  hot  upon  some  boorish  sneer  of  Drum- 
mle'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." 

"7  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. 


204  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"I'll  tell  you,  however,"  said  I,  "whether  you  want  to 
know  or  not.  We  said  that  as  you  put  it  into  your  pocket 
very  glad  to  get  it,  you  seemed  to  be  immensely  amused  at 
his  being  so  weak  as  to  lend  it." 

Drurnmle  laughed  outright,  and  sat  laughing  in  our 
faces,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  round  sholders 
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 
Tiffront.  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  enter- 
tainer'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  Ham- 
mersmith on  the  same  side  of  the  way;  so,  Herbert  anoTT, 
~^th&  remained  in  town,  saw  them  going  down  the  street  on 
opposite  sides;  Startop  leading,  and  Drummle  lagging  be- 
hind 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,  wash- 
ing 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  205 

"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  guradian  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  gentle- 
man, for  you  had  ever  a  good  heart,  and  he  is  a  worthy 
worthy  man.  -  I  have  read  him  all  excepting  only  the  last 


206  GREAT   EXPECTATIONS. 

little  sentence,  and  he  wishes  me  most  particular  to  write 
again  what  larks." 

I  received  this  letter  by  post  on  Monday  morning,  and 
therefore  its  appointment  was  for  next  day.  Let  me  con- 
fess 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  morti- 
fication, 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  Hanynersmith,  and  conse- 
quently would  »efc-fall  in  BentleyT5ru»»i^ff  way.  I  had 
little  objection  to  his  being-  coon  by  Ilcfbert  or  his  father, 
for  both  of  whom  I  had  a  respect;  but  I  had  the  sharpest 
sensitiveness  as  to  his  being  seen  byDruiuBftle,  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  occu- 
pying a  few  prominent  pages  in  the  books  of  a  neighbour- 
ing 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  1  might  be  said  to  pass  my  days.  For, 
after  I  had  made  this  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  these  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  inter- 
ested 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  207 

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  Sw  ^ep. 

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  coining  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-f olked ;  "  Joe  considered  a  little 
before  he  discovered  this  word;  "as  to  besure  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 


208  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  playact- 
ing have  likewise  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  crum- 
pled playbill  of  a  small  metropolitan  theatre,  announcing 
the  first  appearance,  in  that  very  week,  of  "  the  celebrated 
Provincial  Amateur  of  Koscian  renown,  whose  unique  per- 
formance 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  feel- 
ing 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  un- 
fortunately 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  theAienger,  who  was  put- 
ting some  toast  on  table,  and  so  plainly  denoted  an  inten- 
tion 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  gets  your  elths 
in  this  close  spot?  For  the  present  may  be  a  wery  good 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  209 

inn,  according  to  London  opinions,"  said  Joe,  coufiden: 
tially,  "and  I  believe  its  character  do  stand  i;  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  few 
very  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  Her- 
bert, 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  to  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  cough- 
ing 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  ap- 
pearance of  mingled  wisdom,  relief,  and  strict  impar- 
tiality). 

"  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  explan- 
atory manner,  "as  it  is  there  drawd  too  architectooral- 
ooral." 

I  really  believe  Joe  would  have  prolonged  this  word 
14 


210  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

(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  splash- 
ing it  into  the  slop-basin,  where  I  took  the  liberty  of  laying 
hands  upon  it. 

As  to  his  shirt-collar,  and  his  coat-collar,  they  were  per- 
plexing 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  pre- 
tended 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  im- 
patient of  him  and  out  of  temper  with  him;  in  which  con- 
dition 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  hav- 
ing 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  211 

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  sub- 
sided into  affection,  he  called  me  Pip,  and  whenever  he  re- 
lapsed into  politeness  he  called  me  Sir;  "when  there  come 
up  in  his  shay-cart  Pumblechook.  Which  that  same  iden- 
tical," 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  com- 
panionation  and  were  looked  upon  as  a  playfellow  by  your- 
self." 

"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  working-man,  Sir, 
and  do  not  over  stimulate),  and  his  word  were,  'Joseph,  Miss 
Havisham  she  wish  to  speak  to  you. '  " 

"  Miss  Havisham,  Joe?  " 

"'She  wished,'  were  Pumblechook' s  word,  'to  speak 
to  you.' }:  Joe  sat  and  rolle6ThTs~e"yeirat  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  1  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  foller- 
ing :  '  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,  'lam.'} 
'  Would  you  tell  him,  then, '  said  she,  '  that  which  Estella) 
has  come  home,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  him.' "  j 

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. 


212  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  greater  height." 

"  But  you  are  not  going  now,  Joe?  " 

"  Yes  I  am,"  said  Joe. 

"  But  you  are  coming  back  to  dinner,  Joe?  n 

"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  part- 
ings welded  together,  as  I  may  say,  and  one  man's  a  black- 
smith, 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  aw- 
ful 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  213 


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  ex- 
cuses for  putting  up  at  the  Blue  Boar.  I  should  be  an  in- 
convenience at  Joe's;  I  was~not  expected,  and  my  bed 
would  not  be  ready;  I  should  be  too  far  from  Miss  Ha  vis- 
ham's,  and  she  was  exacting  and  mightn't  like  it.  All 
other  swindlers  upon  earth  are  nothing  to  the  self-swind- 
lers, 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  no  to 
take  the  Avenger.  It  was  tempting  to  think  of  that  ex- 
pensive Mercenary  publicly  airing  his  boots  in  the  archway 
of  the  Blu^jBoaf'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,  migfet  hear  of  him,  and  not 
approve.  On  the  whole,  JLxesolyed  to  leave  the_4yenger 
/behind* 

It  was  the  afternoon  coach  by  which  I  had  taken  my 
place,  and,  as  winter  had  now  come  round,  I  should  not  ar- 
rive at  my  destination  until  two  or  three  hours  after  dark. 
Our  time  of  starting  from  the  Cross  Keys  was  two  o'clock. 


214  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  dockyards  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  constitution- 
ally faltering  whenever  I  heard  the  word  convict. 

"  You  don't  mind  them,  Handel?  "  said  Herbert. 

"Oh  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  hand- 
cuffed 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-aot  formally  open  at  the  moment, 
and  he  the  Curator.  \0n^  was  a  taller  and  stouter  man 
than  the  other,  and  appeared  as  a  matter  of  course,  accord- 
ing 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  Ms  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  Barge- 
men 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  215 

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,  apologetic- 
ally 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  pas- 
sion, and  said  that  it  was  a  breach  of  contract  to  mix  him 
up  with  such  villainous  company,  and  that  it  was  poison- 
ous 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-poul- 
tice, baize,  rope-yarn,  and  hearth-stone,  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.N  You  needn't  know  they're  there." 

"  And  don' t  bla  me  me, "  growled  the  convict  I  had  recog- 
nised. "  1  don't  want  to  go.  1  am  quite  ready  to  stay  be- 
hind. As  fur  as  I  am  concerned  any  one's  welcome  to  my 
place." 

"Or  mine,"  said  the  other,  gruffly.  "1  wouldn't  have 
incomm&ded  none  of  you,  if  I'd  a  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  nexi 


216  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

him,  and  the  convicts  hauled  themselves  up  as  well  as  they 
could,  and  the  convict  rEacT  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  baclT  of  my  head,  but 
all  along  my  spine.  The  sensation  was  like  being  touched 
in  the  marrow  with  some  pungent  and  searching~acid,  and 
it  sfit  my  VPTJL teeth  on  edge.  He  seemed  to  have  more 
breathing  business  to  ao  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  H^lf^wa^JHouse  behind,  we  habitu- 
ally dozed  and  shivered  and  were  silent.  I  dozed  off,  my- 
self, 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  con- 
scious, 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  sornehows.  Giv  him  by  friends,  I  ex- 
pect." 

"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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  217 

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  Dockyard — '  You're  a  going  to  be  dis- 
charged ! '  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,  andjgugbank." 

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  sus- 
picion 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  suffi- 
ciently strange  to  fill  me  with  a  dread  that  some  other  coin- 
cidence 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 


218  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  con- 
fident that  it  took  no  distinctness  of  shape,  and  that  it  was 
the  revival  for  a  few_mmutes  of  the  terrpr  of  childlwod. 

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  op- 
portunity of  putting  a  dirty  old  copy  of  a  local  newspaper 
so  directly  in  my  way,  that  I  took  it  up  and  read  this  par- 
agraph : 

"  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,  Avas 
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  irre- 
spective 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  Ant- 
werp. VERB.  SAP." 

I  entertain  a  conviction,  based  upon  large  experience, 
that  if  in  the  days  of  my  prosperity  I  had  gone  to  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  219 

North  Pole,  I  should  have  met  somebody  there,  wandering 
Esquimaux  or  civilised  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^JJayisham's,  so  I  loitered  into  the 
country  on  Miss  Hi  vf«h qjT^r^^ft"^l^[HJ?— - w^* 'p^  was  no^ 
^»Foe1sr~si3e;Ij[  could  go  there  to-morrow — thinkitig~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  shin- 
ing 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  a  strong  posses- 
sion 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  morn- 
ing, 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  al- 
ways, 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 


220  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

none  the  less  because  I  knew  it,  and  it  had  no  more  influ- 
ence 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  came  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  my- 
.self  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. 


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,  drily.  "But  then  you've  got  to  be  a 
scholar. " 

By  this  time  we  had  come  to  the  house,  where  I  found 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  221 

his  room  to  be  one  just  within  the  side  door,  with  a  little 
window  in  it  looking  on  the  courtyard.  In  its  small  pro- 
portions, it  was  not  unlike  the  kind  of  place  usually  as- 
signed to  a  gate-porter  in  Paris.  Certain  keys  were  hang- 
ing 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  him- 
self 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  rever- 
berating, I  found  Sarah  Pocket :  who  appeared  to  have  now 
become  coustitutionaitf"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?  " 


222  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  Hav- 
isham'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  ad- 
vance, 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.  0  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  hav- 
ing 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  set- 
tles down  so  curiously  into  the  old — — " 

"  What?    You  are  not  going  to  say  into  the  old  Estella?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  223 

Miss  Havisham  interrupted.  "  She  was  proud  and  insult- 
ing, and  you  wanted  to  go  away  from  her.  Don't  you  re- 
member? " 

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  hav- 
ing been  quite  right,  and  of  her  having  been  very  disagree- 
able. 

"Is  he  changed?"  Miss  Havisham  asked  her. 

"Very  much,"  said  Estella,  looking  at  me. 

"  Less  coarse  and  common?  "  said  Miss  Havisham,  play- 
ing 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  influ- 
ences which  had  so  wrought  upon  me,  and  I  learnt  that  she 
had  but  just  come~lionie  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  impos- 
sible 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  in- 
nermost 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  Hav- 
isham sent  us  two  out  to  walk  in  the  neglected  garden :  on 
our  coming  in  by-and-bye,  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  com- 
posed and  most  decidedly  not  worshipping  the  hem  of  mine. 


224  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  flfhniasinn  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 
lingeringjntention  left  of  going  to  see  Joe;  but  if  I  had, 
this  observatioir~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  the  fighting  times. 

"Not  the  least." 

The  air  of  completeness  and  superiority  with  which  she 
walked  at  my  side,  and  the  air  of  yjmthfulness  and  submis- 
s.ion  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  asleliciting  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  firsfoldHay,  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  225 

drink,  and  she  said,  "I  don't  remember."  "Not  remem- 
ber 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 — non- 
sense." 

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 
Havisnanl  which  may  often  be  noticed  to  have~~been  ac- 
quired by  children,  from  grown  persons  with  whom  they 
have  been  much  associated  and  secluded,  and  which,  when 
childhood'  is  past,  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  look- 
ing at  me,  the  suggestion  was  gone. 

What  was  it?    j 

"  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  be- 
lieve 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  dis- 
used, and  she  pointed  to  the  high  gallery  where  I  had  seen 
her  going  out  on  that  same  first  day,  and  told  me  she  re- 
membered 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  pos- 
sibly grasp,  crossed  me.  My  involuntary  start  occasioned 
15 


226  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  re- 
move 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  de- 
light, 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  227 

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  diffi- 
cult 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  me^nt  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,  unques- 
tioning 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. 


228  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  inJike-  room, 

He  always  carried  (T  have  not  yet  mentioned  it,  I  think) 
a  pocket-handkerchief  of  rich  silk  and  of  imposing  propor- 
tions, which  was  of  great  value  to  him  in  his  profession. 
I  have  seen  him  so  terrify  a  client  or  a  witness  by  ceremo- 
niously 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-hand- 
kerchief in  both  hands,  and  was  looking  at  us.  On  meet- 
ing 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 
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  re- 
lief; "  leave  my  Pip  alone,  and  go  with  him  to  your  din- 
ner. " 

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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  229 

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  wan- 
ders 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.  Jag- 
gers 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  iu  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  dis- 
trust, 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  conver- 
sation 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  in- 
formation he  possessed,  that  really  was  too  much  for  me. 
He  cross-examined  his  very  wine  when  he  had  nothing  else 


230  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  some- 
thing 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. 

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  feel- 
ing 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  creakjiis  boots  at  her,  that  I  knew  I  could 
never  bear  to  see  nimwash  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  agonising  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  231 

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  guar- 
dian, comfortably  satisfied  beforehand  on  the  general  head, 
"  because  the  man  jyho  fills  the  post  of  trust  never  is  the 
right  sort  of  man."  It  seemed  quite  to  put  him  in  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  concluded,  "I'll 
go  round  presently,  and  pay  our  friend  off."  Kather 
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,  mak- 
ing 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  mid- 
day coach,  and  as  I  breakfasted  under  such  terrors  of  Pum- 


232  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

blechook  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  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  trades- 
people 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  occasion  I  don't  know  whether  they  or  I  made 
the  worst  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  him- 
self 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  con- 
gratulating 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  ter- 
ror and  coniribiou,  occasioned  by  the  dignity  of  my  appear- 
ance. 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  233 

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  beseech- 
ing for  mercy.  His  sufferings  were  hailed  with  the  great- 
est joy  by  a  knot  of  spectators,  and  I  felt  utterly  con- 
founded. 

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  can- 
not 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  tak- 
ing 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  dis- 
grace with  which  I  left  the  town,  and  was,  so  to  speak, 
ejected  by  it  into  the  open  country. 

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  ex- 
cited 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 


234  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  arrived,  I  sent  a  penitential  codfish  and  a  barrel  of  oys- 
ters 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  Avengerto  the 
coffee-house  for  an  addition  to  the  dinner,  I  f elf thatTmust 
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 
ante-chamber  to  the  keyhole,  I  sent  him  to  the  Play.  A 
better  proof  of  the  severity  of  my  bondage  to  that  task- 
master could  scarcely  be  afforded,  than  the  degrading 
shifts  to  which  I  was  constantly  driven  to  find  him  em- 
ployment. 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  some- 
thing 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  235 

"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  en- 
croaching 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  ques- 
tion? " 

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  Estel- 

Ja » 

("And  when  don't  you,  you  know!"  Herbert  threw  in, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  fire;  which  I  thought  kind  and  sym- 
pathetic of  him. ) 

"  — Then,  my  dear  Herbert,  I  cannot  tell  you  how  de- 
pendent 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 


236  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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 
magnify  ing-glass.  Likewise,  it  seems  to  me  that,  concen- 
trating 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  re- 
lations 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  re- 
luctant 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  be- 
fore 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,  grate- 
fully admiring  his  cheery  ways. 

"I  ought  to  have,"  said  Herbert,  "for  I  have  not  much 
else.  I  must  acknowledge,  by-the-bye,  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.  Jag- 
gers would  not  be  in  it.'  And  now,  before  I  say  anything 
more  about  my  father,  or  my  father's  son,  and  repay  con- 
fidence with  confidence,  I  want  to  make  myself  seriously 
disagreeable  to  you  for  a  moment — positively  repulsive." 

"You  won't  succeed,"  said  I. 

"  Oh  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  cannot  surely  be  a  condi- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  237 

tion  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;  when  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 


238  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

establishment  is  not  particularly  brilliant  in  its  house- 
keeping." 

"There  is  always  plenty,  Herbert,"  said  I,  to  say  some- 
thing encouraging. 

"  Oh  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  mat- 
ters 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 
fourteeirpWas  a  striking  example.  Little  Jane  is  the  same. 
In  her  desire  to  be  matrimonially  establislied,  you  might 
suppose  her  to  have  passed  her  short  existence  in  the  per- 
petual 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  Lonrtofi?," 

"Yes.  PeriaapsrF ought  to  mention,"  said  Herbert,  who 
had  become  curiously  crestfallen  and  meek,  since  we  en- 
tered 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  239 

"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  instru- 
ment. "  In  looking  at'me  and  then  laughing  heartily,  Her- 
bert for  the  time  recovered  his  usual  lively  manner. 

"Don't  you  expect  to  see  him?  "  said  I. 

"Oh  yes,  I  constantly  expect  to  see  him,"  returned  Her- 
bert, "  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  real- 
ise 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  playbill  I  had  received  from  Joe,  rela- 
tive 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  hur- 
riedly 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  con- 
fidence, we  blew  out  our  candles,  made  up  our  fire,  locked 
our  door,  and  issued  forth  in  quest  of  Mr.  Wopsl«  and 
Denmark. 


240  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


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  gloom- 
ily 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  refer- 
ence 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  ma- 
jestic spirit  that  whereas  it  always  appeared  with  an  air  of 
having  been  out  a  long  time  and  walked  an  immense  dis- 
tance, imperceptibly,  came  from  a  closely-contiguous  wall. 
This  ncpasimip^  jtc  +*>™-nrft  f"  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  kettledrum."  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  gravedigger,  a  clergyman,  and  a  person  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance at  a  Court  fencing-match,  on  the  authority  of 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  241 

whose  practised  eye  and  nice  .discrimination  the  finest 
strokes  were  judged.  This  gradually  led  to  a  want  of  tol- 
eration 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  ac- 
cumulated 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  stock- 
ing disordered  (its  disorder  expressed,  according  to  usage, 
by  one  very  neat  fold  in  the  top,  which  I  suppose  to  be  al- 
ways 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  Bri- 
tannia. 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  grave- 
digger  was  admonished  in  a  friendly  way,  "Look  out! 
Here's  the  undertaker  a  coming,  to  see  how  you're  getting 
on  with  your  work ! "  I  believe  it  is  well  known  in  a  oon- 
16 


242  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

stitutional  country  that  ^Mr.  Wopsle  could  not  possibly 
have  returned  the  skull,"  after  moralising  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  ap- 
plaud Mr.  Wopsle;  but  they  were  too  hopeless  to  be  per- 
sisted 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  asso- 
ciations' sake,  I  am  afraid,  but  because  it  was  very  slow, 
very  dreary,  very  up-hill  and  down-hill,  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  per- 
haps 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  Jew- 
ish 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  tne  nonour.77 

"  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  do  you  think  he  looked? — I 
dressed  him." 

I  don't  know  what  he  had  looked  like,  except  a  funeral; 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  243 

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  be- 
hind 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  perspira- 
tion, 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  cer- 
tainly 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  com- 
placently, 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,  gentle- 
men? "  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 


244  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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' 11  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  contrary; 
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,  Oh,  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." 

"Oh  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;  per- 
forming both  ceremonies  very  slowly.  "  You  must  have  ob- 
served, 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  role  (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  jos- 
tled us  out  at  the  doorway — to  ask  Herbert  what  he  thought 
of  having  him  home  to  supper?  Herbert  said  he  thought 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  245 

it  would  be  kind  to  do  so;  therefore  I  invited  him,  and  he 
went  to  Bajnasd^s  with  us,  wrapped  up  to  the  eyes,  and  we 
did  ouf^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  rec- 
ollection 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  mar- 
riage to  Herbert's  Clara,  or  play  Hamlet  to  Miss  Hav- 
isham'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  nutter;  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  P/ip,  or  Dear  Sir,  or  Dear  Anything, 
but  ran  thus : 

"  I  am  to  come  to  London  the  day  after  to-morrow  by  the 
mid-day  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  Oi 
not,  I  was  fain  to  be  content  with  those  I  had.  My  appe- 
tite  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 


246  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  coach-office  be  out  of  my  sight  longer  than  five  minutes 
at  a  time;  and  in  this  condition  of  unreason  I  had  per- 
formed 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  Wemniici,  "and  par- 
ticularly the  Aged.  He's  in  wonderful  feather.  He'll 
be  eighty-two  "next  birthday.  I  have  a  notion  of  firing 
eighty^two  ftmes,  if  the  neighbourhood  shouldn't  complain, 
and  that  cannon  of  mine  should  prove  equal  to  the  pres- 
sure. 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  direc- 
tion. 

"Next  thing  to  it,"  returned  Wemmick,  "I  am  going  to 
Newgate.  We  are  in  a  banker 's-parcel  case  just  at  present, 
a~nd  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  y QU r  p.1  i &n t,  finTTua5ilthe_robbery ?  " _  I  asked . 

"Bless  your  soul  and  bodyT^np^^ajiswered^Wemmick, 
very  drily.  "TSuTliBTs^Ccused  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  ex- 
pected— 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  re- 
ceived, accepted  his  offer. 

We  were  at  Newgate  in  a  few  minutes,  and  we  passed 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  247 

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 
wrong-doing — 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  ob- 
ject 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 
frouzy,  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  im- 
movable 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  in- 
sufficient money  produced,  said,  "  It's  no  use,  my  boy.  I 
am  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  profes- 
sion, you  know,  and  what  is  not  worth  the  while  of  one, 
may  be  worth  the  while  of  another;  that's  my  recoinmen- 


248  GREAT  EXPECTATION. 

dation  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  prepara- 
tion, 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-col- 
oured 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  evi- 
dence was  too  strong  for  us,  Colonel." 

"Yes,  it  was  too  strong,  sir — but  1  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  know- 
ing." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  bidding  you  good  bye, 
Mr.  Wemmick,"  said  the  man,  stretching  out  his  hand  be- 
tween 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-bye;  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  249 

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  port- 
able property,  all  the  same."  With  that  he  looked  back, 
and  nodded  at  his  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  Waterside 
murder?  Is  he  going  to  make  it  manslaughter,  or  what  is 
he  going  to  make  of  it?  " 

"Why  don't  you  ask  him?  "  returned  Wemmick. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say ! "  said  the  turnkey. 

"Now,  that's  the  way  with  them*  here,  Mr.  Pip,"  re- 
marked Wemmick,  turning  to  me  with  his  post-office  elon- 
gated. "They  don't  mind  what  they  ask  of  me,  the  sub- 
ordinate; but  you'll  never  catch  'em  asking  any  questions 
of  my  principal." 

"  Is  this  young  gentleman  one  of  the  'prentices  or  ar- 
ticled ones  of  your  office?  "  asked  the  turnkey,  with  a  grin 
at  Mr.  Wemmick' s  humour. 

"There  he  goes  again,  you  see !"  ^ried  Wemmick,  "I 
told  you  so !  Asks  another  question  of  the  subordinate  be- 
fore the  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  as  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." 


250  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

The  turnkey  laughed,  and  gave  us  good  day,  and  stood 
laughing  at  us  over  the  spikes  of  the  wicket  when  we  de- 
scended 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  subor- 
dinate— 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  con- 
sumed 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  m>  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.  Wem- 
mick's  conservatory,  when  I  saw  her  face  at  the  coach  win- 
dow and  her  hand  waving  to  me. 

What  was  the  nameless  shadow  which  again  in  that  one 
instant  had  passed? 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  251 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

IN  her  furred  travelling-dress,  Estella  seemed  more  deli- 
cately 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  Hav- 
isham's  influence  in  the  change. 

We  stood  in  the  Inn  Yard  while  she  pointed  out  her  lug- 
gage 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  twlrftichmonds,  one  in  Sux*ey-and  one  in 
Yorkshire,  and  that  mine  is  the  Surrey  Richmond.  The  dis- 
tance~i^£en  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.  Oh,  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  mir- 
ror) quite  a  superfluous  article  considering  the  hole's  pro- 
portions), 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 


252  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  here  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  ap- 
peared 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  dis- 
advantage. They  watch  you,  misrepresent  you,  write  let- 
ters about  you  (anonymous  sometimes),  and  you  are  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  253 

torment  and  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  consider- 
able 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.  Oh,  those 
people  with  Miss  Havisham,  and  the  tortures  they  under- 
go ! "  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  sym- 
pathy 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  remejateances  from  any  shallow  place. 
I  wouldHol  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,  not- 
withstanding 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 — im- 
pair 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." 


254  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

As  she  gave  it  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.  What- 
ever 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  but- 
ter in  a  quantity  of  parsley,  a  pale  loaf  with  a  powdered 
head,  two  proof  impressions  of  the  bars  of  the  kitchen  fire- 
place on  triangular  bits  of  bread,  and  ultimately  a  fat  fam- 
ily 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  considera- 
tion— in  a  word,  the  whole  house  bribed  into  a  state  of  con- 
tempt and  animosity,  and  Estella' s  purse  much  lightened — 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  265 

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  sup- 
pose? " 

"  I  have  been  accustomed  to  see  him  at  uncertain  inter- 
vals, 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. 


256  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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. 

"Oh  yes,  you  are  to  see  me;  you  are  to  come  when  you 
think  proper;  you  are  to  be  mentioned  to  the  family;  in- 
deed 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  in- 
creasing her  income." 

"  I  wonder  Miss  Havisham  could  part  with  you  again  so 
soon. " 

"It  is  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, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  257 

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  Hammer- 
smith, 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  coining  home  from  a  little  party,  escorted  by 
he~F"little~lover ;  and  I  envied  her  little  lover,  in  spite  of 
his  being  subject  to  Flopsom 

Mr.  Pocket  was  otrtrTecturing;  for  he  was  a  most  de- 
lightful 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  ap- 
ply externally  or  to  take  as  a  tonic. 

Mr.  Pocket  being  justly  celebrated  for  giving  most  ex- 
cellent 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 

17 


258  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  per- 
haps —  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  gvil  service  in 
^iJiaiished  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  fol- 
lowed. 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  259 

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  pro- 
motion of  good  feeling  ever  reign  predominant  among  the 
Finches  of  the  Grove." 

The  Finches  spent  their  money  foolishly  (the  Hotel  we 
dined  at~^as  inCovent  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  head-foremost  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  mid-day;  that  he  drooped 
when  he  came  in  to  dinner;  that  he  seemed  to  descry  Cap- 
ital in  the  distance,  rather  clearly,  after  dinner;  that  he 
all  but  realised  Capital  towards  midnight;  and  that  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  became  so  deeply  despond- 
ent 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-bye.  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  ap- 
peared 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- 


260  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  ac- 
quaintance were  in  the  same  condition.  There  was  a  gay 
fiction  among  us  that  we  were  constantly  enjoying  our- 
selves, 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  almanack,  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  cere- 
mony of  seeing  his  principal,  I  think.  He  never  did  any- 
thing 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  as- 
sembled 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  remunera- 
tive appearance  then,  than  at  any  other  time  in  the  four-and- 
twenty  hours.  As  we  got  more  and  more  into  debt,  break- 
fast became  a  hollower  and  hollower  form,  and  being  on 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  261 

one  occasion  at  breakfast-time  threatened  (by  letter)  with 
legal  proceedings,  "not  unwholly  unconnected,"  as  my  local 
paper  might  put  it,  "with  jewellery,"  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  sta- 
tionery. 

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  care- 
fully 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. 


262  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

When  we  had  written  a  little  while,  I  would  ask  Herbert 
how  he  got  on?  Herbert  probably  would  have  been  scratch- 
ing his  head  in  a  most  rueful  manner  at  the  sight  of  his  ac- 
cumulating 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  com- 
pared each  with  the  bill,  and  ticked  it  off.  My  self -ap- 
proval when  I  ticked  an  entry  was  quite  a  luxurious  sensa- 
tion. 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  administra- 
tive 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  ac- 
knowledge that  on  looking  back,  I  deem  it  to  have  been  an 
expensive  device.  For,  we  always  ran  into  new  debt  im- 
mediately, to  the  full  extent  of  the  margin,  and  sometimes, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  263 

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,  conse- 
quent 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  TBABB  &  Qo.,  and  its  content 
were  simply,  that  I  was  an  honoured  sir,  and  that  thej 
begged  to  inform  me  that  Mrs.  J.  Gargery  had  departec 
this  life  on  Monday  last  at  twenty  minutes  past  six  in 
evening,  and  that  my  attendance  was  requested  at  the  in- 
terment 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  won- 
derful. The  figure  of  my  sister  in  her  chair  by  the  kitchen 
fire,  haunted  me  night  and  day.  That  the  place  could  pos- 
sibly be,  without  her,  was  something  my  mind  seemed  un- 
able to  compass ;  and  whereas  she  had  seldom  or  never  been 
in  my  thoughts  of  late,  I  had  now  the  strangest  idea  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 


264  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

have  recalled  my  sister  with  much  tenderness.  But  I  sup- 
pose 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  walk- 
ing 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  funeral  execution  and  taken 
possession.  Two  dismally  absurd  persons,  each  ostenta- 
tiously 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  morn- 
ing, 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 — im- 
plying 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  265 

was  holding  a  kind  of  black  Bazaar,  with  the  aid  of  a  quan- 
tity 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  know'd  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  talk- 
ing, 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  de- 
canters 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  hat- 
band, who  was  alternately  stuffing  himself,  and  making  ob- 
sequious 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  par- 
lour, two  and  two — and  it  was  dreadfully  like  a  prepara- 
tion 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 


266  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  cere- 
mony 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  emergency  round  some  corner 
of  expectancy,  "  Here  they  come ! "  "  Here  they  are !  "  and 
we  were  all  but  cheered.  In  this  progress  I  was  much  an- 
noyed 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  pro- 
cession. 

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  un- 
known 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  pas- 
sages were  read  which  reminded  humanity  how  it  brought 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  267 

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  prop- 
erty. 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  consid- 
ered 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  no- 
toriously 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  for- 
tunes 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  salt-cellar  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  ma-ke  a  compromise  between  his  Sun- 
day 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  writ- 
ten 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." 


268  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  down- 
cast 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  speak- 
ing to  Mrs.  Hubble,  and  I  am  going  to  her  to-morrow.  I 
hope  we~shliB~~bc  able -I^Ttakesome  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  recom- 
mended by  all  the  neighbours,  and  I  hope  I  can  be  IP  3  us 
trious  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  bi  my  bad  side  of  human  nature,"  mur- 
mured Biddy. 

It  was  not  so  much  a  reproach,  as  an  irresistible  think- 
ing 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  269 

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  de- 
grees she  led  me  into  more  temperate  talk,  and  she  told  me 
how  Joe  loved  me,  and  how  Joe  never  complained  of  any- 
thing— 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  ap- 
pears 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?  " 


270  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"By  this?"  said  Biddy. 

"No,  don't  echo,"  I  retorted  "You  used  not  to  echo, 
Biddy." 

"  Used  not ! "  said  Biddy.     "  0  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  com- 
ing 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. 

"  Oh  dear  me ! "  said  I,  as  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  dur- 
ing 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  un- 
kindness,  what  an  injury,  what  an  injustice,  Biddy  had 
done  me. 

Early  in  the  morning,  I  was  to  go.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, 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." 

"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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  271 

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  Bar- 
nard's Inn.  But  we  had  looked  forward  to  my  one-and- 
twentieth  birthday,  with  a  crowd  of  speculations  and  an- 
ticipations, for  we  had  both  considered  that  my  guardian 
could  hardly  help  saying  something  definite  on  that  occa- 
uion. 

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  congratula- 
tions, 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  guar- 
dian was  standing  before  his  fire  leaning  his  back  against 
the  chimney-piece,  with  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails. 

"  Well,  Pip,"  said  he,  "  I  must  call  you  Mr.  Pip  to-day. 
Congratulations,  Mr.  Pip." 

Wo  shook  hands — he  was  always  a  remarkably  short 
shaker — and  I  thanked  him. 


272  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Take  a  chair,  Mr.  Pip,"  said  iny  guardian. 

As  I  sat  down,  and  he  preserved  his  attitude  and  bent 
his  brows  at  his  boots,  I  felt  at  a  disadvantage,  which  re- 
minded 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  conver- 
sation. 

"Now,  my  young  friend,"  my  guardian  began,  as  if  I 
were  a  witness  i»  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  for- 
ward 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  thor- 
oughly 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  agree- 
able 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  pos- 
sible escape  from  the  inquiry,  "Have — I — anything  to  re- 
ceive, 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  273 

"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  communi- 
cation 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  gath- 
ered up  his  coat-tails,  as  he  had  gathered  up  the  subject, 
18 


274  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

and  stood  frowning  at  his  boots  as  if  he  suspected  them  of 
designs  against  him. 

After  a  patise,  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  hesi- 
tating, "  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  vil- 
lage. 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.  Jag- 
gers ?  " 

Mr.  Jaggers  shook  his  head — not  in  negativing  the  ques- 
tion, 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  at- 
tention, 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  275 

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,  straight- 
ening himself,  "  you  and  that  person  will  settle  your  own 
affairs.  When  that  person  discloses,  my  part  in  this  busi- 
ness will  cease  and  determine.  When  that  person  dis- 
closes, 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  re- 
plied, at  my  own  chambers,  with  Herbert.  As  a  neces- 
sary 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  let- 
ter 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  Wem- 
mick. 

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  nu/ 
that  Wemmick  was  a  good  person  to  advise  with,  concenl- 
ing  such  thought. 

He  had  already  locked  up  his  safe,  and  made  prepara- 
tions 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  ex- 
tinguished; 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." 


276  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  com- 
mercial life,  but  has  no  money,  and  finds  it  difficult  and 
disheartening  to  make  a  beginning.  Now,  I  want  some- 
how 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  re- 
membrance 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;  South wark,  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  Wem- 
mick. "  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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  277 

"  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  know- 
ing 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. 


278  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

?m>  si  \>  •    •'.    -«h  .  ••' 

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  be- 
fore the  battlements,  I  found  the  Union  Jack  flying  and 
the  drawbridge  up,  but  undeterred  by  this  show  ofxlefiance 
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  busi- 
ness, 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-Cooper- 
ing." 

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  of  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  an  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  t"  a«"»»rif»*"  iti  irith  him,  I  at  last  succeeded  in 
making  my  meaning  understood. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  279 

"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.  How- 
ever, 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  HtJiat  would  have 
amused  him  half  as  much  as  this  imaginary  pleasantry, 
when  I  was  startled  by  a  sudden  olick  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  sa- 
lute 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 


280  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  SkifflEs~and  John  both 
tumbled  open  together,  and  finally  shut  up  together.  On 
Wemmick's  return  from  working  these  mechanical  appli- 
ances, I  expressed  the  great-admiration  with  which  I  re- 
garded them,  and  he  saicf,  "  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.  Wemrnick  made  them,"  added  Miss  Skiffins, 
"with  his  own  hands  out  of  his  own  head." 

While  Miss  Skiffins  was  taking  off  her  bonnet  (she  re- 
tained 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  winter- time.  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  in- 
formed 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  char- 
acter, and  at  his  having-no  meftnaJmt  such  as  he  was  de- 
pendent on  iris^afEerf  or :  those,  uncertain  and  unpunctual. 
Pall  ud ed  Lu  Llie~ad vantages  I  had  derived  in  my  first  raw- 
ness 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  there- 
fore 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 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  281 

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\here  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  pre- 
paring 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  be  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  haystack  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  ex- 
cited, 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 


282  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

the  Castle,  but  the  occasional  tumbling  open  of  John  and 
Miss  Skiffins :  which  little  doors  were  a  prey  to  some  spas- 
modic infirmity  that  made  me  sympathetically  uncomfort- 
able 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  un- 
desirable 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  propor- 
tion, 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  compro- 
mised 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  spec- 
tacles 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,  see- 
ing 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  re- 
quired 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  283 

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  sugges- 
tive 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  mo- 
ment 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-bye,  I  noticed  Wemmick's  arm  beginning  to  dis- 
appear again,  and  gradually  fading  out  of  view.  Shortly 
afterwards,  his  mouth  began  to  widen  again.  After  an  in- 
terval 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  Agecl/s  reading,  Wem- 
mick'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  hav- 
ing passed  a  pleasant  evening. 

Before  a  week  was  out,  I  received  a  note  from  Wem- 
mick, dated  Walworth,  stating  that  he  hoped  he  had  made 


284  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  negotia- 
tion. Wemmick  pervaded  it  throughout,  but  never  ap- 
peared in  it. 

The  whole  business  was  so  cleverly  managed,  that  Her- 
bert 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  ex- 
traordinary 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,  th*e  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,  ic  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  285 


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,  wan- 
dering, wandering  about  that  house. 

The  lady  with  whom  Estella  wt^s  placed,  JVlrs.  Brandley 
by  name,  was  a  widow,  with  one^  daughtejL...sfi¥eral  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  fri- 
volity, 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  seclu- 
sion. 

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  plac- 
ing 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  hus- 
band— 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  knew  too  certainly  that  it  almost  maddened 
me. 

She  had  admirers  without  end.     No  doubt  my  jealousy 


286  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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,  fe"te  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  287 

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  ges- 
tures, and  sat  mumbling  her  own  trembling  fingers  while 
she  looked  at  her,  as  though  she  were  devouring  the  beau- 
tiful 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  shimse  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  slip,  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,  even  of  degradation,  that  it  awak- 
ened— 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 


288  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  un- 
healthy 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. 
V     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,  disen- 
gaging 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, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  289 

\ 

passionately  striking  her  sHck  upon  the  floor;  "you  are 
tired  of  me." 

Estella  looked  at  her  with  perfect  composure,  and  again 
looked  down  at  the  fire.  Her  graceful  figuie  and  her  beau- 
tiful 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  indif- 
ference 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 ! " 

"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  tender- 
ness, "  Mother  by  adoption,  I  have  said  that  I  owe  every- 
thing 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  im- 
possibilities." 

"  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 ! " 

19  — 


290  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"Why  should  I  call  you  mad,"  returned  Estella,  "I,  of 
all  people?  Does  any  one  live,  who  knows  what  set  pur- 
poses 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  les- 
sons 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  un- 
mindful of  your  lessons?  When  have  you  found  me  giv- 
ing 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  mo- 
ment 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  under- 
stand 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  c. 


:PECTATIONS,  291 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS, 

\ 

thing  as  the  daylight  by  which  she  has  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  de- 
stroyer, 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  nat- 
urally 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  leavs  the  room,  after  beseech- 
ing 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  star- 
light 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. 


292  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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 — every- 
where. At  last,  when  the  night  was  slow  to  creep  on  to- 
wards 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,  de- 
signing 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  prob- 
ably 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  candle  pass  above,  and  heard 
her  ceaseless  low  cry. 

Before  we  left  next  day,  there  was  no  revival  of  the  dif- 
ference 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  put- 
ting Bentley  Drummle's  name  upon  it;  or  I  would,  very 
gladly. 

On  a  certain  occasion  when  th^Finches  were  assembled 
in  force,  and  when  good  feeling  was  Se~iHg  promoted  in  the 
usual  manner  by  nobody's  agreeing  with  anybody  else,  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  293 

presiding  Finch  called  the  Grove  to  order,  forasmuch  as 
Mr.  Brummie  had  not  yet  toasted  a  lady;  which,  accord- 
ing 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  Kichrnond,  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.     "  Oh,  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  sajid  that  I  could 
not  but  regard  it  as  Being  like  the  honourable  Finch's  im- 
pudence 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,  start- 
ing 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  acquaint- 
ance, Mr.  Pip  must  express  his  regret,  as  a  gentleman  and 


294  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

a  Finch,  for  "having  been  betrayed  into  a  warmth  which. " 
Next  day  was  appointed  for  the  production  (lest  our  hon- 
our 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  "  be- 
trayed into  a  warmth  which,"  and  on  the  whole  to  repu- 
diate, as  untenable,  the  idea  that  I  was  to  be  found  any- 
where. 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  discour- 
agement, now  almost  flattering  him,  now  openly  despising 
him,  now  knowing  him  very  well,  now  scarcely  remember- 
ing 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  de- 
termined purpose.  So,  the  Spider,  doggedly  watching  Es- 
tella, 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  295 

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.  Brandley  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  de- 
ficient, 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  mono- 
syllable, I  took  it  from  her,  and  said,  repeating  it  with 


296  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

emphasis,  "Well!  Then,  that  is  why  it  makes  me 
wretched." 

Now,  if  I  could  have  believed  that  she  favoured  Drum- 
mle  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  re- 
proached 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  im- 
pended 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 


GREAT 


EXPECTATIONS.  297 


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  accom- 
plished; 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  expecta- 
tions, 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  ^  taste  for  read- 
ing, 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  pre- 
ceding chapter. 

Business  had  taken  Herbert  on  a  journey  to  Marseilles. 
I  was  alone,  and  had  a  dull  sense  of  being  alone.  Dispir- 
ited 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;  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 


298  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  or  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  light- house.  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  listen- 
ing, 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  foot- 
step 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? n 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  299 

"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  con- 
tracted; 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  1  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,  1  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  disappointing  to  a  man," 
he  said,  in  a  coarse  broken  voice,  "arter  having  looked 


300  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  shoul- 
der; "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  church-yard  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  handker- 
chief 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  sus- 
pecting his  identity. 

He  came  back  to  where  I  stood,  and  again  held  out  both 
his  hands.  Not  knowing  what  to  do — for,  in  my  astonish- 
ment 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  nobly,  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  301 

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  feeMng  that  has  brought  you  here,  and  I  will 
not  repulse  you;  but  surely  you  must  understand — 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  con- 
fronted one  another  in  silence,  "  that  surely  I  must  under- 
stand. 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  your- 
self. 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  ob- 
servant 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  lopking  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  for- 
gotten— 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  soft- 
ened 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  in- 
tention 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 


302  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  thou- 
sand mile  of  stormy  water  off  from  this." 

"  I  hope  you  have  done  well?  " 

"I've  done  wonderful  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  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  303 

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  disor- 
dered 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 


I 


304  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  obliga- 
tion? 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  open  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  recep- 
tion 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  305 

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  pre- 
pared 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  ?  " 

0  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  gotx  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  give 
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  my- 
self, '  I'm  making  a  better  gentleman  nor  ever  you'll  be! ' 
When  one  of  'em  says  to  another,  '  He  was  a  convict,  a  few 
years  ago,  and  is  a  ignorant  common  fellow  now,  for  all 
20 


306  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  kept 
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  sep- 
arate 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  impres- 
sive 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  me  with  his  wretched  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  ad- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  307 

miration  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  preser- 
vation 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  drink- 
ing rum  and  eating  biscuit;  and  when  I  saw  him  thus  en- 
gaged, I  saw  my  convict  on  the  marshes  at  his  meal  again. 
It  almost  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  must  stoop  down  pres- 
ently, to  file  at  his  leg. 

When  I  had  gone  into  Herbert's  room,  and  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  rela- 
tions, 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 :  sim- 
ply, I  suppose,  because  my  sense  of  my  own  worthless  con- 
duct 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,  never,  undo  what  I  had  done. 


308  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

In  every  rage  of  wind  and  rush  of  rain,  I  heard  pursuers. 
Twice,  I  could  have  sworn  there  was  a  knocking  and  whis- 
pering at  the  outer  door.  With  these  fears  upon  me,  I  be- 
gan 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  numer- 
ous, 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  desper- 
ately violent  man;  that  I  had  heard  that  other  convict  re- 
iterate 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  in- 
tensified the  thick  black  darkness. 

THIS  IS  THE    END  OF  THE    SECOND  STAGE  OF  PIP'S    EXPECTA- 
TIONS. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  309 


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  cham- 
bers was  self-evident.  It  could  not  be  done,  and  the  at- 
tempt 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  ani- 
mated rag-bag  whom  she  called  her  niece;  and  to  keep  a 
room  secret  from  them  would  be  to  invite  curiosity  and  ex- 
aggeration. 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 
hkn  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  stair- 
case, but  we  examined  the  staircase  from  the  bottom  to  the 
top  and  found  no  one  there.  It  then  occurred  to  me  as  pos- 
sible that  the  man  might  have  slipped  into  my  rooms;  so, 
lighting  my  candle  at  the  wachman's,  and  leaving  him 
standing  at  the  door,  I  examined  them  carefully,  includ- 
ing the  room  in  which  my  dreaded  guest  lay  asleep.  All 


310  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

was  quiet,  and  assuredly  no  other  man  was  in  those  cham- 
bers. 

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  hope- 
ful 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  differ- 
ent 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  vis- 
itor might  have  brought  some  one  with  him  to  show  him 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  311 

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  clock 
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  ele- 
phant. 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,  be- 
fore 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  011  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-bye,  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." 


312  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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?  n 

"  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  313 

it  away,  and  I  should  haW  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  had  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  a  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  Ws  back  to  the  fire,  and  went  through  his  fa- 
fur  of  holding  out  both  his  hands  for  mine. 


'.'  Aunderstp  '  said  he,  dandling  my  hands  up  and  down  in 
hisya*s  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 


314  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Don't  you  be  afeered  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  stir- 
ring 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  dan- 
ger, 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,   "wh°x  thinlu .t 
can  be  taken  against  your  being  recognised  a 

"No,  dear  boy,"  he  said,  in  the  same  tone  nd  btcore, 
"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  fret- 
ful 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  315 

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  spec- 
tacles, 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  Her- 
bert's participation  until  he  should  have  seen  him  and 


316  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  estab- 
lished— but  this  I  can  say,  that  I  never  knew  him  put  it  to 
any  other  use.  The  book  itself  had  the  appearance  of  hav- 
ing been  stolen  from  some  court  of  justice,  and  perhaps  his 
knowledge  of  its  antecedents,  combined  with  his  own  ex- 
perience 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  him- 
self 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  con- 
siderable difficulty  that  I  won  him  over  to  the  assumption 
of  a  dress  more  like  a  prosperous  farmer's;  and  we  ar- 
ranged that  he  should  cut  his  hair  close,  and  wear  a  little 
powder.  Lastly,  as  he  had  not  yet  been  seen  by  the  laun- 
dress 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  pre- 
cautions; 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  neces- 
sary to  the  change  in  his  appearance.  This  business  trans- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  31T 

acted,  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." 

(CI  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'fc 
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  my- 
self 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  '  in- 
formed '  ?  "  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  Mag- 
witch,  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  re- 
sponsible for  my  mistakes  and  wrong  conclusions;  but  I  al- 
ways 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  in 
formation,  and  there's  an  end." 


318  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"And  Magwitch — in  New  South  Wale? — having  at  last 
disclosed  himself,"  said  Mr.  Jaggers,  "you  will  compre- 
hend, 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.  Yon  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  an- 
other caution.  He  appeared  to  me  to  have  obscurely  hinted 
in  his  letter  at  some  distant  idea  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  Pro  vis,"  I  suggested. 

"Or  Provis. — thank  you,  Pip.  Perhaps  it  is  Provis? 
Perhaps  you  know  it's  Provis?  " 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"You  know  it's_Eiovis.  A  letter,  under  date  Ports- 
mouth, 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  re- 
turn of  post.  Proba.bly  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  par- 
ticulars and  vouchers  of  our  long  account  shall  be  sent  to 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  319 

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,  "  0,  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 :  birt  I  be- 
lieved 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  be- 
sides, 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  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  dodging  and  hiding  now.  In  all  his  ways 
of  sitting  and  standing,  and  eating  and  drinking — of  brood- 
ing about,  in  a  high-shouldered  reluctant  style — of  taking 
out  his  great  horn-handled  jack-knife  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  frag- 
ments of  gravy  round  and  round  his  plate,  as  if  to  make  the 
most  of  an  allowance,  and  then  drying  his  fingers  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  conceded  the  powder  after  overcoming  the  shorts. 
But  I  can  compare  the  effect  of  it,  when  on,  to  nothing  but 


320  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  pre- 
tence, 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  clutching  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  every- 
thing 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  ac- 
count, and  the  consideration  that  he  could  be,  and  the 
dread  that  he  would  be,  were  no  small  addition  to  my  hor- 
rors. 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  jack-knife  into  the 
table — when  he  was  not  engaged  in  either  of  these  pur- 
suits, 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,  appeal- 
ing in  dumb  show  to  the  furniture  to  take  notice  of  my 
proficiency.  The  imaginary  student  pursued  by  the  mis- 
shapen creature  he  had  impiously  made,  was  not  more 
wretched  than  I,  pursued  by  the  creature  who  had  made 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  321 

me,  and  recoiling  from  him  wJth  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  jack- 
knife  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  jack- 
knife,  and  groping  in  another  pocket  for  something  else. 

"Herbert,  my  dear  friend,"  said  I,  shutting  the  double 
doors,  while  Herbert  stood  staring  and  wondering,  "  some- 
thing 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  Her- 
bert, looking  at  me  with  a  friendly  uneasiness  and  amaze- 
ment, 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  gen- 
tleman on  you 1 " 
21 


322  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


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  re- 
turn— on  which  point  he  began  to  hold  forth  to  Herbert, 
the  moment  my  revelation  was  finished — he  had  no  percep- 
tion of  the  possibility  of  my  finding  any  fault  with  my 
good  fortune.  His  boast  that  he  had  made  me  a  gentle- 
man, 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  Her- 
bert, 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,  muz- 
zled 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  evi- 
dently 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  323 

Mm,  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  con- 
scious of  danger  in  that  regard,  I  could  not  persuade  my- 
self 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  minutes  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  encour- 
agement, 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  hang- 
ing about  one  spot,  in  one  unsettled  manner,  and  going 
through  one  round  of  observances  with  his  pipe  and  his 
negro-head  and  his  jack-knife  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  un- 
consciously 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  in- 
terchanged 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  1,  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." 


324  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  al- 
ready !  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,  "  soldier- 
ing 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  partner- 
ship, 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  mis- 
judge 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  325 

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  him- 
self, I  should  be  wretched  as  the  cause,  however  inno- 
cently. 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  raving  off  the  question,  What  was  to 
be  done? 

"  The  first  and  the  main  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Herbert, 
"  is_to_gej^him .out Lof  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  despera- 
tion of  the  case.  "  I  know  nothing  of  his  life.  It  has  al- 
most 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. 


326  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  ex- 
tricate 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  break- 
fast 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  jack- 
knife,  and  sat .  down  to  his  meal.  He  was  full  of  plans 
"for  his  gentleman's  coming  out  strong,  and  like  a  gentle- 
man," 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  wip- 
ing 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, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  327 

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 
buttonhole  of  his  coat,  spread  a  hand  on  each  knee,  and, 
after  turning  an  angry  eye  on  the  fire  for  a  few  silent  mo- 
ments, looked  around  at  us  and  said  what  follows. 


CHAPTER    XLI1. 

"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  ^ail.  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-ket- 
tle. 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  be- 
came 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 


328  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  as  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  wisi- 
tors,  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  unnerstand.  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  afeered  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  waggoner,  a  bit  of  a  haymaker, 
a  bit  of  a  hawker,  a  bit  of  jnost  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  year  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  329 

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  sit- 
ting 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  Com- 
peyson took  me  on  to  be  his  man  and  pardner.  And  what 
was  Compey son's  business  in  which  we  was  to  go  pardners? 
Compey son's  business  was  the  swindling,  handwriting  forg- 
ing, 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 


330  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

poor  and  with  the  horrors  on  him,  and  Compey son'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,  give  him  some 
liquor  to  get  the  horrors  off,  and  by-and-bye  he  quieted. 
'  Oh,  she's  gone !  Has  her  keeper  been  for  her  ? '  he  says. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  331 

'  Yes,'  says  Compeyson's  wife.  '  Did  you  tell  him  to  lock 
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  un- 
folding 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  Compeysou  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  misdemeanour,  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 


332  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

— 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  Jag- 
gers. 

"  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,  afore- 
hand,  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  de- 
fence 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  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- Tips? 
And  when  it  comes  to  speech- making,  warn't  it  Compey- 
son 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  Compey- 
son as  was  recommended  to  mercy  on  account  of  good  char- 
acter and  bad  company,  and  giving  up  all  the  information 
he  could  agen  me,  and  warn't  it  me  as  got  never  a  word 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  333 

but  Guilty?  And  when  I  says  to  Compeyson,  '  Once  out  of 
this  court,  I'll  smash  that  face  of  yourn ! '  ain't  it  Compey- 
son as  prays  the  Judge  to  be  protected,  and  gets  two  turn- 
keys 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,  swal- 
lowed 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  handker- 
chief and  wiped  his  face  and  head  and  neck  and  hands,  be- 
fore he  could  go  on. 

"  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  priso/n-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  '1  was  seen  and  seized.  The  black-hole  of  that  ship 
warjj'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 
a^mong  the  graves  there,  envying  them  as  was  in  'em  and 
Jail  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  worse  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." 


334  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  buttonhole,  and  slowly  filled  it, 
and  began  to  smoke. 

"  Is  he  dead?  "  I  asked  after  a  silence. 

"  Is  who  dead,  dear  boy?  " 

"Compeyson." 

"He  hopes  1  am,  if  he's  alive,  you  may  be  sure,"  with  a 
fierce  look.  "I  never  heard  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 
Pro  vis  stood- smoking  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  1  read 
hvit: 

"Young  Havisham's  name  was  Arthur.  Compeys6n  is 
the  man  who  professed  to 'be  Miss  HavishaflTs  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. 

J.'i  !  i   .•••      "iHIl  ' 

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  har- 
boured? 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  nar- 
rative ;  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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  335 

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  me  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  reserva- 
tion 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  meantime  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  ab- 
sent 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  in  the  open  country-road  when 
the  day  came  creeping  on,  halting  and  whimpering  and 


336  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  Bent- 
ley  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  had  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  haK  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  hands  behind  his  legs  for  the  poker  when 
I  went  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  shoul- 
ders squared,  and  my  back  to  the  fire. 

"  You  have  just  come  down?  "  said  Mr.  Drummle,  edg- 
ing me  a  little  away  with  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  edging  him  a  little  away  with  my  shoul- 
der. 

"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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  337 

"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;  equal- 
ly, that  if  my  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  am  going  to  dine  at  the 
lady's." 

"  Very  good,  sir. " 

Then,  Drummle  glanced  at  me,  with  an  insolent  tri- 
umph 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  table, 
22 


338  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  the  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's  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  tea-pot  with 
the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  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  oppo- 
site wall,  as  if  there  were  no  one  present,  and  forced  my- 
self to  silence.  How  long  we  might  have  remained  in  this 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  339 

ridiculous  position  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  for  the  incur- 
sion 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  ap- 
peared with  what  was  wanted — I  could  not  have  said  from 
where :  whether  from  the  inn  yard,  or  the  street,  or  where 
not — and  as  Brummie  leaned  down  from  his  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  knit- 
ting 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, 


340  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Miss  Havisham, "  said  I,  "  I  went  to  Richmond  yester- 
day, 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  fortu- 
nate discovery,  and  is  not  likely  ever  to  enrich  me  in  repu- 
tation, station,  fortune,  anything.  There  are  reasons  why 
I  must  say  no  more  of  that.  It  is  not  my  secret,  but  an  • 
other's." 

As  I  was  silent  for  a  while,  looking  at  Estella  and  con- 
sidering 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  re- 
mained in,  at  least  you  led  me  on?  "  said  I. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  341 

"Yes,"  she  returned,  again  nodding  steadily,  "I  let  you 
go  on." 

"  Was  that  kind?  " 

"  Who  am  1,"  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  over 
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  hu- 
mouring my  mistake,  Miss  Havisham,  you  punished — prac- 
tised on — perhaps  you  will  supply  whatever  term  expresses 
your  intention,  without  offence — your  self-seeking  rela- 
tions? " 

"  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,  /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,  J4iss.£reprgiana,  and  Mistress  Camilla,  were 
noTfmy  friends,  I  thinkf^ 

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: 


342  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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,  con- 
scious 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  could  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  an- 
other 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  com- 
mand 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," 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  343 

Preserving  her  unmoved  countenance,  and  with  her  fin- 
gers 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  endur- 
ance 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  word;  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  Drurnmle  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." 


344  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  con- 
trol 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  pas- 
sionate hurry  and  grief. 

"  Estella,  dearest,  dearest  Estella,  do  not  let  Miss  Hav- 
isham 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  injuri- 
ously 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  345 

me^  and  I  am  willing  enough  to  change  it.     Say  no  more. 
We  shall  never  understand  each  other." 

•'6  Such  a  mean  brute,  such  a  stupid  brute ! n  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  re- 
mained in  England  and  could  hold  my  head  up  with  the 
rest,  how  could  I  see  you  Brummie' 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  ac- 
quainted 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  in- 
fluence 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  spec- 
tral figure  of  Miss  Havisham,  her  hand  still  covering  her 


346  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

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  day  seemed  of  a 
darker  colour  than  when  I  went  in.  For  a  while,  I  hid 
myself  among  some  lanes  and  bye-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  exam- 
ined me  with  much  attention  as  he  held  the  gate  a  little 
way  open  for  me  to  pass  in.  To  help  his  memory  I  men- 
tioned 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?  " 

Much  surprised  by  the  request,  I  took  the  note.  It  was 
directed  to  Philip  Pip,  Esquire,  and  on  the  top  of  the  su- 
perscription were  the  words,  "JL  LEASE  BEAD  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  Hum 
mums  in  Covent  Garden.    In  those  times  a  bed  was  always 
to  be  got  there  at  any  hour  of  the  night,  and  the  chamber- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  347 

lain,  letting  me  in  at  his  ready  wicket,  lighted  l:he  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  constitu- 
tional rush-light  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  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  butcher's,  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  specu- 
late 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  it- 
self 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 


348  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  com- 
panionship of  a  distant  light,  near  which  I  knew  the  cham- 
berlain 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  for  ever,  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?  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  349 

"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,  Mar^Anne,"  said 
Wemmick  to  the  little  servant;  "  which  leaves  us  to  our- 
selves, 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  per- 
sonal capacities,  and  we  have  been  engaged  in  a  confiden- 
tial 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  Wem- 
mick, "  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  unco- 
lonial  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  gratifi- 
cation of  their  own  inclinations,  and  not  quite  irrespective 
of  the  government  expense " 


350  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

In  watching  his  face,  I  made  quite  a  firework  of  the 
Aged's  sausage,  and  greatly  discomposed  both  my  own  at- 
tention and  Wemmick's;  for  which  I  apologised. 

"  — by  disappearing  from  such  place,  and  being  no  more 
heard  of  thereabouts.  From  which,"  said  Wemmick,  "  con- 
jectures 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?  J;  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  answer 
ing,  as  he  deemed  right,  and  sure  that  his  course  would  be 
right.  He  paused  in  his  breakfast,  and  crossing  his  arms, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  351 

and  pinching  his  shirt-sleeves  (his  notion  of  indoor  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  ex- 
ceedingly, 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  Clar- 
riker'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  neighbour- 
hood, 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  circum- 
stances 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  ha», 
as  no  doubt  you  are  aware,  a  bedridden  Pa.  Which  Pa, 
having  been  in  the  Purser  line  of  life,  lies  abed  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  ?  " 


352  GREAT  EXPECTATION 

"Not  personally/'  said  I. 

y  The  truth  was,  that  she  had  objected  to  me  as  an  ex- 
Ypensive  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  intro- 
duce a  third  person  into  their  interviews;  and  thus,  al- 
though I  was  assured  that  I  had  risen  in  Clara^s  esteem, 
and  although  the  young  lady  and  I  had  ldng~"regularly  in- 
terchanged messages  and  remembrances  by  Herbert,  I  had 
never  seen  her.  However,  I  did  not  trouble  Wemmick 
with  those  particulars. 

"The  house  with  the  bow- window,"  said  Wemmick, 
"being  by  the  river- side,  down  the  Pool  there  between 
Lirnehouse  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  Wem- 
mick 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  be  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  concern- 
ing himself  about  your  movements,  you  must  be  known  to 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  353 

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  confu- 
sion, 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  AVal  worth  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  prop- 
erty." 

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 

23 


354  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  tea-cups,  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  longshore  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  Kope-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  fall- 
ing 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  super- 
annuated 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  355 

looked  at  the  plate  upon  the  door,  and  read  there  Mrs. 
JWhimjple.  That  being  the  name  I  wanted,  I  knockedTancT 
"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,  smil- 
ing, "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." 

AVhile  he  thus  spoke,  the  growling  noise  became  a  pro- 
longed 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  him- 
self." 

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?  " 


356  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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 


"  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  rela- 
tions, and  who  can  never  bother  herself,  or  anybody  els  , 
about  her  family?  " 

Herbert  had  told  me  on  former  occasions,  and  now  re- 
minded me,  that  he  first  knew  Miss  Clara  Barley  when  she 
was  completing  her  education  at  an  establishment  at  Ham- 
mersmith, 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 
ffie^eiling,  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!  " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  357 

There  was  something  so  natural  and  winning  in  Clara's 
resigned  way  of  looking  at  these  stores  in  detail,  as  Her- 
bert pointed  them  out, — something  so  confiding,  loving  and 
innocent,  in  her  modest  manner  of  yielding  herself  to  Her- 
bert'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  Kope-Walk,  with  Old 
Barley  growling  in  the  beam — that  I  would  not  have  un- 
done 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  fright- 
ful 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*8~old  I5iTt~ 
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 


368  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

were  fresh  and  airy,  and  in  which  Mr.  Barley  was  less 
audible  than  below,  I  found  Provis  comfoi'tably  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  rne  for  re- 
flection 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  Wem- 
mick'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  men- 
tioned; and  I  told  him  how  Wemmick  had  heard,  in  New- 
gate prison  (whether  from  officers  or  prisoners  I  could  not 
say),  that  he  was  under  some  suspicion,  and  that  my  cham- 
bers 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  en- 
larging my  expenses,  I  put  it  to  him  whether  in  our  pres- 
ent 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  ponder 
ing,  here  said  that  something  had  come  into  his  thoughts 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  359 

arising  out  of  Weramick'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  in- 
to 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  rode  past  Mill  Pond  Bank.  But,  we  further 
agreed  that  he  should  pull  dowTTThe  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  ar- 
ranged, 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  mean- 
ing 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 


360  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

Mr.  Campbell.  He  also  explained  that  the  utmost  known 
of  Mr.  Campbell  there,  was,  that  he  (Herbert)  had  Mi- 
Campbell  consigned  to  him,  and  felt  a  strong  personal  in- 
terest 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  of  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.  Open- 
ing 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 :  some- 
times 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  ship- 
ping in  the  Pool,  and  down  to  Erith.  The  first  time  I 
passed  Mill  Pond  Bank,  Herbert  and  I  were  pulling  a  pair 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  361 

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  undesign- 
ing  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  Mag- 
witch,  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  en- 
joyed the  privilege  of  being  on  a  familiar  footing  at  the 
Castle,  I  might  have  doubted  him;  not  so  for  a  moment, 
knowing  him  as  1  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  jewellery  into 
cash.  But  I  had  quite  determined  that  it  would  be  a  heart- 
less fraud  to  take  more  money  from  my  patron  in  the  ex- 
isting state  of  my  uncertain  thoughts  and  plans.  There- 
fore, I  had  sent  him  the  unopened  pocket-book  by  Herbert, 
to  hold  in  his  own  keeping,  and  I  felt  a  kind  of  satisfac- 
tion— whether  it  was  a  false  kind  or  a  true,  I  hardly  know 
— in  not  having  profited  by  his  generosity  since  his  revela- 
tion of  himself. 

As  the  time  wore  on,  an  impression  settled  heavily  upon 
me  that  Estella  was  married.  Fearful  of  having  it  con- 


362  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

firmed,  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  domi- 
nant 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  com- 
moner 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  mouth  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  return- 
ing, 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  question- 
able triumph,  was  in  that  water-side  neighbourhood  (it  is 
nowhere  now),  and  to  that  theatre  I  resolved  to  go. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  363 

I  was  aware  that  Mr.  Wopsle  had  not  succeeded  in  re- 
viving the  drama,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  rather  par- 
taken of  its  decline.  He  had  been  ominously  heard  of, 
through  the  playbills,  as  a  faithful  Black,  in  connection 
with  a  little  girl  of  noble  birth,  and  a  monkey.  And  Her- 
bert had  seen  him  as  a  predatory  Tartar,,  of  comic  propen- 
sities, with  a  face  like  a  red  brick,  a-id  an  outrageous  hat 
all  over  bells. 

I  dined  at  what  Herbert  and  I  used  to  call  a  Geograph- 
ical chop-house — where  there  were  maps  of  the  world  in 
porter-pot  rims  on  every  half-yard  of  the  table-cloths,  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-bye,  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  cer- 
tain 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  plenipo- 


364  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tentiary  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  gra- 
cious 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  pa- 
rental 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  365 

"  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,  sit- 
ting 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  refer- 
ences 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  my- 
self, 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  1 
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?  " 


366  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  torch- 
light 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  to-night.  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  ter- 
ror 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  hun- 
dred doors  to  keep  him  out,  and  then  had  found  him  at  my 
elbow.  I  could  not  doubt  either  that  he  was  there,  be- 
cause 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  367 

time.  How  was  he  dressed?  Prosperously,  but  not  no- 
ticeably otherwise;  he  thought,  iu  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. 


368  GREAT   EXPECTATIONS. 

"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,  "  Wem- 
mick's  coming."  So  I  changed  my  excuse  into  an  accept- 
ance— the  few  words  I  had  uttered  serving  for  the  begin- 
ning 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  lad- 
ders on  in  the  midst  of  the  afternoon's  bustle,  were  skip- 
ping 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  dia- 
bolical 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  hack- 
ney-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  Wem- 
micks  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  Weminick;  "it  was  going  by  post, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  369 

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,  hand- 
ing 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  men- 
tioned 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." 

Keceiving  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  cir- 
cumstances, 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  01 
cringes.  Ask  Wemmick  his  opinion." 

"Either  beats  or  cringes,"  said  Wemmick,  not  at  all  ad- 
dressing himself  to  me. 
24 


370  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"So,  here's  to  Mrs.  Bentley  Drummle,"  said  Mr.  Jag- 
gers,  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  gen- 
tleman, it  never  will  be.  Now,  Molly,  Molly,  Molly, 
Molly,  how  slow  you  are  to-day ! "  v^X" 

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  ex- 
cuse. And  a  certain  action  of  her  fingers  as  she  spoke  ar- 
rested 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  knit- 
ting. She  stood  looking  at  her  master,  not  understand- 
ing 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  inexplica- 
ble 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  associa- 
tion 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--*bsQlut©ly-43ej^ain__that  this  woman  was 
Estella's  mother. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  371 

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  pain- 
ful 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  readi- 
ness 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  wonder- 
ful 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'T  "tSeii  gpokiruf  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. 


372  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  Wemmick,"  said  I,  "do  you  remember  telling  me,  be- 
fore I  first  went  to  Mr.  Jaggers's  private  house,  to  notice 
that  housekeeper?  " 

s*   "  Did  I?  "  he  replied.     "  Ah,  I  dare  say  I  did.     Deuce 
/  take  me,"  he  added  sullenly,  "  I  know  I  did.     I  find  I  am 
/      not  quite  unscrewed  yet." 
V         "A  wild  beast  tamed,  you  called  her?  " 
— •  "  And  what  did  you  call  her?  " 

"The  same.  How  did  Mr.  Jaggers  tame  her,  Wem- 
mick?  " 

"  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  gipsy 
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  compara- 
tively early  days  with  him  then,  and  he  worked  it  to  gen- 
eral 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  com- 
mittal; 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^murderedjaerson  was  a  woman;  a 
woman,  a  good  ten  years  ^Iderf-veTy^Hfuch  iarg^r^aBthvery 
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  jeal- 
ousy. The  murdered  woman — more  a  match  for  the  man, 
certainly,  in  point  of  years — was  found  dead  in  a  barn  near 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  373 

Hounslow  Heath.  There  had  been  a  violent  struggle,  per- 
haps 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 — hap- 
pened, don't  you  see? — that  this  woman  was  so  very  art- 
fully 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  skil- 
fully 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  bram- 
bles 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  de- 
stroyed 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 


374  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  an- 
other 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.  Noth- 
ing." 

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  re- 
fectories 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  375 

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  court-yard,  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  be- 
fore, and  lost  in  the  contemplation  of,  the  ashy  fire. 

Doing  as  I  had  often  done,  I  went  in,  and  stood,  touch- 
ing 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  yester- 
day, 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  men- 
tioned to  me  when  you  were  last  here,  and  to  show  you 
that  I  am  not  all  stone.  But  perhaps  you  can  never  be- 
lieve, 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  ac- 
tion, 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,  very  much." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

I  began  explaining  to  her  that  secret  history  of  the  part- 
nership. 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 


376  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  fol- 
lowing 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  ex- 
planation, for  they  were  the  weighty  secrets  of  another. 

"  So ! "  said  she,  assenting  with  her  head,  but  not  look- 
ing at  me.  "  And  how  much  money  is  wanting  to  com- 
plete 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. 

"  'Tis  noble  in  you  to  tell  me  that  you  have  other  causes 
of  unhappiness.  Is  it  true?  " 

"Too  true." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  377 

"  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  ob- 
jection 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  sus- 
picion of  profiting  by  the  receipt  of  the  money.  I  took  the 
tablets  from  her  hand,  and  it  trembled  again,  and  it  trem- 
bled 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,  kneel- 
ing at  my  feet,  gave  me  a  shock  through  all  my  frame.  I 
entreated  her  to  rise,  and  got  my  arms  about  her  to  help 


378  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

her  upi;  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. 

"01"  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  a*. 

"  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  heal- 
ing 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,  see- 
ing 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  379 

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  under- 
stand 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 


380  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  mind. 
But,  to  any  mind,  I  thought,  the  connection  here  was  clear 
and  straight. 

What  more  could  I  hope  to  do  by  prolonging  the  inter- 
view? I  had  succeeded  on  behalf  of  Herbert,  Miss  Hav- 
ishain  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,  rot- 
ting 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  011  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  en- 
cumbered 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  381 

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  an- 
other 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  com- 
ing 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. 


382  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  con- 
sume 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  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  ap- 
pearance; 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  by  the  next  post.  Miss  Havisham's  family  I  took 
upon  myself;  intending  to  communicate  with  Matthew 
Pocket  only,  and  leave  him  to  do  as  he  liked  about  inform- 
ing 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  collect- 
edly 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  in- 
numerable 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  some- 
times left  out  a  word  in  one  or  other  of  them;  never  put- 
ting 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  383 

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  in- 
conveniently 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  had 
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  impres- 
sion 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 


384  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

it.  That  was  made  apparent  by  our  avoidance  of  the  sub- 
ject, 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  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative,  with  perfect  confidence  and  cheer- 
fulness, we  did  not  resume  the  subject  until  the  day  was 
wearing  away.  But  then,  as  Herbert  changed  the  band- 
ages, more  by  the  light  of  the  fire  than  by  the  outer  light, 
he  went  back  to  it  spontaneously. 

"I  sat  with  Pro  vis  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  perpet- 
ually 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  peg- 
ging 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  communica- 
tive last  night,  and  told  me  more  of  his  life.  You  remem- 
ber 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  385 

"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  fifst,  my  poor  dear  fellow,  don't  it?  but  it  will  be  com- 
fortable 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  cer- 
tainly 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  Provja.  ha<La  little 
vchild :  a  little  child  o^wnom  Pfovis  wj,g^xcgedinglylohd7 
On  the  evenmg~of~^Che  very  night  when  the  object  o3T~irert 
jealousy  was  strangled  as  I  tell  you,  the  3Toung  woman  pre- 
sented herself  before  Provis  for  one  moment,  and  swore 
that  she  would  destroy  the  child  (which  was  in  her  posses- 
sion), and  he  should  never  see  it  again;  then,  she  van- 
ished.— 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." 
25 


386  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  informa- 
tion." 

"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  ras  a  certain  man  called  Abel^  out  of  whom  the 
jealousy  arose.  After  the  acquittaT~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,  knowing  of 
his  keeping  outof~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  church- 
yard? " 

"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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  387 

"  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 
distinct  shape,  until  it  was  put  before  me  by  a  wiser  head 
than  my  own. 

But,  when  Herbert  and  I  had  held  our  momentous  con- 
versation, 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  sur- 
rounded me.  Perhaps  the  latter  possibility  may  be  the 
nearer  to  the  truth. 

Anyway,  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. 


388  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

There  were  periodical  occasions  when  Mr.  Jaggers  and 
Mr.  Wemmick  went  over  the  office  accounts,  and  checked 
off  the  vouchers,  and  put  all  things  straight.  On  these  oc- 
casions Wemmick  took  his  books  and  papers  into  Mr.  Jag- 
gers'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  Wem- 
mick 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  specialty  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  de- 
scribed 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  official  proceed- 
ings, 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  re- 
tired 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  cheque  for  his  signature. 
While  that  was  in  course  of  being  done,  I  looked  on  at 
Wemmick  as  he  wrote,  and  Mr.  Jaggers,  poising  and  sway- 
ing himself  on  his  well-polished  boots,  looked  on  at  me. 
"I  am  sorry,  Pip,"  said  he,  as  I  put  the  cheque  in  my 
pocket,  when  he  had  signed  it,  "that  we  do  nothing  for 
you." 

"Miss  Havisham  was  good  enough  to  ask  me,"  I  re- 
turned, "  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  word 
"portable  property." 

"  I  should  not  have  told  her  No,  if  I  had  been  you,"  said 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  389 

Mr.  Jaggers;  "  but  every  man  ought  to  know  his  own  busi- 
ness best." 

"  Every  man's  business,"  said  Wemmick,  rather  reproach- 
fully 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  Havishain,  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 
South  Wales." 

Even  Mr.  Jaggers  started  when  I  said  those  words,  it 
was  the  slightest  start  that  could  escape  a  man,  the  most 


390  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  an- 
nouncement I  am  unable  to  say,  for  I  was  afraid  to  look 
at  him  just  then,  lest  Mr.  Jaggers's  sharpness  should  de- 
tect 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  Pro  vis  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  ex- 
istence." 

For  once,  the  powerful  pocket-handkerchief  failed.  My 
reply  was  so  unexpected  that  Mr.  Jaggers  put  the  handker- 
chief back  into  his  pocket  without  completing  the  usual 
performance,  folded  his  arms,  and  looked  with  stern  atten- 
tion 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  tow- 
ards 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  di- 
rection, I  found  that  he  had  unposted  his  pen,  and  was  in- 
tent 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  rep- 
resented myself  as  being  surely  worthy  of  some  little  confi- 
dence 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  391 

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  an- 
other than  Mr.  Jaggers  and  Wemmick  did  after  this  apos- 
trophe. 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  appar- 
ently 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  Wem- 
mick, "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. 


392  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  repre- 
senting to  her  that  he  must  know,  with  an  eye  to  the  lati- 
tude 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,  trans- 
ported, 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  busi- 
ness 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  be- 
lieved 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  will  be  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?  " 

"But  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  393 

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,  un- 
known 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  A**mself  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  daugh- 
ter'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  ob- 
served 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  inflex- 


394  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

ible  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  hls"hose  on  -feisusleeve,  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  an- 
nounce that  his  eldest  daughter  was  taken  up  on  suspicion 
of  shop-lifting.  As  he  imparted  this  melancholy  circum- 
stance 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  with- 
out 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,  advanc- 
ing 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. 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  395 


CHAPTER     LII.  " 

FROM  Little  Britain,  I  went,  with  my  cheque  in  my 
pocket,  to  Miss-Skiffins3is-^r6t5grptb»-accountant;  and  Miss 
Skiffins's  brother,  the  accountant,  going  straight  to  Clar- 
rikeFnTSncHmngiiig  Clarriker  to  me,  I  had  the  great  satis- 
faction 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  pre- 
pared 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  Her- 
bert 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  Barlej'  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. 

"  Wai  worth.     Burn  this  as  soon  as  read.     Early  in  the 


396  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  con- 
sidered 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  sup- 
pose 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  immedi- 
ately 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  pass- 
ports 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  397 

it  done.     I,  for  my  part,  was  prepared  with  passports;  Her- 
bert had  seen  Startop,  and  he  was  more  than  ready  to  join 

Those  two  would  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  ap- 
proach, 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  lime-kiln,  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  in- 
formation 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  con- 
sideration— 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 
preparation,  turned  the  scale. 


398  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

It  is  so  difficult  to  become  clearly  possessed  of  the  con* 
tents  of  almost  any  letter,  in  a  violent  hurry,  that  I  had 
to  read  this  mysterious  epistle  again,  twice,  before  its  in- 
junction 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  de- 
cided to  hurry  down  and  back,  to  ascertain  for  myself  how 
Miss  Havisham  was  faring.  I  had  then  barely  time  to  get 
my  ^eat-coat,  lock  up  the  chambers,  and  make  for  the 
coach-office  by  the  short  byeways.  If  I  had  taken  a  hack- 
ney-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  Wem- 
mick,  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  communi- 
cation, 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  Pro  vis 
by  name,  mastered  everything.  I  reasoned  as  I  had  rea- 
soned 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  prepar- 
ing, I  went  to  Satis  House  and  inquired  for  Miss  Hav- 
isham; 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  land- 
lord with  a  shining  bald  head  did  it  for  me.  This  bringing 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  399 

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.  Pum- 
blechook." 

"  Is  he  ungrateful  to  no  one  else?  " 

"No  doubt  he  would  be,  if  he  could,"  returned  the  land- 
lord, "  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  thankless- 
ness  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  re- 
morse, 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 


400  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  lime-kiln  on  the  marshes,  and  the  hour  nine. 
Towards  the  marshes  I  now  went  straight,  having  no  time 
to  spare. 


CHAPTER    LIII. 

IT  was  a  dark  night,  though  the  full  moon  rose  as  I  left 
the  enclosed  lands,  and  passed  out  upon  the  marshes.  Be- 
yond their  dark  line  there  was  a  ribbon  of  clear  sky,  hardly 
broad  enough  to  hold  the  red  large  moon.  In  a  few  min- 
utes 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  insup- 
portable, and  even  to  me  they  were  so  oppressive  that  I 
hesitated,  half  inclined  to  go  back.  But,  I  knew  them,  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 
lime-kiln  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  vis- 
ible. 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. 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  401 

Coming  up  again  to  the  marsh  level  out  of  this  excava- 
tion— 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  mat- 
tress 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  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.  Some- 
times 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  ineffec- 
tually 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,  be- 
26 


402  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

wildered  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,  "  1  '11  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.  Oh,  you  enemy,  you  enemy !  " 

His  enjoyment  of  the  spectacle  I  furnished,  as  he  sat 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  403 

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. 

"  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  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  informa- 
tion. It  was  never  so  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 


404  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  sup- 
pose 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  ac- 
{  cusing  me;  even  Herbert  would  doubt  me,  when  he  com- 
\  pared  the  letter  I  had  left  for  him,  with  the  fact  that  I  had 
i  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  au  agony  I  had  passed 
\  through.  The  death  close  before  me  was  terrible,  but  far 
\  more  terrible  than  death  was  the  dread  of  being  misremem- 
\bered  after  death.  And  so  quick  were  my  thoughts,  that  I 
teaw  myself  despised  by  unborn  generations — Estella's  chil- 
dren, 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.  Oh,  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  detes- 
tation of  him  that  sealed  my  lips.  Above  all  things,  I  re- 
solved 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  fare- 
well, 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  blood- 
shot. 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  405 

"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  hesi- 
tating speech  had  formed  those  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  mak- 
ing 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 
lime-kiln  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  ale-houses.  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  over-state  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, 


406 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


he  took  up  the  candle,  and  shading  it  with  his  murderous 
hand  so  as  to  throw  its  light  on  me,  stood  before  me,  look- 
ing at  me  and  enjoying  the  sight. 

J'  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  watch- 
man'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. 
-—.I*  And  why  was  Old  Orlick  there?  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing more,  wolf.  You  and  her  have  pretty  well  hunted 
me  out  of  this  country,  so  far  as  getting  an  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  knowed  you  at  Gar- 
gery'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  saw  you  a  loitering  among  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  mostlike  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  sis- 
ter 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. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  407 

"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  a  smuggling  your  uncle 
Provis  away,  Old  Orlick' s  a  match  for  you  and  knowed 
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  won't  have  Magwitch — yes,  1  know 
the  name! — alive  in  the  same  land  with  them,  and  that's 
had  such  sure  information  of  him  when  he  was  alive  in  an- 
other land,  as  that  he  couldn't  and  shouldn't  leave  it  un- 
beknown 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  power- 
ful 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  vio- 
lence 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,  with- 


408  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

out  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  un- 
known, 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 ! n 

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  comradej-Startog ! "  I  cried,  as  he  too  bent 
over  me. 

"  Remember  what  he  is  going  to  assist  us  in,"  said  Her- 
bert, "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  mis- 
giving 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  409 

They  laid  it  bare,  and  did  what  they  could.  It  was  vio- 
lently 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  cool- 
ing 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  pass- 
ing 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  ob- 
stacles 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  din- 
ing-place.  Thus,  Trabb's  boy  became  their  guide,  and 
with  him  they  went  out  to  the  sluice-house :  though  by  the 


410  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  might  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  war- 
rant. 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  inter- 
vention saved  me  from  the  lime-kiln.  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  bot- 
tle 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  411 

disable  me  of  itself.  It  would  have  done  so,  pretty  surely, 
in  conjunction  with  the  mental  wear  and  tear  I  had  suf- 
fered, 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  re- 
fraining from  communication  with  him  that  day;  yet  this 
again  increased  my  restlessness.  I  started  at  every  foot- 
step and  every  sound,  believing  that  he  was  discovered  and 
taken,  and  this  was  the  messenger  to  tell  me  so.  I  per- 
suaded myself  that  I  knew  he  was  taken;  that  there  was 
something  more  upon  my  mind  than  a  fear  or  a  presenti- 
ment; that  the  fact  had  occurred,  and  I  had  a  mysterious 
knowledge  of  it.  As  the  day  wore  on  and  no  ill  news 
came,  as  the  day  closed  in  and  darkness  fell,  my  over- 
shadowing dread  of  being  disabled  by  illness  before  to- 
morrow morning,  altogether  mastered  me.  My  burning 
arm  throbbed,  and  my  burning  head  throbbed,  and  I  fan- 
cied 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  con- 
stantly 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  hori- 
zon. 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 


412  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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,  cheer- 
fully, "  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  \ 
should  next  see  those  rooms,  if  ever. 

We  loitered  down  to  the  Temple  stairs,  and  stood  loiter- 
ing 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  Tem- 
ple 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  Graves- 
end,  between  Kent  and  Essex,  where  the  river  is  broad  and 
solitary,  where  the  water-side  inhabitants  are  very  few, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  413 

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  for  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  aboard,  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  which  I  had  been  in  a  few  hours  be- 
fore. 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  encour- 
age 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  go- 
ing here  and  there  that  morning,  and  plenty  of  barges  drop- 
ping down  with  the  tide;  the  navigation  of  the  river  be- 
tween bridges,  in  an  open  boat,  was  a  much  easier  and  com- 
moner 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  Billings- 
gate 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  counter- 
weights 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 


414  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  nobby  eyes  starting  two 
inches  out  of  her  head;  in  and  out,  hammers  going  in  ship- 
builders' yards,  saws  going  at  timber,  clashing  engines  go- 
ing at  things  unknown,  pumps  going  in  leaky  ships,  cap- 
stans 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  aboard,  and  ever 
since,  I  had  looked  warily  for  any  token  of  our  being  sus- 
pected. 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  415 

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  coun- 
try; 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.  Every- 
body 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  gun- 
wale, 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  oi 


416  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  de- 
spondent," said  1. 

"  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  submis- 
sive to  a  word  of  advice  as  if  he  had  been  in  constant  ter- 
ror, 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  float- 
ing Custom  House,  and  so  out  to  catch  the  stream,  along- 
side of  two  emigrant  ships,  and  under  the  bows  of  a  large 
transport  with  troops  on  the  forecastle  looking  down  at  us. 
And  goon  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  mud-banks. 

Our  oarsmen  were  so  fresh,  by  dint  of  having  occasion- 
ally 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, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  417 

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  per- 
severed, 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  dark  by  this  time  as  it  would  be  until  morn- 
ing; 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 
27 


418  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

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-  si- 
lence, and  1  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  the 
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  slimj  and 
FmnfWy-Qg  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  goooT'tlTeal  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  un- 
der the  beds,  than  I  should  have  thought  the  family  pos- 
sessed. But,  we  considered  ourselves  well  off,  notwith- 
standing, 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/' 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  419 

"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?" 

"7  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." 

"  1  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." 

"Anl!" 

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,  :n 
a  melancholy  and  pathetic  way. 

"A  Custom  'Us  officer  knows  what  to  do  with  his  But- 
tons," 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  rely  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 


420  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  dis- 
cussed. On  the  whole  we  deemed  it  the  better  course  to 
lie  where  we  were,  until  within  an  hour  or  so  of  the  steam- 
er'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  no*  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_£orebore.  Going  back  to  my  window 
see  the  tw 


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  break 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  421 

fast  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  sup- 
posed that  it  was  I  who  was  in  danger,  not  he,  and  that  he 
was  reassuring  me.  We  spoke  very  little.  As  we  ap- 
proached  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  foot- 
prints 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  re- 
joined 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  bpat  coming  round.  WTe 
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  after  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  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  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  along- 
side, drifting  when  we  drifted,  and  pulling  a  stroke  or  two 
when  we  pulled.  Of  the  two  sitters,  one  held  the  rudder 


422  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  paddles  grew  louder  and 
louder.  I  felt  as  if  her  shadow  were  absolutely  upon  us, 
when  the  galley  hailed  us.  I  answered. 

"  You  have  a  return  transport  there,"  said  the  man  who 
held  the  lines.  "That's  the  man,  wrapped  in  the  cloak. 
His  name  is  AfeeL-Magwitch,  otherwise  Provis.  I  appre- 
hend that  man,  and  call  upon  him  to  surfernler'  and  you  to 
assist." 

At  the  same  moment,  without  giving  any  audible  direc- 
tion to  his  crew,  he  ran  the  galley  aboard  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,  be- 
fore we  knew  what  they  were  doing.  This  caused  great 
confusion  on  board  of  the  steamer,  and  I  heard  them  call- 
ing to  us,  and  heard  the  order  given  to  stop  the  paddles, 
and  heard  them  stop,  but  felt  her  driving  down  upon  us  ir- 
resistibly. 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  mo- 
ment, 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.  Her- 
bert 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  423 

blowing  off  of  her  steam,  and  her  driving  on,  and  our  driv- 
ing 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  in- 
stantly 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  re- 
ceived 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  re- 
ceived 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  stag- 
gered up  and  staggered  back,  and  they  had  both  gone  over- 
board together;  when  the  sudden  wrenching  of  him  (Mag- 
witch)  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  swam 
away. 


424  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  never  had  any  reason  to  doubt  the  exact  truth  of  what 
he  had  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  pris- 
oner 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  height- 
ened 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  arti- 
cles 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  posi- 
tion; but  it  was  dreadful  to  think  that  I  could  not  be  sorry 
at  heart  for  his  being  badly  hurt,  since  it  was  unquestion- 
ably 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  been 
tried  again,  who  had  returned  from  transportation  under  a 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  425 

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  yester- 
day left  behind  us,  and  as  the  stream  of  our  hopes  seemed 
all  running  back,  I  told  him  how  grieved  I  was  to  think  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  understand  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  gen- 
tleman should  not  be  kuowed  to  belong  to  me  now.  Only 
come  to  see  me  as  if  you  come  by  chance  alonger  Wem- 
mick.  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  other- 
wise 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  hap- 
pened 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 


426  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  quer- 
ulous and  angry  with  me  for  having  "  let  it  slip  through 
my  fingers,"  and  said  we  must  memorialise  by-and-bye,  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 
forfeiture  would  not  be  exacted,  there  were  no  circum- 
stances in  this  case  to  make  it  one  of  them.  I  understood 
that  very  well.  I  was  not  related  to  the  outlaw,  or  con- 
nected 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  for- 
feiture, 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  designa- 
tion of  certain  lands  of  considerable  value.  Both  those 
heads  of  information  were  in  a  list  that  Magwitch,  while 
in  prison,  gave  to  Mr.  Jaggers,  of  the  possessions  he  sup- 
posed 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  prose- 
cution 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  Session, 
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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  427 

His  partner  having  prepared  me  for  that,  I  was  less  sur- 
prised 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  al- 
ways love  you;  but  my  need  is  no  greater  now,  than  at  an- 
other 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  ex- 
ordium, 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 


428  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

do  her  best  to  mate  you  happy,  and  to  convince  her  hus- 
band'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  duti- 
fully 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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  429 

down,  after  an  unsuccessful  application  of  hi^  knuckles  to 
my  door.  I  had  not  seen  him  alone,  since  the  disastrous 
issue  of  the  attempted  flight;  and  he  had  come,  in  his  pri- 
vate and  personal  capacity,  to  say  a  few  words  of  explana- 
tion 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  trou- 
ble) that  I  heard  what  I  did.  I  kept  my  ears  open,  seem- 
ing 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  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'm 
sure  I  tried  to  serve  you,  with  all  rny  heart." 

"  I  am  as  sure  of  that,  Wemmick,  as  you  can  be,  and  I 
thank  you  most  earnestly  for  all  your  interest  and  friend- 
ship." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much.  It's  £  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  /  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  be- 
tween the  property  and  the  owner,  don't  you  see?  " 

I  invited  Wemmick  to  come  upstairs,  and  refresh  him- 
self with  a  glass  of  grog  before  walking  to  Walworth.  He 
accepted  the  invitation.  While  he  was  drinking  his  mod- 
erate 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." 


430  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"These  twelve  years,  more  likely,"  said  Wemmick. 
"  Yes.  I'm  going  to  take  a  holiday.  More  than  that;  I'n- 
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  com- 
panion 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  break- 
fast 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  re- 
quest, I  appointed  ^to.jasUl-EacJiim  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  him- 
self:  who  sfruck  me  as  looking  tighter  than  usual,  and  hav- 
ing 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  per- 
spective 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. 


GRE4T  EXPECTATIONS.  431 

"  Halloa ! "  said  lie.  "  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  perfec- 
tion. • 

The  clerk  and  clergyman  then  appearing,  we  were  ranged 
in  order  at  those  fatal  rails.  True  to  his  notion  of  seem- 
ing 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  bon- 
net 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  brisk- 
ness, before  saying  that  he  gave,  "All  right,  John,  all 
right,  my  boy ! "  And  the  clergyman  came  to  so  gloomy  a 


432  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  un- 
wound Wemmick' s  arm  when  it  adapted  itself  to  her  figure, 
but  sat  in  the  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  de- 
clined 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. 

"  Thank'ee ! "  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 
Wai  worth  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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  433 


CHAPTER     LVL 

HE  lay  in  prison  very  ill,  during  the  whole  interval  be- 
tween 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  diffi- 
culty, which  increased  daily.  It  was  a  consequence  of  his 
hurt  that  he  spoke  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely  audible;  there- 
fore, 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  separa- 
tion were  long  enough  to  record  on  his  face  any  slight 
changes  that  occurred  in  his  physical  state.  I  do  not  rec- 
ollect 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  ques- 
tion 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  eter- 
nal 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  con- 
trite, and  I  never  knew  him  complain. 

When  the  Sessions  came  round,  Mr.  Jaggers  caused  an 
28 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  re- 
fused. 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  in- 
dustrious 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  ter- 
rible 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.  -Eereniflst  among  the  two- 
and-thirty  was  he;  seated,  that  he  might  get  breath  enough 
t,r>  frppp  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  win- 
dows of  the  court,  glittering  in  the  rays  of  April  sun. 
Penned  in  the. dock,  as  I  again  stood  outside  it  at  the  cor- 
ner 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  star- 
ing gloomily  about.  There  had  been  shrieks  from  among 
the  women  convicts,  but  they  had  been  stilled ?  and  aJmsK 
had  succeeded.  The  sheriffs  with  their  great  chains  ancT 
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, 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  435 

under  circumstances  of  great  violence  and  daring,  had 
made  his  escape  and  been  resentenced  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  hon- 
est life.  But  in  a  fatal  moment,  yielding  to  those  propen- 
sities 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  ^vaHir^r  the  officers  of  Jus- 
tice, 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  re- 
turn to  the  land  that  had  cast  him  out  h.mnpr.JV.a.f.Ti,  and 
his  case  being  this  aggravated  case,  he  must  prepare  him- 
self 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  pass- 
ing on,  with  absolute  equality,  to  the  greater  Judgment 
that  knoweth  all  things  and  cannot  err.  Rising  for  a  mo- 
ment, a  distinct  ^eck  of  face  in  this  ray  of  light,  the 
prisoner  said,  "Myljord,  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  sup- 
ported 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 


436  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  'tl'flkp  ^™  •nrnTn-c'h™-fono/t  now, 
and  he  was  more  sirictly  kent.  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  will- 
ing to  do  anything  that  would  assure  him  of  the  qjnglenes^ 
of  my  designs.  Nobody  was  hard  with  him  or  with  me. 
There  was  duty  to  be  done,  and  it  was  done,  but  not 
harshly.  TlieTjlIluei  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  ab- 
sence of  light  in  his  face,  until  some  word  of  mine^  bright- 
ened  it  for  an  instant,  andthen  it  would  subside  again. 
Sometimes  he  was  almost,  or  quite,  unable  tcTspeak;  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  1  saw  a 
greater  change  in  him  than  I  had  seen  yet.  His  eyes  were 
turned  towards  the  door,  and  lighted  up  as  I  entered. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  437 

"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  alouger  me,  since  I  was  under  a  dark 
cloud,  than  when  the  sun  shone.  That's  the  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  under- 
stood 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  thusL  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  nlacid  look  at  the  white  ceil- 
ing, and  he  looked  most  affectionately  at  me. 

"  Dear  Magwitch,  I  must  tell  you  now,  at  last.  You  un- 
derstand 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  power- 
less but  for  my  yielding  to  it,  and  assisting  it,  he  raised 


438  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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  "  0  Lord,  be  merciful  to  him  a  sinner !  " 


CHAPTER    LVII. 

Now  that  I  was  left  wholly  to  myself  I  gave  njtice  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 — any- 
where, 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  sup- 
posed 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  com- 
ing up  the  stairs,  and  that  the  lights  were  blown  out; 
whether  I  had  been  inexpressibly  harassed  by  the  dis- 
tracted talking,  laughing,  and  groaning,  of  some  one,  and 
had  half  suspected  those  sounds  to  be  of  my  owr  making; 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  439 

whether  there  had  been  a  closed  iron  furnace  in  a  dark  cor- 
ner 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  lime-kiln  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.  Jewel- 
ler's accTmatj-t'^ri15^'7' 

"What  is  to  be  done?" 

"  You  had  better  come  to  my  house,"  said  the  man. 
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  hi my  memory  by  only  this  one 
slender  thread,  I  don't  know  wnat  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  1  passed  through  these 
phases  of  disease,  I  know  of  my  own  remembrance,  and  did 
in  some  sort  know  at  the  time.  That  I  sometimes  strug- 
gled with  real  people,  in  the  belief  that  they  were  murder- 
ers, and  that  I  would  all  at  once  comprehend  that  they 


440  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

meant  to  do  one  good,  and  would  then  sink  exhausted  in 
their  armsT^nd  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  be- 
gan 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." 

"0  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,  "  0  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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  441 

•'  It's  the  end  of  May,  Pip.  To-morrow  is  the  first  of 
June." 

"  And  have  you  been  here  all  the  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  un- 
accepta bobble.  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  reflec- 
tion, "  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  crowbar  or  sledge-hammer.  It 
was  necessary  for  Joe  to  hold  on  heavily  to  the  table  with 
liis  left  elbow,  and  to  get  his  right  leg  well  out  behind  him, 
before  he  could  begin,  and  when  he  did  begin  he  made 


442  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

every  down-stroke  so  slowly  that  it  might  have  been  six 
feet  long,  while  at  every  up-stroke  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  con- 
stantly dipped  his  pen  into  space,  and  seemed  quite  satis- 
fied 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  perform- 
ance from  various  points  of  view  as  it  lay  there,  with  un- 
bounded 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  remon- 
strance, 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  liv- 
ing." 

"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  de- 
grees. 

"  Dear  Joe,  have  you  heard  what  becomes  of  her  prop- 
erty?" 

"  Well,  old  chap,"  said  Joe,  "it  do  appear  that  she  had 
settled  the  most  of  it,  which  I  meantersay  tied  it  up,  011 
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  term  as  if  it  did  him  infinite 
good,  "' account  of  him  the  said  Matthew.'  And  a  cool 
four  thousand,  Pip ! " 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  443 

I  never  discovered  from  whom  Joe  derived  the  conven- 
tional temperature  of  the  four  thousand  pounds,  but  it  ap- 
peared 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  un- 
derstood 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  shovel- 
full  to-day.  Old  Orlick  he's  been  a  bustin'  open  a  dwell- 
ing-ouse." 

"Whose?"  said  I. 

"Not,  I  grant  you,  but  what  his  manners  is  given  to 
blusterous,"  said  Joe,  apologetically;  "still,  a  English- 
man'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  perwent  his  crying  out.  But  he 
knowed  Oiiick,  and  Orlick' s  in  the  county  jail." 

By  these  approaches  we  arrived  at  unrestricted  conversa- 
tion. 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  proper- 


444  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

tioned  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  al- 
ready 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  strengthened,  by  day  and  by  night,  under  the  sun 
and  under  the  stars,  while  poor  I  lay  burning  and  tossing 
on  my  bed,  the  mere  remernbrace  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 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  445 

had  been  in  my  eyes  then,  he  was  in  my  eyes  still;  just  as 
simply  faithful,  just  as  simply  right. 

When  we  got  back  again  and  he  lifted  me  out,  and  car- 
ried me — so  easily! — across  the  court  and  up  the  stairs,  I 
thought  of  that  eventful  Christmas  Day  when  he  had  car- 
ried me  over  the  marshes.  We  had  not  yet  made  any  allu- 
sion to  my  change  of  fortune,  nor  did  I  know  how  much  of 
my  late  history  he  was  acquainted  with.  I  was  so  doubt- 
ful 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  win- 
dow, "  who  my  patron  was?  " 

"I  heerd,"  returned  Joe,  "as  it  were  not  Miss  Hav- 
isham,  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  gen- 
eral 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. 

"Werry  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?  " 


446  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"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  opposi- 
tion 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, 
nor  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.  Gar- 
gery'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  most  awful  dull),  as 
I  should  view  it  in  this  light,  and,  viewing  it  in  this  light, 
as  I  should  ser  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  ex- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  447 

pectations  had  all  dissolved,  like  our  own  marsh  mists  be- 
fore 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  sit- 
ting in  the  bright  warm  sunlight,  looking  at  the  river,  and 
I  chanced  to  say  as  we  got  up : 

"See,  Joe!  lean  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,  air." 

The  last  word  grated  on  me;  but  how  could  I  remon- 
strate !  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  chang'3  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,  be- 


448  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

fore  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." 

'Like ways  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  aiked 
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, 
"Goodnight!" 

When  I  got  up  in  the  morning,  refreshed  and  stronger 
yet,  I  was  full  of  my  resolution  to  tell  Joe  all,  without  de- 
lay. 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." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  449 

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  re- 
lieve 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  un- 
happy 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  re- 
ceive 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  than  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  dis- 
tant 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  bet- 
ter 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  recov- 
ery, 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. 
29 


450  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


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  culti- 
vated 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  (prob- 
ably 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  accommodations  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  \  was  marked  in  whitewashed  knock-knee  letters  on 
the  brewhouse;  LOT  2  on  that  part  of  the  main  building 
which  had  been  so  long  shut  up.  Other  lots  were  marked 
off  011  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.  Step- 
ping 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  cata- 
logue 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  land- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  451 

lord.  Mr.  Pumblechook  (not  improved  in  appearance  by 
his  late  nocturnal  adventure)  was  waiting  for  me,  and  ad- 
dressed me  in  the  following  terms. 

"  Young  man,  I  arn  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  Baiter,  "put  a 
mufMn~~on~~table.  And  has  it  come  to  this !  Has  it  come  to 
this ! " 

I  frowningly  sat  down  to  my  breakfast.  Mr.  Pumble- 
chook stood  over  me  and  poured  out  my  tea — before  I  could 
touch  the  teapot — with  the  air  of  a  benefactor  who  was  re- 
solved 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  water- 
cresses." 

"You  don't  eat  'em,"  returned  Mr.  Pumblechook,  sigh- 
ing 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,  Wil- 
liam." 

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.  Pumble- 
chook, aloud.  "And  yet  when  he  went  away  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, 


452  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  pro- 
digygality,  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  ap- 
peared 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  ex- 
asperating 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,  '  Jo- 
seph, I  have  this  day  seen  my  earliest  benefactor  and  the 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  453 

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  bet- 
ter." 

"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  Pum- 
blechook 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,  hav- 
ing 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  it,  Joseph,  and  he  saw  it  plain.  It  pinted 
out  this  writing,  Joseph.  Reward  of  ingratitoode  to  earli- 
est benefactor,  and  founder  of  fortun's.  But  that  man  said 
that  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  a  pity,"  said  I,  scornfully,  as  I  finished  my  inter- 
rupted breakfast,  "  that  the  man  did  not  say  what  he  had 
done  and  would  do  again." 

"  Squires  of  the  Boar !  "  Pumblechook  was  now  address- 
ing 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 


454  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

door  to  a  select  group,  who  honoured  me  with  very  unfa- 
vourable 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  be- 
fore, 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  country-side  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  soft- 
ened 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  dis- 
appointed 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 
the  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  gl^am  of  fire,  no  glittering  shower  of  sparks,  no  roar  of 
bellows;  all  shut  up,  and  still. 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  455 

But,  the  house  was  not  deserted,  and  the  best  parlour 
seemed  to  be  in  use,  for  there  were  white  curtains  flutter- 
ing 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  hap- 
piness, "  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  worftl,  and  if  you  could  have  seen  him  by  my 
bed  you  would  have But  no,  you  couldn't  love  him  bet- 
ter 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 ! " 


456  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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,  re- 
ceive 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  en- 
treated 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 


GREAT   EXPECTATIONS.  457 

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  con- 
stant correspondence  with  Biddy  and  Joe.  It  was  not  un- 
til I  became  third  in  the  Firmy-fEaTGlaixiker  Jietrayed  me 
to  Herbert;  but,  he  then  declared  that  the  secret  of  Her- 
bert's partnership  had  been  long  enough  upon  his  con- 
science, 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  re- 
flection, that  perhaps  the  inaptitude  had  never  been  in  him 
at  all,  but  had  been  in  me. 


CHAPTEK   LIX. 

FOB  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  I  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  in  the  corner  with  Joe's  leg,  and  sitting  on 
my  own  little  stool  looking  at  the  fire,  was 1  again ! 


458  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

"  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  an- 
other to  perfection.  And  I  took  him  down  to  the  church- 
yard, 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?  " 

«0  no— I  think  not,  Biddy." 

"  Tell  me  as  an  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  ac- 
cident consequent  on  his  ill-treatment  of  a  horse.  This  re- 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  459 

lease  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  what- 
ever 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  sur- 
prised, 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  in- 
describable 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 


460  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

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 !  " 

-^7  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  inter- 
est 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  an- 
swered. 

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  pain- 
ful thing.  To  me,  the  remembrance  of  our  last  parting  has 
been  ever  mournful  and  painful." 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  461 

-- 

"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. 


THE   END. 


••1'H'] 


THE   MYSTERY 

OF 

EDWIN  DROOD. 


.aooaa  fci 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  The  Dawn,     ....... 

II.  A  Dean,  and  a  Chapter  also,  .... 

HI.  The  Nuns'  House, 

IV.  Mr.  Sapsea,     ........ 

V.  Mr.  Durdles  and  Friend,         .... 

VI.  Philanthropy  in  Minor  Canon  Corner,    . 
VII.  More  Confidences  than  One,    .... 

VTII.  Daggers  Drawn,      ...... 

IX.  Birds  in  the  Bush 

X.  Smoothing  the  Way,       .        . 

XI.  A  Picture  and  a  Ring, 

XII.  A  Night  with  Durdles 

XIII.  Both  at  their  Best,  . 

XIV.  When  shall  these  Three  meet  again?      .        . 
XV.  Impeached, 

XVI.  Devoted,         .        .       .      Y      * 
XVII.  Philanthropy,  Professional  and  Unprofessional, 

XVIII.  A  Settler  in  Cloisterham 

XIX.  Shadow  on  the  Sun-dial,        .... 

XX.  A  Flight,        ....... 

XXI.  A  Recognition,        ....... 

XXII.  A  Gritty  State  of  Things  comes  on, 
XXIII.  The  Dawn  Again, 


THE  MYSTERY 

OP 

EDWIN  DROOD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE  DAWN. 

AN  ancient  English  Cathedral  Tower?  How  can  the  an- 
cient English  Cathedral  Tower  be  here !  The  well-known 
massive  grey  square  tower  of  its  old  Cathedral?  How  can 
that  be  here !  There  is  no  spike  of  rusty  iron  in  the  air, 
between  the  eye  and  it,  from  any  point  of  the  real  prospect. 
What  is  the  spike  that  intervenes,  and  who  has  set  it  up? 
Maybe  it  is  set  up  by  the  Sultan's  orders  for  the  impaling 
of  a  horde  of  Turkish  robbers,  one  by  one.  It  is  so,  for 
cymbals  clash,  and  the  Sultan  goes  by  to  his  palace  in  long 
procession.  Ten  thousand  scimitars  flash  in  the  sunlight, 
and  thrice  ten  thousand  dancing-girls  strew  flowers.  Then, 
follow  white  elephants  caparisoned  in  countless  gorgeous 
colours,  and  infinite  in  number  and  attendants.  Still  the 
Cathedral  Tower  rises  in  the  background,  where  it  cannot 
be,  and  still  no  writhing  figure  is  on  the  grim  spike. 
Stay !  Is  the  spike  so  low  a  thing  as  the  rusty  spike  on 
the  top  of  a  post  of  an  old  bedstead  that  has  tumbled  all 
awry?  Some  vague  period  of  drowsy  laughter  must  be  de- 
voted to  the  consideration  of  this  possibility. 

Shaking  from  head  to  foot,  the  man  whose  scattered  con- 
sciousness has  thus  fantastically  pieced  itself  together,  at 
length  rises,  supports  his  trembling  frame  upon  his  arms, 
and  looks  around.  He  is  in  the  meanest  and  closest  of 
small  rooms.  Through  the  ragged  window-curtain,  the 
1 


2  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

light  of  early  day  steals  in  from  a  miserable  court.  He 
lies,  dressed,  across  a  large  unseemly  bed,  upon  a  bedstead 
that  has  indeed  given  way  under  the  weight  upon  it.  Ly- 
ing, also  dressed,  and  also  across  the  bed,  not  longwise,  are 
a  Chinaman,  a  Lascar,  and  a  haggard  woman.  The  two 
first  are  in  a  sleep  or  stupor;  the  last  is  blowing  at  a  kind 
of  pipe,  to  kindle  it.  And  as  she  blows,  and  shading  it 
with  her  lean  hand,  concentrates  its  red  spark  of  light,  it 
serves  in  the  dim  morning  as  a  lamp  to  show  him  what  he 
sees  of  her 

"Another?''  says  this  woman,  in  a  querulous,  rattling 
whisper.  "  Have  another?  " 

He  looks  about  him,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

"  Ye've  smoked  as  many  as  five  since  ye  come  in  at  mid- 
night," the  woman  goes  on,  as  she  chronically  complains. 
"Poor  me,  poor  me,  my  head  is  so  bad.  Them  two  come 
in  after  ye.  Ah,  poor  me,  the  business  is  slack,  is  slack ! 
Few  Chinamen  about  the  Docks,  and  fewer  Lascars,  and 
no  ships  coming  in,  these  say!  Here's  another  ready  for 
ye,  deary.  Ye'll  remember  like  a  good  soul,  won't  ye, 
that  the  market  price  is  dreffle  high  just  now?  More  nor 
three  shillings  and  sixpence  for  a  thimbleful!  And  ye '11 
remember  that  nobody  but  me  (and  Jack  Chinaman  t'other 
side  the  court;  but  he  can't  do  it  as  well  as  me)  has  the 
true  secret  of  mixing  it?  Ye'll  pay  up  according,  deary, 
won't  ye?  " 

She  blows  at  the  pipe  as  she  speaks,  and,  occasionally 
bubbling  at  it,  inhales  much  of  its  contents. 

"0  me,  0  me,  my  lungs  is  weak,  my  lungs  is  bad!  It's 
nearly  ready  for  ye,  deary.  Ah,  poor  me,  poor  me,  my 
poor  hand  shakes  like  to  drop  off !  I  see  ye  coming-to, 
and  I  ses  to  my  poor  self,  'I'll  have  another  ready  for  him, 
and  he'll  bear  in  mind  the  market  price  of  opium,  and  pay 
according. '  0  my  poor  head !  I  makes  my  pipes  of  old 
penny  ink-bottles,  ye  see,  deary — this  is  one — and  I  fits-in 
a  mouthpiece,  this  way,  and  I  takes  my  mixter  out  of  this 
thimble  with  this  little  horn  spoon;  and  so  I  fills,  deary. 
Ah,  my  poor  nerves !  I  got  Heavens-hard  drunk  for  six- 
teen year  afore  I  took  to  this;  but  this  don't  hurt  me,  not 
to  speak  of.  And  it  takes  away  the  hunger  as  well  as 
wittles,  deary." 

She  hands  him  the  nearly-emptied  pipe,  and  sinks  back, 
turning  over  on  her  face. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  3 

He  rises  unsteadily  from  the  bed,  lays  the  pipe  upon  the 
hearth-stone,  draws  back  the  ragged  curtain,  and  looks 
with  repugnance  at  his  three  companions.  He  notices  that 
the  woman  has  opium-smoked  herself  into  a  strange  like- 
ness of  the  Chinaman.  His  form  of  cheek,  eye,  and  tem- 
ple, and  his  colour,  are  repeated  in  her.  Said  Chinaman 
convulsively  wrestles  with  one  of  his  many  Gods  or  Devils, 
perhaps,  and  snarls  horribly.  The  Lascar  laughs  and  drib- 
bles at  the  mouth.  The  hostess  is  still. 

"  What  visions  can  she  have?  "  the  waking  man  muses, 
as  he  turns  her  face  towards  him,  and  stands  looking  down 
at  it.  "Visions  of  many  butchers'  slvops,  and  public- 
houses,  and  much  credit?  Of  an  increase  of  hideous  cus- 
tomers, and  this  horrible  bedstead  set  upright  again,  and 
this  horrible  court  swept  clean?  What  can  she  rise  to, 
under  any  quantity  of  opium,  higher  than  that! — Eh?" 

He  bends  down  his  ear,  to  listen  to  her  mutterings. 

"  Unintelligible ! " 

As  he  watches  the  spasmodic  shoots  and  darts  that  break 
out  of  her  face  and  limbs,  like  fitful  lightning  out  of  a  dark 
sky,  some  contagion  in  them  seizes  upon  him :  insomuch 
that  he  has  to  withdraw  himself  to  a  lean  arm-chair  by  the 
hearth — placed  there,  perhaps,  for  such  emergencies — and 
to  sit  in  it,  holding  tight,  until  he  has  got  the  better  of 
this  unclean  spirit  of  imitation. 

Then  he  comes  back,  pounces  on  the  Chinaman,  and  seiz- 
ing him  with  both  hands  by  the  throat,  turns  him  violently 
on  the  bed.  The  Chinaman  clutches  the  aggressive  hands, 
resists,  gasps,  and  protests. 

"  What  do  you  say?  " 

A  watchful  pause. 

"Unintelligible!" 

Slowly  loosening  his  grasp  as  he  listens  to  the  incoherent 
jargon  with  an  attentive  frown,  he  turns  to  the  Lascar  and 
fairly  drags  him  forth  upon  the  floor.  As  he  falls,  the 
Lascar  starts  into  a  half-risen  attitude,  glares  with  his  eyes, 
lashes  about  him  fiercely  with  his  arms,  and  draws  a  phan- 
tom knife.  It  then  becomes  apparent  that  the  woman  has 
taken  possession  of  this  knife,  for  safety's  sake;  for,  she 
too  starting  up,  and  restraining  and  expostulating  with  him, 
the  knife  is  visible  in  her  dress,  not  in  his,  when  they 
drowsily  drop  back,  side  by  side. 

There  has  been  chattering  and  clattering  enough  between 


4  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN   DROOD. 

them,  but  to  no  purpose.  When  any  distinct  word  has 
been  flung  into  the  air,  it  has  had  no  sense  or  sequence. 
Wherefore  "  unintelligible !  "  is  again  the  comment  of  the 
watcher,  made  with  some  reassured  nodding  of  his  head, 
and  a  gloomy  smile.  He  then  lays  certain  silver  money  on 
the  table,  finds  his  hat,  gropes  his  way  down  the  broken 
stairs,  gives  a  good  morning  to  some  rat-ridden  door-keeper, 
in  bed  in  a  black  hutch  beneath  the  stairs,  and  passes  out. 

That  same  afternoon,  the  massive  grey  square  tower  of 
an  old  cathedral  rises  before  the  sight  of  a  jaded  traveller. 
The  bells  are  going  for  daily  vesper  service,  and  he  must 
needs  attend  it,  one  would  say,  from  his  haste  to  reach  the 
open  cathedral  door.  The  choir  are  getting  on  their  sullied 
white  robes,  in  a  hurry,  when  he  arrives  among  them,  gets 
on  his  own  robe,  and  falls  into  the  procession  filing  in  to 
service.  Then,  the  Sacristan  locks  the  iron-barred  gates 
that  divide  the  sanctuary  from  the  chancel,  and  all  of  the 
procession  having  scuttled  into  their  places,  hide  their  faces; 
and  then  the  intoned  words,  "  WHEN  THE  WICKED  MAN — 
rise  among  groins  of  arches  and  beams  of  roof,  awakening 
muttered  thunder. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A  DEAN,  AND  A  CHAPTER  ALSO. 

WHOSOEVER  has  observed  that  sedate  and  clerical  bird, 
the  rook,  may  perhaps  have  noticed  that  when  he  wings  his 
way  homeward  towards  nightfall,  in  a  sedate  and  clerical 
company,  two  rooks  will  suddenly  detach  themselves  from 
the  rest,  will  retrace  their  flight  for  some  distance,  and  will 
there  poise  and  linger;  conveying  to  mere  men  the  fancy 
that  it  is  of  some  occult  importance  to  the  body  politic, 
that  this  artful  couple  should  pretend  to  have  renounced 
connection  with  it. 

Similarly,  service  being  over  in  the  old  cathedral  with 
the  square  tower,  and  the  choir  scuffling  out  again,  and 
divers  venerable  persons  of  rook-like  aspect  dispersing,  two 
of  these  latter  retrace  their  steps,  and  walk  together  in  the 
echoing  Close. 


THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  5 

Not  only  is  the  day  waning,  but  the  year.  The  low  sun 
is  fiery  and  yet  cold  behind  the  monastery  ruin,  and  the 
Virginia  creeper  on  the  cathedral  wall  has  showered  half 
its  deep-red  leaves  down  on  the  pavement.  There  has  been 
rain  this  afternoon,  and  a  wintry  shudder  goes  among  the 
little  pools  on  the  cracked  uneven  flag-stones,  and  through 
the  giant  elm-trees  as  they  shed  a  gust  of  tears.  Their 
fallen  leaves  lie  strewn  thickly  about.  Some  of  these 
leaves,  in  a  timid  rush,  seek  sanctuary  within  the  low 
arched  cathedral  door;  but  two  men  coming  out  resist  them, 
and  cast  them  forth  again  with  their  feet;  this  done,  one 
of  the  two  locks  the  door  with  a  goodly  key,  and  the  other 
flits  away  with  a  folio  music-book. 

"  Mr.  Jasper  was  that,  Tope?  " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Dean." 

"  He  has  stayed  late." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Dean.  I  have  stayed  for  him,  your  Kever- 
ence.  He  has  been  took  a  little  poorly." 

"Say  'taken,'  Tope — to  the  Dean,"  the  younger  rook  in- 
terposes in  a  low  tone  with  this  touch  of  correction,  as  who 
should  say :  "  You  may  offer  bad  grammar  to  the .  laity,  or 
the  humbler  clergy,  not  to  the  Dean." 

Mr.  Tope,  Chief  Verger  and  Showman,  and  accustomed 
to  be  high  with  excursion  parties,  declines  with  a  silent 
loftiness  to  perceive  that  any  suggestion  has  been  tendered 
to  him. 

"  And  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jasper  been  taken — for,  as 
Mr.  Crisparkle  has  remarked,  it  is  better  to  say  taken — 
taken — "  repeats  the  Dean;  "  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jasper 
been  Taken—" 

"Taken,  sir,"  Tope  deferentially  murmurs. 

«  —Poorly,  Tope?" 

"  Why,  sir,  Mr.  Jasper  was  that  breathed — 

"  I  wouldn't  say  '  That  breathed,'  Tope,"  Mr.  Crisparkle 
interposes  with  the  same  touch  as  before.  "Not  English— 
to  the  Dean." 

"Breathed  to  that  extent,"  the  Dean  (not  unflattered 
by  this  indirect  homage)  condescendingly  remarks,  "would 
be  preferable." 

"Mr.  Jasper's  breathing  was  so  remarkably  short "- 
thus  discreetly  does  Mr.  Tope  work  his  way  round  the 
sunken  rock — "when  he  came  in,  that  it  distressed  him 
mightily  to  get  his  notes  out:  which  was  perhaps  the  cause 


6  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

of  his  having  a  kind  of  fit  on  him  after  a  little.  His  mem- 
ory grew  DAZED."  Mr.  Tope,  with  his  eyes  on  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Crisparkle,  shoots  this  word  out,  as  defying  him 
to  improve  upon  it :  "  and  a  dimness  and  giddiness  crept 
over  him  as  strange  as  ever  I  saw :  though  he  didn't  seem 
to  mind  it  particularly,  himself.  However,  a  little  time 
and  a  little  water  brought  him  out  of  his  DAZE."  Mr. 
Tope  repeats  the  word  and  its  emphasis,  with  the  air  of 
saying:  "As  I  have  made  a  success,  I'll  make  it  again." 

"  And  Mr.  Jasper  has  gone  home  quite  himself,  has  he?  " 
asked  the  Dean. 

"  Your  Reverence,  he  has  gone  home  quite  himself.  And 
I'm  glad  to  see  he's  having  his  fire  kindled  up,  for  it's 
chilly  after  the  wet,  and  the  Cathedral  had  both  a  damp 
feel  and  a  damp  touch  this  afternoon,  and  he  was  very 
shivery." 

They  all  three  look  towards  an  old  stone  gatehouse  cross- 
ing the  Close,  with  an  arched  thoroughfare  passing  beneath 
it.  Through  its  latticed  window,  a  fire  shines  out  upon  the 
fast-darkening  scene,  involving  in  shadow  the  pendent 
masses  of  ivy  and  creeper  covering  the  building's  front. 
As  the  deep  Cathedral-bell  strikes  the  hour,  a  ripple  of 
wind  goes  through  these  at  their  distance,  like  a  ripple  of 
the  solemn  sound  that  hums  through  tomb  and  tower, 
broken  niche  and  defaced,  statue,  in  the  pile  close  at  hand. 

"  Is  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew  with  him?  "  the  Dean  asks. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  Verger,  "but  expected.  There's 
his  own  solitary  shadow  betwixt  his  two  windows — the  one 
looking  this  way,  and  the  one  looking  down  into  the  High 
Street— drawing  his  own  curtains  now." 

"Well,  well,"  says  the  Dean,  with  a  sprightly  air  of 
breaking  up  the  little  conference,  "I  hope  Mr.  Jasper's 
heart  may  not  be  too  much  set  upon  his  nephew.  Our  af- 
fections, however  laudable,  in  this  transitory  world,  should 
never  master  us;  we  should  guide  them,  guide  them.  I 
find  I  am  not  disagreeably  reminded  of  my  dinner,  by  hear- 
ing my  dinner-bell.  Perhaps  Mr.  Crisparkle  you  will,  be- 
fore going  home,  look  in  on  Jasper?  " 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Dean.  And  tell  him  that  you  had  the 
kindness  to  desire  to  know  how  he  was?  " 

"Ay;  do  so,  do  so.  Certainly.  Wished  to  know  how 
he  was.  By  all  means.  Wished  to  know  how  he  was." 

With  a  pleasant  air  of  patronage,  the  Dean  as  nearly 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  7 

cocks  his  quaint  hat  as  a  Dean  in  good  spirits  may,  and 
directs  his  comely  gaiters  towards  the  ruddy  dining-room 
of  the  snug  old  red-brick  house  where  he  is  at  present,  "  in 
residence  "  with  Mrs.  Dean  and  Miss  Dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  Minor  Canon,  fair  and  rosy,  and  perpet- 
ually pitching  himself  head-foremost  into  all  the  deep  run- 
ning water  in  the  surrounding  country;  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
Minor  Canon,  early  riser,  musical,  classical,  cheerful,  kind, 
good-natured,  social,  contented,  and  boy-like;  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle, Minor  Canon  and  good  man,  lately  "  Coach  "  upon  the 
chief  Pagan  high  roads,  but  since  promoted  by  a  patron 
(grateful  for  a  well- taught  son)  to  his  present  Christian 
beat;  betakes  himself  to  the  gatehouse,  ou  his  way  home 
to  his  early  tea. 

"  Sorry  to  hear  from  Tope  that  you  have  not  been  well, 
Jasper." 

"0,  it  was  nothing,  nothing!  " 

"You  look  a  little  worn." 

"  Do  I?  O,  I  don't  think  so.  What  is  better,  I  don't 
feel  so.  Tope  has  made  too  much  of  it,  I  suspect.  It's 
his  trade  to  make  the  most  of  everything  appertaining  to 
the  Cathedral,  you  know." 

"  I  may  tell  the  Dean — I  call  expressly  from  the  Dean — 
that  you  are  all  right  again?  " 

The  reply,  with  a  slight  smile,  is:  "Certainly;  with  my 
respects  and  thanks  to  the  Dean." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that  you  expect  young  Drood." 

"I  expect  the  dear  fellow  every  moment." 

"  Ah !    He  will  do  you  more  good  than  a  doctor,  Jasper." 

"  More  good  than  a  dozen  doctors.  For  I  love  him  dear- 
ly, and  I  dou't  love  doctors,  or  doctors'  stuff." 

Mr.  Jasper  is  a  dark  man  of  some  six-and-twenty,  with 
thick,  lustrous,  well-arranged  black  hair  and  whiskers.  He 
looks  older  than  he  is,  as  dark  men  often  do.  His  voice 
is  deep  and  good,  his  face  and  figure  are  good,  his  manner 
is  a  little  sombre.  His  room  is  a  little  sombre,  and  may 
have  had  its  influence  in  forming  his  manner.  It  is  mostly 
in  shadow.  Even  when  the  sun  shines  brilliantly,  it  sel- 
dom touches  the  grand  piano  in  the  recess,  or  the  folio 
music-books  on  the  stand,  or  the  book-shelves  on  the  wall, 
or  the  unfinished  picture  of  a  blooming  schoolgirl  hanging 
over  the  chimneypiece;  her  flowing  brown  hair  tied  with  a 
blue  riband,  and  her  beauty  remarkable,  for  a  quite  childish, 


8  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

almost  babyish,  touch  of  saucy  discontent,  comically  con- 
scious of  itself.  (There  is  not  the  least  artistic  merit  in 
this  picture,  which  is  a  mere  daub;  but  it  is  clear  that  the 
painter  has  made  it  humorously — one  might  almost  say,  re- 
vengefully— like  the  original.) 

"  We  shall  miss  you,  Jasper,  at  the  'Alternate  Musical 
Wednesdays  '  to-night;  but  no  doubt  you  are  best  at  home. 
Good  night.  God  bless  you !  '  Tell  me,  shep-herds,  te-e- 
ell  me;  tell  me-e-e,  have  you  seen  (have  you  seen,  have 
you  seen,  have  you  seen)  my-y-y  Flo-o-ora-a  pass  this 
way ! ' '  Melodiously  good  Minor  Canon  the  Reverend 
Septimus  Crisparkle  thus  delivers  himself,  in  musical 
rhythm,  as  he  withdraws  his  amiable  face  from  the  doorway 
and  conveys  it  down-stairs. 

Sounds  of  recognition  and  greeting  pass  between  the 
Reverend  Septimus  and  somebody  else,  at  the  stair-foot. 
Mr.  Jasper  listens,  starts  from  his  chair,  and  catches  a 
young  fellow  in  his  arms,  exclaiming : 

"  My  dear  Edwin ! " 

"  My  dear  Jack !     So  glad  to  see  you !  " 

"  Get  off  your  greatcoat,  bright  boy,  and  sit  down  here 
in  your  own  corner.  Your  feet  are  not  wet?  Pull  your 
boots  off.  Do  pull  your  boots  off." 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  am  as  dry  as  a  bone.  Don't  moddley- 
coddley,  there's  a  good  fellow.  I  like  anything  better  than 
being  moddley-coddley." 

With  the  check  upon  him  of  being  unsympathetically 
restrained  in  a  genial  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Jasper 
stands  still,  and  looks  on  intently  at  the  young  fellow,  di- 
vesting himself  of  his  outward  coat,  hat,  gloves,  and  so 
forth.  Once  for  all,  a  look  of  intentness  and  intensity — a 
look  of  hungry,  exacting,  watchful,  and  yet  devoted  affec- 
tion— is  always,  now  and  ever  afterwards,  on  the  Jasper 
face  whenever  the  Jasper  face  is  addressed  in  this  direc- 
tion. And  whenever  it  is  so  addressed,  it  is  never,  on  this 
occasion  or  on  any  other,  dividedly  addressed;  it  is  always 
concentrated. 

"Now  I  am  right,  and  now  I'll  take  my  corner,  Jack. 
Any  dinner,  Jack?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  opens  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
and  discloses  a  small  inner  room  pleasantly  lighted  and 
prepared,  wherein  a  comely  dame  is  in  the  act  of  setting 
dishes  on  table. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  9 

"  What  a  jolly  old  Jack  it  is ! "  cries  the  young  fellow, 
with  a  clap  of  his  hands.  "Look  here,  Jack;  tell  me; 
whose  birthday  is  it?  " 

"Not  yours,  I  know,"  Mr.  Jasper  answers,  pausing  to 
consider. 

"Not  mine,  you  know?  No;  not  mine,  /  know! 
Pussy's ! " 

Fixed  as  the  look  the  young  fellow  meets,  is,  there  is  yet 
in  it  some  strange  power  of  suddenly  including  the  sketch 
over  the  chimney  piece. 

"Pussy's,  Jack!  We  must  drink  Many  happy  returns 
to  her.  Come,  uncle;  take  your  dutiful  and  sharp-set 
nephew  in  to  dinner." 

As  the  boy  (for  he  is  little  more)  lays  a  hand  on  Jasper's 
shoulder,  Jasper  cordially  and  gaily  lays  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  and  so  Marseillaise- wise  they  go  in  to  dinner. 

"  And,  Lord !  here's  Mrs.  Tope !  "  cries  the  boy.  "  Love- 
lier than  ever ! " 

"Never  you  mind  me,  Master  Edwin,"  retorts  the  Verg- 
er's wife;  "I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  You  can't.  You're  much  too  handsome.  Give  me  a 
kiss  because  it's  Pussy's  birthday." 

"  I'd  Pussy  you,  young  man,  if  I  was  Pussy,  as  you  call 
her,"  Mrs.  Tope  blushingly  retorts,  after  being  saluted. 
"Your  uncle's  too  much  wrapt  up  in  you,  that's  where  it 
is.  He  makes  so  much  of  you,  that  it's  my  opinion  you 
think  you'  ve  only  to  call  your  Pussys  by  the  dozen,  to  make 
'em  come." 

"You  forget,  Mrs.  Tope,"  Mr.  Jasper  interposes,  taking 
his  place  at  the  table  with  a  genial  smile,  "  and  so  do  you, 
Ned,  that  Uncle  and  Nephew  are  words  prohibited  here  by 
common  consent  and  express  agreement.  For  what  we 
are  going  to  receive  His  holy  name  be  praised !  " 

"  Done  like  the  Dean !  Witness,  Edwin  Drood !  Please 
to  carve,  Jack,  for  I  can't." 

This  sally  ushers  in  the  dinner.  Little  to  the  present 
purpose,  or  to  any  purpose,  is  said,  while  it  is  in  course  of 
being  disposed  of.  At  length  the  cloth  is  drawn,  and  a 
dish  of  walnuts  and  a  decanter  of  rich-coloured  sherry  are 
placed  upon  the  table. 

"I  say!  Tell  me,  Jack,"  the  young  fellow  then  flows 
on :  "  do  you  really  and  truly  feel  as  if  the  mention  of  our 
relationship  divided  us  at  all?  1  don't." 


10  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Uncles  as  a  rule,  Ned,  are  so  much  older  than  their 
nephews,"  is  the  reply,  "that  I  have  that  feeling  instinc- 
tively." 

"  As  a  rule !  Ah,  maybe !  But  what  is  a  difference  in 
age  of  half  a  dozen  years  or  so?  And  some  uncles,  in 
large  families,  are  even  younger  than  their  nephews.  By 
George,  I  wish  it  was  the  case  with  us ! " 

"Why?" 

"  Because  if  it  was,  I'd  take  the  lead  with  you,  Jack, 
and  be  as  wise  as  Begone,  dull  Care !  that  turned  a  young 
man  grey,  and  Begone,  dull  Care !  that  turned  an  old  man 
to  clay. — Halloa,  Jack!  Don't  drink." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"Asks  why  not,  on  Pussy's  birthday,  and  no  Happy  re- 
turns proposed !  Pussy,  Jack,  and  many  of  'em !  Happy 
returns,  I  mean." 

Laying  an  affectionate  and  laughing  touch  on  the  boy's 
extended  hand,  as  if  it  were  at  once  his  giddy  head  and  his 
light  heart,  Mr.  Jasper  drinks  the  toast  in  silence. 

"  Hip,  hip,  hip,  and  nine  times  nine,  and  one  to  finish 
with,  and  all  that,  understood.  Hooray,  hooray,  hooray! 
— And  now,  Jack,  let's  have  a  little  talk  about  Pussy. 
Two  pairs  of  nut-crackers?  Pass  me  one,  and  take  the 
other."  Crack.  "How's  Pussy  getting  on,  Jack?" 

"  With  her  music?     Fairly." 

"  What  a  dreadfully  conscientious  fellow  you  are,  Jack ! 
But  1  know,  Lord  bless  you !  Inattentive,  isn't  she?  " 

"  She  can  learn  anything,  if  she  will." 

"  If  she  will !     Egad,  that's  it.     But  if  she  won't?  " 

Crack! — on  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

"  How's  she  looking,  Jack?  " 

Mr.  Jasper's  concentrated  face  again  includes  the  por- 
trait as  he  returns:  "Very  like  your  sketch  indeed." 

"I  am  a  little  proud  of  it,"  says  the  young  fellow,  glan- 
cing up  at  the  sketch  with  complacency,  and  then  shutting 
one  eye,  and  taking  a  corrected  prospect  of  it  over  a  level 
bridge  of  nut-crackers  in  the  air :  "  Not  badly  hit  off  from 
memory.  But  I  ought  to  have  caught  that  expression 
pretty  well,  for  I  have  seen  it  often  enough." 

Crack! — on  Edwin  Drood's  part. 

Crack! — on  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

"In  point  of  fact,"  the  former  resumes,  after  some  silent 
dipping  among  his  fragments  of  walnut  with  an  air  of 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  11 

pique,  "I  see  it  whenever  I  go  to  see  Pussy.  If  I  don't 
find  it  on  her  face,  I  leave  it  there. — You  know  I  do,  Miss 
Scornful  Pert.  Booh !  "  With  a  twirl  of  the  nut-crackers 
at  the  portrait. 

Crack !  crack !  crack.     Slowly,  on  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

Crack.     Sharply  on  the  part  of  Edwin  Drood. 

Silence  on  both  sides. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  tongue,  Jack?  " 

"  Have  you  found  yours,  Ned?  " 

"No,  but  really; — isn't  it,  you  know,  after  all — " 

Mr.  Jasper  lifts  his  dark  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"  Isn't  it  unsatisfactory  to  be  cut  off  from  choice  in  such 
a  matter?  There,  Jack !  I  tell  you !  If  I  could  choose, 
I  would  choose  Pussy  from  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the 
world." 

"  But  you  have  not  got  to  choose." 

"That's  what  I  complain  of.  My  dead  and  gone  father 
and  Pussy's  dead  and  gone  father  must  needs  marry  us  to- 
gether by  anticipation.  Why  the — Devil,  I  was  going  to 
say,  if  it  had  been  respectful  to  their  memory — couldn't 
they  leave  us  alone?  " 

"Tut,  tut,  dear  boy,"  Mr.  Jasper  remonstrates,  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  deprecation. 

"  Tut,  tut?  Yes,  Jack,  it's  all  very  well  for  you.  You 
can  take  it  easily.  Your  life  is  not  laid  down  to  scale,  and 
lined  and  dotted  out  for  you,  like  a  surveyor's  plan.  You 
have  no  uncomfortable  suspicion  that  you  are  forced  upon 
anybody,  nor  has  anybody  an  uncomfortable  suspicion  that 
she  is  forced  upon  you,  or  that  you  are  forced  upon  her. 
You  can  choose  for  yourself.  Life,  for  you,  is  a  plum  with 
the  natural  bloom  on;  it  hasn't  been  over-carefully  wiped 
off  for  you — " 

"Don't  stop,  dear  fellow.     Go  on." 

"  Can  I  anyhow  have  hurt  your  feelings,  Jack?  " 

"  How  can  you  have  hurt  my  feelings?  " 

"Good  Heaven,  Jack,  you  look  frightfully  ill!  There's 
a  strange  film  come  ov£r  your  eyes." 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  forced  smile,  stretches  out  his  right 
hand,  as  if  at  once  to  disarm  apprehension  and  gain  time 
to  get  better.  After  a  while  he  says  faintly : 

"  I  have  been  taking  opium  for  a  pain — an  agony — that 
sometimes  overcomes  me.  The  effects  of  the  medicine  steal 
over  me  like  a  blight  or  a  cloud,  and  pass.  You  see  them 


12  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  the  act  of  passing;  they  will  be  gone  directly.  Look 
away  from  me.  They  will  go  all  the  sooner." 

With  a  scared  face  the  younger  man  complies  by  casting 
his  eyes  downward  at  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Not  relax- 
ing his  own  gaze  on  the  fire,  but  rather  strengthening  it 
with  a  fierce,  firm  grip  upon  his  elbow-chair,  the  elder  sits 
for  a  few  moments  rigid,  and  then,  with  thick  drops  stand- 
ing on  his  forehead,  and  a  sharp  catch  of  his  breath,  be- 
comes as  he  was  before.  On  his  so  subsiding  in  his  chair, 
his  nephew  gently  and  assiduously  tends  him  while  he 
quite  recovers.  When  Jasper  is  restored,  he  lays  a  tender 
hand  upon  his  nephew's  shoulder,  and,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
less  troubled  than  the  purport  of  his  words — indeed  with 
something  of  raillery  or  banter  in  it — thus  addresses  him : 

"There  is  said  to  be  a  hidden  skeleton  in  every  house; 
but  you  thought  there  was  none  in  mine,  dear  Ned." 

"  Upon  my  life,  Jack,  I  did  think  so.  However,  when  I 
come  to  consider  that  even  in  Pussy's  house — if  she  had 
one — and  in  mine — if  I  had  one — " 

"  You  were  going  to  say  (but  that  I  interrupted  you  in 
spite  of  myself)  what  a  quiet  life  mine  is.  No  whirl  and 
uproar  around  me,  no  distracting  commerce  or  calculation, 
no  risk,  no  change  of  place,  myself  devoted  to  the  art  I 
pursue,  my  business  my  pleasure." 

"  I  really  was  going  to  say  something  of  the  kind,  Jack; 
but  you  see,  you,  speaking  of  yourself,  almost  necessarily 
leave  out  much  that  I  should  have  put  in.  For  instance: 
I  should  have  put  in  the  foreground  your  being  so  much 
respected  as  Lay  Precentor,  or  Lay  Clerk,  or  whatever  you 
call  it,  of  this  Cathedral;  your  enjoying  the  reputation  of 
having  done  such  wonders  with  the  choir;  your  choosing 
your  society,  and  holding  such  an  independent  position  in 
this  queer  old  place;  your  gift  of  teaching  (why,  even 
Pussy,  who  don't  like  being  taught,  says  there  never  Avaa 
such  a  Master  as  you  are!),  and  your  connection." 

"Yes;  I  saw  what  you  were  tending  to.     I  hate  it." 

"  Hate  it,  Jack?  "     (Much  bewildered. ) 

"I  hate  it.  The  cramped  monotony  of  my  existence 
grinds  me  away  by  the  grain.  How  does  our  service  sound 
to  you?  " 

"  Beautiful !     Quite  celestial ! " 

"  It  often  sounds  to  me  quite  devilish.  I  am  so  Aveary 
of  it.  The  echoes  of  my  own  voice  among  the  arches  seem 


THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  13 

to  mock  me  with  my  daily  drudging  round.  No  wretched 
monk  who  droned  his  life  away  in  that  gloomy  place,  be- 
fore me,  can  have  been  more  tired  of  it  than  I  am.  He 
could  take  for  relief  (and  did  take)  to  carving  demons  out 
of  the  stalls  and  seats  and  desks.  Whet  shall  I  do?  Must 
I  take  to  carving  them  out  of  my  heart?  " 

"  I  thought  you  had  so  exactly  found  your  niche  in  life, 
Jack,"  Edwin  Drood  returns,  astonished,  bending  forward 
in  his  chair  to  lay  a  sympathetic  hand  on  Jasper's  knee,  and 
looking  at  him  with  an  anxious  face. 

"I  know  you  thought  so.     They  all  think  so." 

"Well,  I  suppose  they  do,"  says  Edwin,  meditating 
aloud.  "Pussy  thinks  so." 

"  When  did  she  tell  you  that?  " 

"The  last  time  I  was  here.  You  remember  when. 
Three  months  ago." 

"  How  did  she  phrase  it?  " 

"  0,  she  only  said  that  she  had  become  your  pupil,  and 
that  you  were  made  for  your  vocation." 

The  younger  man  glances  at  the  portrait.  The  elder  sees 
it  in  him. 

"Anyhow,  my  dear  Ned,"  Jasper  resumes,  as  he  shakes 
his  head  with  a  grave  cheerfulness,  "  I  must  subdue  myself 
to  my  vocation :  which  is  much  the  same  thing  outwardly. 
It's  too  late  to  find  another  now.  This  is  a  confidence  be- 
tween us." 

"It  shall  be  sacredly  preserved,  Jack." 

"  I  have  reposed  it  in  you,  because — " 

"  I  feel  it,  I  assure  you.  Because  we  are  fast  friends, 
and  because  you  love  and  trust  me,  as  I  love  and  trust  you. 
Both  hands,  Jack." 

As  each  stands  looking  into  the  other's  eyes,  and  as  the 
uncle  holds  the  nephew's  hands,  the  uncle  thus  proceeds : 

"  You  know  now,  don't  you,  that  even  a  poor  monoto- 
nous chorister  and  grinder  of  music — in  his  niche — may  be 
troubled  with  some  stray  sort  of  ambition,  aspiration,  rest- 
lessness, dissatisfaction,  what  shall  we  call  it?  " 

"Yes,  dear  Jack." 

"  And  you  will  remember?  " 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  only  ask  you,  am  I  likely  to  forget 
what  you  have  said  with  so. much  feeling?  " 

"Take  it  as  a  warning,  then." 

In  the  act  of  having  his  hands  released,  and  of  moving  a 


14  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

step  back,  Edwin  pauses  for  an  instant  to  consider  the  ap- 
plication of  these  last  words.  The  instant  over,  he  says, 
sensibly  touched  : 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  but  a  shallow,  surface  kind  of  fellow, 
Jack,  and  that  my  headpiece  is  none  of  the  best.  But  I 
needn't  say  I  am  young;  and  perhaps  I  shall  not  grow 
worse  as  I  grow  older.  At  all  events,  I  hope  I  have  some- 
thing impressible  within  me,  which  feels — deeply  feels — 
the  disinterestedness  of  your  painfully  laying  your  inner 
self  bare,  as  a  warning  to  me." 

Mr.  Jasper's  steadiness  of  face  and  figure  becomes  so 
marvellous  that  his  breathing  seems  to  have  stopped. 

"  I  couldn't  fail  to  notice,  Jack,  that  it  cost  you  a  great 
effort,  and  that  you  were  very  much  moved,  and  very  unlike 
your  usual  self.  Of  course  I  knew  that  you  were  ex- 
tremely fond  of  me,  but  I  really  was  not  prepared  for  your, 
as  I  may  say,  sacrificing  yourself  to  me  in  that  way." 

Mr.  Jasper,  becoming  a  breathing  man  again  without  the 
smallest  stage  of  transition  between  the  two  extreme  states, 
lifts  his  shoulders,  laughs,  and  waves  his  right  arm. 

"No;  don't  put  the  sentiment  away,  Jack;  please  don't; 
for  I  am  very  much  in  earnest.  I  have  no  doubt  that  that 
unhealthy  state  of  mind  which  you  have  so  powerfully  de- 
scribed is  attended  with  some  real  suffering,  and  is  hard 
to  bear.  But  let  me  reassure  you,  Jack,  as  to  the  chances 
of  its  overcoming  me.  I  don't  think  I  am  in  the  way  of  it. 
In  some  few  months  less  than  another  year,  you  know,  I 
shall  carry  Pussy  off  from  school  as  Mrs.  Edwin  Drood.  I 
shall  then  go  engineering  into  the  East,  and  Pussy  with 
me.  And  although  we  have  our  little  tiffs  now,  arising  out 
of  a  certain  unavoidable  flatness  that  attends  our  love-mak- 
ing, owing  to  its  end  being  all  settled  beforehand,  still  I 
have  no  doubt  of  our  getting  on  capitally  then,  when  it's 
done  and  can't  be  helped.  In  short,  Jack,  to  go  back  to 
the  old  song  I  was  freely  quoting  at  dinner. (and  who  knows 
old  songs  better  than  you?),  my  wife  shall  dance,  and  I 
will  sing,  so  merrily  pass  the  day.  Of  Pussy's  being  beau- 
tiful there  cannot  be  a  doubt; — and  when  you  are  good  be- 
sides, Little  Miss  Impudence,"  once  more  apostrophising 
the  portrait,  "  I'll  burn  your  comic  likeness,  and  paint  your 
music-master  another. " 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  his  hand  to  his  chin,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression of  musing  benevolence  on  his  face,  has  attentively 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.       15 

watched  every  animated  look  and  gesture  attending  the 
delivery  of  these  words.  He  remains  in  that  attitude  after 
they  are  spoken,  as  if  in  a  kind  of  fascination  attendant  on 
his  strong  interest  in  the  youthful  spirit  that  he  loves  so 
well.  Then  he  says  with  a  quiet  smile : 

"  You  won't  be  warned,  then?  " 

"No,  Jack." 

"  You  can't  be  warned,  then?  " 

"  No,  Jack,  not  by  you.  Besides  that  I  don't  really  con- 
sider myself  in  danger,  I  don't  like  your  putting  yourself 
in  that  position." 

"  Shall  we  go  and  walk  in  the  churchyard?  " 

"By  all  means.  You  won't  mind  my  slipping  out  of  it 
for  half  a  moment  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  leaving  a  parcel 
there?  Only  gloves  for  Pussy;  as  many  pairs  of  gloves  as 
she  is  years  old  to-day.  Rather  poetical,  Jack?  " 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  in  the  same  attitude,  murmurs: 
" '  Nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life,'  Ned !  " 

"  Here's  the  parcel  in  my  greatcoat-pocket.  They  must 
be  presented  to-night,  or  the  poetry  is  gone.  It's  against 
regulations  for  me  to  call  at  night,  but  not  to  leave  a  packet. 
I  am  ready,  Jack !  " 

Mr.  Jasper  dissolves  his  attitude,  and  they  go  out  to- 
gether. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  NUNS'  HOUSE. 

FOR  sufficient  reasons,  which  this  narrative  will  itself  un- 
fold as  it  advances,  a  fictitious  name  must  be  bestowed 
upon  the  old  Cathedral  town.  Let  it  stand  in  these  pages 
as  Cloisterham.  It  was  once  possibly  known  to  the  Druids 
by  another  name,  and  certainly  to  the  Romans  by  another, 
and  to  the  Saxons  by  another,  and  to  the  Normans  by  an- 
other; and  a  name  more  or  less  in  the  course  of  many  cen- 
turies can  be  of  little  moment  to  its  dusty  chronicles. 

An  ancient  city,  Cloisterham,  and  no  meet  dwelling-place 
for  any  one  with  hankerings  after  the  noisy  world.  A 
monotonous,  silent  city,  deriving  an  earthy  flavour  through- 
out from  its  cathedral  crypt,  and  so  abounding  in  vestiges 


16  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD- 

of  monastic  graves,  that  the  Cloisterham  children  grow 
small  salad  in  the  dust  of  abbots  and  abbesses,  and  make 
dirt-pies  of  nuns  and  friars;  while  every  ploughman  in  its 
outlying  fields  renders  to  once  puissant  Lord  Treasurers, 
Archbishops,  Bishops,  and  such-like,  the  attention  which 
the  Ogre  in  the  story-book  desired  to  render  to  his  unbidden 
visitor,  and  grinds  their  bones  to  make  his  bread. 

A  drowsy  city,  Cloisterham,  whose  inhabitants  seem  to 
suppose,  with  an  inconsistency  more  strange  than  rare,  that 
all  its  changes  lie  behind  it,  and  that  there  are  no  more  to 
come.  A  queer  moral  to  derive  from  antiquity,  yet  older 
than  any  traceable  antiquity.  So  silent  are  the  streets  of 
Cloisterham  (though  prone  to  echo  on  the  smallest  provoca- 
tion), that  of  a  summer-day  the  sunblinds  of  its  shops  scarce 
dare  to  flap  in  the  south  wind;  while  the  sun-browned 
tramps,  who  pass  along  and  stare,  quicken  their  limp  a.little, 
that  they  may  the  sooner  get  beyond  the  confines  of  its 
oppressive  respectability.  This  is  a  feat  not  difficult  of 
achievement,  seeing  that  the  streets  of  Cloisterham  city  are 
little  more  than  one  narrow  street  by  which  you  get  into  it 
and  get  out  of  it :  the  rest  being  mostly  disappointing  yards 
with  pumps  m  them  and  no  thoroughfare — exception  made 
of  the  Cathedral-close,  and  a  paved  Quaker  settlement,  in 
colour  and  general  conformation  very  like  a  Quakeress's 
bonnet,  up  in  a  shady  corner. 

In  a  word,  a  city  of  another  and  a  bygone  time  is  Clois- 
terham, with  its  hoarse  cathedral-bell,  its  hoarse  rooks  hov- 
ering about  the  Cathedral  tower,  its  hoarser  and  less  dis- 
tinct rooks  in  the  stalls  far  beneath.  Fragments  of  old 
wall,  saint's  chapel,  chapter-house,  convent  and  monastery, 
have  got  incongruously  or  obstructively  built  into  many  of 
its  houses  and  gardens,  muoh  as  kindred  jumbled  notions 
have  become  incorporated  into  many  of  its  citizens'  minds. 
All  things  in  it  are  of  the  past.  Even  its  single  pawn- 
broker takes  in  no  pledges,  nor  has  he  for  a  long  time,  but 
offers  vainly  an  unredeemed  stock  for  sale,  of  which  the 
costlier  articles  are  dim  and  pale  old  watches  apparently  in 
a  slow  perspiration,  tarnished  sugar-tongs  with  ineffectual 
legs,  and  odd  volumes  of  dismal  books.  The  most  abun- 
dant and  the  most  agreeable  evidences  of  progressing  life  in 
Cloisterham  are  the  evidences  of  vegetable  life  in  many 
gardens;  even  its  drooping  and  despondent  little  theatre 
has  its  poor  strip  of  garden,  receiving  the  foul  fiend,  when 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  17 

he  ducks  from  its  stage  into  the  infernal  regions,  among 
scarlet-beans  or  oyster-shells,  according  to  the  season  of 
the  year. 

In  the  midst  of  Cloisterham  stands  the  Nuns'  House :  a 
venerable  brick  edifice,  whose  present  appellation  is  doubt- 
less derived  from  the  legend  of  its  conventual  uses.  On 
the  trim  gate  enclosing  its  old  courtyard  is  a  resplendent 
brass  plate  flashing  forth  the  legend :  "  Seminary  for 
Young  Ladies.  Miss  Twinkleton."  The  house-front  is  so 
old  and  worn,  and  the  brass  plate  is  so  shining  and  staring, 
that  the  general  result  has  reminded  imaginative  strangers 
of  a  battered  old  beau  with  a  large  modern  eye-glass  stuck 
in  his  blind  eye. 

Whether  the  nuns  of  yore,  being  of  a  submissive  rather 
than  a  stiff-necked  generation,  habitually  bent  their  con- 
templative heads  to  avoid  collision  with  the  beams  in  the 
low  ceilings  of  the  many  chambers  of  their  House;  whether 
they  sat  in  its  long  low  windows  telling  their  beads  for 
their  mortification,  instead  of  making  necklaces  of  them  for 
their  adornment;  whether  they  were  ever  walled  up  alive 
in  odd  angles  and  jutting  gables  of  the  building  for  having 
some  ineradicable  leaven  of  busy  mother  Nature  in  them 
which  has  kept  the  fermenting  world  alive  ever  since; 
these  may  be  matters  of  interest  to  its  haunting  ghosts  (if 
any),  but  constitute  no  item  in  Miss  Twinkleton' s  half- 
yearly  accounts.  They  are  neither  of  Miss  Twinkleton's 
inclusive  regulars,  nor  of  her  extras.  The  lady  who  under- 
takes the  poetical  department  of  the  establishment  at  so 
much  (or  so  little)  a  quarter  has  no  pieces  in  her  list  of  re- 
citals bearing  on  such  unprofitable  questions. 

As,  in  some  cases  of  drunkenness  and  in  others  of  ani- 
mal magnetism,  there  are  two  states  of  consciousness  which 
never  clash,  but  each  of  which  pursues  its  separate  course 
as  though  it  were  continuous  instead  of  broken  (thus,  if  I 
hide  my  watch  when  I  am  drunk,  I  must  be  drunk  again 
before  I  can  remember  where),  so  Miss  Twinkleton  has  two 
distinct  and  separate  phases  of  being.  Every  night,  the 
moment  the  young  ladies  have  retired  to  rest,  does  Miss 
Twinkleton  smarten  up  her  curls  a  little,  brighten  up  her 
eyes  a  little,  and  become  a  sprightlier  Miss  Twinkleton 
than  the  young  ladies  have  ever  seen.  Every  night,  at  the 
same  hour,  does  Miss  Twinkleton  resume  the  topics  of  the 
previous  night,  comprehending  the  tenderer  scandal  of 
2 


18  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Cloisterham,  of  which  she  has  no  knowledge  whatever  by 
day,  and  references  to  a  certain  season  at  Tunbridge  Wells 
(airily  called  by  Miss  Twinkleton  in  this  state  of  her  exist- 
ence "  The  Wells  " ) ,  notably  the  season  wherein  a  certain 
finished  gentleman  (compassionately  called  by  Miss  Twin- 
kleton, in  this  stage  of  her  existence,  "  Foolish  Mr.  Por- 
ters") revealed  a  homage  of  the  heart,  whereof  Miss  Twin- 
kleton, in  her  scholastic  state  of  existence,  is  as  ignorant 
as  a  granite  pillar.  Miss  Twinkleton's  companion  in  both 
states  of  existence,  and  equally  adaptable  to  either,  is  one 
Mrs.  Tisher:  a  deferential  widow  with  a  weak  back,  a 
chronic  sigh,  and  a  suppressed  voice,  who  looks  after  the 
young  ladies'  wardrobes,  and  leads  them  to  infer  that  she 
has  seen  better  days.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why 
it  is  an  article  of  faith  with  the  servants,  handed  down 
from  race  to  race,  that  the  departed  Tisher  was  a  hair- 
dresser. 

The  pet  pupil  of  the  Nuns'  House  is  Miss  Rosa  Bud,  of 
course  called  Rosebud;  wonderfully  pretty,'  wonderfully 
childish,  wonderfully  whimsical.  An  awkward  interest 
(awkward  because  romantic)  attaches  to  Miss  Bud  in  the 
minds  of  the  young  ladies,  on  account  of  its  being  known 
to  them  that  a  husband  has  been  chosen  for  her  by  will  and 
bequest,  and  that  her  guardian  is  bound  down  to  bestow 
her  on  that  husband  when  he  comes  of  age.  Miss  Twiu- 
kleton,  in  her  seminarial  state  of  existence,  has  combated 
the  romantic  aspect  of  this  destiny  by  affecting  to  shake 
her  head  over  it  behind  Miss  Bud's  dimpled  shoulders,  and 
to  brood  on  the  unhappy  lot  of  that  doomed  little  victim. 
But  with  no  better  effect — possibly  some  unfelt  touch  of 
foolish  Mr.  Porter's  has  undermined  the  endeavour — than 
to  evoke  from  the  young  ladies  an  unanimous  bedchamber 
cry  of  "  0,  what  a  pretending  old  thing  Miss  Twinkleton 
is,  my  dear ! " 

The  Nuns'  House  is  never  in  such  a  state  of  flutter  as 
when  this  allotted  husband  calls  to  see  little  Rosebud.  (It 
is  unanimously  understood  by  the  young  ladies  that  he  is 
lawfully  entitled  to  this  privelege,  and  that  If  Miss  Twin- 
kleton disputed  it,  she  would  be  instantly  taken  up  and 
transported.)  When  his  ring  at  the  gate-bell  is  expected, 
or  takes  place,  every  young  lady  who  can,  under  any  pre- 
tence, look  out  of  window,  looks  out  of  window;  while  ev- 
ery young  lady  who  is  "practising,"  practises  out  of  time; 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  19 

and  the  French  class  becomes  so  demoralised  that  the  mark 
goes  round  as  briskly  as  the  bottle  at  a  convivial  party  in 
the  last  century. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  next  after  the  dinner  of  two 
at  the  gatehouse,  the  bell  is  rung  with  the  usual  fluttering 
results. 

"Mr.  Edwin  Drood  to  see  Miss  Rosa." 

This  is  the  announcement  of  the  parlour-maid  in  chief. 
Miss  Twinkleton,  with  an  exemplary  air  of  melancholy  on 
her,  turns  to  the  sacrifice,  and  says :  "  You  may  go  down, 
my  dear."  Miss  Bud  goes  down,  followed  by  all  eyes. 

Mr.  Edwin  Drood  is  waiting  in  Miss  Twinkleton' s  own 
parlour :  a  dainty  room,  with  nothing  more  directly  scho- 
lastic in  it  than  a  terrestrial  and  a  celestial  globe.  These 
expressive  machines  imply  (to  parents  and  guardians)  that 
even  when  Miss  Twinkleton  retires  into  the  bosom  of  pri- 
vacy, duty  may  at  any  moment  compel  her  to  become  a  sort 
of  Wandering  Jewess,  scouring  the  earth  and  soaring 
through  the  skies  in  search  of  knowledge  for  her  pupils. 

The  last  new  maid,  who  has  never  seen  the  young  gentle- 
man Miss  Rosa  is  engaged  to,  and  who  is  making  his  ac- 
quaintance between  the  hinges  of  the  open  door,  left  open 
for  the  purpose,  stumbles  guiltily  down  the  kitchen  stairs, 
as  a  charming  little  apparition,  with  its  face  concealed  by 
a  little  silk  apron  thrown  over  its  head,  glides  into  the  par- 
lour. 

"  0 !  it  is  so  ridiculous ! "  says  the  apparition,  stopping 
and  shrinking.  "  Don't,  Eddy ! " 

"  Don't  what,  Rosa?  " 

"Don't  come  any  nearer,  please.     It  is  so  absurd." 

"  What  is  absurd,  Rosa?  " 

"The  whole  thing  is.  It  is  so  absurd  to  be  an  engaged 
orphan;  and  it  is  so  absurd  to  have  the  girls  and  the  ser- 
vants scuttling  about  after  one,  like  mice  in  the  wainscot; 
and  it  is  so  absurd  to  be  called  upon ! " 

The  apparition  appears  to  have  a  thumb  in  the  corner 
of  its  mouth  while  making  this  complaint. 

"  You  give  me  an  affectionate  reception,  Pussy,  I  must 
say." 

"Well,  I  will  in  a  minute,  Eddy,  but  I  can't  just  yet. 
How  are  you?"  (very  shortly). 

"  I  am  unable  to  reply  that  I  am  much  the  better  for  see« 
ing  you,  Pussy,  inasmuch  as  I  see  nothing  of  you." 


20  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

This  second  remonstrance  brings  a  dark  bright  pouting 
eye  out  from  a  corner  of  the  apron ;  but  it  swiftly  becomes 
invisible  again,  as  the  apparition  exclaims :  "  O  good  gra- 
cious !  you  have  had  half  your  hair  cut  off ! " 

"  I  should  have  done  better  to  have  had  my  head  cut  off, 
I  think,"  says  Edwin,  rumpling  the  hair  in  question,  with 
a  fierce  glance  at  the  looking-glass,  and  giving  an  impa- 
tient stamp.  "  Shall  I  go?  " 

"No;  you  needn't  go  just  yet,  Eddy.  The  girls  would 
all  be  asking  questions  why  you  went." 

"Once  for  all,  .Rosa,  will  you  uncover  that  ridiculous 
little  head  of  yours  and  give  me  a  welcome?  " 

The  apron  is  pulled  off  the  childish  head,  as  its  wearer 
replies :  "  You're  very  welcome,  Eddy.  There !  I'm  sure 
that's  nice.  Shake  hands.  No,  I  can't  kiss  you,  because 
I've  got  an  acidulated  drop  in  my  mouth." 

"  Are  you  at  all  glad  to  see  me,  Pussy?  " 

"O,  yes,  I'm  dreadfully  glad. — Go  and  sit  down. — Miss 
Twinkle  ton." 

It  is  the  custom  of  that  excellent  lady  when  these 
visits  occur,  to  appear  every  three  minutes,  either  in 
her  own  person  or  in  that  of  Mrs.  Tisher,  and  lay  an  offer- 
ing on  the  shrine  of  Propriety  by  affecting  to  look  for 
some  desiderated  article.  On  the  present  occasion  Miss 
Twinkleton,  gracefully  gliding  in  and  out,  says  in  pass- 
ing: "How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Drood?  Very  glad  indeed  to 
have  the  pleasure.  Pray  excuse  me.  Tweezers.  Thank 
you ! " 

"I  got  the  gloves  last  evening,  Eddy,  and  I  like  them 
very  much.  They  are  beauties." 

"  Well,  that's  something,"  the  affianced  replies,  half 
grumbling.  "  The  smallest  encouragement  thankfully  re- 
ceived. And  how  did  you  pass  your  birthday,  Pussy?  " 

"  Delightfully !  Everybody  gave  me  a  present.  And  we 
had  a  feast.  And  we  had  a  ball  at  night." 

"A  feast  and  a  ball,  eh?  These  occasions  seem  to  go  off 
tolerably  well  without  me,  Pussy." 

"  De-lightf ully ! "  cries  Rosa,  in  a  quite  spontaneous 
manner,  and  without  the  least  pretence  of  reserve. 

"  Hah !     And  what  was  the  feast?  " 

"Tarts,  oranges,  jellies,  and  shrimps." 

"  Any  partners  at  the  ball?  " 

"  We  danced  with  one  another,  of  course,  sir.    But  some 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  21 

of  the  girls  made  game  to  be  their  brothers.     It  was  so 
droll!" 

"  Did  anybody  make  game  to  be — " 

"  To  be  you?  O  dear  yes !  "  cries  Rosa,  laughing  with 
great  enjoyment.  "That  was  the  first  thing  done." 

"I  hope  she  did  it  pretty  well,"  says  Edwin  rather 
doubtfully. 

"0,  it  was  excellent! — I  wouldn't  dance  with  you,  you 
know." 

Edwin  scarcely  seems  to  see  the  force  of  this;  begs  to 
know  if  he  may  take  the  liberty  to  ask  why? 

"  Because  I  was  so  tired  of  you, "  returns  Rosa.  But  she 
quickly  adds,  and  pleadingly  too,  seeing  displeasure  in  his 
face:  "Dear  Eddy,  you  were  just  as  tired  of  me,  you 
know." 

"  Did  I  say  so,  Rosa?  " 

"Say  so!  Do  you  ever  say  so?  No,  you  only  showed 
it.  0,  she  did  it  so  well !  "  cries  Rosa,  in  a  sudden  ecstasy 
with  her  counterfeit  betrothed. 

"It  strikes  me  that  she  must  be  a  devilish  impudent 
girl,"  says  Edwin  Droodo  "And  so,  Pussy,  you  have 
passed  your  last  birthday  in  this  old  house." 

"Ah,  yes!  "  Rosa  clasps  her  hands,  looks  down  with  a 
sigh,  and  shakes  her  head. 

"  You  seem  to  be  sorry,  Rosa." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  old  place.  Somehow,  I  feel  as 
if  it  would  miss  me,  when  I  am  gone  so  far  away,  so 
young." 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  stop  short,  Rosa?  " 

She  looks  up  at  him  with  a  swift  bright  look;  next  mo- 
ment shakes  her  head,  sighs,  and  looks  down  again. 

"That  is  to  say,  is  it,  Pussy,  that  we  are  both  resigned?" 

She  njds  her  head  again,  and  after  a  short  silence, 
quaintly  bursts  out  with :  "  You  know  we  must  be  mar- 
ried, and  married  from  here,  Eddy,  or  the  poor  girls  will 
be  so  dreadfully  disappointed ! " 

For  the  moment  there  is  more  of  compassion,  both  for 
her  and  for  himself,  in  her  affianced  husband's  face,  than 
there  is  of  love.  He  checks  the  look,  and  asks :  "  Shall  I 
take  you  out  for  a  walk,  Rosa  dear?  " 

Rosa  dear  does  not  seem  at  all  clear  on  this  point,  until 
her  face,  which  has  been  comically  reflective,  brightens. 
"  O  yes,  Eddy ;  let  us  go  for  a  walk !  And  I  tell  you  what 


22  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

we'll  do.  You  shall  pretend  that  you  are  engaged  to  some- 
body else,  and  I'll  pretend  that  I  am  not  engaged  to  any- 
body, and  then  we  shan't  quarrel." 

"Do  you  think  that  will  prevent  our  falling  out,  Eosa?  " 

"  I  know  it  will.  Hush !  Pretend  to  look  out  of  window 
—Mrs.  Tisher !  » 

Through  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  accidents,  the  matronly 
Tisher  heaves  in  sight,  says,  in  rustling  through  the  room 
like  the  legendary  ghost  of  a  dowager  in  silken  skirts :  "  I 
hope  I  see  Mr.  Drood  well;  though  I  needn't  ask,  if  I  may 
judge  from  his  complexion.  I  trust  I  disturb  no  one;  but 
there  was  a  paper-knife — O,  thank  you,  I  am  sure !  "  and 
disappears  with  her  prize. 

"  One  other  thing  you  must  do,  Eddy,  to  oblige  me,"  says 
Rosebud.  "  The  moment  we  get  into  the  street,  you  must 
put  me  outside,  and  keep  close  to  the  house  yourself — 
squeeze  and  graze  yourself  against  it." 

"  By  all  means,  Rosa,  if  you  wish  it.     Might  I  ask  why?  " 

"O!  because  I  don't  want  the  girls  to  see  you." 

"It's  a  fine  day;  but  would  you  like  me  to  carry  an  um- 
brella up?  " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  sir.  You  haven't  got  polished  leather 
boots  on,"  pouting,  with  one  shoulder  raised. 

"  Perhaps  that  might  escape  the  notice  of  the  girls,  even 
if  they  did  see  me,"  remarks  Edwin,  looking  down  at  his 
boots  with  a  sudden  distaste  for  them. 

"  Nothing  escapes  their  notice,  sir.  And  then  I  know 
what  would  happen.  Some  of  them  would  begin  reflecting 
on  me  by  saying  (for  they  are  free)  that  they  never  will  on 
any  account  engage  themselves  to  lovers  without  polished 
leather  boots.  Hark!  Miss  Twinkleton.  I'll  ask  for 
leave." 

That  discreet  lady  being  indeed  heard  without,  inquir- 
ing of  nobody  in  a  blandly  conversational  tone  as  she  ad- 
vances :  "  Eh?  Indeed !  Are  you  quite  sure  you  saw  my 
mother-of-pearl  button-holder  on  the  work-table  in  my 
room?  "  is  at  once  solicited  for  walking  leave,  and  gra- 
ciously accords  it.  And  soon  the  young  couple  go  out  of 
the  Nuns'  House,  taking  all  precautions  against  the  dis- 
covery of  the  so  vitally  defective  boots  of  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood :  precautions,  let  us  hope,  effective  for  the  peace  of 
Mrs.  Edwin  Drood  that  is  to  be. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  take,  Rosa?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  23 

Rosa  replies:  "I  want  to  go  to  the  Luinps-of- Delight 
shop." 

"  To  the—?  " 

"A  Turkish  sweetmeat,  sir.  My  gracious  me,  don't  you 
understand  anything?  Call  yourself  an  Engineer,  and  not 
know  that  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  should  I  know  it,  Rosa?  " 

"Because  I  am  very  fond  of  them.  But  0!  I  forgot 
what  we  are  to  pretend.  No,  you  needn't  know  anything 
about  them;  never  mind." 

So  he  is  gloomily  borne  off  to  the  Lumps-of- Delight  shop, 
where  Rosa  makes  her  purchase,  and,  after  offering  some 
to  him  (which  he  rather  indignantly  declines),  begins  to 
partake  of  it  with  great  zest:  previously  taking  off  and 
rolling  up  a  pair  of  little  pink  gloves,  like  rose-leaves,  and 
occasionally  putting  her  little  pink  fingers  to  her  rosy  lips, 
to  cleanse  them  from  the  Dust  of  Delight  that  comes  off 
the  Lumps. 

"Now,  be  a  good-tempered  Eddy,  and  pretend.  And  so 
you  are  engaged?  " 

"And  so  I  am  engaged." 

"  Is  she  nice?  " 

"Charming." 

"Tall?" 

"  Immensely  tall !  "     Rosa  being  short. 

"Must  be  gawky,  I  should  think,"  is  Rosa's  quiet  com- 
mentary. 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  not  at  all,"  contradiction  rising  in 
him.  "  What  is  termed  a  fine  woman;  a  splendid  woman." 

"Big  nose,  no  doubt,"  is  the  quiet  commentary  again. 

"  Not  a  little  one,  certainly,"  is  the  quick  reply.  (Rosa's 
being  a  little  one.) 

"Long  pale  nose,  with  a  red  knob  in  the  middle.  1 
know  the  sort  of  nose,"  says  Rosa,  with  a  satisfied  nod,  and 
tranquilly  enjoying  the  Lumps. 

"You  don't  know  the  sort  of  nose,  Rosa,"  with  some 
warmth;  "because  it's  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Not  a  pale  nose,  Eddy?  " 

"No."     Determined  not  to  assent. 

"A  red  nose?  O!  I  don't  like  red  noses.  However;  to 
be  sure  she  can  always  powder  it." 

"She  would  scorn  to  powder  it,"  says  Edwin,  becoming 
heated. 


24  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

"Would  she?  What  a  stupid  thing  she  must  be!  Is 
she  stupid  in  everything?  " 

"No;  in  nothing." 

After  a  pause,  in  which  the  whimsically  wicked  face  has 
not  been  unobservant  of  him,  Rosa  says : 

"  And  this  most  sensible  of  creatures  likes  the  idea  of 
being  carried  off  to  Egypt;  does  she,  Eddy?  " 

"  Yes.  She  takes  a  sensible  interest  in  triumphs  of  en- 
gineering skill:  especially  when  they  are  to  change  the 
whole  condition  of  an  undeveloped  country." 

"  Lor !  "  says  Rosa,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  with  a  lit- 
tle laugh  of  wonder.  » 

"Do  you  object,"  Edwin  inquires,  with  a  majestic  turn 
of  his  eyes  downward  upon  the  fairy  figure :  "  do  you  ob- 
ject, Rosa,  to  her  feeling  that  interest?  " 

"  Object?  iny  dear  Eddy !  But  really,  doesn't  she  hate 
boilers  and  things?  " 

"I  can  answer  for  her  not  being  so  idiotic  as  to  hate 
Boilers,"  he  returns  with  angry  emphasis;  "though  I  can- 
not answer  for  her  views  about  Things;  really  not  under- 
standing what  Things  are  meant." 

"  But  don't  she  hate  Arabs,  and  Turks,  and  Fellahs,  and 
people?  " 

"  Certainly  not."     Very  firmly. 

"  At  least  she  must  hate  the  Pyramids?     Come,  Eddy?  " 

"  Why  should  she  be  such  a  little — tall,  I  mean — goose, 
as  to  hate  the  Pyramids,  Rosa?  " 

"Ah!  you  should  hear  Miss  Twinkleton,"  often  nodding 
her  head,  and  much  enjoying  the  Lumps,  "bore  about 
them,  and  then  you  wouldn't  ask.  Tiresome  old  burying- 
grounds!  Isises,  and  Ibises,  and  Cheopses,  and  Pha- 
raohses;  who  cares  about  them?  And  then  there  was  Bel- 
zoni,  or  somebody,  dragged  out  by  the  legs,  half-choked 
with  bats  and  dust.  All  the  girls  say :  Serve  him  right, 
and  hope  it  hurt  him,  and  wish  he  had  been  quite 
choked." 

The  two  youthful  figures,  side  by  side,  but  not  now  arm- 
in-arm,  wander  discontentedly  about  the  old  Close;  and  each 
sometimes  stops  and  slowly  imprints  a  deeper  footstep  in 
the  fallen  leaves. 

"  Well !  "  says  Edwin,  a  fter  a  lengthy  silence.  "  Accord- 
ing to  custom.  We  can't  get  on,  Rosa." 

Rosa  tosses  her  head,  and  says  she  don't  want  to  get  on. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  25 

"That's  a  pretty  sentiment,  Rosa,  considering." 

"  Considering  what?  " 

"If  I  say  what,  you'll  go  wrong  again." 

"  You'll  go  wrong,  you  mean,  Eddy.  Don't  be  ungen- 
erous." 

"  Ungenerous !     I  like  that ! " 

"Then  I  don't  like  that,  and  so  I  tell  you  plainly,"  Rosa 
pouts. 

"  Now,  Rosa,  I  put  it  to  you.  Who  disparaged  my  pro- 
fession, my  destination — " 

"You  are  not  going  to  be  buried  in  the  Pyramids,  I 
hope? "  she  interrupts,  arching  her  delicate  eyebrows. 
"  You  never  said  you  were.  If  you  are,  why  haven't  you 
mentioned  it  to  me?  I  can't  find  out  your  plans  by  in- 
stinct." 

"Now,  Rosa,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  my 
dear." 

"  Well  then,  why  did  you  begin  with  your  detestable 
red-nosed  giantesses?  And  she  would,  she  would,  she 
would,  she  would,  she  WOULD  powder  it ! "  cries  Rosa,  in  a 
little  burst  of  comical  contradictory  spleen. 

"  Somehow  or  other,  I  never  can  come  right  in  these  dis- 
cussions," says  Edwin,  sighing  and  becoming  resigned. 

"  How  is  it  possible,  sir,  that  you  ever  can  come  right 
when  you're  always  wrong?  And  as  to  Belzoni,  I  suppose 
he's  dead; — I'm  sure  I  hope  he  is — and  how  can  his  legs 
or  his  chokes  concern  you?  " 

"  It  is  nearly  time  for  your  return,  Rosa.  We  have  not 
had  a  very  happy  walk,  have  we?  " 

"  A  happy  walk?  A  detestably  unhappy  walk,  sir.  If 
I  go  up-stairs  the  moment  I  get  in  and  cry  till  I  can't  take 
my  dancing  lesson,  you  are  responsible,  mind !  " 

"Let  us  be  friends,  Rosa." 

"  Ah ! "  cries  Rosa,  shaking  her  head  and  bursting  into 
real  tears,  "I  wish  we  could  be  friends!  It's  because  we 
can't  be  friends,  that  we  try  one  another  so.  I  am  a  young 
little  thing,  Eddy,  to  have  an  old  heartache;  but  I  really, 
really  have,  sometimes.  Don't  be  angry.  I  know  you 
have  one  yourself  too  often.  We  should  both  of  us  have 
done  better,  if  What  is  to  be  had  been  left  What  might 
have  been.  I  am  quite  a  little  serious  thing  now,  and  not 
teasing  you.  Let  each  of  us  forbear,  this  one  time,  on  our 
own  account,  and  on  the  other's ! " 


26  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Disarmed  by  this  glimpse  of  a  woman's  nature  in  the 
spoilt  child,  though  for  an  instant  disposed  to  resent  it  as 
seeming  to  involve  the  enforced  infliction  of  himself  upon 
her,  Edwin  Drood  stands  watching  her  as  she  childishly 
cries  and  sobs,  with  both  hands  to  the  handkerchief  at  her 
eyes,  and  then — she  becoming  more  composed,  and  indeed 
beginning  in  her  young  inconstancy  to  laugh  at  herself  for 
having  been  so  moved — leads  her  to  a  seat  hard  by,  under 
the  elm-trees. 

"  One  clear  word  of  understanding,  Pussy  dear.  I  am 
not  clever  out  of  my  own  line — now  I  come  to  think  of  it, 
I  don't  know  that  I  am  particularly  clever  in  it — but  I 
want  to  do  right.  There  is  not — there  may  be — I  really 
don't  see  my  way  to  what  I  want  to  say,  but  I  must  say  it 
before  we  part — there  is  not  any  other  young — " 

"0  no,  Eddy!  It's  generous  of  you  to  ask  me;  but  no, 
no,  no ! " 

They  have  come  very  near  to  the  Cathedral  windows,  and 
at  this  moment  the  organ  and  the  choir  sound  out  sublimely. 
As  they  sit  listening  to  the  solemn  swell,  the  confidence 
of  last  night  rises  in  young  Edwin  Drood' s  mind,  and  he 
thinks  how  unlike  this  music  is  to  that  discordance. 

"I  fancy  I  can  distinguish  Jack's  voice,"  is  his  remark 
in  a  low  tone  in  connection  with  the  train  of  thought. 

"Take  me  back  at  once,  please,"  urges  his  Affianced, 
quickly  laying  her  light  hand  upon  his  wrist.  "  They  will 
all  be  coming  out  directly;  let  us  get  away.  O,  what  a 
resounding  chord !  But  don't  let  us  stop  to  listen  to  it;  let 
us  get  away ! " 

Her  hurry  is  over  as  soon  as  they  have  passed  out  of  the 
Close.  They  go  arm-in-arm  now,  gravely  and  deliberately 
enough,  along  the  old  High-street,  to  the  Nuns'  House.  At 
the  gate,  the  street  being  within  sight  empty,  Edwin  bends 
down  his  face  to  Rosebud's. 

She  remonstrates,  laughing,  and  is  a  childish  schoolgirl 
again. 

"Eddy,  no!  I'm  too  sticky  to  be  kissed.  But  give  me 
your  hand,  and  I'll  blow  a  kiss  into  that." 

He  does  so.  She  breathes  a  light  breath  into  it  and 
asks,  retaining  it  and  looking  into  it : — 

"  Now  say,  what  do  you  see?  " 

"  See,  Rosa?  " 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  Egyptian  boys  could  look  into  a 


27 

hand  and  see  all  sorts  of  phantoms.    Can't  you  see  a  happy 
Future?  " 

For  certain,  neither  of  them  sees  a  happy  Present,  as 
the  gate  opens,  and  closes,  and  one  goes  in,  and  the  other 
goes  away. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

MR.  SAP8EA. 

ACCEPTING  the  Jackass  as  the  type  of  self-sufficient  stu- 
pidity and  conceit — a  custom,  perhaps,  like  some  few  other 
customs,  more  conventional  than  fair— then  the  purest 
Jackass  in  Cloisterham  is  Mr.  Thomas  Sapsea,  Auctioneer. 

Mr.  Sapsea  "  dresses  at "  the  Dean;  has  been  bowed  to 
for  the  Dean,  in  mistake;  has  even  been  spoken  to  in  the 
street,  as  My  Lord,  under  the  impression  that  he  was  the 
Bishop  come  down  unexpectedly,  without  his  chaplain. 
Mr.  Sapsea  is  very  proud  of  this,  and  of  his  voice,  and  of 
his  style.  He  has  even  (in  selling  landed  property)  tried 
the  experiment  of  slightly  intoning  in  his  pulpit,  to  make 
himself  more  like  what  he  takes  to  be  the  genuine  ecclesi- 
astical article.  So,  in  ending  a  Sale  by  Public  Auction, 
Mr.  Sapsea  finishes  off  with  an  air  of  bestowing  a  benedic- 
tion on  the  assembled  brokers,  which  leaves  the  real  Dean 
— a  modest  and  worthy  gentleman — far  behind. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  many  admirers;  indeed,  the  proposition 
is  carried  by  a  large  local  majority,  even  including  non- 
believers  in  his  wisdom,  that  he  is  a  credit  to  Cloisterham. 
He  possesses  the  great  qualities  of  being  portentous  and 
dull,  and  of  having  a  roll  in  his  speech,  and  another  roll  in 
his  gait;  not  to  mention  a  certain  gravely  flowing  action 
with  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  presently  going  to  Confirm 
the  individual  with  whom  he  holds  discourse.  Much  nearer 
sixty  years  of  age  than  fifty,  with  a  flowing  outline  of 
stomach,  and  horizontal  creases  in  his  waistcoat;  reputed 
to  be  rich;  voting  at  elections  in  the  strictly  respectable  in- 
terest; morally  satisfied  that  nothing  but  he  himself  has 
grown  since  he  was  a  baby;  how  can  dunder-headed  Mr. 
Sapsea  be  otherwise  than  a  credit  to  Cloisterham,  and  so- 
ciety? 


28  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Sapsea's  premises  are  in  the  High-street,  over 
against  the  Nuns'  House.  They  are  of  about  the  period  of 
the  Nuns'  House,  irregularly  modernised  here  and  there, 
as  steadily  deteriorating  generations  found,  more  and  more, 
that  they  preferred  air  and  light  to  Fever  and  the  Plague. 
Over  the  doorway  is  a  wooden  effigy,  about  half  life-size, 
representing  Mr.  Sapsea's  father,  in  a  curly  wig  and  toga, 
in  the  act  of  selling.  The  chastity  of  the  idea,  and  the 
natural  appearance  of  the  little  finger,  hammer,  and  pul- 
pit, have  been  much  admired. 

Mr.  Sapsea  sits  in  his  dull  ground-floor  sitting-room, 
giving  first  on  his  paved  back  yard;  and  then  on  his  railed- 
off  garden.  Mr.  Sapsea  has  a  bottle  of  port  wine  on  a 
table  before  the  fire — the  fire  is  an  early  luxury,  but  pleas- 
ant on  the  cool,  chilly  autumn  evening — and  is  characteris- 
tically attended  by  his  portrait,  his  eight-day  clock,  and 
his  weather-glass.  Characteristically,  because  he  would 
uphold  himself  against  mankind,  his  weather-glass  against 
weather,  and  his  clock  against  time. 

By  Mr.  Sapsea's  side  on  the  table  are  a  writing-desk  and 
writing  materials.  Glancing  at  a  scrap  of  manuscript,  Mr. 
Sapsea  reads  it  to  himself  with  a  lofty  air,  and  then,  slowly 
pacing  the  room  with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his 
waistcoat,  repeats  it  from  memory:  so  internally,  though 
with  much  dignity,  that  the  word  "Ethelinda"  is  alone 
audible. 

There  are  three  clean  wineglasses  in  a  tray  on  the  table. 
His  serving-maid  entering,  and  announcing  "  Mr.  Jasper  is 
come,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  waves  "Admit  him,"  and  draws  two 
wineglasses  from  the  rank,  as  being  claimed. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  congratulate  myself  on  having 
the  honour  of  receiving  you  here  for  the  first  time."  Mr. 
Sapsea  does  the  honours  of  his  house  in  this  wise. 

"  You  are  very  good.  The  honour  is  mine  and  the  self- 
congratulation  is  mine." 

"  You  are  pleased  to  say  so,  sir.  But  I  do  assure  you 
that  it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  receive  you  in  my  humble 
home.  And  that  is  what  I  would  not  say  to  everybody." 
Ineffable  loftiness  on  Mr.  Sapsea's  part  accompanies  these 
words,  as  leaving  the  sentence  to  be  understood:  "You 
will  not  easily  believe  that  your  society  can  be  a  satisfaction 
to  a  man  like  yourself;  nevertheless,  it  is." 

"  I  have  for  some  time  desired  to  know  you,  Mr.  Sapsea." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  29 

"And  I,  sir,  have  long  known  you  by  reputation  as  a 
man  of  taste.  Let  me  fill  your  glass.  I  will  give  you, 
sir,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  filling  his  own: 

"  When  the  French  come  over, 
May  we  meet  them  at  Dover !  " 

This  was  a  patriotic  toast  in  Mr.  Sapsea 's  infancy,  and  he 
is  therefore  fully  convinced  of  its  being  appropriate  to  any 
subsequent  era. 

"You  can  scarcely  be  ignorant,  Mr.  Sapsea,"  observes 
Jasper,  watching  the  auctioneer  with  a  smile  as  the  latter 
stretches  out  his  legs  before  the  fire,  "  that  you  know  the 
world." 

"Well,  sir,"  is  the  chuckling  reply,  "I  think  I  know 
something  of  it;  something  of  it." 

"  Your  reputation  for  that  knowledge  has  always  inter- 
ested and  surprised  me,  and  made  me  wish  to  know  you. 
For  Cloisterham  is  a  little  place.  Cooped  up  in  it  myself, 
I  know  nothing  beyond  it,  and  feel  it  to  be  a  very  little 
place. " 

"If  I  have  not  gone  to  foreign  countries,  young  man," 
Mr.  Sapsea  begins,  and  then  stops : — "  You  will  excuse  me 
calling  you  young  man,  Mr.  Jasper?  You  are  much  my 
junior." 

"By  all  means." 

"If  I  have  not  gone  to  foreign  countries,  young  man, 
foreign  countries  have  come  to  me.  They  have  come  to  me 
in  the  way  of  business,  and  I  have  improved  upon  my  op- 
portunities. Put  it  that  I  take  an  inventory,  or  make  a 
catalogue.  I  see  a  French  clock.  I  never  saw  him  before, 
in  my  life,  but  I  instantly  lay  my  finger  on  him  and  say 
'  Paris ! '  I  see  some  cups  and  saucers  of  Chinese  make, 
equally  strangers  to  me  personally:  I  put  my  finger  on 
them,  then  and  there,  and  I  say  '  Pekin,  Nankin,  and  Can- 
ton.' It  is  the  same  with  Japan,  with  Egypt,  and  with 
bamboo  and  sandal- wood  from  the  East  Indies;  I  put  my 
finger  on  them  all.  I  have  put  my  finger  on  the  North 
Pole  before  now,  and  said  '  Spear  of  Esquimaux  make,  for 
half  a  pint  of  pale  sherry ! ' ' 

"  Really?  A  very  remarkable  way,  Mr.  Sapsea,  of  ac- 
quiring a  knowledge  of  men  and  things." 

"I  mention  it,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  rejoins,  with  unspeak- 
able complacency,  "  because,  as  I  say,  it  don't  do  to  boast 


30  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWJN  DROOD. 

of  what  you  are;  but  show  how  you  came  to  be  it,  and  then 
you  prove  it." 

"  Most  interesting.  We  were  to  speak  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Sapsea. " 

"We  were,  sir."  Mr.  Sapsea  fills  both  glasses,  and 
takes  the  decanter  into  safe  keeping  again.  "  Before  I  con- 
sult your  opinion  as  a  man  of  taste  on  this  little  trifle  " — 
holding  it  up — "  which  is  but  a  trifle,  and  still  has  required 
some  thought,  sir,  some  little  fever  of  the  brow,  I  ought 
perhaps  to  describe  the  character  of  the  late  Mrs.  Sapsea, 
now  dead  three-quarters  of  a  year." 

Mr.  Jasper,  in  the  act  of  yawning  behind  his  wineglass, 
puts  down  that  screen  and  calls  up  a  look  of  interest.  It 
is  a  little  impaired  in  its  expressiveness  by  his  having  a 
shut-up  gape  still  to  dispose  of,  with  watering  eyes. 

"Half  a  dozen  years  ago,  or  so,"  Mr.  Sapsea  proceeds, 
"  when  I  had  enlarged  my  mind  up  to — I  will  not  say  to 
what  it  now  is,  for  that  might  seem  to  aim  at  too  much, 
but  up  to  the  pitch  of  wanting  another  mind  to  be  absorbed 
in  it — I  cast  my  eye  about  me  for  a  nuptial  partner.  Be- 
cause, as  I  say,  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone." 

Mr.  Jasper  appears  to  commit  this  original  idea  to  mem- 
ory. 

"  Miss  Brobity  at  that  time  kept,  I  will  not  call  it  the 
rival  establishment  to  the  establishment  at  the  Nuns'  House 
opposite,  but  I  will  call  it  the  other  parallel  establishment 
down  town.  The  world  did  have  it  that  she  showed  a  pas- 
sion for  attending  my  sales,  when  they  took  place  on  half 
holidays,  or  in  vacation  time.  The  world  did  put  it  about, 
that  she  admired  my  style.  The  world  did  notice  that  as 
time  flowed  by,  my  style  became  traceable  in  the  dictation - 
exercises  of  Miss  Brobity's  pupils.  Young  man,  a  whisper 
even  sprang  up  in  obscure  malignity,  that  one  ignorant  and 
besotted  Churl  (a  parent)  so  committed  himself  as  to  object 
to  it  by  name.  But  I  do  not  believe  this.  For  is  it  likely 
that  any  human  creature  in  his  right  senses  would  so  lay 
himself  open  to  be  pointed  at,  by  what  I  call  the  finger  of 
scorn?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  shakes  his  head.  Not  in  the  least  likely. 
Mr.  Sapsea,  in  a  grandiloquent  state  of  absence  of  mind, 
seems  to  refill  his  visitor's  glass,  which  is  full  already;  and 
does  really  refill  his  own,  which  is  empty. 

"  Miss  Brobity's  Being,  young  man,  was  deeply  imbued 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  31 

with  homage  to  Mind.  She  revered  Mind,  when  launched, 
or,  as  I  say,  precipitated,  on  an  extensive  knowledge  of  the 
world.  When  I  made  my  proposal,  she  did  me  the  honour 
to  be  so  overshadowed  with  a  species  of  Awe,  as  to  be  able 
to  articulate  only  the  two  words,  "  O  Thou ! "  meaning  my- 
self. Her  limpid  blue  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  her  semi- 
transparent  hands  were  clasped  together,  pallor  overspread 
her  aquiline  features,  and,  though  encouraged  to  proceed, 
she  never  did  proceed  a  word  further.  I  disposed  of  the 
parallel  establishment  by  private  contract,  and  we  became 
as  nearly  one  as  could  be  expected  under  the  circumstances. 
But  she  never  could,  and  she  never  did,  find  a  phrase  sat- 
isfactory to  her  perhaps-too-favourable  estimate  of  my  in- 
tellect. To  the  very  last  (feeble  action  of  liver),  she  ad- 
dressed me  in  the  same  unfinished  terms." 

Mr.  Jasper  has  closed  his  eyes  as  the  auctioneer  has 
deepened  his  voice.  He  now  abruptly  opens  them,  and 
says,  in  unison  with  the  deepened  voice,  "  Ah ! " — rather 
as  if  stopping  himself  on  the  extreme  verge  of  adding — 
"  men ! " 

"I  have  been  since,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  with  his  legs 
stretched  out,  and  solemnly  enjoying  himself  with  the  wine 
and  the  fire,  "^nhat  you  behold  me;  I  have  been  since  a 
solitary  mourner;  I  have  been  since,  as  I  say,  wasting  my 
evening  conversation  on  the  desert  air.  I  will  not  say  that 
I  have  reproached  myself;  but  there  have  been  times  when 
I  have  asked  myself  the  question :  What  if  her  husband 
had  been  nearer  on  a  level  with  her?  If  she  had  not  had 
to  look  up  quite  so  high,  what  might  the  stimulating  action 
have  been  upon  the  liver?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  says,  with  an  appearance  of  having  fallen 
into  dreadfully  low  spirits,  that  he  "  supposes  it  was  to  be." 

"  We  can  only  suppose  so,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  coincides. 
"As  I  say,  Man  proposes,  Heaven  disposes.  It  may  or 
may  not  be  putting  the  same  thought  in  another  form;  but 
that  is  the  way  I  put  it." 

Mr.  Jasper  murmurs  assent. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Jasper,"  resumes  the  auctioneer,  produ- 
cing his  scrap  of  manuscript,  "Mrs.  Sapsea's  monument 
having  had  full  time  to  settle  and  dry,  let  me  take  your 
opinion,  as  a  man  of  taste,  on  the  inscription  I  have  (as  I 
before  remarked,  not  without  some  little  fever  of  the  brow) 
drawn  out  for  it.  Take  it  in  your  own  hand.  The  setting 


32  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

out  of  the  lines  requires  to  be  followed  with  the  eye,  as 
well  as  the  contents  with  the  mind." 
Mr.  Jasper  complying,  sees  and  reads  as  follows : 

BTHELINDA, 

Reverential  Wife  of 

MR.  THOMAS   SAPSEA, 

AUCTIONEER,  VALUER,  ESTATE  AGENT,  &c. 

OP  THIS  CITY. 

Whose  Knowledge  of  the  World, 

Though  somewhat  extensive, 
:!<j     Never  brought  him  acquainted  with 

A  SPIRIT 
More  capable  of 

LOOKING  UP  TO   HIM. 

STRANGER,  PAUSE 

And  ask  thyself  the  Question, 

CANST  THOU  DO  LIKEWISE? 

If  Not, 
WITH   A  BLUSH   RETIRE. 

Mr.  Sapsea  having  risen  and  stationed  himself  with  his 
back  to  the  fire,  for  the  purpose  of  observing  the  effect  of 
these  lines  on  the  countenance  of  a  man  of  taste,  conse- 
quently has  his  face  towards  the  door,  when  his  serving- 
maid,  again  appearing,  announces,  "  Durdles  is  come,  sir !  " 
He  promptly  draws  forth  and  fills  the  third  wineglass, 
as  being  now  claimed,  and  replies,  "  Show  Durdles  in." 

"  Admirable ! "  quoth  Mr.  Jasper,  handing  back  the 
paper. 

"  You  approve,  sir?  " 

"Impossible  not  to  approve.  Striking,  characteristic, 
and  complete." 

The  auctioneer  inclines  his  head,  as  one  accepting  his 
due  and  giving  a  receipt;  and  invites  the  entering  Durdles 
to  take  off  that  glass  of  wine  (handing  the  same),  for  it  will 
warm  him. 

Durdles  is  a  stonemason;  chiefly  in  the  gravestone,  tomb, 
and  monument  way,  and  wholly  of  their  colour  from  head 
to  foot.  No  man  is  better  known  in  Cloisterham.  He  is 
the  chartered  libertine  of  the  place.  Fame  trumpets  him 
a  wonderful  workman — which,  for  aught  that  anybody 
knows,  he  may  be  (as  he  never  works);  and  a  wonderful 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  33 

sot — which  everybody  kiiows  he  is.  With  the  Cathedral 
crypt  he  is  better  acquainted  than  any  living  authority;  it 
may  even  be  than  any  dead  one.  It  is  said  that  the  inti- 
macy of  this  acquaintance  began  in  his  habitually  resorting 
to  that  secret  place,  to  lock-out  the  Cloisterham  boy-popu- 
lace, and  sleep  off  the  fumes  of  liquor:  he  having  ready 
access  to  the  Cathedral,  as  contractor  for  rough  repairs. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  he  does  know  much  about  it,  and,  in  the 
demolition  of  impedimental  fragments  of  wall,  buttress, 
and  pavement,  has  seen  strange  sights.  He  often  speaks 
of  himself  in  the  third  person;  perhaps,  being  a  little 
misty  as  to  his  own  identity,  when  he  narrates;  perhaps, 
impartially  adopting  the  Cloisterham  nomenclature  in  ref- 
erence to  a  character  of  acknowledged  distinction.  Thus 
he  will  say,  touching  his  strange  sights :  "  Durdles  come 
upon  the  old  chap,"  in  reference  to  a  buried  magnate  of 
ancient  time  and  high  degree,  "  by  striking  right  into  the 
coffin  with  his  pick.  The  old  chap  gave  Durdles  a  look 
with  his  open  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Is  your  name 
Durdles?  Why,  my  man,  I've  been  waiting  for  you  a 
devil  of  a  time ! '  And  then  he  turned  to  powder."  With 
a  two-foot  rule  always  in  his  pocket,  and  a  mason's  ham- 
mer all  but  always  in  his  hand,  Durdles  goes  continually 
sounding  and  tapping  all  about  and  about  the  Cathedral; 
and  whenever  he  says  to  Tope:  "Tope,  here's  another  old 
'un  in  here ! "  Tope  announces  it  to  the  Dean  as  an  estab- 
lished discovery. 

In  a  suit  of  coarse  flannel  with  horn  buttons,  a  yellow 
neckerchief  with  draggled  ends,  an  old  hat  more  russet- 
coloured  than  black,  and  laced  boots  of  the  hue  of  his 
stony  calling,  Durdles  leads  a  hazy,  gipsy  sort  of  life, 
carrying  his  dinner  about  with  him  in  a  small  bundle,  and 
sitting  on  all  manner  of  tombstones  to  dine.  This  dinner 
of  Durdles's  has  become  quite  a  Cloisterham  institution : 
not  only  because  of  his  never  appearing  in  public  without 
it,  but  because  of  its  having  been,  on  certain  renowned 
occasions,  taken  into  custody  along  with  Durdles  (as  drunk 
and  incapable),  and  exhibited  before  the  Bench  of  Justices 
at  the  townhall.  These  occasions,  however,  have  been 
few  and  far  apart:  Durdles  being  as  seldom  drunk  as 
sober.  For  the  rest,  he  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  he  lives  in 
a  little  antiquated  hole  of  a  house  that  was  never  finished : 
supposed  to  be  built,  so  far,  of  stones  stolen  from  the  city 
3 


34  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

wall.  To  this  abode  there  is  an  approach,  ankle-deep  in 
stone  chips,  resembling  a  petrified  grove  of  tombstones, 
urns,  draperies,  and  broken  columns,  in  all  stages  of  sculp- 
ture. Herein  two  journeymen  incessantly  chip,  while 
other  two  journeymen,  who  face  each  other,  incessantly 
saw  stone;  dipping  as  regularly  in  and  out  of  their  shel- 
tering sentry-boxes,  as  if  they  were  mechanical  figures  em- 
blematical of  Time  and  Death. 

To  Durdles,  when  he  had  consumed  his  glass  of  port, 
Mr.  Sapsea  intrusts  that  precious  effort  of  his  Muse.  Dur- 
dles unfeelingly  takes  out  his  two-foot  rule,  and  measures 
the  lines  calmly,  alloying  them  with  stone-grit. 

"  This  is  for  the  monument,  is  it,  Mr.  Sapsea?  " 

"The  Inscription.  Yes."  Mr.  Sapsea  waits  for  its 
effect  on  a  common  mind. 

"It'll  come  in  to  a  eighth  of  a  inch,"  says  Durdles. 
"Your  servant,  Mr.  Jasper.  Hope  I  see  you  well." 

"  How  are  you,  Durdles?  " 

"  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  Tombatism  on  me,  Mr.  Jasper, 
but  that  I  must  expect." 

"You  mean  the  Rheumatism,"  says  Sapsea,  in  a  sharp 
tone.  (He  is  nettled  by  having  his  composition  so  me- 
chanically received.) 

"No,  I  don't.  I  mean,  Mr.  Sapsea,  the  Tombatism. 
It's  another  sort  from  Rheumatism.  Mr.  Jasper  knows 
what  Durdles  means.  You  get  among  them  Tombs  afore 
it's  well  light  on  a  winter  morning,  and  keep  on,  as  the 
Catechism  says,  a  walking  in  the  same  all  the  days  of  your 
life,  and  you'll  know  what  Durdles  means." 

"It  is  a  bitter  cold  place,"  Mr.  Jasper  assents,  with  an 
antipathetic  shiver. 

"And  if  it's  bitter  cold  for  you,  up  in  the  chancel,  with 
a  lot  of  live  breath  smoking  out  about  you,  what  the  bitter- 
ness is  to  Durdles,  down  in  the  crypt  among  the  earthy 
damps  there,  and  the  dead  breath  of  the  old  'uns,"  returns 
that  individual,  "Durdles  leaves  you  to  judge. — Is  this  to 
be  put  in  hand  at  once,  Mr.  Sapsea?  " 

Mr.  Sapsea,  with  an  Author's  anxiety  to  rush  into  pub- 
lication, replies  that  it  cannot  be  out  of  hand  too  soon. 

"You  had  better  let  me  have  the  key  then,"  says  Dur- 
dles. 

"Why,  man,  it  is  not  to  be  put  inside  the  monument! " 

"Durdles  knows  where  it's  to  be  put,  Mr.  Sapsea;  no 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  35 

man  better.  Ask  'ere  a  man  in  Cloisterham  whether  Dur- 
dles  knows  his  work." 

Mr.  Sapsea  rises,  takes  a  key  from  a  drawer,  unlocks 
an  iron  safe  let  into  the  wall,  and  takes  from  it  another 
key. 

"  When  Durdles  puts  a  touch  or  a  finish  upon  his  work, 
no  matter  where,  inside  or  outside,  Durdles  likes  to  look  at 
his  work  all  round,  and  see  that  his  work  is  a  doing  him 
credit,"  Durdles  explains,  doggedly. 

The  key  proffered  him  by  the  bereaved  widower  being 
a  large  one,  he  slips  his  two-foot  rule  into  a  side-pocket 
of  his  flannel  trousers  made  for  it,  and  deliberately  opens 
his  flannel  coat,  and  opens  the  mouth  of  a  large  breast- 
pocket within  it  before  taking  the  key  to  place  it  in  that 
repository. 

"  Why,  Durdles ! "  exclaims  Jasper,  looking  on  amused, 
"  you  are  undermined  with  pockets ! " 

"And  I  carries  weight  in  'em  too,  Mr.  Jasper.  Feel 
those !  "  producing  two  other  large  keys. 

"Hand  me  Mr.  Sapsea's  likewise.  Surely  this  is  the 
heaviest  of  the  three." 

"You'll  find  'em  much  of  a  muchness,  I  expect,"  says 
Durdles.  "  They  all  belong  to  monuments.  They  all  open 
Durdles's  work.  Durdles  keeps  the  keys  of  his  work 
mostly.  Not  that  they're  much  used." 

"By-the-bye,"  it  comes  into  Jasper's  mind  to  say,  as  he 
idly  examines  the  keys,  "I  have  been  going  to  ask  you, 
many  a  day,  and  have  always  forgotten.  You  know  they 
sometimes  call  you  Stony  Durdles,  don't  you?  " 

"Cloisterham  knows  me  as  Durdles,  Mr.  Jasper." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  of  course.  But  the  boys  some- 
times— " 

"  0 !  if  you  mind  them  young  imps  of  boys — "  Durdles 
gruffly  interrupts.  • 

"I  don't  mind  them  any  more  than  you  do.  But  there 
was  a  discussion  the  other  day  among  the  Choir,  whether 
Stony  stood  for  Tony;  "  clinking  one  key  against  another. 

("Take  care  of  the  wards,  Mr.  Jasper.") 

"Or  whether  Stony  stood  for  Stephen;  "  clinking  with  a 
change  of  keys. 

("You  can't  make  a  pitch  pipe  of  'em,  Mr.  Jasper.") 

"  Or  whether  the  name  comes  from  your  trade.  How 
stands  the  fact?  " 


36  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Jasper  weighs  the  three  keys  in  his  hand,  lifts  his 
head  from  his  idly  stooping  attitude  over  the  fire,  and  de- 
livers the  keys  to  Durdles  with  an  ingenuous  and  friendly 
face. 

But  the  stony  one  is  a  gruff  one  likewise,  and  that  hazy 
state  of  his  is  always  an  uncertain  state,  highly  conscious 
of  its  dignity,  and  prone  to  take  offence.  He  drops  his 
two  keys  back  into  his  pocket  one  by  one,  and  buttons  them 
up;  he  takes  his  dinner- bundle  from  the  chair- back  on  which 
he  hung  it  when  he  came  in;  he  distributes  the  weight  he 
carries,  by  tying  the  third  key  up  in  it,  as  though  he  were 
an  Ostrich,  and  liked  to  dine  off  cold  iron;  and  he  gets  out 
of  the  room,  deigning  no  word  of  answer. 

Mr.  Sapsea  then  proposes  a  hit  at  backgammon,  which, 
seasoned  with  his  own  improving  conversation,  and  termi- 
nating in  a  supper  of  cold  roast  beef  and  salad,  beguiles  the 
golden  evening  until  pretty  late.  Mr.  Sapsea's  wisdom 
being,  in  its  delivery  to  mortals,  rather  of  the  diffuse  than 
the  epigrammatic  order,  is  by  no  means  expended  even 
then;  but  his  visitor  intimates  that  he  will  come  back  for 
more  of  the  precious  commodity  on  future  occasions,  and 
Mr.  Sapsea  lets  him  off  for  the  present,  to  ponder  on  the 
instalment  he  carries  away. 


CHAPTER    V. 

MR.   DURDLES  AND   FRIEND. 

JOHN  JASPER,  on  his  way  home  through  the  Close,  is 
brought  to  a  stand-still  by  the  spectacle  of  Stony  Durdles, 
dinner-bundle  and*all,  leaning  his  back  against  the  iron 
railing  of  the  burial-ground  enclosing  it  from  the  old 
cloister-arches;  and  a  hideous  small  boy  in  rags  flinging 
stones  at  him  as  a  well-defined  mark  in  the  moonlight. 
Sometimes  the  stones  hit  him,  and  sometimes  they  miss 
him,  but  Durdles  seems  indifferent  to  either  fortune.  The 
hideous  small  boy,  on  the  contrary,  whenever  he  hits  Dur- 
dles, blows  a  whistle  of  triumph  through  a  jagged  gap,  con- 
venient for  the  purpose,  in  the  front  of  his  mouth,  where 
half  his  teeth  are  wanting;  and  whenever  he  misses  him, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  37 

yelps  out  "  Mulled  agin !  "  and  tries  to  atone  for  the  failure 
by  taking  a  more  correct  and  vicious  aim. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  the  man?  "  demands  Jasper, 
stepping  out  into  the  moonlight  from  the  shade. 

"Making  a  cock-shy  of  him,"  replies  the  hideous  small 
boy. 

"Give  me  those  stones  in  your  hand." 

"  Yes,  I'll  give  'em  you  down  your  throat,  if  you  come 
a  ketching  hold  of  me,"  says  the  small  boy,  shaking  him- 
self loose,  and  backing.  "  I'll  smash  your  eye,  if  you  don't 
look  out ! " 

"  Baby-Devil  that  you  are,  what  has  the  man  done  to 
you?  " 

"He  won't  go  home." 

"  What  is  that  to  you?  " 

"  He  gives  me  a  'apenny  to  pelt  him  home  if  I  ketches 
him  out  too  late,"  says  the  boy.  And  then  chants,  like  a 
little  savage,  half  stumbling  and  half  dancing  among  the 
rags  and  laces  of  his  dilapidated  boots : — 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen ! 
I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten, 
Widdy  widdy  wy ! 

Then — E — don '  t — go — then — I — shy — 
Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning !  " 

— with  a  comprehensive  sweep  on  the  last  word,  and  one 
more  delivery  at  Durdles. 

This  would  seem  to  be  a  poetical  note  of  preparation, 
agreed  upon,  as  a  caution  to  Durdles  to  stand  clear  if  he 
can,  or  to  betake  himself  homeward. 

John  Jasper  invites  the  boy  with  a  beck  of  his  head  to 
follow  him  (feeling  it  hopeless  to  drag  him,  or  coax  him), 
and  crosses  to  the  iron  railing  where  the  Stony  (and  stoned) 
One  is  profoundly  meditating. 

"Do  you  know  this  thing,  this  child?"  asked  Jasper, 
at  a  loss  for  a  word  that  will  define  this  thing. 

"Deputy,"  says  Durdles,  with  a  nod. 

"  Is  that  its— his— name?  " 

"  Deputy,"  assents  Durdles. 

'•'I'm  man-servant  up  at  the  Travellers'  Twopenny  in 
Gas  Works  Garding,"  this  thing  explains.  "All  us  man- 
servants at  Travellers'  Lodgings  is  named  Deputy.  When 
we're  chock  full  and  the  Travellers  is  all  abed  I  come  out 


38  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

for  my  'elth."     Then  withdrawing  into  the  road,  and  tak- 
ing aim,  he  resumes : — 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen  I 
I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — w 

"  Hold  your  hand,"  cries  Jasper,  "and  don't  throw  while 
I  stand  so  near  him,  or  I'll  kill  you !  Come,  Durdles;  let  me 
walk  home  with  you  to-night.  Shall  I  carry  your  bundle?  " 

"Not  on  any  account,"  replies  Durdles,  adjusting  it. 
"  Durdles  was  making  his  reflections  here  when  you  come 
up,  sir,  surrounded  by  his  works,  like  a  poplar  Author. 
—Your  own  brother-in-law;  "  introducing  a  sarcophagus 
within  the  railing,  white  and  cold  in  the  moonlight.  "  Mrs. 
Sapsea;  "  introducing  the  monument  of  that  devoted  wife. 
"Late  Incumbent;"  introducing  the  Reverend  Gentleman's 
broken  column.  "Departed  Assessed  Taxes;  "  introducing 
a  vase  and  towel,  standing  on  what  might  represent  the 
cake  of  soap.  "Former  pastry  cook  and  Muffin-maker, 
much  respected;  "  introducing  gravestone.  "All  safe  and 
sound  here,  sir,  and  all  Durdles's  work.  Of  the  common 
folk,  that  is  merely  bundled  up  in  turf  and  brambles,  the 
less  said  the  better.  A  poor  lot,  soon  forgot." 

"  This  creature,  Deputy,  is  behind  us,"  says  Jasper,  look- 
ing back.  "  Is  he  to  follow  us?  " 

The  relations  between  Durdles  and  Deputy  are  of  a 
capricious  kind;  for,  on  Durdles's  turning  himself  about 
with  the  slow  gravity  of  beery  soddenness,  Deputy  makes 
a  pretty  wide  circuit  into  the  road  and  stands  on  the 
defensive. 

"  You  never  cried  Widdy  Warning  before  you  begun  to- 
night," says  Durdles,  unexpectedly  reminded  of,  or  imag- 
ining, an  injury. 

"  Yer  lie,  I  did,"  says  Deputy,  in  his  only  form  of  polite 
contradiction. 

"Own  brother,  sir,"  observes  Durdles,  turning  himself 
about  again,  and  as  unexpectedly  forgetting  his  offence  as 
he  had  recalled  or  conceived  it;  "  own  brother  to  Peter  the 
Wild  Boy!  But  I  gave  him  an  object  in  life." 

"At  which  he  takes  aim?"  Mr.  Jasper  suggests. 

"That's  it,  sir,"  returns  Durdles,  quite  satisfied;  "at 
which  he  takes  aim  I  took  him  in  hand  and  gave  him  an 
object.  What  was  he  before?  A  destroyer.  What  work 
did  he  do?  Nothing  but  destruction.  What  did  he  earn 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.       39 

by  it?  Short  terms  in  Cloisterham  Jail.  Not  a  person, 
not  a  piece  of  property,  not  a  winder,  not  a  horse,  nor  a 
dog,  nor  a  cat,  nor  a  bird,  nor  a  fowl,  nor  a  pig,  but  what 
he  stoned,  for  want  of  an  enlightened  object.  I  put  that 
enlightened  object  before  him,  and  now  he  can  turn  his 
honest  halfpenny  by  the  three  penn'orth  a  week." 

"I  wonder  he  has  no  competitors." 

"  He  has  plenty,  Mr.  Jasper,  but  he  stones  'em  all  away. 
Now,  I  don't  know  what  this  scheme  of  mine  comes  to," 
pursues  Durdles,  considering  about  it  with  the  same  sodden 
gravity;  "  I  don't  know  what  you  may  precisely  call  it.  It 
ain't  a  sort  of  a — scheme  of  a — National  Education?  " 

"I  should  say  not,"  replies  Jasper. 

"1  should  say  not,"  assents  Durdles;  "then  we  won't 
try  to  give  it  a  name." 

"He  still  keeps  behind  us,"  repeats  Jasper,  looking  over 
his  shoulder;  "is  he  to  follow  us? " 

"  We  can't  help  going  round  by  the  Travellers'  Two- 
penny, if  we  go  the  short  way,  which  is  the  back  way," 
Durdles  answers,  "and  we'll  drop  him  there." 

So  they  go  on;  Deputy,  as  a  rear  rank  one,  taking  open 
order,  and  invading  the  silence  of  the  hour  and  place  by 
stoning  every  wall,  post,  pillar,  and  other  inanimate  ob- 
ject, by  the  deserted  way. 

"  Is  there  anything  new  down  in  the  crypt,  Durdles?  " 
asks  John  Jasper. 

"Anything  old,  I  think  you  mean,"  growls  Durdles. 
"It  ain't  a  spot  for  novelty." 

"Any  new  discovery  on  your  part,  I  meant." 

."There's  a  old  'un  under  the  seventh  pillar  on  the  left 
as  you  go  down  the  broken  steps  of  the  little  underground 
chapel  as  formerly  was;  I  make  him  out  (so  fur  as  I've 
made  him  out  yet)  to  be  one  of  them  old  'uns  with  a  crook. 
To  judge  from  the  size  of  the  passages  in  the  walls,  and 
of  the  steps  and  doors,  by  which  they  come  and  went,  them 
crooks  must  have  been  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  the  old 
'uns!  Two  on  'em  meeting  promiscuous  must  have  hitched 
one  another  by  the  mitre  pretty  often,  I  should  say." 

Without  any  endeavour  to  correct  the  liberality  of  this 
opinion,  Jasper  surveys  his  companion — covered  from  head 
to  foot  with  old  mortar,  lime,  and  stone  grit — as  though 
he,  Jasper,  were  getting  imbued  with  a  romantic  interest  in 
his  weird  life. 


40  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Yours  is  a  curious  existence." 

Without  furnishing  the  least  clue  to  the  question, 
whether  he  receives  this  as  a  compliment  or  as  quite  the 
reverse,  Durdles  gruffly  answers:  "  Yours  is  another." 

"  Well !  inasmuch  as  my  lot  is  cast  in  the  same  old 
earthy,  chilly,  never-changing  place,  Yes.  But  there  is 
much  more  mystery  and  interest  in  your  connection  with  the 
Cathedral  than  in  mine.  Indeed,  I  am  beginning  to  have 
some  idea  of  asking  you  to  take  me  on  as  a  sort  of  student, 
or  free  'prentice,  under  you,  and  to  let  me  go  about  with 
you  sometimes,  and  see  some  of  these  odd  nooks  in  which 
you  pass  your  days." 

The  Stony  One  replies,  in  a  general  way,  "All  right. 
Everybody  knows  where  to  find  Durdles,  when  he's 
wanted."  Which,  if  not  strictly  true,  is  approximately 
so,  if  taken  to  express  that  Durdles  may  always  be  found 
in  a  state  of  vagabondage  somewhere. 

"WThat  I  dwell  upon  most,"  says  Jasper,  pursuing  his 
subject  of  romantic  interest,  "is  the  remarkable  accuracy 
with  which  you  would  seem  to  find  out  where  people  are 
buried. — What  is  the  matter?  That  bundle  is  in  your  way; 
let  me  hold  it." 

Durdles  .has  stopped  and  backed  a  little  (Deputy,  atten- 
tive to  all  his  movements,  immediately  skirmishing  into  the 
road),  and  was  looking  about  for  some  ledge  or  corner  to 
place  his  bundle  on,  when  thus  relieved  of  it. 

"  Just  you  give  me  my  hammer  out  of  that, "  says  Dur- 
dles, "and  I?ll  show  you." 

Clink,  clink.     And  his  hammer  is  handed  him. 

"Now,  lookee  here.  You  pitch  your  note,  don't  you, 
Mr.  Jasper?  " 

"Yes." 

"  So  I  sound  for  mine.  I  take  my  hammer,  and  I  tap." 
(Here  he  strikes  the  pavement,  and  the  attentive  Deputy 
skirmishes  at  a  rather  wider  range,  as  supposing  that  his 
head  may  be  in  requisition. )  I  tap,  tap,  tap.  Solid !  I  go 
on  tapping.  Solid  still !  Tap  again.  Holloa !  Hollow ! 
Tap  again,  persevering.  Solid  in  hollow!  Tap,  tap,  tap, 
to  try  it  better.  Solid  in  hollow;  and  inside  solid,  hollow 
again !  There  you  are !  Old  'un  crumbled  away  in  stone 
coffin,  in  vault !  " 

"  Astonishing ! " 

"I  have  even  done  this,"  says  Durdles,  drawing  out  his 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  41 

two-foot  rule  (Deputy  meanwhile  skirmishing  nearer,  as 
suspecting  that  Treasure  may  be  about  to  be  discovered, 
which  may  somehow  lead  to  his  own  enrichment,  and  the 
delicious  treat  of  the  discoverers  being  hanged  by  the  neck, 
on  his  evidence,  until  they  are  dead).  "  Say  that  hammer 
of  mine's  a  wall — my  work.  Two;  four;  and  two  is  six," 
measuring  on  the  pavement.  "  Six  foot  inside  that  wall  is 
Mrs.  Sapsea." 

"  Not  really  Mrs.  Sapsea?  " 

"  Say  Mrs.  Sapsea.  Her  wall's  thicker,  but  say  Mrs. 
Sapsea.  Durdles  taps  that  wall  represented  by  that  ham- 
mer, and  says,  after  good  sounding :  "  Something  betwixt 
us ! '  Sure  enough,  some  rubbish  has  been  left  in  that  same 
six-foot  space  by  Durdles's  men!" 

Jasper  opines  that  such  accuracy  "is  a  gift." 

"I  wouldn't  have  it  at  a  gift,"  returns  Durdles,  by  no 
means  receiving  the  observation  in  good  part.  "  I  worked 
it  out  for  myself.  Durdles  comes  by  his  knowledge 
through  grubbing  deep  for  it,  and  having  it  up  by  the  roots 
when  it  don't  want  to  come. — Holloa  you  Deputy !  " 

"Widdy!"  is  Deputy's  shrill  response,  standing  off 
again. 

"  Catch  that  ha'penny.  And  don't  let  me  see  any  more 
of  you  to-night,  after  we  come  to  the  Travellers'  Two- 
penny." 

"  Warning !  "  returns  Deputy,  having  caught  the  half- 
penny, and  appearing  by  this  mystic  word  to  express  his 
assent  to  the  arrangement. 

They  have  but  to  cross  what  was  once  the  vineyard,  be- 
longing to  what  was  once  the  Monastery,  to  come  into  the 
narrow  back  lane  wherein  stands  the  crazy  wooden  house 
of  two  low  stories  currently  known  as  the  Travellers'  Two- 
penny : — a  house  all  warped  and  distorted,  like  the  morals 
of  the  travellers,  with  scant  remains  of  a  lattice- work  porch 
over  the  door,  and  also  of  a  rustic  fence  before  its  stamped- 
out  garden;  by  reason  of  the  travellers  being  so  bound  to 
the  premises  by  a  tender  sentiment  (or  so  fond  of  having  a 
fire  by  the  roadside  in  the  course  of  the  day),  that  they  can 
never  be  persuaded  or  threatened  into  departure,  without 
violently  possessing  themselves  of  some  wooden  forget-me- 
not,  and  bearing  it  off. 

The  semblance  of  an  inn  is  attempted  to  be  given  to  this 
wretched  place  by  fragments  of  conventional  red  curtaining 


42  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  the  windows,  which  rags  are  made  muddily  transparent 
in  the  night-season  by  feeble  lights  of  rush  or  cotton  dip 
burning  dully  in  the  close  air  of  the  inside.  As  Durdles 
and  Jasper  come  near,  they  are  addressed  by  an  inscribed 
paper  lantern  over  the  door,  setting  forth  the  purport  of 
the  house.  They  are  also  addressed  by  some  half-dozen 
other  hideous  small  boys — whether  twopenny  lodgers  or 
followers  or  hangers-on  of  such,  who  knows ! — who,  as  if 
attracted  by  some  carrion-scent  of  Deputy  in  the  air,  start 
into  the  moonlight,  as  vultures  might  gather  in  the  desert, 
and  instantly  fall  to  stoning  him  and  one  another. 

"Stop,  you  young  brutes,"  cries  Jasper  angrily,  "and 
let  us  go  by !  " 

This  remonstance  being  received  with  yells  and  flying 
stones,  according  to  a  custom  of  late  years  comfortably  es- 
tablished among  police  regulations  of  our  English  commu- 
nities, where  Christians  are  stoned  on  all  sides,  as  if  the 
days  of  Saint  Stephen  were  revived,  Durdles  remarks  of 
the  young  savages,  with  some  point,  that  "they  haven't  got 
an  object,"  and  leads  the  way  down  the  lane. 

At  the  corner  of  the  lane,  Jasper,  hotly  enraged,  checks 
his  companion  and  looks  back.  All  is  silent.  Next  mo- 
ment, a  stone  coming  rattling  at  his  hat,  and  a  distant  yell 
of  "Wake-Cock!  Warning!  "  followed  by  a  crow,  as  from 
some  infernally-hatched  Chanticleer,  apprising  him  under 
whose  victorious  fire  he  stands,  he  turns  the  corner  into 
safety,  and  takes  Durdles  home :  Durdles  stumbling  among 
the  litter  of  his  stony  yard  as  if  he  were  going  to  turn  head 
foremost  into  one  of  the  unfinished  tombs. 

John  Jasper  returns  by  another  way  to  his  gatehouse, 
and  entering  softly  with  his  key,  finds  his  fire  still  burning. 
He  takes  from  a  locked  press  a  peculiar-looking  pipe,  which 
he  fills — but  not  with  tobacco — and,  having  adjusted  the 
contents  of  the  bowl,  very  carefully,  with  a  little  instru- 
ment, ascends  an  inner  staircase  of  only  a  few  steps,  lead- 
ing to  two  rooms.  One  of  these  is  his  own  sleeping  cham- 
ber: the  other  is  his  nephew's.  There  is  a  light  in  each. 

His  nephew  lies  asleep,  calm  and  untroubled.  John 
Jasper  stands  looking  down  upon  him,  his  unlighted  pipe 
in  his  hand,  for  some  time,  with  a  fixed  and  deep  atten- 
tion. Then,  hushing  his  footsteps,  he  passes  to  his  own 
room,  lights  his  pipe,  and  delivers  himself  to  the  Spectres 
it  invokes  at  midnight. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  43 

CHAPTER    VI. 

PHILANTHROPY  IN  MINOR  CANON  CORNER. 

THE  Reverend  Septimus  Crisparkle  (Septimus,  because 
six  little  brother  Crisparkles  before  him  went  out,  one  by 
one,  as  they  were  born,  like  six  weak  little  rushlights,  as 
they  were  lighted),  having  broken  the  thin  morning  ice 
near  Cloisterhain  Weir  with  his  amiable  head,  much  to  the 
invigoratiou  of  his  frame,  was  now  assisting  his  circulation 
by  boxing  at  a  looking-glass  with  great  science  and  prow- 
ess. A  fresh  and  healthy  portrait  the  looking-glass  pre- 
sented of  the  Reverend  Septimus,  feinting  and  dodging 
with  the  utmost  artfulness,  and  hitting  out  from  the  shoul- 
der with  the  utmost  straightness,  while  his  radiant  feat- 
ures teemed  with  innocence,  and  soft-hearted  benevolence 
beamed  from  his  boxing-gloves. 

It  was  scarcely  breakfast-time  yet,  for  Mrs.  Crisparkle 
— mother,  not  wife  of  the  Reverend  Septimus — was  only 
just  down,  and  waiting  for  the  urn.  Indeed,  the  Reverend 
Septimus  left  off  at  this  very  moment  to  take  the  pretty 
old  lady's  entering  face  between  his  boxing-gloves  and  kiss 
it.  Having  done  so  with  tenderness,  the  Reverend  Sep- 
timus turned  to  again,  countering  with  his  left,  and  putting 
in  his  right,  in  a  tremendous  manner. 

"I  say,  every  morning  of  my  life,  that  you'll  do  it  at 
last,  Sept,"  remarked  the  old  lady,  looking  on;  "and  so 
you  will." 

"  Do  what,  Ma  dear?  " 

"Break  the  pier-glass,  or  burst  a  blood-vessel." 

"Neither,  please  God,  Ma  dear.  Here's  wind,  Ma. 
Look  at  this !  " 

In  a  concluding  round  of  great  severity,  the  Reverend 
Septimus  administered  and  escaped  all  sorts  of  punishment, 
and  wound  up  by  getting  the  old  lady's  cap  into  Chancery 
— such  is  the  technical  term  used  in  scientific  circles  by  the 
learned  in  the  Noble  Art — with  a  lightness  of  touch  that 
hardly  stirred  the  lightest  lavender  or  cherry  riband  on  it. 
Magnanimously  releasing  the  defeated,  just  in  time  to  get 
his  gloves  into  a  drawer  and  feign  to  be  looking  out  of 


44  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

window  in  a  contemplative  state  of  mind  when  a  servant 
entered,  the  Reverend  Septimus  then  gave  place  to  the  urn 
and  other  preparations  for  breakfast.  These  completed, 
and  the  two  alone  again,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  (or  would 
have  been,  if  there  had  been  any  one  to  see  it,  which  there 
never  was),  the  old  lady  standing  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer 
aloud,  and  her  son,  Minor  Canon  nevertheless,  standing 
with  bent  head  to  hear  it,  he  being  within  five  years  of 
forty :  much  as  he  had  stood  to  hear  the  same  words  from 
the  same  lips  when  he  was  within  five  months  of  four. 

What  is  prettier  than  an  old  lady — except  a  young  lady 
— when  her  eyes  are  bright,  when  her  figure  is  trim  and 
compact,  when  her  face  is  cheerful  and  calm,  when  her 
dress  is  as  the  dress  of  a  china  shepherdess :  so  dainty  in 
its  colours,  so  individually  assorted  to  herself,  so  neatly 
moulded  on  her?  Nothing  is  prettier,  thought  the  good 
Minor  Canon  frequently,  when  taking  his  seat  at  table 
opposite  his  long- widowed  mother.  Her  thought  at  such 
times  may  be  condensed  into  the  two  words  that  oftenest 
did  duty  together  in  all  her  conversations :  "  My  Sept !  " 

They  were  a  good  pair  to  sit  breakfasting  together  in 
Minor  Canon  Corner,  Cloisterham.  For  Minor  Canon  Cor- 
ner was  a  quiet  place  in  the  shadow  of  the  Cathedral,  which 
the  cawing  of  the  rooks,  the  echoing  footsteps  of  rare  pass- 
ers, the  sound  of  the  Cathedral  bell,  or  the  roll  of  the  Cathe- 
dral organ,  seemed  to  render  more  quiet  than  absolute 
silence.  Swaggering  fighting  men  had  had  their  centuries 
of  ramping  and  raving  about  Minor  Canon  Corner,  and 
beaten  serfs  had  had  their  centuries  of  drudging  and  dying 
there,  and  powerful  monks  had  had  their  centuries  of  being 
sometimes  useful  and  sometimes  harmful  there,  and  behold 
they  were  all  gone  out  of  Minor  Canon  Corner,  and  so  much 
the  better.  Perhaps  one  of  the  highest  uses  of  their  ever 
having  been  there,  was,  that  there  might  be  left  behind, 
that  blessed  air  of  tranquillity  which  pervaded  Minor  Canon 
Corner,  and  that  serenely  romantic  state  of  the  mind — pro- 
ductive for  the  most  part  of  pity  and  forbearance — which 
is  engendered  by  a  sorrowful  story  that  is  all  told,  or  a 
pathetic  play  that  is  played  out. 

Bed-brick  walls  harmoniously  toned  down  in  colour  by 
time,  strong-rooted  ivy,  latticed  windows,  panelled  rooms, 
big  oaken  beams  in  little  places,  and  stone- walled  gardens 
where  annual  fruit  yet  ripened  upon  monkish  trees,  were 


THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  45 

the  principal  surroundings  of  pretty  old  Mrs.  Crisparkle 
and  the  Reverend  Septimus  as  they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"And  what,  Ma  dear, "inquired  the  Minor  Canon,  giving 
proof  of  a  wholesome  and  vigorous  appetite,  "  does  the  let- 
ter say?  " 

The  pretty  old  lady,  after  reading  it,  had  just  laid  it 
down  upon  the  breakfast-cloth.  She  handed  it  over  to  her 
son. 

Now,  the  old  lady  was  exceedingly  proud  of  her  bright 
eyes  being  so  clear  that  she  could  read  writing  without 
spectacles.  Her  son  was  also  so  proud  of  the  circumstance, 
and  so  dutifully  bent  on  her  deriving  the  utmost  possible 
gratification  from  it,  that  he  had  invented  the  pretence  that 
he  himself  could  not  read  writing  without  spectacles. 
Therefore  he  now  assumed  a  pair,  of  grave  and  prodigious 
proportions,  which  not  only  seriously  inconvenienced  his 
nose  and  his  breakfast,  but  seriously  impeded  his  perusal 
of  the  letter.  For,  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  microscope  and  a 
telescope  combined,  when  they  were  unassisted. 

"It's  from  Mr.  Honey  thunder,  of  course,"  said  the  old 
lady,  folding  her  arms. 

"Of  course,"  assented  her  son.  He  then  lamely  read 
on: 

" '  Haven  of  Philanthropy, 
" '  Chief  Offices,  London,  Wednesday. 

" '  DEAR  MADAM, 

"  '  I  write  in  the — ;  '  In  the  what's  this?  What  does 
he  write  in?  " 

"In  the  chair,"  said  the  old  lady. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  took  off  his  spectacles,  that  he 
might  see  her  face,  as  he  exclaimed : 

"  Why,  what  should  be  write  in?  " 

"Bless  me,  bless  me,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "you 
don't  see  the  context!  Give  it  back  to  me,  my  dear." 

Glad  to  get  his  spectacles  off  (for  they  always  made  his 
eyes  water),  her  son  obeyed :  murmuring  that  his  sight  for 
reading  manuscript  got  worse  and  worse  daily. 

"  '  I  write,'  "  his  mother  went  on,  reading  very  perspicu- 
ously and  precisely,  " '  from  the  chair,  to  which  I  shall 
probably  be  confined  for  some  hours. ' ' 

Septimus  looked  at  the  row  of  chairs  against  the  wall, 
with  a  half -protesting  and  half-appealing  countenance. 

"  '  We  have,'  "  the  old  lady  read  on  with  a  little  extra 


46  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

emphasis,  " '  a  meeting  of  our  Convened  Chief  Composite 
Committee  of  Central  and  District  Philanthropists,  at  our 
Head  Haven  as  above;  and  it  is  their  unanimous  pleasure 
that  I  take  the  chair.' ' 

Septimus  breathed  more  freely,  and  muttered :  "  O !  if  he 
comes  to  that,  let  him." 

"  '  Not  to  lose  a  day's  post,  I  take  the  opportunity  of  a 
long  report  being  read,  denouncing  a  public  miscreant — 

"  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing,"  interposed  the  gentle 
Minor  Canon,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork  to  rub  his  ear 
in  a  vexed  manner,  "  that  these  Philanthropists  are  always 
denouncing  somebody.  And  it  is  another  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  that  they  are  always  so  violently  flush  of 
miscreants ! " 

"  '  Denouncing  a  public  miscreant ! '  " — the  old  lady  re- 
sumed, "  '  to  get  our  little  affair  of  business  off  my  mind. 
I  have  spoken  with  my  two  wards,  Neville  and  Helena 
Landless,  on  the  subject  of  their  defective  education,  and 
they  give  in  to  the  plan  proposed;  as  I  should  have  taken 
good  care  they  did,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.' ' 

"And  it  is  another  most  extraordinary  thing,"  remarked 
the  Minor  Canon  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  "  that  these 
philanthropists  are  so  given  to  seizing  their  fellow-creatures 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  and  (as  one  may  say)  bumping 
them  into  the  paths  of  peace. — I  beg  your  pardon,  Ma  dear, 
for  interrupting." 

" '  Therefore,  dear  Madam,  you  will  please  prepare  your 
son,  the  Rev;  Mr.  Septimus,  to  expect  Neville  as  an  inmate 
to  be  read  with,  on  Monday  next.  On  the  same  day 
Helena  will  accompany  him  to  Cloisterham,  to  take  up 
her  quarters  at  the  Nuns'  House,  the  establishment  recom- 
mended by  yourself  and  son  jointly.  Please  likewise  to 
prepare  for  her  reception  and  tuition  there.  The  terms  in 
both  cases  are  understood  to  be  exactly  as  stated  to  me  in 
writing  by  yourself,  when  I  opened  a  correspondence  with 
you  on  this  subject,  after  the  honour  of  being  introduced  to 
you  at  your  sister's  house  in  town  here.  With  compli- 
ments to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Septimus,  I  am,  Dear  Madam,  Your 
affectionate  brother  (In  Philanthropy),  LUKE  HONEY- 
THUNDER.  '  '' 

"Well,  Ma,"  said  Septimus,  after  a  little  more  rubbing 
of  his  ear,  "  we  must  try  it.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
we  have  room  for  an  inmate,  and  that  I  have  time  to  bestow 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  47 

upon  him,  arid  inclination  too.  I  must  confess  to  feeling 
rather  glad  that  he  is  not  Mr.  Honeythunder  himself. 
Though  that  seems  wretchedly  prejudiced — does  it  not? — 
for  I  never  saw  him.  Is  he  a  large  man,  Ma?  " 

"I  should  call  him  a  large  man,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady 
replied  after  some  hesitation,  "but  that  his  voice  is  so 
much  larger." 

"  Than  himself?  " 

"Than  anybody." 

"  Hah !  "  said  Septimus.  And  finished  his  breakfast  as 
if  the  flavour  of  the  Superior  Family  Souchong,  and  also  of 
the  ham  and  toast  and  eggs,  were  a  little  on  the  wane. 

Mrs.  Crisparkle's  sister,  another  piece  of  Dresden  china, 
and  matching  her  so  neatly  that  they  would  have  made  a 
delightful  pair  of  ornaments  for  the  two  ends  of  any  capa- 
cious old-fashioned  chimneypiece,  and  by  right  should  never 
have  been  seen  apart,  was  the  childless  wife  of  a  clergyman 
holding  Corporation  preferment  in  London  City.  Mr. 
Honeythunder  in  his  public  character  of  Professor  of  Phi- 
lanthropy had  come  to  know  Mrs.  Crisparkle  during  the 
last  rematching  of  the  china  ornaments  (in  other  words, 
during  her  last  annual  visit  to  her  sister),  after  a  public 
occasion  of  a  philanthropic  nature,  when  certain  devoted 
orphans  of  tender  years  had  been  glutted  with  plum  buns, 
and  plump  bumptiousness.  These  were  all  the  antecedents 
known  in  Minor  Canor  Corner  of  the  coming  pupils. 

"I  am.  sure  you  will  agree  with  me,  Ma,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  "  that  the  first 
thing  to  be  done,  is,  to  put  these  young  people  as  much  at 
their  ease  as  possible.  There  is  nothing  disinterested  in 
the  notion,  because  we  cannot  be  at  our  ease  with  them 
unless  they  are  at  their  ease  with  us.  Now,  Jasper's 
nephew  is  down  here  at  present;  and  like  takes  to  like,  and 
youth  takes  to  youth.  He  is  a  cordial  young  fellow,  and 
we  will  have  him  to  meet  the  brother  and  sister  at  dinner. 
That's  three.  We  can't  think  of  asking  him,  without  ask- 
iug  Jasper.  That's  four.  Add  Miss  Twinkleton  and  the 
fairy  bride  that  is  to  be,  and  that's  six.  Add  our  two 
selves,  and  that's  eight.  Would  eight  at  a  friendly  dinner 
at  all  put  you  out,  Ma?  " 

"Nine  would,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  visibly  ner- 
vous. 

"My  dear  Ma,  I  particularise  eight." 


48  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"The  exact  size  of  the  table  and  the  room,  my  dear." 

So  it  was  settled  that  way;  and  when  Mr.  Crisparkle 
called  with  his  mother  upon  Miss  Twiukleton,  to  arrange 
for  the  reception  of  Miss  Helena  Landless  at  the  Nuns' 
House,  the  two  other  invitations  having  reference  to  that 
establishment  were  proffered  and  accepted.  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton  did,  indeed,  glance  at  the  globes,  as  regretting  that 
they  were  not  formed  to  be  taken  out  into  society;  but  be- 
came reconciled  to  leaving  them  behind.  Instructions  were 
then  despatched  to  the  Philanthropist  for  the  departure  and 
arrival,  in  good  time  for  dinner,  of  Mr.  Neville  and  Miss 
Helena;  and  stock  for  soup  became  fragrant  in  the  air  of 
Minor  Canon  Corner. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  railway  to  Cloisterham,  and 
Mr.  Sapsea  said  there  never  would  be.  Mr.  Sapsea  said 
more;  he  said  there  never  should  be.  And  yet,  marvellous 
to  consider,  it  has  come  to  pass,  in  these  days,  that  Ex- 
press Trains  don't  think  Cloisterham  worth  stopping  at, 
but  yell  and  whirl  through  it  on  their  larger  errands,  cast- 
ing the  dust  off  their  wheels  as  a  testimony  against  its  in- 
significance. Some  remote  fragment  of  Main  Line  to  some- 
where else,  there  was,  which  was  going  to  ruin  the  Money 
Market  if  it  failed,  and  Church  and  State  if  it  succeeded, 
and  (of  course),  the  Constitution,  whether  or  no;  but  even 
that  had  already  so  unsettled  Cloisterham  traffic,  that  the 
traffic,  -deserting  the  high  road,  came  sneaking  in  from  an 
unprecedented  part  of  the  country  by  a  back  stable- way, 
for  many  years  labelled  at  the  corner:  "Beware  of  the 
Dog." 

To  this  ignominious  avenue  of  approach,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
repaired,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  short  squat  omnibus, 
with  a  disproportionate  heap  of  luggage  on  the  roof — like 
a  little  Elephant  with  infinitely  too  much  Castle — which 
was  then  the  daily  service  between  Cloisterham  and  exter- 
nal mankind.  As  this  vehicle  lumbered  up,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
could  hardly  see  anything  else  of  it  for  a  large  outside  pas- 
senger seated  on  the  box,  with  his  elbows  squared,  and  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  compressing  the  driver  into  a  most  un- 
comfortably small  compass,  and  glowering  about  him  with 
a  strongly-marked  face. 

"Is  this  Cloisterham?"  demanded  the  passenger,  in  a 
tremendous  voice. 

"It  is,"  replied  the  driver,   rubbing  himself  as  if  he 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  49 

ached,  after  throwing  the  reins  to  the  hostler.     "And  I 
never  was  so  glad  to  see  it." 

"Tell  your  master  to  make  his  box-seat  wider,  then,"  re- 
turned the  passenger.  "  Your  master  is  morally  bound — 
and  ought  to  be  legally,  under  ruinous  penalties — to  pro- 
vide for  the  comfort  of  his  fellow-man." 

The  driver  instituted,  with  the  palms  of  his  hands,  a 
superficial  perquisition  into  the  state  of  his  skeleton;  which 
seemed  to  make  him  anxious. 

"  Have  I  sat  upon  you?  "  asked  the  passenger. 

"  You  have,"  said  the  driver,  as  if  he  didn't  like  it  at  all. 

"Take  that  card,  my  friend." 

"  I  think  I  won't  deprive  you  on  it,"  returned  the  driver, 
casting  his  eyes  over  it  with  no  great  favour,  without  tak- 
ing it.  "  What's  the  good  of  it  to  me?  " 

"Be  a  Member  of  that  Society,"  said  the  passenger. 

"  What  shall  I  get  by  it?  "  asked  the  driver. 

"Brotherhood,"  returned  the  passenger,  in  a  ferocious 
voice. 

"Thankee,"  said  the  driver,  very  deliberately,  as  he  got 
down;  "my  mother  was  contented  with  myself,  and  so  am 
I.  I  don't  want  no  brothers." 

"But  you  must  have  them,"  replied  the  passenger,  also 
descending,  "whether  you  like  it  or  not.  I  am  your 
brother. " 

"  I  say !  "  expostulated  the  driver,  becoming  more  chafed 
in  temper,  "  not  too  fur !  The  worm  will,  when — " 

But  here  Mr.  Crisparkle  interposed,  remonstrating  aside, 
in  a  friendly  voice :  "  Joe,  Joe,  Joe !  don't  forget  yourself, 
Joe,  my  good  fellow ! "  and  then,  when  Joe  peaceably 
touched  his  hat,  accosting  the  passenger  with :  "  Mr.  Honey- 
thunder?  " 

"That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"My  name  is  Crisparkle." 

"Reverend  Mr.  Septimus?  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Nev- 
ille and  Helena  are  inside.  Having  a  little  succumbed  of 
late,  under  the  pressure  of  my  public  labours,  I  thought  I 
would  take  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  and  come  down  with 
them,  and  return  at  night.  So  you  are  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Septimus,  are  you?  "  surveying  him  on  the  whole  with  dis- 
appointment, and  twisting  a  double  eyeglass  by  its  riband, 
as  if  he  were  roasting  it,  but  not  otherwise  using  it.  "  Hah ! 
I  expected  to  see  you  older,  sir." 
4 


50  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  hope  you  will, "  was  the  good-humoured  reply. 

"Eh?"  demanded  Mr.  Honeythunder. 

"Only  a  poor  little  joke.     Not  worth  repeating." 

"Joke?  Ay;  I  never  see  a  joke,"  Mr.  Honeythunder 
frowningly  retorted.  "  A  joke  is  wasted  upon  me,  sir. 
Where  are  they?  Helena  and  Neville,  come  here!  Mr. 
Crisparkle  has  come  down  to  meet  you." 

An  unusually  handsome  lithe  young  fellow,  and  an  un- 
usually handsome  lithe  girl;  much  alike;  both  very  dark, 
and  very  rich  in  colour;  she  of  almost  the  gipsy  type; 
something  untamed  about  them  both;  a  certain  air  upon 
them  of  hunter  and  huntress;  yet  withal  a  certain  air  of 
being  the  objects  of  the  chase,  rather  than  the  followers. 
Slender,  supple,  quick  of  eye  and  limb;  half  shy,  half  de- 
fiant; fierce  of  look;  an  indefinable  kind  of  pause  coming 
and  going  on  their  whole  expression,  both  of  face  and  form, 
which  might  be  equally  likened  to  the  pause  before  a  crouch 
or  a  bound.  -  The  rough  mental  notes  made  in  the  first  five 
minutes  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  would  have  read  thus,  verbatim. 

He  invited  Mr.  Honeythunder  to  dinner,  with  a  troubled 
mind  (for  the  discomfiture  of  the  dear  old  china  shepherdess 
lay  heavy  on  it),  and  gave  his  arm  to  Helena  Landless. 
Both  she  and  her  brother,  as  they  walked  all  together 
through  the  ancient  streets,  took  great  delight  in  what  he 
pointed  out  of  the  Cathedral  and  the  Monastery  ruin,  and 
wondered — so  his  notes  ran  on — much  as  if  they  were 
beautiful  barbaric  captives  brought  from  some  wild  tropical 
dominion.  Mr.  Honeythunder  walked  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  shouldering  the  natives  out  of  his  way,  and  loudly 
developing  a  scheme  he  had,  for  making  a  raid  on  all  the 
unemployed  persons  in  the  United  Kingdom,  laying  them 
every  one  by  the  heels  in  jail,  and  forcing  them,  on  pain 
of  prompt  extermination,  to  become  philanthropists. 

Mrs.  Crisparkle  had  need  of  her  own  share  of  philan- 
thropy when  she  beheld  this  very  large  and  very  loud  ex- 
crescence on  the  little  party.  Always  something  in  the  na- 
ture of  a  Boil  upon  the  face  of  society,  Mr.  Honeythunder 
expanded  into  an  inflammatory  Wen  in  Minor  Canon  Corner. 
Though  it  was  not  literally  true,  as  was  facetiously  charged 
against  him  by  public  unbelievers,  that  he  called  aloud  to 
his  fellow-creatures :  "  Curse  your  souls  and  bodies,  come 
here  and  be  blessed ! "  still  his  philanthropy  was  of  that 
gunpowderous  sort  that  the  difference  between  it  and  ani- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  51 

mosity  was  hard  to  determine.  You  were  to  abolish  mili- 
tary force,  but  you  were  first  to  bring  all  commanding  offi- 
cers who  had  done  their  duty,  to  trial  by  court-martial  for 
that  offence,  and  shoot  them.  You  were  to  abolish  war, 
but  were  to  make  converts  by  making  war  upon  them,  and 
charging  them  with  loving  war  as  the  apple  of  their  eye. 
You  were  to  have  no  capital  punishment,  but  were  first  to 
sweep  off  the  face  of  the  earth  all  legislators,  jurists,  and 
judges,  who  were  of  the  contrary  opinion.  You  were  to 
have  universal  concord,  and  were  to  get  it  by  eliminating  all 
the  people  who  wouldn't,  or  conscientiously  couldn't,  be 
concordant.  You  were  to  love  your  brother  as  yourself,  but 
after  an  indefinite  interval  of  maligning  him  (very  much  as 
if  you  hated  him),  and  calling  him  all  manner  of  names. 
Above  all  things,  you  were  to  do  nothing  in  private,  or  on 
your  own  account.  You  were  to  go  to  the  offices  of  the 
Haven  of  Philanthropy,  and  put  your  name  down  as  a 
Member  and  a  Professing  Philanthropist.  Then,  you  were 
to  pay  up  your  subscription,  get  your  card  of  membership 
and  your  riband  and  medal,  and  were  evermore  to  live  upon 
a  platform,  and  evermore  to  say  what  Mr.  Honeythunder 
said,  and  what  the  Treasurer  said,  and  what  the  sub-Treas- 
urer said,  and  what  the  Committee  said,  and  what  the  sub- 
Committee  said,  and  what  the  Secretary  said,  and  what  the 
Vice- Secretary  said.  And  this  was  usually  said  in  the 
unanimously  carried  resolution  under  hand  and  seal,  to  the 
effect :  "  That  this  assembled  Body  of  Professing  Philan- 
thropists views,  with  indignant  scorn  and  contempt,  not 
unmixed  with  utter  detestation  and  loathing  abhorrence " 
- — in  short,  the  baseness  of  all  those  who  do  not  belong  to 
it,  and  pledges  itself  to  make  as  many  obnoxious  statements 
as  possible  about  them,  without  being  at  all  particular  as 
to  facts. 

The  dinner  was  a  most  doleful  breakdown.  The  philan- 
thropist deranged  the  symmetry  of  the  table,  sat  himself 
in  the  way  of  the  waiting,  blocked  up  the  thoroughfare, 
and  drove  Mr.  Tope  (who  assisted  the  parlour-maid)  to  the 
verge  of  distraction  by  passing  plates  and  dishes  on,  over 
his  own  head.  Nobody  could  talk  to  anybody,  because  he 
held  forth  to  everybody  at  once,  as  if  the  company  had  no 
individual  existence,  but  were  a  Meeting.  He  impounded 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus,  as  an  official  personage  to  be 
addressed,  or  kind  of  human  peg  to  hang  his  oratorical  hat 


52  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

on,  and  fell  into  the  exasperating  habit,  common  among 
such  orators,  of  impersonating  him  as  a  wicked  and  weak 
opponent.  Thus,  he  would  ask :  "  And  will  you,  sir,  now 
stultify  yourself  by  telling  me  " — and  so  forth,  when  the 
innocent  man  had  not  opened  his  lips,  nor  meant  to  open 
them.  Or  he  would  say :  "  Now  see,  sir,  to  what  a  posi- 
tion you  are  reduced.  I  will  leave  you  no  escape.  After 
exhausting  all  the  resources  of  fraud  and  falsehood,  during 
years  upon  years;  after  exhibiting  a  combination  of  das- 
tardly meanness  with  ensanguined  daring,  such  as  the  world 
has  not  often  witnessed;  you  have  now  the  hypocrisy  to 
bend  the  knee  before  the  most  degraded  of  mankind,  and 
to  sue  and  whine  and  howl  for  mercy ! "  Whereat  the  un- 
fortunate Minor  Canon  would  look,  in  part  indignant  and 
in  part  perplexed;  while  his  worthy  mother  sat  bridling, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  the  remainder  of  the  party 
lapsed  into  a  sort  of  gelatinous  state,  in  which  there  was 
no  flavour  or  solidity,  and  very  little  resistance. 

But  the  gush  of  philanthropy  that  burst  forth  when  the 
departure  of  Mr.  Honeythunder  began  to  impend,  must 
have  been  highly  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  that  distin- 
guished man.  His  coffee  was  produced,  by  the  special  ac- 
tivity of  Mr.  Tope,  a  full  hour  before  he  wanted  it.  Mr. 
Crisparkle  sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand  for  about  the 
same  period,  lest  he  should  overstay  his  time.  The  four 
young  people  were  unanimous  in  believing  that  the  Cathe- 
dral clock  struck  three-quarters,  when  it  actually  struck 
but  one.  Miss  Twinkleton  estimated  the  distance  to  the 
omnibus  at  five-and-twenty  minutes'  walk,  when  it  was 
really  five.  The  affectionate  kindness  of  the  whole  circle 
hustled  him  into  his  greatcoat,  and  shoved  him  out  into  the 
moonlight,  as  if  he  were  a  fugitive  traitor  with  whom  they 
sympathised,  and  a  troop  of  horse  were  at  the  back  door. 
Mr.  Crisparkle  and  his  new  charge,  who  took  him  to  the 
omnibus,  were  so  fervent  in  their  apprehensions  of  his 
catching  cold,  that  they  shut  him  up  in  it  instantly  and  left 
him,  with  still  half-an-hour  to  spare. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  53 


CHAPTER    VII. 

MORE  CONFIDENCES  THAN  ONE. 

"  I  KNOW  very  little  of  that  gentleman,  sir,"  said  Neville 
to  the  Minor  Canon  as  they  turned  back. 

"  You  know  very  little  of  your  guardian? "  the  Minor 
Canon  repeated. 

"  Almost  nothing !  " 

"  How  came  he — 

"To  be  my  guardian?  I'll  tell  you,  sir.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  we  come  (my  sister  and  I)  from  Ceylon?  " 

"Indeed,  no." 

"  I  wonder  at  that.  We  lived  with  a  stepfather  there. 
Our  mother  died  there,  when  we  were  little  children.  We 
have  had  a  wretched  existence.  She  made  him  our  guar- 
dian, and  he  was  a  miserly  wretch  who  grudged  us  food  to 
eat,  and  clothes  to  wear.  At  his  death,  he  passed  us  over 
to  this  man;  for  no  better  reason  that  I  know  of,  than  his 
being  a  friend  or  connection  of  his,  whose  name  was  always 
in  print  and  catching  his  attention." 

"  That  was  lately,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Quite  lately,  sir.  This  stepfather  of  ours  was  a  cruel 
brute  as  well  as  a  grinding  one.  It  is  well  he  died  when 
he  did,  or  I  might  have  killed  him." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  stopped  short  in  the  moonlight  and  looked 
at  his  hopeful  pupil  in  consternation. 

"  I  surprise  you,  sir?  "  he  said,  with  a  quick  change  to  a 
submissive  manner. 

"You  shock  me;  unspeakably  shock  me." 

The  pupil  hung  his  head  for  a  little  while,  as  they 
walked  on,  and  then  said :  "  You  never  saw  him  beat  your 
sister.  I  have  seen  him  beat  mine,  more  than  once  or  twice, 
and  I  never  forgot  it." 

"Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "not  even  a  beloved  and 
beautiful  sister's  tears  under  dastardly  ill-usage;"  he  be- 
came less  severe,  in  spite  of  himself,  as  his  indignation 
rose;  "could  justify  those  horrible  expressions  that  you 
used." 


54  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  used  them,  and  especially  to  you,  sir.  I 
beg  to  recall  them.  But  permit  me  to  set  you  right  on  one 
point.  You  spoke  of  my  sister's  tears.  My  sister  would 
have  let  him  tear  her  to  pieces,  before  she  would  have  let 
him  believe  that  he  could  make  her  shed  a  tear." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  reviewed  those  mental  notes  of  his,  and 
was  neither  at  all  surprised  to  hear  it,  nor  at  all  disposed 
to  question  it. 

"Perhaps  you  will  think  it  strange,  sir," — this  was  said 
in  a  hesitating  voice — "  that  I  should  so  soon  ask  you  to  al- 
low me  to  confide  in  you,  and  to  have  the  kindness  to  hear 
a  word  or  two  from  me  in  my  defence?  " 

"  Defence?  "  Mr.  Crisparkle  repeated.  "  You  are  not  on 
your  defence,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  I  think  I  am,  sir.  At  least  I  know  I  should  be,  if  you 
were  better  acquainted  with  my  character." 

"Well,  Mr.  Neville,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  What  if  you 
leave  me  to  find  it  out?  " 

"  Since  it  is  your  pleasure,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man, 
with  a  quick  change  in  his  manner  to  sullen  disappoint- 
ment :  "  since  it  is  your  pleasure  to  check  me  in  my  impulse, 
I  must  submit." 

There  was  that  in  the  tone  of  this  short  speech  which 
made  the  conscientious  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed  un- 
easy. It  hinted  to  him  that  he  might,  without  meaning  it, 
turn  aside  a  trustfulness  beneficial  to  a  misshapen  young 
mind  and  perhaps  to  his  own  power  of  directing  and  im- 
proving it.  They  were  within  sight  of  the  lights  in  his 
windows,  and  he  stopped. 

"  Let  us  turn  back  and  take  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down, 
Mr.  Neville,  or  you  may  not  have  time  to  finish  what  you 
wish  to  say  to  me.  You  are  hasty  in  thinking  that  I  mean  to 
check  you.  Quite  the  contrary.  I  invite  your  confidence." 

"  You  have  invited  it,  sir,  without  knowing  it,  ever  since 
I  came  here.  I  say  'ever  since,'  as  if  I  had  been  here  a 
week.  The  truth  is,  we  came  here  (my  sister  and  I)  to 
quarrel  with  you,  and  affront  you,  and  break  away  again." 

"  Really?  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at  a  dead  loss  for  any- 
thing else  to  say. 

"  You  see,  we  could  not  know  what  you  were  beforehand, 
sir;  could  we?  " 

"Clearly  not,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"And  having  liked  no  one  else  with  whom  we  have  ever 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  55 

been  brought  into  contact,  we  had  made  up  our  minds  not 
to  like  you. " 

"Really?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"  But  we  do  like  you,  sir,  and  we  see  an  unmistakable 
difference  between  your  house  and  your  reception  of  us, 
and  anything  else  we  have  ever  known.  This — and  my 
happening  to  be  alone  with  you — and  everything  around  us 
seeming  so  quiet  and  peaceful  after  Mr.  Honey  thunder's 
departure — and  Cloisterham  being  so  old  and  grave  and 
beautiful,  with  the  moon  shining  on  it — these  things  in- 
clined me  to  open  my  heart." 

"  I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Neville.  And  it  is  salutary  to 
listen  to  such  influences." 

"In  describing  my  own  imperfections,  sir,  I  must  ask 
you  not  to  suppose  that  I  am  describing  my  sister's.  She 
has  come  out  of  the  disadvantages  of  our  miserable  life,  as 
much  better  than  I  am,  as  that  Cathedral  tower  is  higher 
than  those  chimneys." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  in  his  own  breast  was  not  so  sure  of 
this. 

"I  have  had,  sir,  from  my  earliest  remembrance,  to 
suppress  a  deadly  and  bitter  hatred.  This  has  made  me 
secret  and  revengeful.  I  have  been  always  tyrannically 
held  down  by  the  strong  hand.  This  has  driven  me,  in  my 
weakness,  to  the  resource  of  being  false  and  mean.  I  have 
been  stinted  of  education,  liberty,  money,  dress,  the  very 
necessaries  of  life,  the  commonest  pleasures  of  childhood, 
the  commonest  possessions  of  youth.  This  has  caused  me 
to  be  utterly  wanting  in  I  don't  know  what  emotions,  or 
remembrances,  or  good  instincts — I  have  not  even  a  name 
for  the  thing,  you  see ! — that  you  have  had  to  work  upon 
in  other  young  men  to  whom  you  have  been  accustomed." 

"This  is  evidently  true.  But  this  is  not  encouraging," 
thought  Mr.  Crisparkle  as  they  turned  again. 

"  And  to  finish  with,  sir :  I  have  been  brought  up  among 
abject  and  servile  dependents,  of  an  inferior  race,  and  I 
may  easily  have  contracted  some  affinity  with  them.  Some- 
times, I  don't  know  but  that  it  may  be  a  drop  of  what  is 
tigerish  in  their  blood." 

"As  in  the  case  of  that  remark  just  now,"  thought  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

"In  a  last  word  of  reference  to  my  sister,  sir  (we  are 
twin  children),  you  ought  to  know,  to  her  honour,  that 


56  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOt). 

nothing  in  our  misery  ever  subdued  her,  though  it  often 
cowed  me.  When  we  ran  away  from  it  (we  ran  away  four 
times  in  six  years,  to  be  soon  brought  back  and  cruelly  pun- 
ished), the  fight  was  always  of  her  planning  and  leading. 
Each  time  she  dressed  as  a  boy,  and  showed  the  daring 
of  a  man.  I  take  it  we  were  seven  years  old  when  we  first 
decamped;  but  I  remember,  when  I  lost  the  pocket-knife 
with  which  she  was  to  have  cut  her  hair  short,  how  desper- 
ately she  tried  to  tear  it  out,  or  bite  it  off.  I  have  nothing 
further  to  say,  sir,  except  that  I  hope  you  will  bear  with 
me  and  make  allowance  for  me." 

"Of  that,  Mr.  Neville,  you  may  be  sure,"  returned  the 
Minor  Canon.  "I  don't  preach  more  than  I  can  help,  and 
I  will  not  repay  your  confidence  with  a  sermon.  But  I  en- 
treat you  to  bear  in  mind,  very  seriously  and  steadily,  that 
if  I  am  to  do  you  any  good,  it  can  only  be  with  your  own 
assistance;  and  that  you  can  only  render  that,  efficiently, 
by  seeking  aid  from  Heaven." 

"I  will  try  to  do  my  part,  sir." 

"  And,  Mr.  Neville,  I  will  try  to  do  mine.  Here  is  my 
hand  on  it.  May  (*od  bless  our  endeavours !  " 

They  were  now  standing  at  his  house-door,  and  a  cheer- 
ful sound  of  voices  and  laughter  was  heard  within. 

"  We  will  take  one  more  turn  before  going  in,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "for  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  When  you 
said  you  were  in  a  changed  mind  concerning  me,  you  spoke, 
not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  your  sister  too?  " 

"Undoubtedly  I  did,  sir." 

"  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Neville,  but  I  think  you  have  had  no 
opportunity  of  communicating  with  your  sister,  since  I  met 
you.  Mr.  Honey  thunder  was  very  eloquent;  but  perhaps 
I  may  venture  to  say,  without  ill-nature,  that  he  rather 
monopolised  the  occasion.  May  you  not  have  answered  for 
your  sister  without  sufficient  warrant?  " 

Neville  shook  his  head  with  a  proud  smile. 

"  You  don't  know,  sir,  yet,  what  a  complete  understand- 
ing can  exist  between  my  sister  and  me,  though  no  spoken 
word — perhaps  hardly  as  much  as  a  look — may  have  passed 
between  us.  She  not  only  feels  as  I  have  described,  but 
she  very  well  knows  that  I  am  taking  this  opportunity 
of  speaking  to  you,  both  for  her  and  for  myself." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  in  his  face,  with  some  incredulity; 
but  his  face  expressed  such  absolute  and  firm  conviction  of 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.       57 

the  truth  of  what  he  said,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  at  the 
pavement,  and  mused,  until  they  came  to  his  door  again. 

"I  will  ask  for  one  more  turn,  sir,  this  time,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  a  rather  heightened  colour  rising  in  his 
face.  "But  for  Mr.  Honey  thunder's — I  think  you  called 
it  eloquence,  sir?  "  (somewhat  slyly). 

"I — yes,  I  called  it  eloquence,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"But  for  Mr.  Honey  thunder's  eloquence,  I  might  have 
had  no  need  to  ask  you  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you.  This 
Mr.  Edwin  Drood,  sir:  I  think  that's  the  name?  " 

"  Quite  correct,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.     "  D-r-double  o-d." 

"  Does  he — or  did  he — read  with  you,  sir?  " 

"Never,  Mr.  Neville.  He  comes  here  visiting  his  rela- 
tion, Mr.  Jasper." 

"  Is  Miss  Bud  his  relation  too,  sir?  " 

("  Now,  why  should  he  ask  that,  with  sudden  supercili- 
ousness?" thought  Mr.  Crisparkle.)  Then  he  explained, 
aloud,  what  he  knew  of  the  little  story  of  their  betrothal. 

"0!  that's  it,  is  it?"  said  the  young  man.  "I  under- 
stand his  air  of  proprietorship  now ! " 

This  was  said  so  evidently  to  himself,  or  to  anybody 
rather  than  Mr.  Crisparkle,  that  the  latter  instinctively  felt 
as  if  to  notice  it  would  be  almost  tantamount  to  noticing  a 
passage  in  a  letter  which  he  had  read  by  chance  over  the 
writer's  shoulder.  A  moment  afterwards  they  re-entered 
the  house. 

Mr.  Jasper  was  seated  at  the  piano  as  they  came  into  his 
drawing-room,  and  was  accompanying  Miss  Rosebud  while 
she  sang.  It  was  a  consequence  of  his  playing  the  accom- 
paniment without  notes,  and  of  her  being  a  heedless  little 
creature,  very  apt  to  go  wrong,  that  he  followed  her  lips 
most  attentively,  with  his  eyes  as  well  as  hands;  carefully 
and  softly  hinting  the  key-note  from  time  to  time.  Stand- 
ing with  an  arm  drawn  round  her,  but  with  a  face  far  more 
intent  on  Mr.  Jasper  than  on  her  singing,  stood  Helena, 
between  whom  and  her  brother  an  instantaneous  recogni- 
tion passed,  in  which  Mr.  Crisparkle  saw,  or  thought  he 
saw,  the  understanding  that  had  been  spoken  of,  flash  out. 
Mr.  Neville  then  took  his  admiring  station,  leaning  against 
the  piano,  opposite  the  singer;  Mr.  Crisparkle  sat  down  by 
the  china  shepherdess;  Edwin  Drood  gallantly  furled  and 
unfurled  Miss  Twinkleton's  fan;  and  that  lady  passively 
claimed  that  sort  of  exhibitor's  proprietorship  in  the  accom- 


58  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

plishment  011  view,  which  Mr.  Tope,  the  Verger,  daily 
claimed  in  the  Cathedral  service. 

The  song  went  on.  It  was  a  sorrowful  strain  of  parting, 
and  the  fresh  young  voice  was  very  plaintive  and  tender. 
As  Jasper  watched  the  pretty  lips,  and  ever  and  again 
hinted  the  one  note,  as  though  it  were  a  low  whisper  from 
himself,  the  voice  became  less  steady,  until  all  at  once  the 
singer  broke  into  a  burst  of  tears,  and  shrieked  out,  with 
her  hands  over  her  eyes :  "  I  can't  bear  this !  I  am  fright- 
ened !  Take  me  away !  " 

With  one  swift  turn  of  her  lithe  figure,  Helena  laid  the 
little  beauty  on  a  sofa,  as  if  she  had  never  caught  her  up. 
Then,  on  one  knee  beside  her,  and  with  one  hand  upon  her 
rosy  mouth,  while  with  the  other  she  appealed  to  all  the 
rest,  Helena  said  to  them:  "It's  nothing;  it's  all  over; 
don't  speak  to  her  for  one  minute,  and  she  is  well ! " 

Jasper's  hands  had,  in  the  same  instant,  lifted  them- 
selves from  the  keys,  and  were  now  poised  above  them,  as 
though  he  waited  to  resume.  In  that  attitude  he  yet  sat 
quiet:  not  even  looking  round,  when  all  the  rest  had 
changed  their  places  and  were  reassuring  one  another. 

"Pussy's  not  used  to  an  audience;  that's  the  fact,"  said 
Edwin  Drood.  "  She  got  nervous,  and  couldn't  hold  out. 
Besides,  Jack,  you  are  such  a  conscientious  master,  and  re- 
quire so  much,  that  I  believe  you  make  her  afraid  of  you. 
No  wonder." 

"No  wonder,"  repeated  Helena. 

"  There,  Jack,  you  hear !  You  would  be  afraid  of  him, 
under  similar  circumstances,  wouldn't  you,  Miss  Land- 
less? " 

"Not  under  any  circumstances,"  returned  Helena. 

Jasper  brought  down  his  hands,  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der, and  begged  to  thank  Miss  Landless  for  her  vindication 
of  his  character.  Then  he  fell  to  dumbly  playing,  without 
striking  the  notes,  while  his  little  pupil  was  taken  to  an 
open  window  for  air,  and  was  otherwise  petted  and  re- 
stored. When  she  was  brought  back,  his  place  was  empty. 
"Jack's  gone,  Pussy,"  Edwin  told  her.  "I  am  more  than 
half  afraid  he  didn't  like  to  be  charged  with  being  the 
Monster  who  had  frightened  you."  But  she  answered 
never  a  word,  and  shivered,  as  if  they  had  made  her  a  lit- 
tle too  cold. 

Miss  Twinkleton  now  opining  that  indeed  these  were 


THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  59 

late  hours,  Mrs.  Crisparkle,  for  finding  ourselves  outside 
the  walls  of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  that  we  who  undertook 
the  formation  of  the  future  wives  and  mothers  of  England 
(the  last  words  in  a  lower  voice,  as  requiring  to  be  com- 
municated in  confidence)  were  really  bound  (voice  coming 
up  again)  to  set  a  better  example  than  one  of  rakish  habits, 
wrappers  were  put  in  requisition,  and  the  two  young  cava- 
liers volunteered  to  see  the  ladies  home.  It  was  soon  done, 
and  the  gate  of  the  Nuns'  House  closed  upon  them. 

The  boarders  had  retired,  and  only  Mrs.  Tisher  in  soli- 
tary vigil  awaited  the  new  pupil.  Her  bedroom  being 
within  Rosa's,  very  little  introduction  or  explanation  was 
necessary,  before  she  was  placed  in  charge  of  her  new 
friend,  and  left  for  the  night. 

"This  is  a  blessed  relief,  my  dear,"  said  Helena.  "I 
have  been  dreading  all  day,  that  I  should  be  brought  to 
bay  at  this  time." 

"There  are  not  many  of  us,"  returned  Rosa,  "and  we 
are  good-natured  girls;  at  least  the  others  are;  I  can  answer 
for  them." 

"I  can  answer  for  you,"  laughed  Helena,  searching  the 
lovely  little  face  with  her  dark  fiery  eyes,  and  tenderly 
caressing  the  small  figure.  "  You  will  be  a  friend  to  me, 
won't  you?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  But  the  idea  of  my  being  a  friend  to  you 
seems  too  absurd,  though." 

"  Why?  " 

"  0, 1  am  such  a  mite  of  a  thing,  and  you  are  so  womanly 
and  handsome.  You  seem  to  have  resolution  and  power 
enough  to  crush  me.  I  shrink  into  nothing  by  the  side  of 
your  presence  even." 

"  I  am  a  neglected  creature,  my  dear,  unacquainted  with 
all  accomplishments,  sensitively  conscious  that  I  have  every- 
thing to  learn,  and  deeply  ashamed  to  own  my  ignorance." 

"  And  yet  you  acknowledge  everything  to  me ! "  said  Rosa. 

"  My  pretty  one,  can  I  help  it?  There  is  a  fascination 
in  you." 

"0!  is  there  though?"  pouted  Rosa,  half  in  jest  and 
half  in  earnest.  "What  a  pity  Master  Eddy  doesn't  feel 
it  more ! " 

Of  course  her  relations  towards  that  young  gentleman 
had  been  already  imparted  in  Minor  Canon  Corner. 

"  Why,  surely  he  must  love  you  with  all  his  heart ! " 


60  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

cried  Helena,  with  an  earnestness  that  threatened  to  blaze 
into  ferocity  if  he  didn't. 

"Eh?  0,  well,  I  suppose  he  does,"  said  Rosa,  pouting 
again;  "I  am  sure  I  have  no  right  to  say  he  doesn't.  Per- 
haps it's  my  fault.  Perhaps  I  am  not  as  nice  to  him  as  I 
ought  to  be.  I  don't  think  I  am.  But  it  is  so  ridiculous !  " 

Helena's  eyes  demanded  what  was. 

"  We  are,"  said  Rosa,  answering  as  if  she  had  spoken. 
"  We  are  such  a  ridiculous  couple.  And  we  are  always 
quarrelling." 

"  Why?  " 

"  Because  we  both  know  we  are  ridiculous,  my  dear ! " 
Rosa  gave  that  answer  as  if  it  were  the  most  conclusive  an- 
swer in  the  world. 

Helena's  masterful  look  was  intent  upon  her  face  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  she  impulsively  put  out  both  her 
hands  and  said: 

"  You  will  be  my  friend  and  help  me?  " 

"Indeed,  my  dear,  I  will,"  replied  Rosa,  in  a  tone  of 
affectionate  childishness  that  went  straight  and  true  to  her 
heart;  "  I  will  be  as  good  a  friend  as  such  a  mite  of  a  thing 
can  be  to  such  a  noble  creature  as  you.  And  be  a  friend 
to  me,  please;  I  don't  understand  myself:  and  I  want  a 
friend  who  can  understand  me,  very  much  indeed." 

Helena  Landless  kissed  her,  and  retaining  both  her  hands 
said: 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Jasper?  " 

Rosa  turned  aside  her  head  in  answering :  "  Eddy's  uncle, 
and  my  music-master." 

"  You  do  not  love  him?  " 

"  Ugh !  "  She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face,  and  shook 
with  fear  or  horror. 

"  You  know  that  he  loves  you?  " 

"O,  don't,  don't,  don't!"  cried  Rosa,  dropping  on  her 
knees,  and  clinging  to  her  new  resource.  "Don't  tell  me 
of  it!  He  terrifies  me.  He  haunts  my  thoughts,  like  a 
dreadful  ghost.  I  feel  that  I  am  never  safe  from  him.  I 
feel  as  if  he  could  pass  in  through  the  wall  when  he  is 
spoken  of."  She  actually  did  look  round,  as  if  she  dreaded 
to  see  him  standing  in  the  shadow  behind  her. 

"Try  to  tell  me  more  about  it,  darling." 

"  Yes,  I  will,  I  will.  Because  you  are  so  strong.  But 
hold  me  the  while,  and  stay  with  me  afterwards." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  61 

"  My  child !  You  speak  as  if  he  had  threatened  you  in 
some  dark  way." 

"He  has  never  spoken  to  me  about — that.     Never." 

"  What  has  he  done?  " 

"  He  has  made  a  slave  of  me  with  his  looks.  He  has 
forced  me  to  understand  him,  without  his  saying  a  word; 
and  he  has  forced  me  to  keep  silence,  without  his  uttering 
a  threat.  When  I  play,  he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my 
hands.  When  I  sing,  he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my 
lips.  When  he  corrects  me,  and  strikes  a  note,  or  a  chord, 
or  plays  a  passage,  he  himself  is  in  the  sounds,  whispering 
that  he  pursues  me  as  a  lover,  and  commanding  me  to  keep 
his  secret.  I  avoid  his  eyes,  but  he  forces  me  to  see  them 
without  looking  at  them.  Even  when  a  glaze  comes  over 
them  (which  is  sometimes  the  case),  and  he  seems  to 
wander  away  into  a  frightful  sort  of  dream  in  which  he 
threatens  most,  he  obliges  me  to  know  it,  and  to  know 
that  he  is  sitting  close  at  my  side,  more  terrible  to  me  than 
ever." 

"  What  is  this  imagined  threatening,  pretty  one?  What 
is  threatened?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  even  dared  to  think  or 
wonder  what  it  is." 

"  And  was  this  all,  to-night?  " 

"This  was  all;  except  that  to-night  when  he  watched 
my  lips  so  closely  as  I  was  singing,  besides  feeling  terrified 
I  felt  ashamed  and  passionately  hurt.  It  was  as  if  he 
kissed  me,  and  I  couldn't  bear  it,  but  cried  out.  You  must 
never  breathe  this  to  any  one.  Eddy  is  devoted  to  him. 
]-5ut  you  said  to-night  that  you  would  not  be  afraid  of  him, 
under  any  circumstances,  and  that  gives  me — who  am  so 
much  afraid  of  him — courage  to  tell  only  you.  Hold  me ! 
Stay  with  me!  I  am  too  frightened  to  be  left  by  my- 
self." 

The  lustrous  gipsy-face  drooped  over  the  clinging  arms 
and  bosom,  and  the  wild  black  hair  fell  down  protectiugly 
over  the  childish  form.  There  was  a  slumbering  gleam  of 
fire  in  the  intense  dark  eyes,  though  they  were  then  soft- 
ened with  compassion  and  admiration.  Let  whomsoever  it 
most  concerned  look  well  to  it ! 


62  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

CHAPTEK    VIII. 

DAGGERS  DRAWN. 

THE  two  young  men,  having  seen  the  damsels,  their 
charges,  enter  the  courtyard  of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  find- 
ing themselves  coldly  stared  at  by  the  brazen  door-plate,  as 
if  the  battered  old  beau  with  the  glass  in  his  eye  were  iu- 
solent,  look  at  one  another,  look  along  the  perspective  of 
the  moonlit  street,  and  slowly  walk  away  together. 

"Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Drood?  "  says  Neville. 

"Not  this  time,"  is  the  careless  answer.  "I  leave  for 
London  again,  to-morrow.  But  I  shall  be  here,  off  and  on, 
until  next  Midsummer;  then  I  shall  take  my  leave  of  Clois- 
terham,  and  England  too;  for  many  a  long  day,  I  expect." 

"  Are  you  going  abroad?  " 

"Going  to  wake  up  Egypt  a  little,"  is  the  condescending 
answer. 

"  Are  you  reading?  " 

"  Reading?  "  repeats  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  touch  of  con- 
tempt. "No.  Doing,  working,  engineering.  My  small 
patrimony  was  left  a  part  of  the  capital  of  the  Firm  I  am 
with,  by  my  father,  a  former  partner;  and  I  am  a  charge 
upon  the  Firm  until  I  come  of  age;  and  then  I  step  into  my 
modest  share  in  the  concern.  Jack — you  met  him  at  din- 
ner— is,  until  then,  my  guardian  and  trustee." 

"I  heard  from  Mr.  Crisparkle  of  your  other  good  for- 
tune." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  my  other  good  fortune?  " 

Neville  has  made  his  remark  in  a  watchfully  advancing, 
and  yet  furtive  and  shy  manner,  very  expressive  of  that 
peculiar  air  already  noticed,  of  being  at  once  hunter  and 
hunted.  Edwin  has  made  his  retort  with  an  abruptness 
not  at  all  polite.  They]  stop  and  interchange  a  rather 
heated  look. 

"I  hope,"  says  Neville,  "there  is  no  offence,  Mr.  Drood, 
in  my  innocently  referring  to  your  betrothal?  " 

"  By  George !  "  cries  Edwin,  leading  on  again  at  a  some- 
what quicker  pace;  "  everybody  in  this  chattering  old  Clois- 
terham  refers  to  it.  I  wonder  no  public-house  has  been 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  63 

set  up,  with  my  portrait  for  the  sign  of  The  Betrothed 's 
Head.  Or  Pussy's  portrait.  One  or  the  other." 

"  I  am  not  accountable  for  Mr.  Crisparkle's  mentioning 
the  matter  to  me,  quite  openly,"  Neville  begins. 

"No;  that's  true;  you  are  not,"  Edwin  Drood  assents. 

"But,"  resumes  Neville,  "I  am  accountable  for  mention- 
ing it  to  you.  And  I  did  so,  on  the  supposition  that  you 
could  not  fail  to  be  highly  proud  of  it." 

Now,  there  are  these  two  curious  touches  of  human  na- 
ture working  the  secret  springs  of  this  dialogue.  Neville 
Landless  is  already  enough  impressed  by  Little  Rosebud, 
to  feel  indignant  that  Edwin  Drood  (far  below  her)  should 
hold  his  prize  so  lightly.  Edwin  Drood  is  already  enough 
impressed  by  Helena,  to  feel  indignant  that  Helena's 
brother  (far  below  her)  should  dispose  of  him  so  coolly, 
and  put  him  out  of  the  way  so  entirely. 

However,  the  last  remark  had  better  be  answered.  So, 
says  Edwin : 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Neville"  (adopting  that  mode  of 
address  from  Mr.  Crisparkle),  "that  what  people  are  proud- 
est of,  they  usually  talk  most  about;  I  don't  know  either, 
that  what  they  are  proudest  of,  they  most  like  other  people 
to  talk  about.  But  I  live  a  busy  life,  and  I  speak  under 
correction  by  you  readers,  who  ought  to  know  everything, 
and  I  daresay  do." 

By  this  time  they  had  both  become  savage;  Mr.  Neville 
out  in  the  open ;  Edwin  Drood  under  the  transparent  cover 
of  a  popular  tune,  and  a  stop  now  and  then  to  pretend  to 
admire  picturesque  effects  in  the  moonlight  before  him. 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  me  very  civil  in  you,"  remarks 
Neville,  at  length,  "  to  reflect  upon  a  stranger  who  comes 
here,  not  having  had  your  advantages,  to  try  to  make  up 
for  lost  time.  But,  to  be  sure,  /  was  not  brought  up  in 
'busy  life,'  and  my  ideas  of  civility  were  formed  among 
Heathens." 

"  Perhaps,  the  best  civility,  whatever  kind  of  people  we 
are  brought  up  among,"  retorts  Edwin  Drood,  "is  to  mind 
our  own  business.  If  you  will  set  me  that  example,  I 
promise  to  follow  it." 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much  upon 
yourself?  "  is  the  angry  rejoinder,  "  and  that  in  the  part  of 
the  world  I  come  from,  you  would  be  called  to  account  for 
it?" 


64  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  By  whom,  for  instance?  "  asks  Edwin  Drood,  coming 
to  a  halt,  and  surveying  the  other  with  a  look  of  disdain. 

But,  here  a  startling  right  hand  is  laid  on  Edwin's  shoul- 
der, and  Jasper  stands  between  them.  For,  it  would  seem 
that  he,  too,  has  strolled  round  by  the  Nuns'  House,  and 
has  come  up  behind  them  on  the  shadowy  side  of  the  road. 

"Ned,  Ned,  Ned!"  he  says;  "we  must  have  no  more  of 
this.  I  don't  like  this.  I  have  overheard  high  words  be- 
tween you  two.  Remember,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  almost 
in  the  position  of  host  to-night.  You  belong,  as  it  were,  to 
the  place,  and  in  a  manner  represent  it  towards  a  stranger. 
Mr.  Neville  is  a  stranger,  and  you  should  respect  the  obli- 
gations of  hospitality.  And,  Mr.  Neville,"  laying  his  left 
hand  on  the  inner  shoulder  of  that  young  gentleman,  and 
thus  walking  on  between  them,  hand  to  shoulder  on  either 
side:  "you  will  pardon  me;  but  I  appeal  to  you  to  govern 
your  temper  too.  Now,  what  is  amiss?  But  why  ask!  Let 
there  be  nothing  amiss,  and  the  question  is  superfluous. 
We  are  all  three  on  a  good  understanding,  are  we  not?  " 

After  a  silent  struggle  between  the  two  young  men  who 
shall  speak  last,  Edwin  Drood  strikes  in  with :  "  So  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  Jack,  there  is  no  anger  in  me." 

"Nor  in  me,"  says  Neville  Landless,  though  not  so 
freely;  or  perhaps  so  carelessly.  "But  if  Mr.  Drood  knew 
all  that  lies  behind  me,  far  away  from  here,  he  might 
know  better  how  it  is  that  sharp-edged  words  have  sharp 
edges  to  wound  me." 

"Perhaps,"  says  Jasper,  in  a  smoothing  manner,  "we 
had  better  not  qualify  our  good  understanding.  We  had 
better  not  say  anything  having  the  appearance  of  a  remon- 
strance or  condition;  it  might  not  seem  generous.  Frankly 
and  freely,  you  see  there  is  no  anger  in  Ned.  Frankly  and 
freely,  there  is  no  anger  in  you,  Mr.  Neville?  " 

"None  at  all,  Mr.  Jasper."  Still,  not  quite  so  frankly 
or  so  freely;  or,  be  it  said  once  again,  not  quite  so  care- 
lessly perhaps. 

"  All  over,  then !  Now,  my  bachelor  gatehouse  is  a  few 
yards  from  here,  and  the  heater  is  on  the  fire,  and  the  wine 
and  glasses  are  on  the  table,  and  it  is  not  a  stone's  throw 
from  Minor  Canon  Corner.  Ned,  you  are  up  and  away  to- 
morrow. We  will  carry  Mr.  Neville  in  with  us,  to  take  a 
stirrup-cup." 

"With  all  my  heart,  Jack." 


THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  65 

"And  with  all  mine,  Mr.  Jasper."  Neville  feels  it  im- 
possible to  say  less,  but  would  rather  not  go.  He  has  an 
impression  upon  him  that  he  has  lost  hold  of  his  temper; 
feels  that  Edwin  Brood's  coolness,  so  far  from  being  infec- 
tious, makes  him  red-hot. 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  walking  in  the  centre,  hand  to  shoulder 
on  either  side,  beautifully  turns  the  Kefrain  of  a  drinking 
song,  and  they  all  go  up  to  his  rooms.  There,  the  first  ob- 
ject visible,  when  he  adds  the  light  of  a  lamp  to  that  of  the 
fire,  is  the  portrait  over  the  chimney  piece.  It  is  not  an 
object  calculated  to  improve  the  understanding  between  the 
two  young  men,  as  rather  awkwardly  reviving  the  subject 
of  their  difference.  Accordingly,  they  both  glance  at  it 
consciously,  but  say  nothing.  Jasper,  however  (who  would 
appear  from  his  conduct  to  have  gained  but  an  imperfect 
clue  to  the  cause  of  their  late  high  words),  directly  calls 
attention  to  it. 

"  You  recognise  that  picture,  Mr.  Neville?  "  shading  the 
lamp  to  throw  the  light  upon  it. 

"  I  recognise  it,  but  it  is  far  from  flattering  the  origi- 
nal." 

"0,  you  are  hard  upon  it!  It  was  done  by  Ned,  who 
made  me  a  present  of  it. " 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,  Mr.  Drood."  Neville  apologises, 
with  a  real  intention  to  apologise;  "if  I  had  known  I  was 
in  the  artist's  presence — " 

"0,  a  joke,  sir,  a  mere  joke,"  Edwin  cuts  in,  with  a  pro- 
voking yawn.  "A  little  humouring  of  Pussy's  points! 
I'm  going  to  paint  her  gravel}7,  one  of  these  days,  if  she's 
good." 

The  air  of  leisurely  patronage  and  indifference  with  which 
this  is  said,  as  the  speaker  throws  himself  back  in  a  chair 
and  clasps  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  head,  as  a  rest  for 
it,  is  very  exasperating  to  the  excitable  and  excited  Neville. 
Jasper  looks  observantly  from  the  one  to  the  other,  slightly 
smiles,  and  turns  his  back  to  mix  a  jug  of  mulled  wine  at 
the  fire.  It  seems  to  require  much  mixing  and  compounding. 

"I  suppose,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  Edwin,  quick  to  resent 
the  indignant  protest  against  himself  in  the  face  of  young 
Landless,  which  is  fully  as  visible  as  the  portrait,  or  the 
fire,  or  the  lamp :  "  I  suppose  that  if  you  painted  the  pict- 
ure of  your  lady  love — ' 

"  I  can't  paint,"  is  the  hasty  interruption. 
5 


66  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  That's  your  misfortune,  and  not  your  fault.  You  would 
if  you  could.  But  if  you  could,  I  suppose  you  would  make 
her  (no  matter  what  she  was  in  reality),  Juno,  Minerva, 
Diana,  and  Venus,  all  in  one.  Eh?  " 

"  I  have  no  lady  love,  and  I  can't  say." 

"If  I  were  to  try  my  hand,"  says  Edwin,  with  a  boyish 
boastfulness  getting  up  in  him,  "  on  a  portrait  of  Miss  Land- 
less— in  earnest,  mind  you;  in  earnest — you  should  see 
what  I  could  do !  " 

"  My  sister's  consent  to  sit  for  it  being  first  got,  I  sup- 
pose? As  it  never  will  be  got,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never 
see  what  you  can  do.  I  must  bear  the  loss." 

Jasper  turns  round  from  the  fire,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass 
for  Neville,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass  for  Edwin,  and  hands 
each  his  own;  then  fills  for  himself,  saying: 

"Come,  Mr.  Neville,  we  are  to  drink  to  my  nephew, 
Ned.  As  it  is  his  foot  that  is  in  the  stirrup — metaphori- 
cally— our  stirrup-cup  is  to  be  devoted  to  him.  Ned,  my 
dearest  fellow,  my  love !  " 

Jasper  sets  the  example  of  nearly  emptying  his  glass, 
and  Neville  follows  it.  Edwin  Drood  says,  "  Thank  you 
both  very  much,"  and  follows  the  double  example. 

"Look  at  him,"  cries  Jasper,  stretching  out  his  hand  ad- 
miringly and  tenderly,  though  rallyingly,  too.  "  See  where 
he  lounges  so  easily,  Mr.  Neville !  The  world  is  all  before 
him  where  to  choose.  A  life  of  stirring  work  and  interest, 
a  life  of  change  and  excitement,  a  life  of  domestic  ease  and 
love !  Look  at  him ! " 

Edwin  Drood' s  face  has  become  quickly  and  remarkably 
flushed  with  the  wine;  so  has  the  face  of  Neville  Land- 
less. Edwin  still  sits  thrown  back  in  his  chair,  making 
that  rest  of  clasped  hands  for  his  head. 

"  See  how  little  he  heeds  it  all !  "  Jasper  proceeds  in  a 
bantering  vein.  "  It  is  hardly  worth  his  while  to  pluck  the 
golden  fruit  that  hangs  ripe  on  the  tree  for  him.  And  yet 
consider  the  contrast,  Mr.  Neville.  You  and  I  have  no 
prospect  of  stirring  work  and  interest,  or  of  change  and  ex- 
citement, or  of  domestic  ease  and  love.  You  and  I  have  no 
prospect  (unless  you  are  more  fortunate  than  I  am,  which 
may  easily  be),  but  the  tedious  unchanging  round  of  this 
dull  place." 

"Upon  my  soul,  Jack,"  says  Edwin,  complacently,  "I 
feel  quite  apologetic  for  having  my  way  smoothed  as  you 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  67 

describe.  But  you  know  what  I  know,  Jack,  and  it  may 
not  be  so  very  easy  as  it  seems,  after  all.  May  it,  Pussy?  " 
To  the  portrait,  with  a  snap  of  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  We 
have  got  to  hit  it  off  yet;  haven't  we,  Pussy?  You  know 
what  I  mean,  Jack." 

His  speech  has  become  thick  and  indistinct.  Jasper, 
quiet  and  self-possessed,  looks  to  Neville,  as  expecting  his 
answer  or  comment.  When  Neville  speaks,  his  speech  is 
also  thick  and  indistinct. 

"  It  might  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Drood  to  have  known 
some  hardships,"  he  says,  defiantly. 

"Pray,"  retorts  Edwin,  turning  merely  his  eyes  in  that 
direction,  "pray  why  might  it  have  been  better  for  Mr. 
Drood  to  have  known  some  hardships?  " 

"Ay,"  Jasper  assents,  with  an  air  of  interest;  "let  us 
know  why?  " 

"  Because  they  might  have  made  him  more  sensible,"  says 
Neville,  "  of  good  fortune  that  is  not  by  any  means  neces- 
sarily the  result  of  his  own  merits." 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  his  nephew  for  his  rejoin- 
der. 

"  Have  you  known  hardships,  may  I  ask?  "  says  Edwin 
Drood,  sitting  upright. 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  the  other  for  his  retort. 

"I  have." 

"  And  what  have  they  made  you  sensible  of?  " 

Mr.  Jasper's  play  of  eyes  between  the  two  holds  good 
throughout  the  dialogue,  to  the  end. 

"  I  have  told  you  once  before  to-night." 

"  You  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort. " 

"  I  tell  you  I  have.  That  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much 
upon  yourself." 

"  You  added  something  else  to  that,  if  I  remember?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did  say  something  else." 

"  Say  it  again." 

"  I  said  that  in  the  part  of  the  world  I  come  from,  you 
would  be  called  to  account  for  it." 

"  Only  there?  "  cries  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh.  "A  long  way  off,  I  believe?  Yes;  I  see!  That 
part  of  the  world  is  at  a  safe  distance." 

"Say  here,  then,"  rejoins  the  other,  rising  in  a  fury. 
"  Say  anywhere !  Your  vanity  is  intolerable,  your  conceit 
is  beyond  endurance;  you  talk  as  if  you  were  some  rare  and 


68  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

precious  prize,  instead  of  a  common  boaster.  You  are  a 
common  fellow,  and  a  common  boaster." 

"Pooh,  pooh,"  says  Edwin  Drood,  equally  furious,  but 
more  collected;  "  how  should  you  know?  You  may  know  a 
black  common  fellow,  or  a  black  common  boaster,  when  you 
see  him  (and  no  doubt  you  have  a  large  acquaintance  that 
way);  but  you  are  no  judge  of  white  men." 

This  insulting  allusion  to  his  dark  skin  infuriates  Neville 
to  that  violent  degree,  that  he  flings  the  dregs  of  his  wine 
at  Edwin  Drood,  and  is  in  the  act  of  flinging  the  goblet 
after  it,  when  his  arm  is  caught  in  the  nick  of  time  by 
Jasper. 

"Ned,  my  dear  fellow ! "  he  cries  in  a  loud  voice;  "  I  en- 
treat you,  I  command  you,  to  be  still !  "  There  has  been  a 
rush  of  all  the  three,  and  a  clattering  of  glasses  and  over- 
turning of  chairs.  "Mr.  Neville,  for  shame!  Give  this 
glass  to  me.  Open  your  hand,  sir.  I  WILL  have  it ! " 

But  Neville  throws  him  off,  and  pauses  for  an  instant, 
in  a  raging  passion,  with  the  goblet  yet  in  his  uplifted 
hand.  Then,  he  dashes  it  down  under  the  grate,  with  such 
force  that  the  broken  splinters  fly  out  again  in  a  shower; 
and  he  leaves  the  house. 

When  he  first  emerges  into  the  night  air,  nothing  around 
him  is  still  or  steady;  nothing  around  him  shows  like  what 
it  is;  he  only  knows  that  he  stands  with  a  bare  head  in  the 
midst  of  a  blood-red  whirl,  waiting  to  be  struggled  with, 
and  to  struggle  to  the  death. 

But,  nothing  happening,  and  the  moon  looking  down 
upon  him  as  if  he  were  dead  after  a  fit  of  wrath,  he  holds 
his  steam-hammer  beating  head  and  heart,  and  staggers 
away.  Then,  he  becomes  half -conscious  of  having  heard 
himself  bolted  and  barred  out,  like  a  dangerous  animal; 
and  thinks  what  shall  he  do? 

Some  wildly  passionate  ideas  of  the  river  dissolve  under 
the  spell  of  the  moonlight  on  the  Cathedral  and  the  graves, 
and  the  remembrance  of  his  sister,  and  the  thought  of  what 
he  owes  to  the  good  man  who  has  but  that  very  day  won 
his  confidence  and  given  him  his  pledge.  He  repairs  to 
Minor  Canon  Corner,  and  knocks  softly  at  the  door. 

It  is  Mr.  Crisparkle's  custom  to  sit  up  last  of  the  early 
household,  very  softly  touching  his  piano  and  practising  his 
favourite  parts  in  concerted  vocal  music.  The  south  wind 
that  goes  where  it  lists,  by  way  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  on 


TfiE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  69 

a  still  night,  is  not  more  subdued  than  Mr.  Crisparkle  at 
such  times,  regardful  of  the  slumbers  of  the  china  shep- 
herdess. , 

His  knock  is  immediately  answered  by  Mr.  Crisparkle 
himself.  When  he  opens  the  door,  candle  in  hand,  his 
cheerful  face  falls,  and  disappointed  amazement  is  in  it. 

"Mr.  Neville!  In  this  disorder!  Where  have  you 
been?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  Mr.  Jasper's,  sir.     With  his  nephew." 

"Come  in." 

The  Minor  Canon  props  him  by  the  elbow  with  a  strong 
hand  (in  a  strictly  scientific  manner,  worthy  of  his  morning 
trainings),  and  turns  him  into  his  own  little  book- room, 
and  shuts  the  door. 

"I  have  begun  ill,  sir.     I  have  begun  dreadfully  ill." 

"Too  true.     You  are  not  sober,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not,  sir,  though  I  can  satisfy  you  at 
another  time  that  I  have  had  a  very  little  indeed  to  drink, 
and  that  it  overcame  me  in  the  strangest  and  most  sudden 
manner." 

"  Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  the  Minor  Canon,  shak- 
ing his  head  with  a  sorrowful  smile;  "I  have  heard  that 
said  before." 

"  I  think — my  mind  is  much  confused,  but  I  think — it  is 
equally  true  of  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew,  sir." 

"Very  likely,"  is  the  dry  rejoinder. 

"  We  quarrelled,  sir.  He  insulted  me  most  grossly.  He 
had  heated  that  tigerish  blood  I  told  you  of  to-day,  before 
then." 

"Mr.  Neville,"  rejoins  the  Minor  Canon,  mildly,  but 
firmly:  "I  request  you  not  to  speak  to  me  with  that 
clenched  right  hand.  Unclench  it,  if  you  please." 

"He  goaded  me,  sir,"  pursues  the  young  man,  instantly 
obeying,  "  beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  I  cannot  say 
whether  or  no  he  meant  it  at  first,  but  he  did  it.  He  cer- 
tainly meant  it  at  last.  In  short,  sir,"  with  an  irrepressi-  , 
ble  outburst,  "in  the  passion  into  which  he  lashed  me,  I 
would  have  cut  him  down  if  I  could,  and  I  tried  to  do 
it." 

"  You  have  clenched  that  hand  again,"  is  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle's  quiet  commentary. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"  You  know  your  room,  for  I  showed  it  you  before  dinner; 


70  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

but  I  will  accompany  you  to  it  once  more.  Your  arm,  if 
you  please.  Softly,  for  the  house  is  all  abed." 

Scooping  his  hand  into  the  same  scientific  elbow-rest  as 
before,  and  backing  it  up  with  the  inert  strength  of  his  arm, 
as  skilfully  as  a  Police  Expert,  and  with  an  apparent  re- 
pose quite  unattainable  by  novices,  Mr.  Crisparkle  conducts 
his  pupil  to  the  pleasant  and  orderly  old  room  prepared 
for  him.  Arrived  there,  the  young  man  throws  himself 
into  a  chair,  and,  flinging  his  arms  upon  his  reading-table, 
rests  his  head  upon  them  with  an  air  of  wretched  self- 
reproach. 

The  gentle  Minor  Canon  has  had  it  in  his  thoughts  to 
leave  the  room,  without  a  word.  But  looking  round  at  the 
door,  and  seeing  this  dejected  figure,  he  turns  back  to  it, 
touches  it  with  a  mild  hand,  and  says  "  Good  night!  "  A 
sob  is  his  only  acknowledgment.  He  might  have  had  many 
a  worse;  perhaps,  could  have  had  few  better. 

Another  soft  knock  at  the  outer  door  attracts  his  atten- 
tion as  he  goes  down-stairs.  He  opens  it  to  Mr.  Jasper, 
holding  in  his  hand  the  pupil's  hat. 

"  We  have  had  an  awful  scene  with  him,"  says  Jasper, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  Has  it  been  so  bad  as  that?  " 

"  Murderous !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  remonstrates :  "  No,  no,  no.  Do  not  use 
such  strong  words." 

"  He  might  have  laid  my  dear  boy  dead  at  my  feet.  It 
is  no  fault  of  his,  that  he  did  not.  But  that  I  was,  through 
the  mercy  of  God,  swift  and  strong  with  him,  he  would 
have  cut  him  down  on  my  hearth." 

The  phrase  smites  home.  "  Ah ! "  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
"  his  own  words ! " 

"  Seeing  what  I  have  seen  to-night,  and  hearing  what  I 
have  heard,"  adds  Jasper,  with  great  earnestness,  "I  shall 
never  know  peace  of  mind  when  there  is  danger  of  those 
two  coming  together,  with  no  one  else  to  interfere.  It  was 
horrible.  There  is  something  of  the  tiger  in  his  dark 
blood." 

"Ah!  "  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "so  he  said!  " 

"  You,  my  dear  sir,"  pursues  Jasper,  taking  his  hand, 
"even  you,  have  accepted  a  dangerous  charge." 

"You  need  have  no  fear  for  me,  Jasper,"  returns  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  with  a  quiet  smile.  "I  have  none  for  myself." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  71 

"I  have  none  for  myself,"  returns  Jasper,  with  an  em- 
phasis on  the  last  pronoun,  "  because  I  am  not,  nor  am  I  in 
the  way  of  being,  the  object  of  his  hostility.  But  you  may 
be,  and  my  dear  boy  has  been.  Good  night !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  goes  in,  with  the  hat  that  has  so  easily,  so 
almost  imperceptibly,  acquired  the  right  to  be  hung  up  in 
his  hall:  hangs  it  up;  and  goes  thoughtfully  to  bed. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

BIRDS  IN  THE  BUSH. 

ROSA,  having  no  relation  that  she  knew  of  in  the  world, 
had,  from  the  seventh  year  of  her  age,  known  no  home  but 
the  Nuns'  House,  and  no  mother  but  Miss  Twinkleton. 
Her  remembrance  of  her  own  mother  was  of  a  pretty  little 
creature  like  herself  (not  much  older  than  herself  it  seemed 
to  her),  who  had  been  brought  home  in  her  father's  arms, 
drowned.  The  fatal  accident  had  happened  at  a  party  of 
pleasure.  Every  fold  and  colour  in  the  pretty  summer 
dress,  and  even  the  long  wet  hair,  with  scattered  petals  of 
ruined  flowers  still  clinging  to  it,  as  the  dead  young  figure, 
in  its  sad,  sad  beauty  lay  upon  the  bed,  were  fixed  indel- 
ibly in  Rosa's  recollection.  So  were  the  wild  despair  and 
the  subsequent  bowed-down  grief  of  her  poor  young  father, 
who  died  broken-hearted  on  the  first  anniversary  of  that 
hard  day. 

The  betrothal  of  Rosa  grew  out  of  the  soothing  of  his 
year  of  mental  distress  by  his  fast  friend  and  old  college 
companion,  Drood :  who  likewise  had  been  left  a  widower 
in  his  youth.  But  he,  too,  went  the  silent  road  into  which 
all  earthly  pilgrimages  merge,  some  sooner,  and  some  later; 
and  thus  the  young  couple  had  come  to  be  as  they  were. 

The  atmosphere  of  pity  surrounding  the  little  orphan  girl 
when  she  first  came  to  Cloisterham,  had  never  cleared 
away.  It  had  taken  brighter  hues  as  she  grew  older,  hap- 
pier, prettier;  now  it  had  been  golden,  now  roseate,  and 
now  azure;  but  it  had  always  adorned  her  with  some  soft 
light  of  its  own.  The  general  desire  to  console  and  caress 
her,  had  caused  her  to  be  treated  in  the  beginning  as  a 
child  much  younger  than  her  years;  the  same  desire  had 


72  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

caused  her  to  be  still  petted  when  she  was  a  child  no  longer. 
Who  should  be  her  favourite,  who  should  anticipate  this  or 
that  small  present,  or  do  her  this  or  that  small  service;  who 
should  take  her  home  for  the  holidays;  who  should  write 
to  her  the  oftenest  when  they  were  separated,  and  whom 
she  would  most  rejoice  to  see  again  when  they  were  re- 
united; even  these  gentle  rivalries  were  not  without  their 
slight  dashes  of  bitterness  in  the  Nuns'  House.  Well  for 
the  poor  Nuns  in  their  day,  if  they  hid  no  harder  strife  un- 
der their  veils  and  rosaries ! 

Thus  Rosa  had  grown  to  be  an  amiable,  giddy,  wilful, 
winning  little  creature;  spoilt,  in  the  sense  of  counting 
upon  kindness  from  all  around  her;  but  not  in  the  sense 
of  repaying  it  with  indifference.  Possessing  an  exhaust- 
less  well  of  affection  in  her  nature,  its  sparkling  waters 
had  freshened  and  brightened  the  Nuns'  House  for  years, 
and  yet  its  depths  had  never  yet  been  moved :  what  might 
betide  when  that  came  to  pass;  what  developing  changes 
might  fall  upon  the  heedless  head,  and  light  heart,  then; 
remained  to  be  seen. 

By  what  means  the  news  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel 
between  the  two  young  men  overnight,  involving  even  some 
kind  of  onslaught  by  Mr.  Neville  upon  Edwin  Drood,  got 
into  Miss  Twinkleton's  establishment  before  breakfast,  it 
is  impossible  to  say.  Whether  it  was  brought  in  by  the 
birds  of  the  air,  or  came  blowing  in  with  the  very  air  itself, 
when  the  casement  windows  were  set  open;  whether  the 
baker  brought  it  kneaded  into  the  bread,  or  the  milkman 
delivered  it  as  part  of  the  adulteration  of  his  milk;  or  the 
housemaids,  beating  the  dust  out  of  their  mats  against  the 
gateposts,  received  it  in  exchange  deposited  on  the  mats  by 
the  town  atmosphere;  certain  it  is  that  the  news  permeated 
every  gable  of  the  old  building  before  Miss  Twinkleton  was 
down,  and  that  Miss  Twinkleton  herself  received  it  through 
Mrs.  Tisher,  while  yet  in  the  act  of  dressing;  or  (as  she 
might  have  expressed  the  phrase  to  a  parent  or  guardian  of 
a  mythological  turn)  of  sacrificing  to  the  Graces. 

Miss  Landless' s  brother  had  thrown  a  bottle  at  Mr.  Ed- 
win Drood. 

Miss  Landless's  brother  had  thrown  a  knife  at  Mr.  Ed- 
win Drood. 

A  knife  became  suggestive  of  a  fork;  and  Miss  Landless's 
brother  had  thrown  a  fork  at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  73 

As  in  the  governing  precedence  of  Peter  Piper,  alleged 
to  have  picked  the  peck  of  pickled  pepper,  it  was  held  phys- 
ically desirable  to  have  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the 
peck  of  pickled  pepper  which  Peter  Piper  was  alleged  to 
have  picked;  so,  in  this  case,  it  was  held  psychologically 
important  to  know  why  Miss  Landless' s  brother  threw  a 
bottle,  knife,  or  fork — or  bottle,  knife,  and  fork — for  the 
cook  had  been  given  to  understand  it  was  all  three — at  Mr. 
Edwin  Drood? 

Well,  then.  Miss  Landless's  brother  had  said  he  ad- 
mired Miss  Bud.  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  had  said  to  Miss 
Landless's  brother  that  he  had  no  business  to  admire  Miss 
Bud.  Miss  Landless's  brother  had  then  "up'd  "  (this  was 
the  cook's  exact  information)  with  the  bottle,  knife,  fork, 
and  decanter  (the  decanter  now  coolly  flying  at  everybody's 
head,  without  the  least  introduction),  and  thrown  them  all 
at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood. 

Poor  little  Rosa  put  a  forefinger  into  each  of  her  ears 
when  these  rumours  began  to  circulate,  and  retired  into  a 
corner,  beseeching  not  to  be  told  anymore;  but  Miss  Land- 
less, begging  permission  of  Miss  Twinkleton  to  go  and  speak 
with  her  brother,  and  pretty  plainly  showing  that  she  would 
take  it  if  it  were  not  given,  struck  out  the  more  definite 
course  of  going  to  Mr.  Crisparkle's  for  accurate  intelligence. 

When  she  came  back  (being  first  closeted  with  Miss 
Twinkleton,  in  order  that  anything  objectionable  in  her  tid- 
ings might  be  retained  by  that  discreet  filter),  she  imparted 
to  Rosa  only,  what  had  taken  place;  dwelling  with  a  flushed 
cheek  on  the  provocation  her  brother  had  received,  but  al- 
most limiting  it  to  that  last  gross  affront  as  crowning  "  some 
other  words  between  them,"  and,  out  of  consideration  for 
her  new  friend,  passing  lightly  over  the  fact  that  the  other 
words  had  originated  in  her  lover's  taking  things  in  gen- 
eral so  very  easily.  To  Rosa  direct,  she  brought  a  petition 
from  her  brother  that  she  would  forgive  him;  and,  having 
delivered  it  with  sisterly  earnestness,  made  an  end  of  the 
subject. 

It  was  reserved  for  Miss  Twinkleton  to  tone  down  the 
public  mind  of  the  Nuns'  House.  That  lady,  therefore, 
entering  in  a  stately  manner  what  plebeians  might  have 
called  the  school-room,  but  what,  in  the  patrician  language 
of  the  head  of  the  Nuns'  House,  was  euphuistically,  not  to 
say  round-aboutedly,  denominated  "  the  apartment  allotted 


74  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

to  study,"  and  saying  with  a  forensic  air,  "Ladies!"  all 
rose.  Mrs.  Tisher  at  the  same  time  grouped  herself  behind 
her  chief,  as  representing  Queen  Elizabeth's  first  historical 
female  friend  at  Tilbury  Fort.  Miss  Twinkleton  then  pro- 
ceeded to  remark  that  Rumour,  Ladies,  had  been  repre- 
sented by  the  bard  of  Avon — needless  were  it  to  mention  the 
immortal  SHAKESPEARE,  also  called  the  Swan  of  his  native 
river,  not  improbably  with  some  reference  to  the  ancient  su- 
perstition that  that  bird  of  graceful  plumage  (Miss  Jennings 
will  please  stand  upright)  sang  sweetly  on  the  approach  of 
death,  for  which  we  have  no  ornithological  authority, — Ru- 
mour, Ladies,  had  been  represented  by  that  bard — hem ! — 

"who  drew 
The  celebrated  Jew," 

as  painted  full  of  tongues.  Rumour  in  Cloisterham  (Miss 
Ferdinand  will  honour  me  with  her  attention)  was  no  ex- 
ception to  the  great  limner's  portrait  of  Rumour  elsewhere. 
A  slight  Fracas  between  two  young  gentlemen  occurring 
last  night  within  a  hundred  miles  of  these  peaceful  walls 
(Miss  Ferdinand,  being  apparently  incorrigible,  will  have 
the  kindness  to  write  out  this  evening,  in  the  original  lan- 
guage, the  first  four  fables  of  our  vivacious  neighbour,  Mon- 
sieur La  Fontaine)  had  been  very  grossly  exaggerated  by 
Rumour's  voice.  In  the  first  alarm  and  anxiety  arising 
from  our  sympathy  with  a  sweet  young  friend,  not  wholly 
to  be  dissociated  from  one  of  the  gladiators  in  the  bloodless 
arena  in  question  (the  impropriety  of  Miss  Reynolds 's  ap- 
pearing to  stab  herself  in  the  hand  with  a  pin,  is  far  too 
obvious,  and  too  glaringly  unlady-like,  to  be  pointed  out), 
we  descended  from  our  maiden  elevation  to  discuss  this  un- 
congenial and  this  unfit  theme.  Responsible  inquiries  hav- 
ing assured  us  that  it  was  but  one  of  those  "  airy  nothings  " 
pointed  at  by  the  Poet  (whose  name  and  date  of  birth  Miss 
Giggles  will  supply  within  half  an  hour),  we  would  now 
discard  the  subject,  and  concentrate  our  minds  upon  the 
grateful  labours  of  the  day. 

But  the  subject  so  survived  all  day,  nevertheless,  that 
Miss  Ferdinand  got  into  new  trouble  by  surreptitiously 
clapping  on  a  paper  moustache  at  dinner-time,  and  going 
through  the  motions  of  aiming  a  water-bottle  at  Miss  Gig- 
gles, who  drew  a  table-spoon  in  defence. 

Now,  Rosa  thought  of  this  unlucky  quarrel  a  great  deal, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  75 

and  thought  of  it  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  she 
was  involved  in  it,  as  cause,  or  consequence,  or  what  not, 
through  being  in  a  false  position  altogether  as  to  her  mar- 
riage engagement.  Never  free  from  such  uneasiness  when 
she  was  with  her  affianced  husband,  it  was  not  likely  that 
she  would  be  free  from  it  when  they  were  apart.  To-day, 
too,  she  was  cast  in  upon  herself,  and  deprived  of  the  relief 
of  talking  freely  with  her  new  friend,  because  the  quarrel 
had  been  with  Helena's  brother,  and  Helena  undisguisedly 
avoided  the  subject  as  a  delicate  and  difficult  one  to  herself. 
At  this  critical  time,  of  all  times,  Rosa's  guardian  was  an- 
nounced as  having  come  to  see  her. 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  been  well  selected  for  his  trust,  as  a 
man  of  incorruptible  integrity,  but  certainly  for  no  other 
appropriate  quality  discernible  on  the  surface.  He  was  an 
arid,  sandy  man,  who,  if  he  had  been  put  into  a  grinding- 
mill,  looked  as  if  he  would  have  ground  immediately  into 
high-dried  snuff.  He  had  a  scanty  flat  crop  of  hair,  in  col- 
our and  consistency  like  some  very  mangy  yellow  fur  tip- 
pet; it  was  so  unlike  hair,  that  it  must  have  been  a  wig, 
but  for  the  stupendous  improbability  of  anybody's  volun- 
tarily sporting  such  a  head.  The  little  play  of  feature  that 
his  face  presented,  was  cut  deep  into  it,  in  a  few  hard 
curves  that  made  it  more  like  work;  and  he  had  certain 
notches  in  his  forehead,  which  looked  as  though  Nature 
had  been  about  to  touch  them  into  sensibility  or  refinement, 
when  she  had  impatiently  thrown  away  the  chisel,  and  said : 
"I  really  cannot  be  worried  to  finish  off  this  man;  let  him 
go  as  he  is." 

With  too  great  length  of  throat  at  his  upper  end,  and 
too  much  ankle-bone  and  heel  at  his  lower;  with  an  awk- 
ward and  hesitating  manner;  with  a  shambling  walk;  and 
with  what  is  called  a  near  sight — which  perhaps  prevented 
his  observing  how  much  white  cotton  stocking  he  displayed 
to  the  public  eye,  in  contrast  with  his  black  suit — Mr. 
Grewgious  still  had  some  strange  capacity  in  him  of  mak- 
ing on  the  whole  an  agreeable  impression. 

Mr.  Grewgious  was  discovered  by  his  ward,  much  dis- 
comfited by  being  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  company  in  Miss 
Twinkleton's  own  sacred  room.  Dim  forebodings  of  being 
examined  in  something,  and  not  coming  well  out  of  it, 
seemed  to  oppress  the  poor  gentleman  when  found  in  these 
circumstances. 


76  THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN   DROOD. 

"My  dear,  how  do  you  do?  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  My 
dear,  how  much  improved  you  are.  Permit  me  to  hand 
you  a  chair,  my  dear." 

Miss  Twinkletou  rose  at  her  little  writing- table,  saying, 
with  general  sweetness,  as  to  the  polite  Universe:  "Will 
you  permit  me  to  retire?  " 

"By  no  means,  madam,  on  my  account.  I  beg  that  you 
will  not  move." 

"I  must  entreat  permission  to  move,"  returned  Miss 
Twinkleton,  repeating  the  word  with  a  charming  grace; 
"  but  I  will  not  withdraw,  since  you  are  so  obliging.  If  I 
wheel  my  desk  to  this  corner  window,  shall  I  be  in  the  way?  " 

"  Madam !     In  the  way ! " 

"  You  are  very  kind. — Rosa,  my  dear,  you  will  be  under 
no  restraint,  I  am  sure." 

Here  Mr.  Grewgious,  left  by  the  fire  with  Rosa,  said  again : 
"  My  dear,  how  do  you  do?  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear." 
And  having  waited  for  her  to  sit  down,  sat  down  himself. 

"My  visits,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "are,  like  those  of  the 
angels — not  that  I  compare  myself  to  an  angel." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Rosa. 

"Not  by  any  means,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious.  "I 
merely  refer  to  my  visits,  which  are  few  and  far  between. 
The  angels  are,  we  know  very  well,  up-stairs." 

Miss  Twinkleton  looked  round  with  a  kind  of  stiff  stare. 

"  I  refer,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  laying  his  hand 
on  Rosa's,  as  the  possibility  thrilled  through  his  frame  of 
his  otherwise  seeming  to  take  the  awful  liberty  of  calling 
Miss  Twiukleton  my  dear;  "I  refer  to  the  other  young 
ladies." 

Miss  Twinkleton  resumed  her  writing. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sense  of  not  having  managed  his 
opening  point  quite  as  neatly  as  he  might  have  desired, 
smoothed  his  head  from  back  to  front  as  if  he  had  just 
dived,  and  were  pressing  the  water  out — this  smoothing  ac- 
tion, however  superfluous,  was  habitual  with  him — and  took 
a  pocket-book  from  his  coat-pocket,  and  a  stump  of  black- 
lead  pencil  from  his  waistcoat-pocket. 

"  I  made,"  he  said,  turning  the  leaves :  "  I  made  a  guid- 
ing memorandum  or  so — as  I  usually  do,  for  I  have  no  con- 
versational powers  whatever — to  which  1  will,  with  your 
permission,  my  dear,  refer.  '  Well  and  happy. '  Truly. 
You  are  well  and  happy,  my  dear?  You  look  so." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  77 

"Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  answered  Eosa. 

"For  which,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  bend  of  his 
head  towards  the  corner  window,  "  our  warmest  acknowl- 
edgments are  due,  and  I  am  sure  are  rendered,  to  the  ma- 
ternal kindness  and  the  constant  care  and  consideration  of 
the  lady  whom  I  have  now  the  honour  to  see  before  me." 

This  point,  again,  made  but  a  lame  departure  from  Mr. 
Grewgious,  and  never  got  to  its  destination;  for,  Miss 
Twinkleton,  feeling  that  the  courtesies  required  her  to  be 
by  this  time  quite  outside  the  conversation,  was  biting  the 
end  of  her  pen,  and  looking  upward,  as  waiting  for  the 
descent  of  an  idea  from  any  member  of  the  Celestial  Nine 
who  might  have  one  to  spare. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  smooth  head  again,  and 
then  made  another  reference  to  his  pocket-book;  lining  out 
"  well  and  happy, "  as  disposed  of. 

"  'Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,'  is  my  next  note.  A 
dry  subject  for  a  young  lady,  but  an  important  subject 
too.  Life  is  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  Death  is — 
A  sudden  recollection  of  the  death  of  her  two  parents 
seemed  to  stop  him,  and  he  said  in  a  softer  tone,  and  evi- 
dently inserting  the  negative  as  an  afterthought :  "  Death 
is  not  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence." 

His  voice  was  as  hard  and  dry  as  himself,  and  Fancy 
might  have  ground  it  straight,  like  himself,  into  high-dried 
snuff.  And  yet,  through  the  very  limited  means  of  expres- 
sion that  he  possessed,  he  seemed  to  express  kindness.  If 
Nature  had  but  finished  him  off,  kindness  might  have  been 
recognisable  in  his  face  at  this  moment.  But  if  the  notches 
in  his  forehead  wouldn't  fuse  together,  and  if  his  face 
would  work  and  couldn't  play,  what  could  he  do,  poor  man ! 

"  '  Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.'  You  find  your  allow- 
ance always  sufficient  for  your  wants,  my  dear?  " 

Rosa  wanted  for  nothing,  and  therefore  it  was  ample. 

"  And  you  are  not  in  debt?  " 

Rosa  laughed  at  the  idea  of  being  in  debt.  It  seemed, 
to  her  inexperience,  a  comical  vagary  of  the  imagination. 
Mr.  Grewgious  stretched  his  near  sight  to  be  sure  that  this 
was  her  view  of  the  case.  "  Ah ! "  he  said,  as  comment 
with  a  furtive  glance  towards  Miss  Twinkleton,  and  lining 
out  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence :  "  I  spoke  of  having  got 
among  the  angels !  So  I  did !  " 

Rosa  felt  what  his  next  memorandum  would  prove  to  be, 


78  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

and  was  blushing  and  folding  a  crease  in  her  dress  with  one 
embarrassed  hand,  long  before  he  found  it. 

"'Marriage.'  Hem!"  Mr.  Grewgious  carried  his 
smoothing  hand  down  over  his  eyes  and  nose,  and  even 
chin,  before  drawing  his  chair  a  little  nearer,  and  speaking 
a  little  more  confidentially :  "  I  now  touch,  my  dear,  upon 
the  point  that  is  the  direct  cause  of  my  troubling  you  with 
the  present  visit.  Otherwise,  being  a  particularly  Angular 
man,  I  should  not  have  intruded  here.  I  am  the  last  man 
to  intrude  into  a  sphere  for  which  I  am  so  entirely  unfitted. 
I  feel,  on  these  premises,  as  if  I  was  a  bear — with  the 
cramp — in  a  youthful  Cotillon." 

His  ungainliness  gave  him  enough  of  the  air  of  his  simile 
to  set  Rosa  off  laughing  heartily. 

"It  strikes  you  in  the  same  light,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
with  perfect  calmness.  "  Just  so.  To  return  to  my  mem- 
orandum. Mr.  Edwin  has  been  to  and  fro  here,  as  was  ar- 
ranged. You  have  mentioned  that,  in  your  quarterly  let- 
ters to  me.  And  you  like  him,  and  he  likes  you." 

"I  like  him  very  much,  sir,"  rejoined  Rosa. 

"So  I  said,  my  dear,"  returned  her  guardian,  for  whose 
ear  the  timid  emphasis  was  much  too  fine.  "  Good.  And 
you  correspond." 

"  We  write  to  one  another,  said  Rosa,  pouting,  as  she  re- 
called their  epistolary  differences. 

"  Such  is  the  meaning  that  I  attach  to  the  word  '  corre- 
spond '  in  this  application,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Good.  All  goes  well,  time  works  on,  and  at  this  next 
Christmas  time  it  will  become  necessary,  as  a  matter  of 
form,  to  give  the  exemplary  lady  in  the  corner  window, 
to  whom  we  are  so  much  indebted,  business  notice  of  your 
departure  in  the  ensuing  half-year.  Your  relations  with 
her  are  far  more  than  business  relations,  no  doubt;  but  a 
residue  of  business  remains  in  them,  and  business  is  busi- 
ness ever.  I  am  a  particularly  Angular  man,"  proceeded 
Mr.  Grewgious,  as  if  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  to  men- 
tion it,  "  and  I  am  not  used  to  give  anything  away.  If,  for 
these  two  reasons,  some  competent  Proxy  would  give  you 
away,  I  should  take  it  very  kindly." 

Rosa  intimated,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  that  she 
thought  a  substitute  might  be  found,  if  required. 

"Surely,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "For  instance, 
the  gentleman  who  teaches  Dancing  here — he  would  know 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  79 

how  to  do  it  with  graceful  propriety.  He  would  advance 
and  retire  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  the  feelings  of  the 
officiating  clergyman,  and  of  yourself,  and  the  bridegroom, 
and  all  parties  concerned.  I  am — I  am  a  particularly 
Angular  man,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  if  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  screw  it  out  at  last;  "and  should  only 
blunder." 

Eosa  sat  still  and  silent.  Perhaps  her  mind  had  not  got 
quite  so  far  as  the  ceremony  yet,  but  was  lagging  on  the 
way  there. 

"Memorandum,  'Will.'  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  referring  to  his  notes,  disposing  of  "  Marriage  " 
with  his  pencil,  and  taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket :  "  al- 
though I  have  before  possessed  you  with  the  contents  of 
your  father's  will,  I  think  it  right  at  this  time  to  leave  a 
certified  copy  of  it  in  your  hands.  And  although  Mr.  Ed- 
win is  also  aware  of  its  contents,  I  think  it  right  at  this 
time  likewise  to  place  a  certified  copy  of  it  in  Mr.  Jasper's 
hand—" 

"  Not  in  his  own ! "  asked  Eosa,  looking  up  quickly. 
"  Cannot  the  copy  go  to  Eddy  himself?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear,  if  you  particularly  wish  it;  but  I 
spoke  of  Mr.  Jasper  as  being  his  trustee." 

"I  do  particularly  wish  it,  if  you  please,"  said  Eosa, 
hurriedly  and  earnestly;  "I  don't  like  Mr.  Jasper  to  come 
between  us,  in  any  way." 

"It  is  natural,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "that 
your  young  husband  should  be  all  in  all.  Yes.  You  ob- 
serve that  I  say,  I  suppose.  The  fact  is,  I  am  a  particu- 
larly Unnatural  man,  and  I  don't  know  from  my  own 
knowledge." 

Eosa  looked  at  him  with  some  wonder. 

"  I  mean,"  he  explained,  "  that  young  ways  were  never 
my  ways.  I  was  the  only  offspring  of  parents  far  advanced 
in  life,  and  I  half  believe  I  was  born  advanced  in  life  my- 
self. No  personality  is  intended  towards  the  name  you 
will  so  soon  change,  when  I  remark  that  while  the  general 
growth  of  people  seem  to  have  come  into  existence,  buds, 
I  seem  to  have  come  into  existence  a  chip.  I  was  a  chip — 
and  a  very  dry  one — when  I  first  became  aware  of  myself. 
Eespecting  the  other  certified  copy,  your  wish  shall  be  com- 
plied with.  Eespecting  your  inheritance,  I  think  you  know 
all.  It  is  an  annuity  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  The 


80  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOo. 

savings  upon  that  annuity,  and  some  other  items  to  your 
credit,  all  duly  carried  to  account,  with  vouchers,  will  place 
you  in  possession  of  a  lump-sum  of  money,  rather  exceed- 
ing Seventeen  Hundred  Pounds.  I  am  empowered  to  ad- 
vance the  cost  of  your  preparations  for  your  marriage  out 
of  that  fund.  All  is  told." 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me,"  said  Rosa,  taking  the  paper 
with  a  prettily  knitted  brow,  but  not  opening  it:  "  whether 
I  am  right  in  what  I  am  going  to  say?  I  can  understand 
what  you  tell  me,  so  very  much  better  than  what  I  read 
in  law- writings.  My  poor  papa  and  Eddy's  father  made 
their  agreement  together,  as  very  dear  and  firm  and  fast 
friends,  in  order  that  we,  too,  might  be  very  dear  and  firm 
and  fast  friends  after  them?  " 

"Just  so." 

"  For  the  lasting  good  of  both  of  us,  and  the  lasting  hap- 
piness of  both  of  us?  " 

"Just  so." 

"  That  we  might  be  to  one  another  even  much  more  than 
they  had  been  to  one  another?  " 

"Just  so." 

"  It  was  not  bound  upon  Eddy,  and  it  was  not  bound 
upon  me,  by  any  forfeit,  in  case — " 

"Don't  be  agitated,  my  dear.  In  the  case  that  it  brings 
tears  into  your  affectionate  eyes  even  to  picture  to  yourself 
— in  the  case  of  your  not  marrying  one  another — no,  no  for- 
feiture on  either  side.  You  would  then  have  been  my  ward 
until  you  were  of  age.  No  worse  would  have  befallen  you. 
Bad  enough  perhaps ! " 

"And  Eddy?" 

"  He  would  have  come  into  his  partnership  derived  from 
his  father,  and  into  its  arrears  to  his  credit  (if  any),  on  at- 
taining his  majority,  just  as  now." 

Rosa,  with  her  perplexed  face  and  knitted  brow,  bit  the 
corner  of  her  attested  copy,  as  she  sat  with  her  head  on  one 
side,  looking  abstractedly  on  the  floor,  and  smoothing  it 
with  her  foot. 

"In  short,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "this  betrothal  is  a 
wish,  a  sentiment,  a  friendly  project,  tenderly  expressed 
on  both  sides.  That  it  was  strongly  felt,  and  that  there 
was  a  lively  hope  that  it  would  prosper,  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  When  you  were  both  children,  you  began  to  be  ac- 
customed to  it,  and  it  has  prospered.  But  circumstances 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  81 

alter  cases;  and  I  made  this  visit  to-day,  partly,  indeed 
principally,  to  discharge  myself  of  the  duty  of  telling  you, 
my  dear,  that  two  young  people  can  only  be  betrothed  in 
marriage  (except  as  a  matter  of  convenience,  and  therefore 
mockery  and  misery)  of  their  own  free  will,  their  own  at- 
tachment, and  their  own  assurance  (it  may  or  it  may  not 
prove  a  mistaken  one,  but  we  must  take  our  chance  of  that), 
that  they  are  suited  to  each  other,  and  will  make  each 
other  happy.  Is  it  to  be  supposed,  for  example,  that  if 
either  of  your  fathers  were  living  now,  and  had  any  mis- 
trust on  that  subject,  his  mind  would  not  be  changed  by 
the  change  of  circumstances  involved  in  the  change  of  your 
years?  Untenable,  unreasonable,  inconclusive,  and  pre- 
posterous ! " 

Mr.  Grewgious  said  all  this,  as  if  he  were  reading  it 
aloud;  or,  still  more,  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson.  So 
expressionless  of  any  approach  to  spontaneity  were  his  face 
and  manner. 

"I  have  now,  my  dear,"  he  added,  blurring  out  "Will" 
with  his  pencil,  "  discharged  myself  of  what  is  doubtless  a 
formal  duty  in  this  case,  but  still  a  duty  in  such  a  case. 
Memorandum,  '  Wishes : '  My  dear,  is  there  any  wish  of 
yours  that  I  can  further?  " 

Rosa  shook  her  head,  with  an  almost  plaintive  air  of  hes- 
itation in  want  of  help. 

"  Is  there  any  instruction  that  I  can  take  from  you  with 
reference  to  your  affairs?  " 

"  I — I  should  like  to  settle  them  with  Eddy  first,  if  you 
please,"  said  Eosa,  plaiting  the  crease  in  her  dress. 

"Surely,  surely,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  "You  two 
should  be  of  one  mind  in  all  things.  Is  the  young  gentle- 
man expected  shortly?  " 

"  He  has  gone  away  only  this  morning.  He  will  be  back 
at  Christmas." 

"  Nothing  could  happen  better.  You  will,  on  his  return 
at  Christmas,  arrange  all  matters  of  detail  with  him;  you 
will  then  communicate  with  me;  and  I  will  discharge  my- 
self (as  a  mere  business  acquittance)  of  my  business  re- 
sponsibilities towards  the  accomplished  lady  in  the  corner 
window.  They  will  accrue  at  that  season."  Blurring  pen- 
cil once  again.  "Memorandum,  '  Leave.'  Yes.  I  will  now, 
my  dear,  take  my  leave." 

"Could  I,"  said  Rosa,  rising,  as  he  jerked  out  of  his 
6 


82  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

chair  in  his  ungainly  way :  "  could  I  ask  you,  most  kindly 
to  come  to  me  at  Christmas,  if  I  had  anything  particular  to 
say  to  you?  " 

"Why,  certainly,  certainly,"  he  rejoined;  apparently — 
if  such  a  word  can  be  used  of  one  who  had  no  apparent 
lights  or  shadows  about  him — complimented  by  the  ques- 
tion. "  As  a  particularly  Angular  man,  I  do  not  fit  smoothly 
into  the  social  circle,  and  consequently  I  have  no  other  en- 
gagement at  Christmas-time  than  to  partake,  on  the  twenty- 
fifth,  of  a  boiled  turkey  and  celery  sauce  with  a — with  a 
particularly  Angular  clerk  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  pos- 
sess, whose  father,  being  a  Norfolk  farmer,  sends  him  up 
(the  turkey  up),  as  a  present  to  me,  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  Norwich.  I  should  be  quite  proud  of  your  wishing  to 
see  me,  my  dear.  As  a  professional  Receiver  of  rents,  so 
very  few  people  do  wish  to  see  me,  that  the  novelty  would 
be  bracing." 

For  his  ready  acquiescence,  the  grateful  Rosa  put  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders,  stood  on  tiptoe,  and  instantly 
kissed  him. 

"  Lord  bless  me !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Thank  you, 
my  dear!  The  honour  is  almost  equal  to  the  pleasure. 
Miss  Twinkleton,  madam,  I  have  had  a  most  satisfactory 
conversation  with  my  ward,  and  I  will  now  release  you  from 
the  incumbrance  of  my  presence." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  rejoined  Miss  Twinkleton,  rising  with  a  gra- 
cious condescension:  "say  not  incumbrance.  Not  so,  by 
any  means.  I  cannot  permit  you  to  say  so." 

"Thank  you,  madam.  I  have  read  in  the  newspapers," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  stammering  a  little,  "  that  when  a  dis- 
tinguished visitor  (not  that  I  am  one:  far  from  it)  goes 
to  a  school  (not  that  this  is  one :  far  from  it),  he  asks  for 
a  holiday,  or  some  sort  of  grace.  It  being  now  the  after- 
noon in  the — College — of  which  you  are  the  eminent  head, 
the  young  ladies  might  gain  nothing,  except  in  name,  by 
having  the  rest  of  the  day  allowed  them.  But  if  there  is 
any  young  lady  at  all  under  a  cloud,  might  I  solicit—" 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Grewgious,  Mr.  Grewgious !  "  cried  Miss  Twin- 
kleton, with  a  chastely-rallying  forefinger.  "  0  you  gen- 
tlemen, you  gentlemen !  Fie  for  shame,  that  you  are  so  hard 
upon  us  poor  maligned  disciplinarians  of  our  sex,  for  your 
sakes !  But  as  Miss  Ferdinand  is  at  present  weighed  down 
by  an  incubus  " — Miss  Twiukleton  might  have  said  a  pen- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  83 

and-ink-ubus  of  writing  out  Monsieur  La  Fontaine — "  go  to 
her,  Rosa  my  dear,  and  tell  her  the  penalty  is  remitted, 
in  deference  to  the  intercession  of  your  guardian,  Mr. 
Grewgious." 

Miss  Twinkleton  here  achieved  a  curtsey,  suggestive  of 
marvels  happening  to  her  respected  legs,  and  which  she 
came  out  of  nobly,  three  yards  behind  her  starting-point. 

As  he  held  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  call  on  Mr.  Jasper 
before  leaving  Cloisterham,  Mr.  Grewgious  went  to  the 
gatehouse,  and  climbed  its  postern-stair.  But  Mr.  Jasper's 
door  being  closed,  and  presenting  on  a  slip  of  paper  the 
word  "  Cathedral,"  the  fact  of  its  being  service-time  was 
borne  into  the  mind  of  Mr.  Grewgious.  •  So  he  descended 
the  stair  again,  and,  crossing  the  Close,  paused  at  the  great 
western  folding-door  of  the  Cathedral,  which  stood  open  on 
the  fine  and  bright,  though  short-lived,  afternoon,  for  the 
airing  of  the  place. 

"Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  peeping  in,  "it's  like 
looking  down  the  throat  of  Old  Time." 

Old  Time  heaved  a  mouldy  sigh  from  tomb  and  arch  and 
vault;  and  gloomy  shadows  began  to  deepen  in  corners; 
and  damps  began  to  rise  from  green  patches  of  stone;  and 
jewels,  cast  upon  the  pavement  of  the  nave  from  stained 
glass  by  the  declining  sun,  began  to  perish.  Within  the 
grill-gate  of  the  chancel,  up  the  steps  surmounted  loom- 
ingly  by  the  fast-darkening  organ,  white  robes  could  be 
dimly  seen,  and  one  feeble  voice,  rising  and  falling  in  a 
cracked  monotonous  mutter,  could  at  intervals  be  faintly 
heard.  In  the  free  outer  air,  the  river,  the  green  pastures, 
and  the  brown  arable  lands,  the  teeming  hills  and  dales, 
were  reddened  by  the  sunset :  while  the  distant  little  win- 
dows in  windmills  and  farm  homesteads,  shone,  patches  of 
bright  beaten  gold.  In  the  Cathedral,  all  became  grey, 
murky,  and  sepulchral,  and  the  cracked  monotonous  mut- 
ter went  on  like  a  dying  voice,  until  the  organ  and  the 
choir  burst  forth,  and  drowned  it  in  a  sea  of  music.  Then, 
the  sea  fell,  and  the  dying  voice  made  another  feeble  effort, 
and  then  the  sea  rose  high,  and  beat  its  life  out,  and  lashed 
the  roof,  and  surged  among  the  arches,  and  pierced  the 
heights  of  the  great  tower;  and  then  the  sea  was  dry,  and 
all  was  still. 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  that  time  walked  to  the  chancel- 
steps,  where  he  met  the  living  waters  coming  out. 


84  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter?"  Thus  Jasper  accosted  him, 
rather  quickly.  "  You  have  not  been  sent  for?  " 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I  came  down  of  my  own  accord. 
I  have  been  to  my  pretty  ward's,  and  am  now  homeward 
bound  again." 

"  You  found  her  thriving?  " 

"  Blooming  indeed.  Most  blooming.  I  merely  came  to 
tell  her,  seriously,  what  a  betrothal  by  deceased  parents  is." 

"And  what  is  it — according  to  your  judgment?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  noticed  the  whiteness  of  the  lips  that 
asked  the  question,  and  put  it  down  to  the  chilling  account 
of  the  Cathedral. 

"  I  merely  came  to  tell  her  that  it  could  not  be  considered 
binding,  against  any  such  reason  for  its  dissolution  as  a 
want  of  affection,  or  want  of  disposition  to  carry  it  into 
effect,  on  the  side  of  either  party." 

"  May  I  ask,  had  you  auy  especial  reason  for  telling  her 
that?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  answered  somewhat  sharply :  "  The  espe- 
cial reason  of  doing  my  duty,  sir.  Simply  that."  Then  he 
added:  "Come,  Mr.  Jasper;  I  know  your  affection  for  your 
nephew,  and  that  you  are  quick  to  feel  on  his  behalf.  I 
assure  you  that  this  implies  not  the  least  doubt  of,  or  dis- 
respect to,  your  nephew." 

"  You  could  not,"  returned  Jasper,  with  a  friendly  press- 
ure of  his  arm,  as  they  walked  on  side  by  side,  "speak 
more  handsomely." 

Mr.  Grewgious  pulled  off  his  hat  to  smooth  his  head, 
and,  having  smoothed  it,  nodded  it  contentedly,  and  put 
his  hat  on  again. 

"I  will  wager,"  said  Jasper,  smiling — his  lips  were  still 
so  white  that  he  was  conscious  of  it,  and  bit  and  moistened 
them  while  speaking:  "I  will  wager  that  she  hinted  no 
wish  to  be  released  from  Ned." 

"And  you  will  win  your  wager,  if  you  do,"  retorted  Mr. 
Grewgious.  "  We  should  allow  some  margin  for  little 
maidenly  delicacies  in  a  young  motherless  creature,  under 
such  circumstances,  I  suppose;  it  is  not  in  my  line;  what 
do  you  think?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it." 

"I  am  glad  you  say  so.  Because,"  proceeded  Mr. 
Grewgious,  who  had  all  this  time  very  knowingly  felt  his 
way  round  to  action  on  his  remembrance  of  what  she  had 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  85 

said  of  Jasper  himself :  "  because  she  seems  to  have  some 
little  delicate  instinct  that  all  preliminary  arrangements 
had  best  be  made  between  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  and  herself, 
don't  you  see?  She  don't  want  us,  don't  you  know?  " 

Jasper  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said,  some- 
what indistinctly :  "  You  mean  me." 

Mr.  Grewgious  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said : 
"  I  mean  us.  Therefore,  let  them  have  their  little  discus- 
sions and  councils  together,  when  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  comes 
back  here  at  Christmas;  and  then  you  and  I  will  step  in, 
and  put  the  final  touches  to  the  business." 

"  So,  you  settled  with  her  that  you  would  come  back  at 
Christmas?"  observed  Jasper.  "I  see!  Mr.  Grewgious, 
as  you  quite  fairly  said  just  now,  there  is  such  an  excep- 
tional attachment  between  my  nephew  and  me,  that  I  am 
more  sensitive  for  the  dear,  fortunate,  happy,  happy  fellow 
than  for  myself.  But  it  is  only  right  that  the  young  lady 
should  be  considered,  as  you  have  pointed  out,  and  that  I 
should  accept  my  cue  from  you.  I  accept  it.  I  understand 
that  at  Christmas  they  will  complete  their  preparations  for 
May,  and  that  their  marriage  will  be  put  in  final  train 
by  themselves,  and  that  nothing  will  remain  for  us  but 
to  put  ourselves  in  train  also,  and  have  everything  ready 
for  our  formal  release  from  our  trusts,  on  Edwin's  birth- 
day." 

"That  is  my  understanding,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious, 
as  they  shook  hands  to  part.  "God  bless  them  both!" 

"  God  save  them  both !  "  cried  Jasper. 

u  I  said,  bless  them,"  remarked  the  former,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder. 

"I  said,  save  them,"  returned  the  latter.  "Is  there  any 
difference?  " 


CHAPTER    X. 

SMOOTHING  THE   WAY. 

IT  has  been  often  enough  remarked  that  women  have  a 
curious  power  of  divining  the  characters  of  men,  which 
would  seem  to  be  innate  and  instinctive;  seeing  that  it  is 
arrived  at  through  no  patient  process  of  reasoning,  that  it 


86  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

can  give  no  satisfactory  or  sufficient  account  of  itself,  and 
that  it  pronounces  in  the  most  confident  manner  even  against 
accumulated  observation  on  the  part  of  the  other  sex.  But 
it  has  not  been  quite  so  often  remarked  that  this  power 
(fallible,  like  every  other  human  attribute)  is  for  the  most 
part  absolutely  incapable  of  self -re  vision;  and  that  when  it 
has  delivered  an  adverse  opinion  which  by  all  human  lights 
is  subsequently  proved  to  have  failed,  it  is  undistinguish- 
able  from  prejudice,  in  respect  of  its  determination  not  to 
be  corrected.  Nay,  the  very  possibility  of  contradiction 
or  disproof,  however  remote,  communicates  to  this  feminine 
judgment  from  the  first,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  weak- 
ness attendant  on  the  testimony  of  an  interested  witness; 
so  personally  and  strongly  does  the  fair  diviner  connect 
herself  with  her  divination. 

"Now,  don't  you  think,  Ma  dear,"  said  the  Minor  Canon 
to  his  mother  one  day  as  she  sat  at  her  knitting  in  his  little 
book-room,  "that  you  are  rather  hard  on  Mr.  Neville? " 

"No,  I  do  not)  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady. 

"Let  us  discuss  it,  Ma." 

"I  have  no  objection  to  discuss  it,  Sept.  I  trust,  my 
dear,  I  am  always  open  to  discussion."  There  was  a  vibra- 
tion in  the  old  lady's  cap,  as  though  she  internally  added: 
"  and  I  should  like  to  see  the  discussion  that  would  change 
my  mind ! " 

"Very  good,  Ma,"  said  her  conciliatory  son.  "There  is 
nothing  like  being  open  to  discussion." 

"I  hope  not,  my  dear,"  returned  the  old  lady,  evidently 
shut  to  it. 

"  Well !  Mr.  Neville,  on  that  unfortunate  occasion,  com- 
mits himself  under  provocation." 

"And  under  mulled  wine,"  added  the  old  lady. 

"I  must  admit  the  wine.  Though  I  believe  the  two 
young  men  were  much  alike  in  that  regard. " 

"I  don't,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"Why  not,  Ma?" 

"Because  I  don't,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Still,  I  am  quite 
open  to  discussion." 

"  But,  my  dear  Ma,  I  cannot  see  how  we  are  to  discuss, 
if  you  take  that  line." 

"Blame  Mr.  Neville  for  it,  Sept,  and  not  me,"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  stately  severity. 

"My  deai-  Ma!  why  Mr.  Neville?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  87 

"  Because, "  said  Mrs.  Crisparkle,  retiring  on  first  prin- 
ciples, "he  came  home  intoxicated,  and  did  great  dis- 
credit to  this  house,  and  showed  great  disrespect  to  this 
family." 

"  That  is  not  to  be  denied,  Ma.  He  was  then,  and  he  is 
now,  very  sorry  for  it." 

"But  for  Mr.  Jasper's  well-bred  consideration  in  coming 
up  to  me,  next  day,  after  service,  in  the  Nave  itself,  with 
his  gown  still  on,  and  expressing  his  hope  that  I  had  not 
been  greatly  alarmed  or  had  my  rest  violently  broken,  I 
believe  I  might  never  have  heard  of  that  disgraceful  trans- 
action," said  the  old  lady. 

"  To  be  candid,  Ma,  I  think  I  should  have  kept  it  from 
you  if  I  could:  though  I  had  not  decidedly  made  up  my 
mind.  I  was  following  Jasper  out,  to  confer  with  him  on 
the  subject,  and  to  consider  the  expediency  of  his  and  my 
jointly  hushing  the  thing  up  on  all  accounts,  when  I  found 
him  speaking  to  you.  Then  it  was  too  late." 

"Too  late,  indeed,  Sept.  He  was  still  as  pale  as  gentle- 
manly ashes  at  what  had  taken  place  in  his  rooms  over- 
night." 

"  If  I  had  kept  it  from  you,  Ma,  you  may  be  sure  it 
would  have  been  for  your  peace  and  quiet,  and  for  the  good 
of  the  young  men,  and  in  my  best  discharge  of  my  duty  ac- 
cording to  my  lights." 

The  old  lady  immediately  walked  across  the  room  and 
kissed  him :  saying,  "  Of  course,  my  dear  Sept,  I  am  sure 
of  that." 

"  However,  it  became  the  town-talk,"  said  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle, rubbing  his  ear,  as  his  mother  resumed  her  seat,  and 
her  knitting,  "  and  passed  out  of  my  power. " 

"And  I  said  then,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "that  I 
thought  ill  of  Mr.  Neville.  And  I  say  now,  that  I  think  ill 
of  Mr.  Neville.  And  I  said  then,  and  I  say  now,  that  I 
hope  Mr.  Neville  may  come  to  good,  but  I  don't  believe  he 
will."  Here  the  cap  vibrated  again  considerably. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  Ma — ' 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  so,  my  dear,"  interposed  the  old  lady, 
knitting  on  firmly,  "but  I  can't  help  it." 

" — For,"  pursued  the  Minor  Canon,  "it  is  undeniable 
that  Mr.  Neville  is  exceedingly  industrious  and  attentive, 
and  that  he  improves  apace,  and  that  he  has — I  hope  I  may 
say — an  attachment  to  me." 


88  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"There  is  no  merit  in  the  last  article,  my  dear,"  said  the 
old  lady,  quickly;  "and  if  he  says  there  is,  I  think  the 
worse  of  him  for  the  boast." 

"But,  my  dear  Ma,  he  never  said  there  was." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  returned  the  old  lady;  "  still,  I  don't  see 
that  it  greatly  signifies." 

There  was  110  impatience  in  the  pleasant  look  with  which 
Mr.  Crisparkle  contemplated  the  pretty  old  piece  of  china 
as  it  knitted;  but  there  was,  certainly,  a  humorous  sense 
of  its  not  being  a  piece  of  china  to  argue  with  very  closely. 

"  Besides,  Sept,  ask  yourself  what  he  would  be  without 
his  sister.  You  know  what  an  influence  she  has  over  him; 
you  know  what  a  capacity  she  has;  you  know  that  what- 
ever he  reads  with  you,  he  reads  with  her.  Give  her  her 
fair  share  of  your  praise,  and  how  much  do  you  leave  for 
him?  " 

At  these  words  Mr.  Crisparkle  fell  into  a  little  reverie, 
in  which  he  thought  of  several  things.  He  thought  of  the 
times  he  had  seen  the  brother  and  sister  together  in  deep 
converse  over  one  of  his  own  old  college  books;  now,  in  the 
rimy  mornings,  when  he  made  those  sharpening  pilgrimages 
to  Cloisterham  Weir;  now,  in  the  sombre  evenings,  when 
he  faced  the  wind  at  sunset,  having  climbed  his  favourite 
outlook,  a  beetling  fragment  of  monastery  ruin;  and  the 
two  studious  figures  passed  below  him  along  the  margin  of 
the  river,  in  which  the  town  fires  and  lights  already  shone, 
making  the  landscape  bleaker.  He  thought  how  the  con- 
sciousness had  stolen  upon  him  that  in  teaching  one,  he 
was  teaching  two;  and  how  he  had  almost  insensibly  adapted 
his  explanations  to  both  minds — that  with  which  his  own 
was  daily  in  contact,  and  that  which  he  only  approached 
through  it.  He  thought  of  the  gossip  that  had  reached 
him  from  the  Nuns'  House,  to  the  effect  that  Helena,  whom 
he  had  mistrusted  as  so  proud  and  fierce,  submitted  herself 
to  the  fairy-bride  (as  he  called  her),  and  learnt  from  her 
what  she  knew.  He  thought  of  the  picturesque  alliance 
between  those  two,  externally  so  very  different.  He  thought 
— perhaps  most  of  all — could  it  be  that  these  things  were 
yet  but  so  many  weeks  old,  and  had  become  an  integral 
part  of  his  life? 

As,  whenever  the  Reverend  Septimus  fell  a  musing,  his 
good  mother  took  it  to  be  an  infallible  sign  that  he  "  wanted 
support,"  the  blooming  old  lady  made  all  haste  to  the  din- 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  89 

ing-room  closet,  to  produce  from  it  the  support  embodied  iii 
a  glass  of  Constantia  and  a  home-made  biscuit.  It  was  a 
most  wonderful  closet,  worthy  of  Cloisterham  and  of  Minor 
Canon  Corner.  Above  it,  a  portrait  of  Handel  in  a  flowing 
wig  beamed  down  at  the  spectator,  with  a  knowing  air  of 
being  up  to  the  contents  of  the  closet,  and  a  musical  air  of 
intending  to  combine  all  its  harmonies  in  one  delicious 
fugue.  No  common  closet  with  a  vulgar  door  on  hinges, 
openable  all  at  once,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  disclosed  by 
degrees,  this  rare  closet  had  a  lock  in  mid-air,  where  two 
perpendicular  slides  met;  the  one  falling  down,  and  the 
other  pushing  up.  The  upper  slide,  on  being  pulled  down 
(leaving  the  lower  a  double  mystery),  revealed  deep  shelves 
of  pickle-jars,  jam-pots,  tin  canisters,  spice-boxes,  and 
agreeably  outlandish  vessels  of  blue  and  white,  the  luscious 
lodgings  of  preserved  tamarinds  and  ginger.  Every  benev- 
olent inhabitant  of  this  retreat  had  his  name  inscribed  upon 
his  stomach.  The  pickles,  in  a  uniform  of  rich  brown 
double-breasted  buttoned  coat,  and  yellow  or  sombre  drab 
continuations,  announced,  their  portly  forms,  in  printed  cap- 
itals, as  Walnut,  Gherkin,  Onion,  Cabbage,  Cauliflower, 
Mixed,  and  other  members  of  that  noble  family.  The  jams, 
as  being  of  a  less  masculine  temperament,  and  as  wearing 
curlpapers,  announced  themselves  in  feminine  calligraphy, 
like  a  soft  whisper,  to  be  Raspberry,  Gooseberry,  Apricot, 
Plum,  Damson,  Apple,  and  Peach.  The  scene  closing  on 
these  charmers,  and  the  lower  slide  ascending,  oranges 
were  revealed,  attended  by  a  mighty  japanned  sugar-box, 
to  temper  their  acerbity  if  unripe.  Home-made  biscuits 
waited  at  the  Court  of  these  Powers,  accompanied  by  a 
goodly  fragment  of  plum-cake,  and  various  slender  ladies' 
fingers,  to  be  dipped  into  sweet  wine  and  kissed.  Lowest 
of  all,  a  compact  leaden  vault  enshrined  the  sweet  wine  and 
a  stock  of  cordials:  whence  issued  whispers  of  Seville 
Orange,  Lemon,  Almond,  and  Caraway-seed.  There  was  a 
crowning  air  upon  this  closet  of  closets,  of  having  been  for 
ages  hummed  through  by  the  Cathedral  bell  and  organ,  un- 
til those  venerable  bees  had  made  sublimated  honey  of  ev- 
erything in  store;  and  it  was  always  observed  that  every 
dipper  among  the  shelves  (deep,  as  has  been  noticed,  and 
swallowing  up  head,  shoulders,  and  elbows)  came  forth 
again  mellow-faced,  and  seeming  to  have  undergone  a  sac- 
charine transfiguration. 


90  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  yielded  himself  up  quite  as  will- 
ing a  victim  to  a  nauseous  medicinal  herb-closet,  also  pre- 
sided over  by  the  china  shepherdess,  as  to  this  glorious 
cupboard.  To  what  amazing  infusions  of  gentian,  pepper- 
mint, gilliflower,  sage,  parsley,  thyme,  rue,  rosemary,  and 
dandelion,  did  his  courageous  stomach  submit  itself !  In 
what  wonderful  wrappers,  enclosing  layers  of  dried  leaves, 
would  he  swathe  his  rosy  and  contented  face,  if  his  mother 
suspected  him  of  a  toothache!  What  botanical  blotches 
would  he  cheerfully  stick  upon  his  cheek,  or  forehead,  if 
the  dear  old  lady  convicted  him  of  an  imperceptible  pimple 
there!  Into  this  herbaceous  penitentiary,  situated  on  an 
upper  staircase-landing :  a  low  and  narrow  whitewashed 
cell,  where  bunches  of  dried  leaves  hung  from  rusty  hooks 
in  the  ceiling,  and  were  spread  out  upon  shelves,  in  com- 
pany with  portentous  bottles :  would  the  Reverend  Septi- 
mus submissively  be  led,  like  the  highly  popular  lamb  who 
has  so  long  and  unresistingly  been  led  to  the  slaughter,  and 
there  would  he,  unlike  that  lamb,  bore  nobody  but  himself. 
Not  even  doing  that  much,  so  that  the  old  lady  were  busy 
and  pleased,  he  would  quietly  swallow  what  was  given  him, 
merely  taking  a  corrective  dip  of  hands  and  face  into  the 
great  bowl  of  dried  rose-leaves,  and  into  the  other  great 
bowl  of  dried  lavender,  and  then  would  go  out,  as  confident 
in  the  sweetening  powers  of  Cloisterham  Weir  and  a  whole- 
some mind,  as  Lady  Macbeth  was  hopeless  of  those  of  all 
the  seas  that  roll. 

In  the  present  instance  the  good  Minor  Canon  took  his 
glass  of  Constantia  with  an  excellent  grace,  and,  so  sup- 
ported to  his  mother's  satisfaction,  applied  himself  to  the 
remaining  duties  of  the  day.  In  their  orderly  and  punctual 
progress  they  brought  round  Vesper  Service  and  twilight. 
The  Cathedral  being  very  cold,  he  set  off  for  a  brisk  trot 
after  service;  the  trot  to  end  in  a  charge  at  his  favourite 
fragment  of  ruin,  which  was  to  be  carried  by  storm,  with- 
out a  pause  for  breath. 

He  carried  it  in  a  masterly  manner,  and,  not  breathed 
even  then,  stood  looking  down  upon  the  river.  The  river 
at  Cloisterham  is  sufficiently  near  the  sea  to  throw  up  often- 
times a  quantity  of  seaweed.  An  unusual  quantity  had 
come  in  with  the  last  tide,  and  this,  and  the  confusion  of 
the  water,  and  the  restless  dipping  and  flapping  of  the  noisy 
gulls,  and  an  angry  light  out  seaward  beyond  the  brown- 


THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD.  91 

sailed  barges  that  were  turning  black,  foreshadowed  a 
stormy  night.  In  his  mind  he  was  contrasting  the  wild 
and  noisy  sea  with  the  quiet  harbour  of  Minor  Canon  Cor- 
ner, when  Helena  and  Neville  Landless  passed  below  him. 
He  had  had  the  two  together  in  his  thoughts  all  day,  and 
at  once  climbed  down  to  speak  to  them  together.  The  foot- 
ing was  rough  in  an  uncertain  light  for  any  tread  save  that 
of  a  good  climber;  but  the  Minor  Canon  was  as  good  a 
climber  as  most  men,  and  stood  beside  them  before  many 
good  climbers  would  have  been  half-way  down. 

"  A  wild  evening,  Miss  Landless !  Do  you  not  find  your 
usual  walk  with  your  brother  too  exposed  and  cold  for  the 
time  of  year?  Or  at  all  events,  when  the  sun  is  down,  and 
the  weather  is  driving  in  from  the  sea?  " 

Helena  thought  not.  It  was  their  favourite  walk.  It 
was  very  retired. 

"It  is  very  retired,"  assented  Mr.  Crisparkle,  laying 
hold  of  his  opportunity  straightway,  and  walking  on  with 
them.  "  It  is  a  place  of  all  others  where  one  can  speak 
without  interruption,  as  I  wish  to  do.  Mr.  Neville,  I 
believe  you  tell  your  sister  everything  that  passes  between 
us?" 

"Everything,  sir." 

"Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "your  sister  is 
aware  that  I  have  repeatedly  urged  you  to  make  some  kind 
of  apology  for  that  unfortunate  occurrence  which  befell,  on 
the  night  of  your  arrival  here." 

In  saying  it  he  looked  to  her,  and  not  to  him ;  therefore 
it  was  she,  and  not  he,  who  replied : 

"Yes." 

"I  call  it  unfortunate,  Miss  Helena,"  resumed  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, "  forasmuch  as  it  certainly  has  engendered  a  preju- 
dice against  Neville.  There  is  a  notion  about,  that  he  is  a 
dangerously  passionate  fellow,  of  an  uncontrollable  and 
furious  temper:  he  is  really  avoided  as  such." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  poor  fellow,"  said  Helena,  with 
a  look  of  proud  compassion  at  her  brother,  expressing  a 
deep  sense  of  his  being  ungenerously  treated.  "  I  should  be 
quite  sure  of  it,  from  your  saying  so;  but  what  you  tell  me 
is  confirmed  by  suppressed  hints  and  references  that  I  meet 
with  every  day." 

"Now,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  again  resumed,  in  a  tone  of  mild 
though  firm  persuasion,  "  is  not  this  to  be  regretted,  and 


92  THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN  DROOD. 

ought  it  not  to  be  amended?  These  are  early  days  of  Nev- 
ille's in  Cloisterham,  and  I  have  no  fear  of  his  outliving 
such  a  prejudice,  and  proving  himself  to  have  been  misun- 
derstood. But  how  much  wiser  to  take  action  at  once, 
than  to  trust  to  uncertain  time !  Besides,  apart  from  its 
being  politic,  it  is  right.  For  there,  can  be  no  question  that 
Neville  was  wrong." 

"He  was  provoked,"  Helena  submitted. 

"  He  was  the  assailant,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  submitted. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  until  Helena  raised  her  eyes 
to  the  Minor  Canon's  face,  and  said,  almost  reproachfully : 
"  0  Mr.  Crisparkle,  would  you  have  Neville  throw  himself 
at  young  Drood's  feet,  or  at  Mr.  Jasper's,  who  maligns 
him  every  day?  In  your  heart  you  cannot  mean  it.  From 
your  heart  you  could  not  do  it,  if  his  case  were  yours." 

"I  have  represented  to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena,"  said 
Neville,  with  a  glance  of  deference  towards  his  tutor,  "  that 
if  I  could  do  it  from  my  heart,  I  would.  But  I  cannot,  and 
I  revolt  from  the  pretence.  You  forget,  however,  that  to 
put  the  case  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  as  his  own,  is  to  suppose  Mr. 
Crisparkle  to  have  done  what  I  did." 

"I  ask  his  pardon,"  said  Helena. 

"  You  see,"  remarked  Mr.  Crisparkle,  again  laying  hold  of 
his  opportunity,  though  with  a  moderate  and  delicate  touch, 
"  you  both  instinctively  acknowledge  that  Neville  did  wrong. 
Then  why  stop  short,  and  not  otherwise  acknowledge  it?  " 

"Is  there  no  difference,"  asked  Helena,  with  a  little  fal- 
tering in  her  manner,  "  between  submission  to  a  generous 
spirit,  and  submission  to  a  base  or  trivial  one?  " 

Before  the  worthy  Minor  Canon  was  quite  ready  with  his 
argument  in  reference  to  this  nice  distinction,  Neville  struck 
in : 

"  Help  me  to  clear  myself  with  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena. 
Help  me  to  convince  him  that  I  cannot  be  the  first  to  make 
concessions  without  mockery  and  falsehood.  My  nature 
must  be  changed  before  I  can  do  so,  and  it  is  not  changed. 
I  am  sensible  of  inexpressible  affront,  and  deliberate  ag- 
gravation of  inexpressible  affront,  and  I  am  angry.  The 
plain  truth  is,  I  am  still  as  angry  when  I  recall  that  night 
as  I  was  that  night." 

"Neville,"  hinted  the  Minor  Canon,  with  a  steady  coun- 
tenance, "you  have  repeated  that  former  action  of  your 
hands,  which  I  so  much  dislike." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  93 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir,  but  it  was  involuntary.  I  con- 
fessed that  I  was  still  as  angry." 

"And  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "that  I  hope  for 
better  things." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  sir,  but  it  would  be  far 
worse  to  deceive  you,  and  I  should  deceive  you  grossly  if  I 
pretended  that  you  had  softened  me  in  this  respect.  The 
time  may  come  when  your  powerful  influence  will  do  even 
that  with  the  difficult  pupil  whose  antecedents  you  know; 
but  it  has  not  come  yet.  Is  this  so,  and  in  spite  of  my 
struggles  against  myself,  Helena?  " 

She,  whose  dark  eyes  were  watching  the  effect  of  what 
he  said  on  Mr.  Crisparkle's  face,  replied — to  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle, not  to  him:  "It  is  so."  After  a  short  pause,  she  an- 
swered the  slightest  look  of  inquiry  conceivable,  in  her 
brother's  eyes,  with  as  slight  an  affirmative  bend  of  her 
own  head;  and  he  went  on: 

"I  have  never  yet  had  the  courage  to  say  to  you,  sir, 
what  in  full  openness  I  ought  to  have  said  when  you  first 
talked  with  me  on  this  subject.  It  is  not  easy  to  say,  and 
I  have  been  withheld  by  a  fear  of  its  seeming  ridiculous, 
which  is  very  strong  upon  me  down  to  this  last  moment, 
and  might,  but  for  my  sister,  prevent  my  being  quite  open 
with  you  even  now. — I  admire  Miss  Bud,  sir,  so  very  much, 
that  I  cannot  bear  her  being  treated  with  conceit  or  indif- 
ference; and  even  if  I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  an  injury 
against  young  Drood  on  my  own  account,  I  should  feel  that 
I  had  an  injury  against  him  on  hers." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  in  utter  amazement,  looked  at  Helena 
for  corroboration,  and  met  in  her  expressive  face  full  cor- 
roboration,  and  a  plea  for  advice. 

"  The  young  lady  of  whom  you  speak  is,  as  you  know, 
Mr.  Neville,  shortly  to  be  married,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
gravely;  "  therefore  your  admiration,  if  it  be  of  that  special 
nature  which  you  seem  to  indicate,  is  outrageously  mis- 
placed. Moreover,  it  is  monstrous  that  you  should  take 
upon  yourself  to  be  the  young  lady's  champion  against  her 
chosen  husband.  Besides,  you  have  seen  them  only  once. 
The  young  lady  has  become  your  sister's  friend;  and  I 
wonder  that  your  sister,  even  on  her  behalf,  has  not  checked 
you  in  this  irrational  and  culpable  fancy." 

"  She  has  tried,  sir,  but  uselessly.  Husband  or  no  hus- 
band, that  fellow  is  incapable  of  the  feeling  with  which  I 


94  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

am  inspired  towards  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  he 
treats  like  a  doll.  I  say  he  is  as  incapable  of  it,  as  he  is 
unworthy  of  her.  I  say  she  is  sacrificed  in  being  bestowed 
upon  him.  I  say  that  I  love  her,  and  despise  and  hate 
him !  "  This  with  a  face  so  flushed,  and  a  gesture  so  vio- 
lent, that  his  sister  crossed  to  his  side,  and  caught  his  arm, 
remonstrating,  "  Neville,  Neville ! " 

Thus  recalled  to  himself,  he  quickly  became  sensible  of 
having  lost  the  guard  he  had  set  upon  his  passionate  ten- 
dency, and  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  one  repentant 
and  wretched. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  watching  him  attentively,  and  at  the 
same  time  meditating  how  to  proceed,  walked  on  for  some 
paces  in  silence.  Then  he  spoke : 

"  Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,  I  am  sorely  grieved  to  see  in 
you  more  traces  of  a  character  as  sullen,  angry,  and  wild, 
as  the  night  now  closing  in.  They  are  of  too  serious  an 
aspect  to  leave  me  the  resource  of  treating  the  infatuation 
you  have  disclosed,  as  undeserving  serious  consideration.  I 
give  it  very  serious  consideration,  and  I  speak  to  you  ac- 
cordingly. This  feud  between  you  and  young  Drood  must 
not  go  on.  I  cannot  permit  it  to  go  on  any  longer,  know- 
ing what  I  now  know  from  you,  and  you  living  under  my 
roof.  Whatever  prejudiced  and  unauthorised  constructions 
your  blind  and  envious  wrath  may  put  upon  his  character, 
it  is  a  frank,  good-natured  character.  I  know  I  can  trust 
to  it  for  that.  Now,  pray  observe  what  I  am  about  to  say. 
On  reflection,  and  on  your  sister's  representation,  I  am 
willing  to  admit  that,  in  making  peace  with  young  Drood, 
you  have  a  right  to  be  met  half  way.  I  will  engage  that 
you  shall  be,  and  even  that  young  Drood  shall  make  the 
first  advance.  This  condition  fulfilled,  you  will  pledge  me 
the  honour  of  a  Christian  gentleman  that  the  quarrel  is  for 
ever  at  an  end  on  your  side.  What  may  be  in  your  heart 
when  you  give  him  your  hand,  can  only  be  known  to  the 
Searcher  of  all  hearts;  but  it  will  never  go  well  with  you, 
if  there  be  any  treachery  there.  So  far,  as  to  that;  next 
as  to  what  I  must  again  speak  of  as  your  infatuation.  I 
understand  it  to  have  been  confided  to  me,  and  to  be  known 
to  no  other  person  save  your  sister  and  yourself.  Do  I  un- 
derstand aright?  " 

Helena  answered  in  a  low  voice :  "  It  is  only  known  to 
us  three  who  are  here  together." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  95 

"  It  is  not  at  all  known  to  the  young  lady,  your  friend?  " 

"  On  my  soul,  no !  " 

"  I  require  you,  then,  to  give  me  your  similar  and  solemn 
pledge,  Mr.  Neville,  that  it  shall  remain  the  secret  it  is, 
and  that  you  will  take  no  other  action  whatsoever  upon  it 
than  endeavouring  (and  that  most  earnestly)  to  erase  it 
from  your  mind.  I  will  not  tell  you  that  it  will  soon  pass; 
I  will  not  tell  you  that  it  is  the  fancy  of  the  moment;  I 
will  not  tell  you  that  such  caprices  have  their  rise  and  fall 
among  the  young  and  ardent  every  hour;  I  will  leave  you 
undisturbed  in  the  belief  that  it  has  few  parallels  or  none, 
that  it  will  abide  with  you  a  long  time,  and  that  it  will  be 
very  difficult  to  conquer.  So  much  the  more  weight  shall 
I  attach  to  the  pledge  I  require  from  you,  when  it  is  un- 
reservedly given." 

The  young  man  twice  or  thrice  essayed  to  speak,  but 
failed. 

"  Let  me  leave  you  with  your  sister,  whom  it  is  time  you 
took  home,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  You  will  find  me  alone 
in  my  room  by-and-bye." 

"  Pray  do  not  leave  us  yet,"  Helena  implored  him.  "  An- 
other minute." 

"I  should  not,"  said  Neville,  pressing  his  hand  upon  his 
face,  "  have  needed  so  much  as  another  minute,  if  you  had 
been  less  patient  with  me,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  less  considerate 
of  me,  and  less  unpretendingly  good  and  true.  0,  if  in 
my  childhood  I  had  known  such  a  guide ! " 

"Follow  your  guide  now,  Neville,"  murmured  Helena, 
"  and  follow  him  to  Heaven ! " 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  which  broke  the  good  Minor 
Canon's  voice,  or  it  would  have  repudiated  her  exaltation 
of  him.  As  it  was,  he  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  and  looked 
towards  her  brother. 

"  To  say  that  I  give  both  pledges,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  out  of 
my  innermost  heart,  and  to  say  that  there  is  no  treachery 
in  it,  is  to  say  nothing ! "  Thus  Neville,  greatly  moved. 
"  I  beg  your  forgiveness  for  my  miserable  lapse  into  a  burst 
of  passion." 

"  Not  mine,  Neville,  not  mine.  You  know  with  whom 
forgiveness  lies,  as  the  highest  attribute  conceivable.  Miss 
Helena,  you  and  your  brother  are  twin  children.  You 
came  into  this  world  with  the  same  dispositions,  and  you 
passed  your  younger  days  together  surrounded  by  the  same 


96  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

adverse  circumstances.  What  you  have  overcome  in  your- 
self, can  you  not  overcome  in  him?  You  see  the  rock  that 
lies  in  his  course.  Who  but  you  can  keep  him  clear  of  it?  " 

"  Who  but  you,  sir?  "  replied  Helena.  "  What  is  my  in- 
fluence, or  my  weak  wisdom,  compared  with  yours !  " 

"  You  have  the  wisdom  of  Love,"  returned  the  Minor 
Canon,  "  and  it  was  the  highest  wisdom  ever  known  upon 
this  earth,  remember.  As  to  mine — but  the  less  said  of 
that  commonplace  commodity  the  better.  Good  night !  " 

She  took  the  hand  he  offered  her,  and  gratefully  and  al- 
most reverently  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Tut !  "  said  the  Minor  Canon  softly,  "  I  am  much  over- 
paid !  "  and  turned  away. 

Retracing  his  steps  towards  the  Cathedral  Close,  he  tried, 
as  he  went  along  in  the  dark,  to  think  out  the  best  means 
of  bringing  to  pass  what  he  had  promised  to  effect,  and 
what  must  somehow  be  done.  "  I  shall  probably  be  asked 
to  marry  them,"  he  reflected,  "and  I  would  they  were  mar- 
ried and  gone!  But  this  presses  first."  He  debated  prin- 
cipally whether  he  should  write  to  young  Drood,  or  whether 
he  should  speak  to  Jasper.  The  consciousness  of  being 
popular  with  the  whole  Cathedral  establishment  inclined 
him  to  the  latter  course,  and  the  well-timed  sight  of  the 
lighted  gatehouse  decided  him  to  take  it.  "  I  will  strike 
while  the  iron  is  hot,"  he  said,  "and  see  him  now." 

Jasper  was  lying  asleep  on  a  couch  before  the  fire,  when, 
having  ascended  the  postern-stair,  and  received  no  answer 
to  his  knock  at  the  door,  Mr.  Crisparkle  gently  turned  the 
handle  and  looked  in.  Long  afterwards  he  had  cause  to 
remember  how  Jasper  sprang  from  the  couch  in  a  delirious 
state  between  sleeping  and  waking,  and  crying  out :  "  What 
is  the  matter?  Who  did  it?  " 

"  It  is  only  I,  Jasper.    I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you." 

The  glare  of  his  eyes  settled  down  into  a  look  of  recog- 
nition, and  he  moved  a  chair  or  two,  to  make  a  way  to  the 
fireside. 

"  I  was  dreaming  at  a  great  rate,  and  am  glad  to  be  dis- 
turbed from  an  indigestive  after-dinner  sleep.  Not  to  men- 
tion that  you  are  always  welcome." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  not  confident,"  returned  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle, as  he  sat  himself  down  in  the  easy  chair  placed  for 
him,  "  that  my  subject  will  at  first  sight  be  quite  as  wel- 
come as  myself  j  but  I  am  a  minister  of  peace,  and  I  pursue 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.      97 

my  subject  in  the  interests  of  peace.  In  a  word,  Jasper,  I 
want  to  establish  peace  between  these  two  young  fellows." 

A  very  perplexed  expression  took  hold  of  Mr.  Jasper's 
face;  a  very  perplexing  expression  too,  for  Mr.  Crisparkle 
could  make  nothing  of  it. 

"  How?  "  was  Jasper's  inquiry,  in  a  low  and  slow  voice, 
after  a  silence. 

"  For  the  'How '  I  come  to  you.  I  want  to  ask  you  to 
do  me  the  great  favour  and  service  of  interposing  with  your 
nephew  (I  have  already  interposed  with  Mr.  Neville),  and 
getting  him  to  write  you  a  short  note,  in  his  lively  way, 
saying  that  he  is  willing  to  shake  hands.  I  know  what  a 
good-natured  fellow  he  is,  and  what  influence  you  have 
with  him.  And  without  in  the  least  defending  Mr.  Neville, 
we  must  all  admit  that  he  was  bitterly  stung." 

Jasper  turned  that  perplexed  face  towards  the  fire.  Mr. 
Crisparkle  continuing  to  observe  it,  found  it  even  more 
perplexing  than  before,  inasmuch  as  it  seemed  to  denote 
(which  could  hardly  be)  some  close  internal  calculation. 

"I  know  that  you  are  not  prepossessed  in  Mr.  Neville's 
favour,"  the  Minor  Canon  was  going  on,  when  Jasper 
stopped  him : 

"You  have  cause  to  say  so.     I  am  not,  indeed." 

"Undoubtedly;  and  I  admit  his  lamentable  violence  of 
temper,  though  I  hope  he  and  I  will  get  the  better  of  it  be- 
tween us.  But  I  have  exacted  a  very  solemn  promise  from 
him  as  to  his  future  demeanour  towards  your  nephew,  if 
you  do  kindly  interpose;  and  I  am  sure  he  will  keep  it." 

"  You  are  always  responsible  and  trustworthy,  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle. Do  you  really  feel  sure  that  you  can  answer  for 
him  so  confidently?  " 

"I  do." 

The  perplexed  and  perplexing  look  vanished. 

"  Then  you  relieve  my  mind  of  a  great  dread,  and  a  heavy 
weight,"  said  Jasper;  "I  will  do  it." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  delighted  by  the  swiftness  and  complete- 
ness of  his  success,  acknowledged  it  in  the  handsomest 
terms. 

"  I  will  do  it,"  repeated  Jasper,  "  for  the  comfort  of  hav- 
ing your  guarantee  against  my  vague  and  unfounded  fears. 
You  will  laugh — but  do  you  keep  a  Diary?  " 

"A  line  for  a  day;  not  more." 

"  A  line  for  a  day  would  be  quite  as  much  as  my  unevent- 
7 


98  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

ful  life  would  need,  Heaven  knows,"  said  Jasper,  taking  a 
book  from  a  desk;  "but  that  my  Diary  is,  in  fact,  a  Diary 
of  Ned's  life  too.  You  will  laugh  at  this  entry;  you  will 
guess  when  it  was  made : 

"  '  Past  midnight. — After  what  I  have  just  now  seen,  I 
have  a  morbid  dread  upon  me  of  some  horrible  consequences 
resulting  to  my  dear  boy,  that  I  cannot  reason  with  or  in 
any  way  contend  against.  All  my  efforts  are  vain.  The 
demoniacal  passion  of  this  Neville  Landless,  his  strength 
in  his  fury,  and  his  savage  rage  for  the  destruction  of  its 
object,  appal  me.  So  profound  is  the  impression,  that  twice 
since  I  have  gone  into  my  dear  boy's  room,  to  assure  my- 
self of  his  sleeping  safely,  and  not  lying  dead  in  his  blood.' 

"  Here  is  another  entry  next  morning : 

"  '  Ned  up  and  away.  Light-hearted  and  unsuspicious 
as  ever.  He  laughed  when  I  cautioned  him,  and  said  he 
was  as  good  a  man  as  Neville  Landless  any  day1^  I  told 
him  that  might  be,  but  he  was  not  as  bad  a  man.  He  con- 
tinued to  make  light  of  it,  but  I  travelled  with  him  as  far 
as  I  could,  and  left  him  most  unwillingly.  I  am  unable  to 
shake  off  these  dark  intangible  presentiments  of  evil — if 
feelings  founded  upon  staring  facts  are  to  be  so  called.' 

"Again  and  again,"  said  Jasper,  in  conclusion,  twirling 
the  leaves  of  the  book  before  putting  it  by,  "  I  have  relapsed 
into  these  moods,  as  other  entries  show.  But  I  have  now 
your  assurance  at  my  back,  and  shall  put  it  in  my  book,  and 
make  it  an  antidote  to  my  black  humours." 

"  Such  an  antidote,  I  hope,"  returned  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "as 
will  induce  you  before  long  to  consign  the  black  humours 
to  the  flames.  I  ought  to  be  the  last  to  find  any  fault  with 
you  this  evening,  when  you  have  met  my  wishes  so  freely; 
but  I  must  say,  Jasper,  that  your  devotion  to  your  nephew 
has  made  you  exaggerative  here." 

"  You  are  my  witness,"  said  Jasper,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, "  what  my  state  of  mind  honestly  was,  that  night,  be- 
fore I  sat  down  to  write,  and  in  what  words  I  expressed  it. 
You  remember  objecting  to  a  word  I  used,  as  being  too 
strong?  It  was  a  stronger  word  than  any  in  my  Diary." 

"Well,  well.     Try  the  antidote,"  rejoined  Mr.  Crispar- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  99 

kle;  "and  may  it  give  you  a  brighter  and  better  view  of 
the  case !  We  will  discuss  it  no  more  now.  I  have  to  thank 
you  for  myself,  and  I  thank  you  sincerely." 

"You  shall  find,"  said  Jasper,  as  they  shook  hands, 
"  that  I  will  not  do  the  thing  you  wish  me  to  do,  by  halves. 
I  will  take  care  that  Ned,  giving  way  at  all,  shall  give  way 
thoroughly." 

On  the  third  day  after  this  conversation,  he  called  on 
Mr.  Crisparkle  with  the  following  letter  : 

"MY  DEAR  JACK, 

"  I  am  touched  by  your  account  of  your  interview  with 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  whom  I  much  respect  and  esteem.  At  once 
I  openly  say  that  I  forgot  myself  on  that  occasion  quite  as 
much  as  Mr.  Landless  did,  and  that  I  wish  that  bygone  to 
be  a  bygone,  and  all  to  be  right  again. 

"Look  here,  dear  old  boy.     Ask  Mr.  Landless  to  dinner 
on  Christmas  Eve  (the  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed), 
and  let  there  be  only  we  three,  and  let  us  shake  hands  all 
round  there  and  then,  and  say  no  more  about  it. 
"My  dear  Jack. 

"  Ever  your  most  affectionate, 

"EDWIN  DROOD. 
"P.S.  Love  to  Miss  Pussy  at  the  next  music-lesson." 

"  You  expect  Mr.  Neville,  then?  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 
"I  count  upon  his  coming,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A  PICTURE  AND  A  RING. 

BEHIND  the  most  ancient  part  of  Holborn,  London,  where 
certain  gabled  houses  some  centuries  of  age  still  stand  look- 
ing on  the  public  way,  as  if  disconsolately  looking  for  the 
Old  Bourne  that  has  long  run  dry,  is  a  little  nook  composed 
of  two  irregular  quadrangles,  called  Staple  Inn.  It  is  one 
of  those  nooks,  the  turning  into  which  out  of  the  clashing 
street,  imparts  to  the  relieved  pedestrian  the  sensation  of 
having  put  cotton  in  his  ears,  and  velvet  soles  on  his  boots. 


100  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

It  is  one  of  those  nooks  where  a  few  smoky  sparrows  twit- 
ter in  smoky  trees,  as  though  they  called  to  one  another, 
"  Let  us  play  at  country,"  and  where  a  few  feet  of  garden- 
mould  and  a  few  yards  of  gravel  enable  them  to  do  that  re- 
freshing violence  to  their  tiny  understandings.  Moreover, 
it  is  one  of  those  nooks  which  are  legal  nooks;  and  it  con- 
tains a  little  Hall,  with  a  little  lantern  in  its  roof :  to  what 
obstructive  purposes  devoted,  and  at  whose  expense,  this 
history  knoweth  not. 

In  the  days  when  Cloisterham  took  offence  at  the  exist- 
ence of  a  railroad  afar  off,  as  menacing  that  sensitive  con- 
stitution, the  property  of  us  Britons :  the  odd  fortune  of 
which  sacred  institution  it  is  to  be  in  exactly  equal  degrees 
croaked  about,  trembled  for,  and  boasted  of,  whatever  hap- 
pens to  anything,  anywhere  in  the  world:  in  those  days 
no  neighbouring  architecture  of  lofty  proportions  had  arisen 
to  overshadow  Staple  Inn.  The  westering  sun  bestowed 
bright  glances  on  it,  and  the  southwest  wind  blew  into  it 
unimpeded. 

Neither  wind  nor  sun,  however,  favoured  Staple  Inn  ene 
December  afternoon  towards  six  o'clock,  when  it  was  filled 
with  fog,  and  candles  shed  murky  and  blurred  rays  through 
the  windows  of  all  its  then-occupied  sets  of  chambers;  nota- 
bly from  a  set  of  chambers  in  a  corner  house  in  the  little 
inner  quadrangle,  presenting  in  black  and  white  over  its 
ugly  portal  the  mysterious  inscription : 

.'!  '• !   ;.,  ti       ' '  <f, 

P 

J  T 

1747. 

In  which  set  of  chambers,  never  having  troubled  his  head 
about  the  inscription,  unless  to  bethink  himself  at  odd 
times  on  glancing  up  at  it,  that  haply  it  might  mean  Per- 
haps John  Thomas,  or  Perhaps  Joe  Tyler,  sat  Mr.  G-rewgious 
writing  by  his  fire. 

Who  could  have  told,  by  looking  at  Mr.  Grewgious, 
whether  he  had  ever  known  ambition  or  disappointment? 
He  had  been  bred  to  the  Bar,  and  had  laid  himself  out  for 
chamber  practice;  to  draw  deeds;  "convey  the  wise  it  call," 
as  Pistol  says.  But  Conveyancing  and  he  had  made  such  a 
very  indifferent  marriage  of  it  that  they  had  separated  by 
consent — if  there  can  be  said  to  be  separation  where  there 
has  never  been  coming  together. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  101 

No.  Coy  Conveyancing  would  not  come  to  Mr.  Grew- 
gious.  She  was  wooed,  not  won,  and  they  went  their  sev- 
eral ways.  But  an  Arbitration  being  blown  towards  him 
by  some  unaccountable  wind,  and  he  gaining  great  credit  in 
it  as  one  indefatigable  in  seeking  out  right  and  doing  right, 
a  pretty  fat  Receivership  was  next  blown  into  his  pocket 
by  a  wind  more  traceable  to  its  source.  So,  by  chance,  he 
had  found  his  niche.  Receiver  and  Agent  now,  to  two  rich 
estates,  and  deputing  their  legal  business,  in  an  amount 
worth  having,  to  a  firm  of  solicitors  on  the  floor  below,  he 
had  snuffed  out  his  ambition  (supposing  him  to  have  ever 
lighted  it),  and  had  settled  down  with  his  snuffers  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  under  the  dry  vine  and  fig-tree  of  P.  J.  T., 
who  planted  in  seventeen-forty-seven. 

Many  accounts  and  account-books,  many  files  of  corre- 
spondence, and  several  strong  boxes,  garnished  Mr.  Grew- 
gious's  room.  They  can  scarcely  be  represented  as  having 
lumbered  it,  so  conscientious  and  precise  was  their  orderly 
arrangement.  The  apprehension  of  dying  suddenly,  and 
leaving  one  fact  or  one  figure  with  any  incompleteness  or 
obscurity  attaching  to  it,  would  have  stretched  Mr.  Grew- 
gious  stone-dead  any  day.  The  largest  fidelity  to  a  trust 
was  the  life-blood  of  the  man.  There  are  sorts  of  life-blood 
that  course  more  quickly,  more  gaily,  more  attractively; 
but  there  is  no  better  sort  in  circulation. 

There  was  no  luxury  in  his  room.  Even  its  comforts 
were  limited  to  its  being  dry  and  warm,  and  having  a  snug 
though  faded  fireside.  What  may  be  called  its  private  life 
was  confined  to  the  hearth,  and  an  easy  chair,  and  an  old- 
fashioned  occasional  round  table  that  was  brought  out  upon 
the  rug  after  business  hours,  from  a  corner  where  it  else- 
wise  remained  turned  up  like  a  shining  mahogany  shield. 
Behind  it,  when  standing  thus  on  the  defensive,  was  a 
closet,  usually  containing  something  good  to  drink.  An 
outer  room  was  the  clerk's  room;  Mr.  Grewgious's  sleep- 
ing-room was  across  the  common  stair;  and  he  held  some 
not  empty  cellarage  at  the  bottom  of  the  common  stair. 
Three  hundred  days  in  the  year,  at  least,  he  crossed  over 
to  the  hotel  in  Furnival's  Inn  for  his  dinner,  and  after  din- 
ner crossed  back  again,  to  make  the  most  of  these  simplici- 
ties until  it  should  become  broad  business  day  once  more, 
with  P.  J.  T.,  date  seventeen-forty-seven. 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  sat  and  wrote  by  his  fire  that  after- 


102  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

noon,  so  did  the  clerk  of  Mr.  Grewgious  sit  and  write  by 
his  fire.  A  pale,  puffy-faced,  dark-haired  person  of  thirty, 
with  big  dark  eyes  that  wholly  wanted  lustre,  and  a  dis- 
satisfied doughy  complexion,  that  seemed  to  ask  to  be  sent 
to  the  baker's,  this  attendant  was  a  mysterious  being,  pos- 
sessed of  some  strange  power  over  Mr.  Grewgious.  As 
though  he  had  been  called  into  existence,  like  a  fabulous 
Familiar,  by  a  magic  spell  which  had  failed  when  required 
to  dismiss  him,  he  stuck  tight  to  Mr.  Grewgious' s  stool, 
although  Mr.  Grewgious's  comfort  and  convenience  would 
manifestly  have  been  advanced  by  dispossessing  him.  A 
gloomy  person  with  tangled  locks,  and  a  general  air  of  hav- 
ing been  reared  under  the  shadow  of  that  baleful  tree  of 
Java  which  has  given  shelter  to  more  lies  than  the  whole 
botanical  kingdom,  Mr.  Grewgious,  nevertheless,  treated 
him  with  unaccountable  consideration. 

"Now,  Bazzard,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  the  entrance  of 
his  clerk :  looking  up  from  his  papers  as  he  arranged  them 
for  the  night :  "  what  is  in  the  wind  besides  fog?  " 

"Mr.  Drood,"  said  Bazzard. 

"  What  of  him?  " 

"Has  called,"  said  Bazzard. 

"  You  might  have  shown  him  in. " 

"I  am  doing  it,"  said  Bazzard. 

The  visitor  came  in  accordingly. 

"  Dear  me ! "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  looking  round  his  pair 
of  office  candles.  "  I  thought  you  had  called  and  merely 
left  your  name  and  gone.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Edwin? 
Dear  me,  you're  choking!" 

"  It's  this  fog,"  returned  Edwin;  "and  it  makes  my  eyes 
smart,  like  Cayenne  pepper." 

"  Is  it  really  so  bad  as  that?  Pray  undo  your  wrappers. 
It's  fortunate  I  have  so  good  a  fire;  but  Mr.  Bazzard  has 
taken  care  of  me." 

"No  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Bazzard  at  the  door. 

"  Ah !  then  it  follows  that  I  must  have  taken  care  of  my- 
self without  observing  it,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Pray  be 
seated  in  my  chair.  No.  I  beg !  Coming  out  of  such  an 
atmosphere,  in  my  chair." 

Edwin  took  the  easy  chair  in  the  corner;  and  the  fog  he 
had  brought  in  with  him,  and  the  fog  he  took  off  with  his 
greatcoat  and  neck-shawl,  was  speedily  licked  up  by  the 
eager  fire. 


THE   MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD  103 

"I  look,"  said  Edwin,  smiling,  as  if  I  had  come  to 
stop." 

" — By- the-bye,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious;  "excuse  my  in- 
terrupting you;  do  stop.  The  fog  may  clear  in  an  hour  or 
two.  We  can  have  dinner  in  from  just  across  Holborn. 
You  had  better  take  your  Cayenne  pepper  here  than  out- 
side; pray  stop  and  dine." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Edwin,  glancing  about  him  as 
though  attracted  by  the  notion  of  a  new  and  relishing  sort 
of  gipsy-party. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious;  "you  are  very  kind 
to  join  issue  with  a  bachelor  in  chambers,  and  take  pot-luck. 
And  I'll  ask,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  dropping  his  voice,  and 
speaking  with  a  twinkling  eye,  as  if  inspii'ed  with  a  bright 
thought:  "I'll  ask  Bazzard.  He -mightn't  like  it  else. — 
Bazzard ! " 

Bazzard  reappeared. 

"Dine  presently  with  Mr.  Drood  and  me." 

"  If  I  am  ordered  to  dine,  of  course  I  will,  sir,"  was  the 
gloomy  answer. 

"  Save  the  man ! "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  You're  not 
ordered;  you're  invited." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard;  "in  that  case  I  don't 
care  if  I  do." 

"That's  arranged.  And  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  stepping  over  to  the  hotel  in  Furni- 
val's,  and  asking  them  to  send  in  materials  for  laying  the 
cloth.  For  dinner  we'll  have  a  tureen  of  the  hottest  and 
strongest  soup  available,  and  we'll  have  the  best  made-dish 
that  can  be  recommended,  and  we'll  have  a  joint  (such  as  a 
haunch  of  mutton),  and  we'll  have  a  goose,  or  a  turkey,  or 
any  little  stuffed  thing  of  that  sort  that  may  happen  to  be 
in  the  bill  of  fare — in  short,  we'll  have  whatever  there  is 
on  hand." 

These  liberal  directions  Mr.  Grewgious  issued  with  his 
usual  air  of  reading  an  inventory,  or  repeating  a  lesson,  or 
doing  anything  else  by  rote.  Bazzard,  after  drawing  out 
the  round  table,  withdrew  to  execute  them. 

"  I  was  a  little  delicate,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
in  a  lower  tone,  after  his  clerk's  departure,  "about  em- 
ploying him  in  the  foraging  or  commissariat  department. 
Because  he  mightn't  like  it." 

"He  seems  to  have  his  own  way,  sir,"  remarked  Edwin. 


104  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  His  own  way?  "  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  0  dear  no ! 
Poor  fellow,  you  quite  mistake  him.  If  he  had  his  own 
way,  he  wouldn't  be  here." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  would  be !  "  Edwin  thought.  But 
he  only  thought  it,  because  Mr.  Grewgious  came  and  stood 
himself  with  his  back  to  the  other  corner  of  the  fire,  and 
his  shoulder-blades  against  the  chimneypiece,  and  collected 
his  skirts  for  easy  conversation. 

"  I  take  it,  without  having  the  gift  of  prophecy,  that  you 
have  done  me  the  favour  of  looking  in  to  mention  that  you 
are  going  down  yonder — where  I  can  tell  you,  you  are  ex- 
pected— and  to  offer  to  execute  any  little  commission  from 
me  to  my  charming  ward,  and  perhaps  to  sharpen  me  up  a 
bit  in  any  proceedings?  Eh,  Mr.  Edwin?  " 

"I  called,  sir,  before  going  down,  as  an  act  of  atten- 
tion." 

"  Of  attention ! "  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Ah  I  of  course, 
not  of  impatience?  " 

"  Impatience,  sir?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  meant  to  be  arch — not  that  he  in  the 
remotest  degree  expressed  that  meaning — and  had  brought 
himself  into  scarcely  supportable  proximity  with  the  fire,  as 
if  to  burn  the  fullest  effect  of  his  archness  into  himself,  as 
other  subtle  impressions  are  burnt  into  hard  metals.  But 
his  archness  suddenly  flying  before  the  composed  face  and 
manner  of  his  visitor,  and  only  the  fire  remaining,  he  started 
and  rubbed  himself. 

"I  have  lately  been  down  yonder,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
rearranging  his  skirts;  "  and  that  was  what  I  referred  to, 
when  I  said  I  could  tell  you  you  are  expected." 

"Indeed,  sir!  Yes;  I  knew  that  Pussy  was  looking  out 
for  me." 

"  Do  you  keep  a  cat  down  there?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Edwin  coloured  a  little  as  he  explained :  "  I  call  Rosa 
Pussy." 

"0,  really,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  smoothing  down  his 
head;  "that's  very  affable." 

Edwin  glanced  at  his  face,  uncertain  whether  or  no  he 
seriously  objected  to  the  appellation.  But  Edwin  might  as 
well  have  glanced  at  the  face  of  a  clock. 

"A  pet  name,  sir,"  he  explained  again. 

"Umps,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  nod.  But  with 
such  an  extraordinary  compromise  between  an  unqualified 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  105 

assent  and  a  qualified  dissent,  that  his  visitor  was  much 
disconcerted. 

"  Did  PRosa — "  Edwin  began  by  way  of  recovering  him- 
self. 

"  PRosa?"  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"I  was  going  to  say  Pussy,  and  changed  my  mind; — did 
she  tell  you  anything  about  the  Landlesses?  " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  What  is  the  Landlesses? 
An  estate?  A  villa?  A  farm?  " 

"  A  brother  and  sister.  The  sister  is  at  the  Nuns'  House, 
and  has  become  a  great  friend  of  P — " 

"PRosa's,"  Mr.  Grewgious  struck  in,  with  a  fixed  face. 

"  She  is  a  strikingly  handsome  girl,  sir,  and  I  thought 
she  might  have  been  described  to  you,  or  presented  to  you 
perhaps?  " 

"Neither,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.     "But here  is  Bazzard." 

Bazzard  returned,  accompanied  by  two  waiters — an  im- 
movable waiter,  and  a  flying  waiter;  and  the  three  brought 
in  with  them  as  much  fog  as  gave  a  new  roar  to  the  fire. 
The  flying  waiter,  who  had  brought  everything  on  his  shoul- 
ders, laid  the  cloth  with  amazing  rapidity  and  dexterity; 
while  the  immovable  waiter,  who  had  brought  nothing, 
found  fault  with  him.  The  flying  waiter  then  highly  pol- 
ished all  the  glasses  he  had  brought,  and  the  immovable 
waiter  looked  through  them.  The  flying  waiter  then  flew 
across  Holborn  for  the  soup,  and  flew  back  again,  and  then 
took  another  flight  for  the  made-dish,  and  flew  back  again, 
and  then  took  another  flight  for  the  joint  and  poultry,  and 
flew  back  again,  and  between  whiles  took  supplementary 
flights  for  a  great  variety  of  articles,  as  it  was  discovered 
from  time  to  time  that  the  immovable  waiter  had  forgotten 
them  all.  But  let  the  flying  waiter  cleave  the  air  as  he 
might,  he  was  always  reproached  on  his  return  by  the  im- 
movable waiter  for  bringing  fog  with  him,  and  being  out 
of  breath.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  repast,  by  which  time 
the  flying  waiter  was  severely  blown,  the  immovable  waiter 
gathered  up  the  tablecloth  under  his  arm  with  a  grand  air, 
and  having  sternly  (not  to  say  with  indignation)  looked  on 
at  the  flying  waiter  while  he  set  the  clean  glasses  round, 
directed  a  valedictory  glance  towards  Mr.  Grewgious,  con- 
veying :  "  Let  it  be  clearly  understood  between  us  that  the 
reward  is  mine,  and  that  Nil  is  the  claim  of  this  slave," 
and  pushed  the  flying  waiter  before  him  out  of  the  room. 


106  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

It  was  like  a  highly-finished  miniature  painting  repre- 
senting My  Lords  of  the  Circumlocution  Department,  Com- 
mandership-in-Chief  of  any  sort,  Government.  It  was  quite 
an  edifying  little  picture  to  be  hung  on  the  line  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery. 

As  the  fog  had  been  the  proximate  cause  of  this  sumptu- 
ous repast,  so  the  fog  served  for  its  general  sauce.  To  hear 
the  out-door  clerks  sneezing,  wheezing,  and  beating  their 
feet  on  the  gravel  was  a  zest  far  surpassing  Doctor  Kitch- 
ener's. To  bid,  with  a  shiver,  the  unfortunate  flying  waiter 
shut  the  door  before  he  had  opened  it,  was  a  condiment  of 
a  profounder  flavour  than  Harvey.  And  here  let  it  be  no- 
ticed, parenthetically,  that  the  leg  of  this  young  man,  in  its 
application  to  the  door,  evinced  the  finest  sense  of  touch : 
always  preceding  himself  and  tray  (with  something  of  an 
angling  air  about  it),  by  some  seconds :  and  always  linger- 
ing after  he  and  the  tray  had  disappeared,  like  Macbeth's 
leg  when  accompanying  him  off  the  stage  with  reluctance 
to  the  assassination  of  Duncan. 

The  host  had  gone  below  to  the  cellar,  and  had  brought 
up  bottles  of  ruby,  straw-coloured,  and  golden  drinks,  which 
had  ripened  long  ago  in  lands  where  no  fogs  are,  and  had 
since  lain  slumbering  in  the  shade.  Sparkling  and  tingling 
after  so  long  a  nap,  they  pushed  at  their  corks  to  help  the 
corkscrew  (like  prisoners  helping  rioters  to  force  their 
gates),  and  danced  out  gaily.  If  P.  J.  T.  in  seventeen- 
forty-seven,  or  in  any  other  year  of  his  period,  drank  such 
wines — then,  for  a  certainty,  P.  J.  T.  was  Pretty  Jolly  Too. 

Externally,  Mr.  Grewgious  showed  no  signs  of  being  mel- 
lowed by  these  glowing  vintages.  Instead  of  his  drinking 
them,  they  might  have  been  poured  over  him  in  his  high- 
dried  snuff  form,  and  run  to  waste,  for  any  lights  and 
shades  they  caused  to  flicker  over  his  face.  Neither  was  his 
manner  influenced.  But,  in  his  wooden  way,  he  had  ob- 
servant eyes  for  Edwin;  and  when  at  the  end  of  dinner,"he 
motioned  Edwin  back  to  his  own  easy  chair  in  the  fireside 
corner,  and  Edwin  sank  luxuriously  into  it  after  very  brief 
remonstrance,  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  he  turned  his  seat  round 
towards  the  fire  too,  and  smoothed  his  head  and  face,  might 
have  been  seen  looking  at  his  visitor  between  his  smoothing 
fingers. 

"Bazzard!"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  suddenly  turning  to 
him. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  107 

"I  follow  you,  sir,"  returned  Bazzard;  who  had  done  his 
work  of  consuming  meat  and  drink  in  a  workmanlike  man- 
ner, though  mostly  in  speechlessness. 

"I  drink  to  you,  Bazzard;  Mr.  Edwin,  success  to  Mr. 
Bazzard ! " 

"  Success  to  Mr.  Bazzard ! "  echoed  Edwin,  with  a  totally 
unfounded  appearance  of  enthusiasm,  and  with  the  un- 
spoken addition :  "  What  in,  I  wonder !  " 

"  And  May !  "  pursued  Mr.  Grewgfbus — "  I  am  not  at  lib- 
erty to  be  definite — May ! — my  conversational  powers  are 
so  very  limited  that  I  know  I  shall  not  come  well  out  of 
this — May ! — it  ought  to  be  put  imaginatively,  but  I  have 
no  imagination — May ! — the  thorn  of  anxiety  is  as  nearly 
the  mark  as  I  am  likely  to  get — May  it  come  out  at  last !  " 

Mr.  Bazzard,  with  a  frowning  smile  at  the  fire,  put  a 
hand  into  his  tangled  locks,  as  if  the  thorn  of  anxiety  were 
there;  then  into  his  waistcoat,  as  if  it  were  there;  then 
into  his  pockets,  as  if  it  were  there.  In  all  these  move- 
ments he  was  closely  followed  by  the  eyes  of  Edwin,  as  if 
that  young  gentleman  expected  to  see  the  thorn  in  action. 
It  was  not  produced,  however,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  merely  said : 
"I  follow  you,  sir,  and  I  thank  you." 

"  I  am  going,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  jingling  his  glass  on 
the  table  with  one  hand,  and  bending  aside  under  cover  of 
the  other,  to  whisper  to  Edwin,  "to  drink  to  my  ward. 
But  I  put  Bazzard  first.  He  mightn't  like  it  else." 

This  was  said  with  a  mysterious  wink;  or  what  would 
have  been  a  wink  if,  in  Mr.  Grewgious' s  hands,  it  could 
have  been  quick  enough.  So  Edwin  winked  responsively, 
without  the  least  idea  what  he  meant  by  doing  so. 

"And  now,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "I  devote  a  bumper  to 
the  fair  and  fascinating  Miss  Rosa.  Bazzard,  the  fair  and 
fascinating  Miss  Rosa !  " 

"  I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  I  pledge  you ! " 

"And  so  do  I! "  said  Edwin. 

"Lord  bless  me,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  breaking  the 
blank  silence  which  of  course  ensued :  though  why  these 
pauses  should  come  upon  us  when  we  have  performed  any 
.small  social  rite,  not  directly  inducive  of  self-examination 
or  mental  despondency,  who  can  tell?  "I  am  a  particu- 
larly Angular  man,  and  yet  I  fancy  (if  I  may  use  the  word, 
not  having  a  morsel  of  fancy),  that  I  could  draw  a  picture 
of  a  true  lover's  state  of  mind,  to-night." 


108  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Let  us  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "and  have  the 
picture." 

"Mr.  Edwin  will  correct  it  where  it's  wrong,"  resumed 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "and  will  throw  in  a  few  touches  from  the 
life  I  dare  say  it  is  wrong  in  many  particulars,  and  wants 
many  touches  from  the  life,  for  I  was  born  a  Chip,  and 
have  neither  soft  sympathies  nor  soft  experiences.  Well ! 
I  hazard  the  guess  that  the  true  lover's  mind  is  completely 
permeated  by  the  beloved  object  of  his  affections.  I  hazard 
the  guess  that  her  dear  name  is  precious  to  him,  cannot  be 
heard  or  repeated  without  emotion,  and  is  preserved  sacred. 
If  he  has  any  distinguishing  appellation  of  fondness  for  her, 
it  is  reserved  for  her,  and  is  not  for  common  ears.  A  name 
that  it  would  be  a  privilege  to  call  her  by,  being  alone  with 
her  own  bright  self,  it  would  be  a  liberty,  a  coldness,  an 
insensibility,  almost  a  breach  of  good  faith,  to  flaunt  else- 
where." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  Mr.  Grewgious  sitting  bolt  up- 
right, with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  continuously  chopping 
this  discourse  out  of  himself :  much  as  a  charity  boy  with  a 
very  good  memory  might  get  his  catechism  said :  and  evin- 
cing no  correspondent  emotion  whatever,  unless  in  a  certain 
occasional  little  tingling  perceptible  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"My  picture,"  Mr.  Grewgious  proceeded,  "goes  on  to 
represent  (under  correction  from  you,  Mr.  Edwin),  the  true 
lover  as  ever  impatient  to  be  in  the  presence  or  vicinity  of 
the  beloved  object  of  his  affections;  as  caring  very  little 
for  his  ease  in  any  other  society ;  and  as  constantly  seeking 
that.  If  I  was  to  say  seeking  that,  as  a  bird  seeks  its  nest, 
I  should  make  an  ass  of  myself,  because  that  would  trench 
upon  what  I  understand  to  be  poetry;  and  I  am  so  far  from 
trenching  upon  poetry  at  any  time,  that  I  never,  to  my 
knowledge,  got  within  ten  thousand  miles  of  it.  And  I 
am  besides  totally  unacquainted  with  the  habits  of  birds, 
except  the  birds  of  Staple  Inn,  who  seek  their  nests  on 
ledges,  and  in  gutter- pipes  and  chimneypots,  not  constructed 
for  them  by  the  beneficent  hand  of  Nature.  I  beg,  there- 
fore, to  be  understood  as  foregoing  the  bird's-nest.  But  my 
picture  does  represent  the  true  lover  as  having  no  existence 
separable  from  that  of  the  beloved  object  of  his  affections, 
and  as  living  at  once  a  doubled  life  and  a  halved  life.  And 
if  I  do  not  clearly  express  what  I  mean  by  that,  it  is  either 
for  the  reason  that  having  no  conversational  powers,  I  can- 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  109 

not  express  what  I  mean,  or  that  having  no  meaning,  I  do 
not  mean  what  I  fail  to  express.  Which,  to  the  best  of  my 
belief,  is  not  the  case." 

Edwin  had  turned  red  and  turned  white,  as  certain  points 
of  this  picture  came  into  the  light.  He  now  sat  looking  at 
the  fire,  and  bit  his  lip. 

'•  The  speculations  of  an  Angular  man,"  resumed  Mr. 
Grewgious,  still  sitting  and  speaking  exactly  as  before, 
"  are  probably  erroneous  on  so  globular  a  topic.  But  I  fig- 
ure to  myself  (subject,  as  before,  to  Mr.  Edwin's  correc- 
tion), that  there  can  be  no  coolness,  no  lassitude,  no  doubt, 
no  indifference,  no  half  fire  and  half  smoke  state  of  mind, 
in  a  real  lover.  Pray  am  I  at  all  near  the  mark  in  my 
picture?  " 

As  abrupt  in  his  conclusion  as  in  his  commencement  and 
progress,  he  jerked  this  inquiry  at  Edwin,  and  stopped 
when  one  might  have  supposed  him  in  the  middle  of  his 
oration. 

"  I  should  say,  sir,"  stammered  Edwin,  "as  you  refer  the 
question  to  me — " 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "I  refer  it  to  you,  as  an 
authority." 

"I  should  say,  then,  sir,"  Edwin  went  on,  embarrassed, 
"that  the  picture  you  have  drawn  is  generally  correct;  but 
I  submit  that  perhaps  you  may  be  rather  hard  upon  the 
unlucky  lover." 

"Likely  so,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious,  "likely  so.  I  am 
a  hard  man  in  the  grain." 

"He  may  not  show,"  said  Edwin,  "all  he  feels;  or  he 
may  not — ' 

There  he  stopped  so  long,  to  find  the  rest  of  his  sentence, 
that  Mr.  Grewgious  rendered  his  difficulty  a  thousand  times 
the  greater  by  unexpectedly  striking  in  with : 

"  No  to  be  sure ;  he  may  not ! " 

After  that,  they  all  sat  silent;  the  silence  of  Mr.  Bazzard 
being  occasioned  by  slumber. 

"His  responsibility  is  very  great,  though,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious  at  length,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

Edwin  nodded  assent,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

"And  let  him  be  sure  that  he  trifles  with  no  one,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious;  "neither  with  himself,  nor  with  any  other." 

Edwin  bit  his  lip  again,  and  still  sat  looking  at  the  fire. 

"  He  must  not  make  a  plaything  of  a  treasure.     Woe  be- 


HO  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

tide  him  if  he  does!    Let  him  take  that  well  to  heart,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

Though  he  said  these  things  in  short  sentences,  much  as 
the  supposititious  charity  boy  just  now  referred  to  might 
have  repeated  a  verse  or  two  from  the  Book  of  Proverbs, 
there  was  something  dreamy  (for  so  literal  a  man)  in  the 
way  in  which  he  now  shook  his  right  forefinger  at  the  live 
coals  in  the  grate,  and  again  fell  silent. 

But  not  for  long.  As  he  sat  upright  and  stiff  in  his  chair, 
he  suddenly  rapped  his  knees,  like  the  carved  image  of 
some  queer  Joss  or  other  coming  out  of  its  reverie,  and  said : 
"  We  must  finish  this  bottle,  Mr.  Edwin.  Let  me  help  you. 
I'll  help  Bazzard  too,  though  he  is  asleep.  He  mightn't 
like  it  else." 

He  helped  them  both,  and  helped  himself,  and  drained 
his  glass,  and  stood  it  bottom  upward  on  the  table,  as 
though  he  had  just  caught  a  bluebottle  in  it. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Edwin,"  he  proceeded,  wiping  his  mouth 
and  hands  upon  his  handkerchief:  "to  a  little  piece  of 
business.  You  received  from  me,  the  other  day,  a  certified 
copy  of  Miss  Rosa's  father's  will.  You  knew  its  contents 
before,  but  you  received  it  from  me  as  a  matter  of  business. 
I  should  have  sent  it  to  Mr.  Jasper,  but  for  Miss  Rosa's 
wishing  it  to  come  straight  to  you,  in  preference.  You  re- 
ceived it?  " 

"Quite  safely,  sir." 

"You  should  have  acknowledged  its  receipt,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious;  "business  being  business  all  the  world  over. 
However,  you  did  not." 

"  I  meant  to  have  acknowledged  it  when  I  first  came  in 
this  evening,  sir." 

"Not  a  business-like  acknowledgment,"  returned  Mr. 
Grewgious;  "however,  let  that  pass.  Now,  in  that  docu- 
ment you  have  observed  a  few  words  of  kindly  allusion  to 
its  being  left  to  me  to  discharge  a  little  trust,  confided  to 
me  in  conversation,  at  such  time  as  I  in  my  discretion  may 
think  best." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Mr.  Edwin,  it  came  into  my  mind  just  now,  when  I  was 
looking  at  the  fire,  that  I  could,  in  my  discretion,  acquit 
myself  of  that  trust  at  no  better  time  than  the  present. 
Favour  me  with  your  attention,  half  a  minute." 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  singled  out  by 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  Ill 

the  candle-light  the  key  he  wanted,  and  then,  with  a  can- 
dle in  his  haad,  went  to  a  bureau  or  escritoire,  unlocked  it, 
touched  the  spring  of  a  little  secret  drawer,  and  took  from 
it  an  ordinary  ring-case  made  for  a  single  ring.  With  this 
in  his  hand,  he  returned  to  his  chair.  As  he  held  it  up  for 
the  young  man  to  see,  his  hand  trembled. 

"  Mr.  Edwin,  this  rose  of  diamonds  and  rubies  delicately 
set  in  gold,  was  a  ring  belonging  to  Miss  Rosa's  mother. 
It  was  removed  from  her  dead  hand,  in  my  presence,  with 
such  distracted  grief  as  I  hope  it  may  never  be  my  lot  to 
contemplate  again.  Hard  man  as  I  am,  I  am  not  hard 
enough  for  that.  See  how  bright  these  stones  shine ! " 
opening  the  case.  "And  yet  the  eyes  that  were  so  much 
brighter,  and  that  so  often  looked  upon  them  with  a  light 
and  a  proud  heart,  have  been  ashes  among  ashes,  and  dust 
among  dust,  some  years !  If  I  had  any  imagination  (which 
it  is  needless  to  say  I  have  not),  I  might  imagine  that  the 
lasting  beauty  of  these  stones  was  almost  cruel." 

He  closed  the  case  again  as  he  spoke. 

"  This  ring  was  given  to  the  young  lady  who  was  drowned 
so  early  in  her  beautiful  and  happy  career,  by  her  husband, 
when  they  first  plighted  their  faith  to  one  another.  It  was 
he  who  removed  it  from  her  unconscious  hand,  and  it  was 
he  who,  when  his  death  drew  very  near,  placed  it  in  mine. 
The  trust  in  which  I  received  it,  was,  that,  you  and  Miss 
Rosa  growing  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  your  be- 
trothal prospering  and  coming  to  maturity,  I  should  give  it 
to  you  to  place  upon  her  finger.  Failing  those  desired  re- 
sults, it  was  to  remain  in  my  possession." 

Some  trouble  was  in  the  young  man's  face,  and  some  in- 
decision was  in  the  action  of  his  hand,  as  Mr.  Grewgious, 
looking  steadfastly  at  him,  gave  him  the  ring. 

"Your  placing  it  on  her  finger,"  said  Mr.  GreAvgious, 
"  will  be  the  solemn  seal  upon  your  strict  fidelity  to  the 
living  and  the  dead.  You  are  going  to  her,  to  make  the 
last  irrevocable  preparations  for  your  marriage.  Take  it 
with  you." 

The  young  man  took  the  little  case,  and  placed  it  in  his 
breast. 

"  If  anything  should  be  amiss,  if  anything  should  be  even 
slightly  wrong,  between  }TOU;  if  you  should  have  any  secret 
consciousness  that  you  are  committing  yourself  to  this  step 
for  no  higher  reason  than  because  you  have  long  been  ac- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  ED  WIN  DROOD. 

customed  to  look  forward  to  it;  then,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  I  charge  you  once  more,  by  the  living  and  by  the  dead,  to 
bring  that  ring  back  to  me !  " 

Here  Bazzard  awoke  himself  by  his  own  snoring;  and, 
as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  sat  apoplectically  staring  at  va- 
cancy, as  defying  vacancy  to  accuse  him  of  having  been 
asleep. 

"  Bazzard !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  harder  than  ever. 

"I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "and  I  have  been  fol- 
lowing you." 

"In  discharge  of  a  trust,  I  have  handed  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood  a  ring  of  diamonds  and  rubies.  You  see?  " 

Edwin  reproduced  the  little  case,  and  opened  it;  and 
Bazzard  looked  into  it. 

"I  follow  you  both,  sir,"  returned  Bazzard,  "and  I  wit- 
ness the  transaction." 

Evidently  anxious  to  get  away  and  be  alone,  Edwin  Drood 
now  resumed  his  outer  clothing,  muttering  something  about 
time  and  appointments.  The  fog  was  reported  no  clearer 
(by  the  flying  waiter,  who  alighted  from  a  speculative  flight 
in  the  coffee  interest),  but  he  went  out  into  it;  and  Baz- 
zard, after  his  manner,  "  followed  "  him. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  left  alone,  walked  softly  and  slowly  to 
and  fro,  for  an  hour  and  more.  He  was  restless  to-night, 
and  seemed  dispirited. 

"I  hope  I  have  done  right,"  he  said.  "The  appeal  to 
him  seemed  necessary.  It  was  hard  to  lose  the  ring,  and 
yet  it  must  have  gone  from  me  very  soon." 

He  closed  the  empty  little  drawer  with  a  sigh,  and  shut 
and  locked  the  escritoire,  and  came  back  to  the  solitary  fire- 
side. 

"Herring,"  he  went  on.  "Will  it  come  back  tome? 
My  mind  hangs  about  her  ring  very  uneasily  to-night.  Exit 
that  is  explainable.  I  have  had  it  so  long,  and  I  have 
prized  it  so  much !  I  wonder — ' 

He  was  in  a  wondering  mood  as  well  as  a  restless;  for, 
though  he  checked  himself  at  that  point,  and  took  another 
walk,  he  resumed  his  wondering  when  he  sat  down  again. 

"  I  wonder  (for  the  ten-thousandth  time,  and  what  a  weak 
fool  I,  for  what  can  it  signify  now !)  whether  he  confided 
the  charge  of  their  orphan  child  to  me,  because 'he  knew — 
Good  God,  how  like  her  mother  she  has  become! 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  so  much  as  suspected  that 


THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN   DROOD.  113 

some  one  doted  on  her,  at  a  hopeless,  speechless  distance, 
when  he  struck  in  and  won  her.  I  wonder  whether  it  ever 
crept  into  his  mind  who  that  unfortunate  some  one  was ! 

"  I  wonder  whether  I  shall  sleep  to-night !  At  all  events, 
I  will  shut  out  the  world  with  the  bedclothes,  and  try." 

Mr.  Grewgious  crossed  the  staircase  to  his  raw  and  foggy 
bedroom,  and  was  soon  ready  for  bed.  Dimly  catching 
sight  of  his  face  in  the  misty  looking-glass,  he  held  his 
candle  to  it  for  a  moment. 

"  A  likely  some  one,  you,  to  come  into  anybody's  thoughts 
in  such  an  aspect !"  he  exclaimed.  "There!  there!  there! 
Get  to  bed,  poor  man,  and  cease  to  jabber!  " 

With  that,  he  extinguished  his  light,  pulled  up  the  bed- 
clothes around  him,  and  with  another  sigh  shut  out  the 
world.  And  yet  there  are  such  unexplored  romantic  nooks 
in  the  uulikeliest  men,  that  even  old  tinderous  and  touch- 
woody  P.  J.  T.  Possibly  Jabbered  Thus,  at  some  odd  times, 
in  or  about  seventeen-forty-seven. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A  NIGHT  WITH  DURDLES. 

WHEN  Mr.  Sapsea  has  nothing  better  to  do,  towards 
evening,  and  finds  the  contemplation  of  his  own  profundity 
becoming  a  little  monotonous  in  spite  of  the  vastness  of 
the  subject,  he  often  takes  an  airing  in  the  Cathedral  Close 
and  thereabout.  He  likes  to  pass  the  churchyard  with  a 
swelling  air  of  proprietorship,  and  to  encourage  in  his  breast 
a  sort  of  benignant-landlord  feeling,  in  that  he  has  been 
bountiful  towards  that  meritorious  tenant,  Mrs.  Sapsea,  and 
has  publicly  given  her  a  prize.  He  likes  to  see  a  stray  face 
or  two  looking  in  through  the  railings,  and  perhaps  reading 
his  inscription.  Should  he  meet  a  stranger  coming  from 
the  churchyard  with  a  quick  step,  he  is  morally  convinced 
that  the  stranger  is  "with  a  blush  retiring,"  as  monumen- 
tally directed. 

Mr.  Sapsea' s  importance  has  received  enhancement,  for 
he  has  become  Mayor  of  Cloisterham.  Without  mayors^ 
and  many  of  them,  it  cannot  be  disputed  that  the  whole 
8 


114  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

framework  of  society — Mr.  Sapsea  is  confident  that  he  in- 
vented that  forcible  figure — would  fall  to  pieces.  Mayors 
have  been  knighted  for  "  going  up  "  with  addresses :  explo- 
sive machines  intrepidly  discharging  shpt  and  shell  into  the 
English  Grammar.  Mr.  Sapsea  may  "  go  up  "  with  an  ad- 
dress. Rise,  Sir  Thomas  Sapsea !  Of  such  is  the  salt  of 
the  earth. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  improved  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Jas- 
per, since  their  first  meeting  to  partake  of  port,  epitaph, 
backgammon,  beef,  and  salad.  Mr.  Sapsea  has  been  re- 
ceived at  the  gatehouse  with  kindred  hospitality;  and  on 
that  occasion  Mr.  Jasper  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and 
sang  to  him,  tickling  his  ears — figuratively — long  enough 
to  present  a  considerable  area  for  tickling.  What  Mr.  Sap- 
sea  likes  in  that  young  man  is,  that  he  is  always  ready  to 
profit  by  the  wisdom  of  his  elders,  and  that  he  is  sound, 
sir,  at  the  core.  In  proof  of  which,  he  sang  to  Mr.  Sapsea 
that  evening,  no  kickshaw  ditties,  favourites  with  national 
enemies,  but  gave  him  the  genuine  George  the  Third  home- 
brewed; exhorting  him  (as  "my  brave  boys")  to  reduce  to 
a  smashed  condition  all  other  islands  but  this  island,  and 
all  continents,  peninsulas,  isthmuses,  promontories,  and 
other  geographical  forms  of  land  soever,  besides  sweeping 
the  seas  in  all  directions.  In  short,  he  rendered  it  pretty 
clear  that  Providence  made  a  distinct  mistake  in  originat- 
ing so  small  a  nation  of  hearts  of  oak,  and  so  many  other 
verminous  peoples. 

Mr.  Sapsea,  walking  slowly  this  moist  evening  near  the 
churchyard  with  his  hands  behind  him,  on  the  look-out  for 
a  blushing  and  retiring  stranger,  turns  a  corner,  and  comes 
instead  into  the  goodly  presence  of  the  Dean,  conversing 
with  the  Verger  and  Mr.  Jasper.  Mr.  Sapsea  makes  his 
obeisance,  and  is  instantly  stricken  far  more  ecclesiastical 
than  any  Archbishop  of  York  or  Canterbury. 

"  You  are  evidently  going  to  write  a  book  about  us,  Mr. 
Jasper,"  quoth  the  Dean;  "to  write  a  book  about  us. 
Well !  We  are  very  ancient,  and  we  ought  to  make  a  good 
book.  We  are  not  so  richly  endowed  in  possessions  as  in 
age;  but  perhaps  you  will  put  that  in  your  book,  among 
other  things,  and  call  attention  to  our  wrongs." 

Mr.  Tope,  as  in  duty  bound,  is  greatly  entertained  by 
this. 

"I  really  have  no  intention  at  all,  sir,"  replies  Jasper, 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  115 

"  of  turning  author  or  archaeologist.  It  is  but  a  whim  of 
mine.  And  even  for  my  whim,  Mr.  Sapsea  here  is  more 
accountable  than  I  am." 

"  How  so,  Mr.  Mayor?  "  says  the  Dean,  with  a  nod  of 
good-natured  recognition  of  his  Fetch.  "  How  is  that,  Mr. 
Mayor?  " 

"I  am  not  aware,"  Mr.  Sapsea  remarks,  looking  about 
him  for  information,  "  to  what  the  Very  Reverend  the  Dean 
does  me  the  honour  of  referring."  And  then  falls  to  study- 
ing his  original  in  minute  points  of  detail. 

"Durdles,"  Mr.  Tope  hints. 

"  Ay !  "  the  Dean  echoes;   "  Durdles,  Durdles !  " 

"The  truth  is,  sir,"  explains  Jasper,  "that  my  curiosity 
in  the  man  was  first  really  stimulated  by  Mr.  Sapsea.  Mr. 
Sapsea' s  knowledge  of  mankind  and  power  of  drawing  out 
whatever  is  recluse  or  odd  around  him,  first  led  to  my  be- 
stowing a  second  thought  upon  the  man :  though  of  course 
I  had  met  him  constantly  about.  You  would  not  be  sur- 
prised by  this,  Mr.  Dean,  if  you  had  seen  Mr.  Sapsea  deal 
with  him  in  his  own  parlour,  as  I  did." 

"  O ! "  cries  Sapsea,  picking  up  the  ball  thrown  to  him 
with  ineffable  complacency  and  pomposity ;  "yes,  yes.  The 
Very  Reverend  the  Dean  refers  to  that?  Yes.  I  happened 
to  bring  Durdles  and  Mr.  Jasper  together.  I  regard  Dur- 
dles as  a  Character." 

"  A  character,  Mr.  Sapsea,  that  with  a  few  skilful  touches 
you  turn  inside  out,"  says  Jasper. 

"Nay,  not  quite  that,"  returns  the  lumbering  auctioneer. 
"I  may  have  a  little  influence  over  him,  perhaps;  and  a 
little  insight  into  his  character,  perhaps.  The  Very  Rev- 
erend the  Dean  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  seen 
the  world."  Here  Mr.  Sapsea  gets  a  little  behind  the 
Dean,  to  inspect  his  coat-buttons. 

"  Well ! "  says  the  Dean,  looking  about  him  to  see  what 
has  become  of  his  copyist :  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Mayor,  you  will 
use  your  study  and  knowledge  of  Durdles  to  the  good  pur- 
pose of  exhorting  him  not  to  break  our  worthy  and  respected 
Choir-Master's  neck;  we  cannot  afford  it;  his  head  and 
voice  are  much  too  valuable  to  us." 

Mr.  Tope  is  again  highly  entertained,  and,  having  fallen 
into  respectful  convulsions  of  laughter,  subsides  into  a 
deferential  murmur,  importing  that  surely  any  gentle- 
man would  deem  it  a  pleasure  and  an  honour  to  have  his 


116  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

neck  broken,  in  return  for  such  a  compliment  from  such  a 
source. 

"  I  will  take  it  upon  myself,  sir,"  observes  Sapsea  loftily, 
"to  answer  for  Mr.  Jasper's  neck.  I  will  tell  Durdles  to 
be  careful  of  it.  He  will  mind  what  I  say.  How  is  it  at 
present  endangered?  "  he  inquires,  looking  about  him  with 
magnificent  patronage. 

"  Only  by  my  making  a  moonlight  expedition  with  Dur- 
dles among  the  tombs,  vaults,  towers,  and  ruins,"  returns 
Jasper.  "You  remember  suggesting,  when  you  brought 
us  together,  that,  as  a  lover  of  the  picturesque,  it  might 
be  worth  my  while?  " 

"  1  remember ! "  replies  the  auctioneer.  And  the  solemn 
idiot  really  believes  that  he  does  remember. 

"Profiting  by  your  hint,"  pursues  Jasper,  "I  have  had 
some  day-rambles  with  the  extraordinary  old  fellow,  and 
we  are  to  make  a  moonlight  hole-and-corner  exploration  to- 
night." 

"  And  here  he  is,"  says  the  Dean. 

Durdles,  with  his  dinner- bundle  in  his  hand,  is  indeed 
beheld  slouching  towards  them.  Slouching  nearer,  and 
perceiving  the  Dean,  he  pulls  off  his  hat,  and  is  slouching 
away  with  it  under  his  arm,  when  Mr.  Sapsea  stops  him. 

"  Mind  you  take  care  of  my  friend,"  is  the  injunction  Mr. 
Sapsea  lays  upon  him. 

"  What  friend  o'  yourn  is  dead?"  asks  Durdles.  "No 
orders  has  come  in  for  any  friend  o'  yourn." 

"I  mean  my  live  friend  there." 

"  0 !  him?  "  says  Durdles.  "  He  can  take  care  of  him- 
self, can  Mister  Jarsper." 

"But  do  you  take  care  of  him  too,"  says  Sapsea. 

Whom  Durdles  (there  being  command  in  his  tone),  surlily 
surveys  from  head  to  foot. 

"With  submission  to  his  Reverence  the  Dean,  if  you'll 
mind  what  concerns  you,  Mr.  Sapsea,  Durdles  he'll  mind 
what  concerns  him." 

"  You're  out  of  temper,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  winking  to 
the  company  to  observe  how  smoothly  he  will  manage  him. 
"My  friend  concerns  me,  and  Mr.  Jasper  is  my  friend. 
And  you  are  my  friend." 

"  Don't  you  get  into  a  bad  habit  of  boasting,"  retorts 
Durdles,  with  a  grave  cautionary  nod.  "  It'll  grow  upon 
you." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  117 

"You  are  out  of  temper,"  says  Sapsea  again;  reddening, 
but  again  winking  to  the  company. 

"  I  own  to  it,"  returns  Durdles;  "  I  don't  like  liberties." 

Mr  Sapsea  winks  a  third  wink  to  the  company,  as  who 
should  say:  "I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  I  have 
settled  his  business;"  and  stalks  out  of  the  controversy. 

Durdles  then  gives  the  Dean  a  good  evening,  and  adding, 
as  he  puts  his  hat  on,  "You'll  find  me  at  home,  Mister 
Jarsper,  as  agreed,  when  you  want  me;  I'm  a  going  home 
to  clean  myself,"  soon  slouches  out.  of  sight.  This  going 
home  to  clean  himself  is  one  of  the  man's  incomprehensi- 
ble compromises  with  inexorable  facts;  he,  and  his  hat,  and 
his  boots,  and  his  clothes,  never  showing  any  trace  of  clean- 
ing, but  being  uniformly  in  one  condition  of  dust  and 
grit. 

The  lamplighter  now  dotting  the  quiet  Close  with  specks 
of  light,  and  running  at  a  great  rate  up  and  down  his  little 
ladder  with  that  object — his  little  ladder  under  the  sacred 
shadow  of  whose  inconvenience  generations  had  grown  up, 
and  which  all  Cloisterham  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the 
idea  of  abolishing — the  Dean  withdraws  to  his  dinner,  Mr. 
Tope  to  his  tea,  and  Mr.  Jasper  to  his  piano.  There,  with 
no  light  but  that  of  the  fire,  he  sits  chanting  choir-music  in 
a  low  and  beautiful  voice,  for  two  or  three  hours;  in  short, 
until  it  has  been  for  some  time  dark,  and  the  moon  is  about 
to  rise. 

Then  he  closes  his  piano  softly,  softly  changes  his  coat 
for  a  pea-jacket,  with  a  goodly  wicker-cased  bottle  in  its 
largest  pocket,  and  putting  on  a  low-crowned  flap-brimmed 
hat,  goes  softly  out.  Why  does  he  move  so  softly  to-night? 
No  outward  reason  is  apparent  for  it.  Can  there  be  any 
sympathetic  reason  crouching  darkly  within  him? 

Repairing  to  Durdles 's  unfinished  house,  or  hole  in  the 
city  wall,  and  seeing  a  light  within  it,  he  softly  picks  his 
course  among  the  gravestones,  monuments,  and  stony  lum- 
ber of  the  yard,  already  touched  here  and  there,  sidewise, 
by  the  rising  moon.  The  two  journeymen  have  left  their 
two  great  saws  sticking  in  their  blocks  of  stone;  and  two 
skeleton  journeymen  out  of  the  Dance  of  Death  might  be 
grinning  in  the  shadow  of  their  sheltering  sentry-boxes, 
about  to  slash  away  at  cutting  out  the  gravestones  of  the 
next  two  people  destined  to  die  in  Cloisterham.  Likely 
enough,  the  two  think  little  of  that  now,  being  alive,  and 


118  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

perhaps  merry.  Curious,  to  make  a  guess  at  the  two; — or 
say  one  of  the  two ! 

"Ho!     Durdles!" 

The  light  moves,  and  he  appears  with  it  at  the  door.  He 
would  seem  to  have  been  "  cleaning  himself  "  with  the  aid 
of  a  bottle,  jug,  and  tumbler;  for  no  other  cleansing  instru- 
ments are  visible  in  the  bare  brick  room  with  rafters  over- 
head and  no  plastered  ceiling,  into  which  he  shows  his 
visitor. 

"  Are  you  ready?  " 

"  I  am  ready,  Mister  Jarsper.  Let  the  old  uns  come  out 
if  they  dare,  when  we  go  among  their  tombs.  My  spirit  is 
ready  for  'em." 

"  Do  you  mean  animal  spirits,  or  arden*?  " 

"The  one's  the  t'other,"  answers  Durdles,  "and  I  mean 
'em  both." 

He  takes  a  lantern  from  a  hook,  puts  a  match  or  two  in 
his  pocket  wherewith  to  light  it,  should  there  be  need;  and 
they  go  out  together,  dinner- bundle  and  all. 

Surely  an  unaccountable  sort  of  expedition !  That  Dur- 
dles himself,  who  is  always  prowling  among  old  graves, 
and  ruins,  like  a  Ghoule — that  he  should  be  stealing  forth 
to  climb,  and  dive,  and  wander  without  an  object,  is  nothing 
extraordinary;  but  that  the  Choir-Master  or  any  one  else 
should  hold  it  worth  his  while  to  be  with  him,  and  to  study 
moonlight  effects  in  such  company  is  another  affair.  Surely 
an  unaccountable  sort  of  expedition,  therefore ! 

" '  Ware  that  there  mound  by  the  yard-gate,  Mister  Jars- 
per." 

"I  see  it.     What  is  it?" 

"Lime." 

Mr.  Jasper  stops,  and  waits  for  him  to  come  up,  for  he 
lags  behind.  "  What  you  call  quick-lime?  " 

"Ay!"  says  Durdles;  "quick  enough  to  eat  your  boots. 
With  a  little  handy  stirring,  quick  enough  to  eat  your 
bones." 

They  go  on,  presently  passing  the  red  windows  of  the 
Travellers'  Twopenny,  and  emerging  into  the  clear  moon- 
light of  the  Monks'  Vineyard.  This  crossed,  they  come  to 
Minor  Canon  Corner:  of  which  the  greater  part  lies  in 
shadow  until  the  moon  shall  rise  higher  in  the  sky. 

The  sound  of  a  closing  house-door  strikes  their  ears,  and 
two  men  come  out.  These  are  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  Neville. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  119 

Jasper, with  a  strange  and  sudden  smile  upon  his  face,  lays 
the  palm  of  his  hand  upon  the  breast  of  Durdles,  stopping 
him  where  he  stands. 

At  that  end  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  the  shadow  is  pro- 
found in  the  existing  state  of  the  light:  at  that  end,  too, 
there  is  a  piece  of  old  dwarf  wall,  breast  high,  the  only  re- 
maining boundary  of  what  was  once  a  garden,  but  is  now 
the  thoroughfare.  Jasper  and  Durdles  would  have  turned 
this  wall  in  another  instant;  but,  stopping  so  short,  stand 
behind  it. 

"  Those  two  are  only  sauntering,"  Jasper  whispers;  "  they 
will  go  out  into  the  moonlight  soon.  Let  us  keep  quiet  here, 
or  they  will  detain  us,  or  want  to  join  us,  or  what  not." 

Durdles  nods  assent,  and  falls  to  munching  some  frag- 
ments from  his  bundle.  Jasper  folds  his  arms  upon  the  top 
of  the  wall,  and,  with  his  chin  resting  on  them,  watches. 
He  takes  no  note  whatever  of  the  Minor  Canon,  but  watches 
Neville,  as  though  his  eye  were  at  the  trigger  of  a  loaded 
rifle,  and  he  had  covered  him,  and  were  going  to  fire.  A 
sense  of  destructive  power  is  so  expressed  in  his  face,  that 
even  Durdles  pauses  in  his  munching,  and  looks  at  him, 
with  an  unmunched  something  in  his  cheek. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  Neville  walk  to  and  fro, 
quietly  talking  together.  What  they  say,  cannot  be  heard 
consecutively;  but  Mr.  Jasper  has  already  distinguished  his 
own  name  more  than  once. 

"This  is  the  first  day  of  the  week,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  can 
be  distinctly  heard  to  observe,  as  they  turn  back;  "  and  the 
last  day  of  the  week  is  Christmas  Eve." 

"  You  may  be  certain  of  me,  sir." 

The  echoes  were  favourable  at  those  points,  but  as  the 
two  approach,  the  sound  of  their  talking  becomes  confused 
again.  The  word  "confidence,"  shattered  by  the  echoes, 
but  still  capable  of  being  pieced  together,  is  uttered  by  Mr. 
Crisparkle.  As  they  draw  still  nearer,  this  fragment  of  a 
reply  is  heard:  "Not  deserved  yet,  but  shall  be,  sir."  As 
they  turn  away  again,  Jasper  again  hears  his  own  name,  in 
connection  with  the  words  from  Mr.  Crisparkle :  "  Remem- 
ber that  I  said  I  answered  for  you  confidently."  Then  the 
sound  of  their  talk  becomes  confused  again;  they  halting 
for  a  little  while,  and  some  earnest  action  on  the  part  of 
Neville  succeeding.  When  they  move  once  more,  Mr. 
Crisparkle  is  seen  to  look  up  at  the  sky,  and  to  point  be- 


120  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

fore  him.  They  then  slowly  disappear;  passing  out  into 
the  moonlight  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  Corner. 

It  is  not  until  they  are  gone,  that  Mr.  Jasper  moves.  But 
then  he  turns  to  Durdles,  and  bursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 
Durdles,  who  still  has  that  suspended  something  in  his 
cheek,  and  who  sees  nothing  to  laugh  at,  stares  at  him  until 
Mr.  Jasper  lays  his  face  down  on  his  arms  to  have  his  laugh 
out.  Then  Durdles  bolts  the  something,  as  if  desperately 
resigning  himself  to  indigestion. 

Among  those  secluded  nooks  there  is  very  little  stir  or 
movement  after  dark.  There  is  little  enough  in  the  high 
tide  of  the  day,  but  there  is  next  to  none  at  night.  Besides 
that  the  cheerfully  frequented  Higli  Street  lies  nearly  par- 
allel to  the  spot  (the  old  Cathedral  rising  between  the  two), 
and  is  the  natural  channel  in  which  the  Cloisterham  traffic 
flows,  a  certain  awful  hush  pervades  the  ancient  pile,  the 
cloisters,  and  the  churchyard,  after  dark,  which  not  many 
people  care  to  enouuter.  Ask  the  first  hundred  citizens  of 
Cloisterham,  met  at  random  in  the  streets  at  noon,  if  they 
believed  in  Ghosts,  they  would  tell  you  no;  but  put  them 
to  choose  at  night  between  these  eerie  Precincts  and  the 
thoroughfare  of  shops,  and  you  would  find  that  ninety-nine 
declared  for  the  longer  round  and  the  more  frequented  way. 
The  cause  of  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  local  superstition 
that  attaches  to  the  Precincts — albeit  a  mysterious  lady, 
with  a  child  in  her  arms  and  a  rope  dangling  from  her  neck, 
has  been  seen  flitting  about  there  by  sundry  witnesses  as 
intangible  as  herself — but  it  is  to  be  sought  in  the  innate 
shrinking  of  dust  with  the  breath  of  life  in  it  from  dust  out 
of  which  the  breath  of  life  has  passed;  also,  in  the  widely 
diffused,  and  almost  as  widely  unacknowledged,  reflection : 
"  If  the  dead  do,  under  any  circumstances,  become  visible 
to  the  living,  these  are  such  likely  surroundings  for  the  pur- 
pose that  I,  the  living,  will  get  out  of  them  as  soon  as  I  can. " 

Hence,  when  Mr.  Jasper  and  Durdles  pause  to  glance 
around  them,  before  descending  into  the  crypt  by  a  small 
side  door,  of  which  the  latter  has  a  key,  the  whole  expanse 
of  moonlight  in  their  view  is  utterly  deserted.  One  might 
fancy  that  the  tide  of  life  was  stemmed  by  Mr.  Jasper's 
own  gatehouse.  The  murmur  of  the  tide  is  heard  beyond; 
but  no  wave  passes  the  archway,  over  which  his  lamp  burns 
red  behind  his  curtain,  as  if  the  building  were  a  Lighthouse. 

They  enter,  locking  themselves  in,  descend  the  rugged 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  121 

steps,  and  are  down  in  the  Crypt.  The  lantern  is  not 
wanted,  for  the  moonlight  strikes  in  at  the  groined  win- 
dows, bare  of  glass,  the  broken  frames  for  which  cast  pat- 
terns on  the  ground.  The  heavy  pillars  which  support  the 
roof  engender  masses  of  black  shade,  but  between  them 
there  are  lanes  of  light.  Up  and  down  these  lanes  they 
walk,  Durdles  discoursing  of  the  "  old  uns  "  he  yet  counts 
on  disinterring,  and  slapping  a  wall,  in  which  he  considers 
"  a  whole  family  on  'em  "  to  be  stoned  and  earthed  up,  just 
as  if  he  were  a  familiar  friend  of  the  family.  The  taci- 
turnity of  Durdles  is  for  the  time  overcome  by  Mr.  Jasper's 
wicker  bottle,  which  circulates  freely; — in  the  sense,  that 
is  to  say,  that  its  contents  enter  freely  into  Mr.  Durdles's 
circulation,  while  Mr.  Jasper  only  rinses  his  mouth  once, 
and  casts  forth  the  rinsing. 

They  are  to  ascend  the  great  Tower.  On  the  steps  by 
which  they  rise  to  the  Cathedral,  Durdles  pauses  for  new 
store  of  breath.  The  steps  are  very  dark,  but  out  of  the 
darkness  they  can  see  the  lanes  of  light  they  have  traversed. 
Durdles  seats  himself  upon  a  step.  Mr.  Jasper  seats  him- 
self upon  another.  The  odour  from  the  wicker  bottle 
(which  has  somehow  passed  into  Durdles's  keeping)  soon 
intimates  that  the  cork  has  been  taken  out;  but  this  is  not 
ascertainable  through  the  sense  of  sight,  since  neither  can 
descry  the  other.  And  yet,  in  talking,  they  turn  to  one  an- 
other, as  though  their  faces  could  commune  together. 

"  This  is  good  stuff,  Mister  Jarsper !  " 

"  It  is  very  good  stuff,  I  hope.     I  bought  it  on  purpose." 

"They  don't  show,  you  see,  the  old  uns  don't,  Mister 
Jarsper ! " 

"  It  would  be  a  more  confused  world  than  it  is,  if  they 
could." 

"  Well,  it  would  lead  towards  a  mixing  of  things,"  Dur- 
dles acquiesces :  pausing  on  the  remark,  as  if  the  idea  of 
ghosts  had  not  previously  presented  itself  to  him  in  a 
merely  inconvenient  light,  domestically  or  chronologically. 
"  But  do  you  think  there  may  be  Ghosts  of  other  things, 
though  not  of  men  and  women?  " 

"  What  things?  Flower-beds  and  watering-pots?  horses 
and  harness?  " 

"No.     Sounds." 

"  What  sounds?  " 

"Cries." 


122  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  What  cries  do  you  mean?     Chairs  to  mend?  " 

"No.  I  mean  screeches.  Now  I'll  tell  you,  Mister 
Jarsper.  Wait  a  bit  till  I  put  the  bottle  right."  Here  the 
cork  is  evidently  taken  out  again,  and  replaced  again. 
"There !  Now  it's  right!  This  time  last  year,  only  a  few 
days  later,  I  happened  to  have  been  doing  what  was  cor- 
rect by  the  season,  in  the  way  of  giving  it  the  welcome  it 
had  a  right  to  expect,  when  them  townboys  set  on  me  at 
their  worst.  At  length  I  gave  'em  the  slip,  and  turned  in 
here.  And  here  I  fell  asleep.  And  what  woke  me?  The 
ghost  of  a  cry.  The  ghost  of  one  terrific  shriek,  which 
shriek  was  followed  by  the  ghost  of  the  howl  of  a  dog :  a 
long  dismal  woeful  howl,  such  as  a  dog  gives  when  a  per- 
son's dead.  That  was  my  last  Christmas  Eve." 

"  What  do  you  mean? "  is  the  very  abrupt,  and,  one 
might  say,  fierce  retort. 

"  I  mean  that  I  made  inquiries  everywhere  about,  and, 
that  no  living  ears  but  mine  heard  either  that  cry  or  that 
howl.  So  I  say  they  was  both  ghosts;  though  why  they 
came  to  me,  I've  never  made  out." 

"  I  thought  you  were  another  kind  of  man,"  says  Jasper, 
scornfully. 

"  So  I  thought  myself,"  answers  Durdles  with  his  usual 
composure;  "  and  yet  I  was  picked  out  for  it." 

Jasper  had  risen  suddenly,  when  he  asked  him  what  he 
meant,  and  he  now  says,  "Come;  we  shall  freeze  here; 
lead  the  way." 

Durdles  complies,  not  oversteadily;  opens  the  door  at 
the  top  of  the  steps  with  the  key  he  has  already  used;  and 
so  emerges  on  the  Cathedral  level,  in  a  passage  at  the  side 
of  the  chancel.  Here,  the  moonlight  is  so  very  bright 
again  that  the  colours  of  the  nearest  stained-glass  window 
are  thrown  upon  their  faces.  The  appearance  of  the  un- 
conscious Durdles,  holding  the  door  open  for  his  companion 
to  follow,  as  if  from  the  grave,  is  ghastly  enough,  with  a 
purple  band  across  his  face,  and  a  yellow  splash  upon  his 
brow;  but  he  bears  the  close  scrutiny  of  his  companion  in 
an  insensible  way,  although  it  is  prolonged  while  the  latter 
fumbles  among  his  pockets  for  a  key  confided  to  him  that 
will  open  an  iron  gate,  so  to  enable  them  to  pass  to  the 
staircase  of  the  great  tower. 

"That  and  the  bottle  are  enough  for  you  to  carry,"  he 
says,  giving  it  to  Durdles;  "hand  your  bundle  to  me;  I 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  123 

am  younger  and  longer- winded  than  you."  Durdles  hesi- 
tates for  a  moment  between  bundle  and  bottle;  but  gives  the 
preference  to  the  bottle  as  being  by  far  the  better  company, 
and  consigns  the  dry  weight  to  his  fellow-explorer. 

Then  they  go  up  the  winding  staircase  of  the  great  tower, 
toilsomely,  turning  and  turning,  and  lowering  their  heads 
to  avoid  the  stairs  above,  or  the  rough  stone  pivot  around 
which  they  twist.  Durdles  has  lighted  his  lantern,  by 
drawing  from  the  cold  hard  wall  a  spark  of  that  mysterious 
fire  which  lurks  in  everything,  and,  guided  by  this  speck, 
they  clamber  up  among  the  cobwebs  and  the  dust.  Their 
way  lies  through  strange  places.  Twice  or -thrice  they 
emerge  into  level  low-arched  galleries,  whence  they  can 
look  down  into  the  moonlit  nave;  and  where  Durdles,  wav- 
ing his  lantern,  waves  the  dim  angels'  heads  upon  the  cor- 
bels of  the  roof,  seeming  to  watch  their  progress.  Anon 
they  turn  into  narrower  and  steeper  staircases,  and  the 
night-air  begins  to  blow  upon  them,  and  the  chirp  of  some 
startled  jackdaw  or  frightened  rook  precedes  the  heavy 
beating  of  wings  in  a  confined  space,  and  the  beating  down 
of  dust  and  straws  upon  their  heads.  At  last,  leaving  their 
light  behind  a  stair — for  it  blows  fresh  up  here — they  look 
down  on  Cloisterham,  fair  to  see  in  the  moonlight:  its 
ruined  habitations  and  sanctuaries  of  the  dead,  at  the 
Tower's  base :  its  moss-softened  red- tiled  roofs  and  red- 
brick houses  of  the  living,  clustered  beyond :  its  river  wind- 
ing down  from  the  mist  on  the  horizon,  as  though  that  were 
its  source,  and  already  heaving  with  a  restless  knowledge 
of  its  approach  towards  the  sea. 

Once  again,  an  unaccountable  expedition  this !  Jasper 
(always  moving  softly  with  no  visible  reason)  contemplates 
the  scene,  and  especially  that  stillest  part  of  it  which  the 
Cathedral  overshadows.  But  he  contemplates  Durdles  quite 
as  curiously,  and  Durdles  is  by  times  conscious  of  his  watch- 
ful eyes. 

Only  by  times,  because  Durdles  is  growing  drowsy.  As 
aeronauts  lighten  the  load  they  carry,  when  they  wish  to  rise, 
similarly  Durdles  has  lightened  the  wicker  bottle  in  coming 
up.  Snatches  of  sleep  surprise  him  on  his  legs,  and  stop 
him  in  his  talk.  A  mild  fit  of  calenture  seizes  him,  in 
which  he  deems  that  the  ground  so  far  below,  is  on  a  level 
with  the  Tower,  and  would  as  lief  walk  off  the  Tower  into 
the  air  as  not.  Such  is  his  state  when  they  begin  to  come 


124  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

down.  And  as  aeronauts  make  themselves  heavier  when 
they  wish  to  descend,  similarly  Durdles  charges  himself 
with  more  liquid  from  the  wicker  bottle,  that  he  may  come 
down  the  better. 

The  iron  gate  attained  and  locked — but  not  before  Dur- 
dles has  tumbled  twice,  and  cut  an  eyebrow  open  once — 
they  descend  into  the  Crypt  again,  with  the  intent  of  issu- 
ing forth  as  they  entered.  But,  while  returning  among 
those  lanes  of  light,  Durdles  becomes  so  very  uncertain, 
both  of  foot  and  speech,  that  he  half  drops,  half  throws 
himself  down,  by  one  of  the  heavy  pillars,  scarcely  less 
heavy  than  itself,  and  indistinctly  appeals  to  his  companion 
for  forty  winks  of  a  second  each. 

"  If  you  will  have  it  so,  or  must  have  it  so, "  replies  Jas- 
per, "  I'll  not  leave  you  here.  Take  them,  while  I  walk  to 
and  fro." 

Durdles  is  asleep  at  once;  and  in  his  sleep  he  dreams  a 
dream. 

It  is  not  much  of  a  dream,  considering  the  vast  extent  of 
the  domains  of  dreamland,  and  their  wonderful  produc- 
tions; it  is  only  remarkable  for  being  unusually  restless  and 
unusually  real.  He  dreams  of  lying  there,  asleep,  and  yet 
counting  his  companion's  footsteps  as  he  walks  to  and  fro. 
He  dreams  that  the  footsteps  die  away  into  distance  of 
time  and  of  space,  and  that  something  touches  him,  and  that 
something  falls  from  his  hand.  Then  something  clinks 
and  gropes  about,  and  he  dreams  that  he  is  alone  for  so 
long  a  time,  that  the  lanes  of  light  take  new  directions  as  the 
moon  advances  in  her  course.  From  succeeding  uncon- 
sciousness he  passes  into  a  dream  of  slow  uneasiness  from 
cold;  and  painfully  awakes  to  a  perception  of  the  lanes  of 
light — really  changed,  much  as  he  had  dreamed — and  Jas- 
per walking  among  them,  beating  his  hands  and  feet. 

"Holloa!  "  Durdles  cries  out,  unmeaningly  alarmed. 

"  Awake  at  last?  "  says  Jasper,  coming  up  to  him.  "  Do 
you  know  that  your  forties  have  stretched  into  thousands?" 

"No." 

"They  have  though." 

"What's  the  time?" 

"  Hark !     The  bells  are  going  in  the  Tower !  " 

They  strike  four  quarters,  and  then  the  great  bell  strikes. 

•"Two!"  cries  Durdles,  scrambling  up;  "why  didn't  you 
try  to  wake  me,  Mister  Jarsper?  " 


THE   MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN   DROOD.  125 

"  I  did.  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  wake  the  dead — 
your  own  family  of  dead,  up  in  the  corner  there." 

"Did  you  touch  me?" 

" Touch  3rou!     Yes.      Shook  you." 

As  Durdles  recalls  that  touching  something  in  his  dream, 
he  looks  down  on  the  pavement,  and  sees  the  key  of  the 
Crypt  door  lying  close  to  where  he  himself  lay. 

"  I  dropped  you,  did  I?  "  he  says,  picking  it  up,  and  re- 
calling that  part  of  his  dream.  As  he  gathers  himself  up 
again  into  an  upright  position,  or  into  a  position  as  nearly 
upright  as  he  ever  maintains,  he  is  again  conscious  of  being 
watched  by  his  companion. 

"Well?"  says  Jasper,  smiling,  "are  you  quite  ready? 
Pray  don't  hurry." 

"  Let  me  get  my  bundle  right,  Mister  Jarsper,  and  I'm 
with  yoii." 

As  he  ties  it  afresh,  he  is  once  more  conscious  that  he  is 
very  narrowly  observed. 

"  What  do  you  suspect  me  of,  Mister  Jarsper?  "  he  asks, 
with  drunken  displeasure.  "Let  them  as  has  any  suspi- 
cions of  Durdles  name  'em." 

"  I've  no  suspicions  of  you,  my  good  Mr.  Durdles;  but  I 
have  suspicions  that  my  bottle  was  filled  with  something 
stiff er  than  either  of  us  supposed.  And  I  also  have  suspi- 
cions," Jasper  adds,  taking  it  from  the  pavement  and  turn- 
ing it  bottom  upwards,  "that  it's  empty." 

Durdles  condescends  to  laugh  at  this.  Continuing  to 
chuckle  when  his  laugh  is  over,  as  though  remonstrant  with 
himelf  on  his  drinking  powers,  he  rolls  to  the  door  and  un- 
locks it.  They  both  pass  out,  and  Durdles  relocks  it,  and 
pockets  his  key. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  a  curious  and  interesting  night," 
says  Jasper,  giving  him  his  hand;  "you  can  make  your 
own  way  home?  " 

"I  should  think  so!  "  answers  Durdles.  "If  you  was  to 
offer  Durdles  the  affront  to  show  him  his  way  home,  he 
wouldn't  go  home. 

Durdles  wouldn't  go  home  till  morning; 
And  then  Durdles  wouldn't  go  home, 

Durdles  wouldn't."     This  with  the  utmost  defiance. 
"Good  night,  then." 
"Good  night,  Mister  Jarsper." 


126  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Each  is  turning  his  own  way,  when  a  sharp  whistle  rends 
the  silence,  and  the  jargon  is  yelped  out : 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen ! 
I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten. 
Widdy  widdy  wy ! 

Then — E — don't — go — then — I — shy — 
Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning !  " 

Instantly  afterwards,  a  rapid  fire  of  stones  rattles  at  the 
Cathedral  wall,  and  the  hideous  small  boy  is  beheld  oppo- 
site, dancing  in  the  moonlight. 

"  What !  Is  that  baby-devil  on  the  watch  there !  "  cries 
Jasper  in  a  fury :  so  quickly  roused,  and  so  violent,  that 
he  seems  an  older  devil  himself.  "  I  shall  shed  the  blood 
of  that  impish  wretch !  I  know  I  shall  do  it !  "  Regard- 
less of  the  fire,  though  it  hits  him  more  than  once,  he  rushes 
at  Deputy,  collars  him,  and  tries  to  bring  him  across.  But 
Deputy  is  not  to  be  so  easily  brought  across.  With  a  dia- 
bolical insight  into  the  strongest  part  of  his  position,  he  is 
no  sooner  taken  by  the  throat  than  he  curls  up  his  legs, 
forces  his  assailant  to  hang  him,  as  it  were,  and  gurgles  in 
his  throat,  and  screws  his  body,  and  twists,  as  already  un- 
dergoing the  first  agonies  of  strangulation.  There  is  noth- 
ing for  it  but  to  drop  him.  He  instantly  gets  himself  to- 
gether, backs  over  to  Durdles,  and  cries  to  his  assailant, 
gnashing  the  great  gap  in  front  of  his  mouth  with  rage  and 
malice  : 

"  I'll  blind  yer,  s'elp  me !  I'll  stone  yer  eyes  out,  s'elp 
me!  If  I  don't  have  yer  eyesight,  bellows  me!"  At  the 
same  time  dodging  behind  Durdles,  and  snarling  at  Jasper, 
now  from  this  side  of  him,  and  now  from  that:  prepared, 
if  pounced  upon,  to  dart  away  in  all  manner  of  curvilinear 
directions,  and,  if  run  down  after  all,  to  grovel  in  the  dust, 
and  cry:  "Now,  hit  me  when  I'm  down!  Do  it!  " 

"Don't  hurt  the  boy,  Mister  Jarsper,"  urges  Durdles, 
shielding  him.  "  Recollect  yourself." 

"  He  followed  us  to-night,  when  we  first  came  here !  " 

"  Yer  lie,  I  didn't! "  replies  Deputy,  in  his  one  form  of 
polite  contradiction. 

"  He  has  been  prowling  near  us  ever  since !  " 

"Yer  lie,  I  haven't,"  returns  Deputy.  "I'd  only  jist 
come  out  for  my  'elth  when  I  see  you  two  a  coming  out  of 
the  Kinfreederel.  If 

"  I— ket— ches— Im— out— ar — ter — ten !  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  127 

(with  the  usual  rhythm  and  dance,  though  dodging  behind 
Durdles),  "it  ain't  my  fault,  is  it?" 

"Take  him  home,  then,"  retorts  Jasper,  ferociously, 
though  with  a  strong  check  upon  himself,  "  and  let  my  eyes 
be  rid  of  the  sight  of  you !  " 

Deputy,  with  another  sharp  whistle,  at  once  expressing 
his  relief,  and  his  commencement  of  a  milder  stoning  of 
Mr.  Durdles,  begins  stoning  that  respectable  gentleman 
home,  as  if  he  were  a  reluctant  ox.  Mr.  Jasper  goes  to  his 
gatehouse,  brooding.  And  thus,  as  everything  comes  to  an 
end,  the  unaccountable  expedition  conies  to  an  end — for  the 
time. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

BOTH  AT  THEIR  BEST. 

Miss  TWINKLETON'S  establishment  was  about  to  undergo 
a  serene  hush.  The  Christmas  recess  was  at  hand.  What 
had  once,  and  at  no  remote  period,  been  called,  even  by  the 
erudite  Miss  Twinkleton  herself,  "  the  half;  "  but  what  was 
now  called,  as  being  more  elegant,  and  more  strictly  col- 
legiate, "the  term,"  would  expire  to-morrow.  A  notice- 
able relaxation  of  discipline  had  for  some  few  days  per- 
vaded the  Nuns'  House.  Club  suppers  had  occurred  in  the 
bedrooms,  and  a  dressed  tongue  had  been  carved  with  a 
pair  of  scissors,  and  handed  round  with  the  curling  tongs. 
Portions  of  marmalade  had  likewise  been  distributed  on  a 
service  of  plates  constructed  of  curlpaper;  and  cowslip  wine 
had  been  quaffed  from  the  small  squat  measuring  glass  in 
which  little  Rickitts  (a  junior  of  weakly  constitution)  took 
her  steel  drops  daily.  The  housemaids  had  been  bribed 
with  various  fragments  of  riband,  and  sundry  pairs  of  shoes 
more  or  less  down  at  heel,  to  make  no  mention  of  crumbs 
in  the  beds;  the  airiest  costumes  had  been  worn  on  these 
festive  occasions;  and  the  daring  Miss  Ferdinand  had  even 
surprised  the  company  with  a  sprightly  solo  on  the  comb- 
and-curlpaper,  until  suffocated  in  her  own  pillow  by  two 
flowing-haired  executioners. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  tokens  of  dispersal.  Boxes  ap- 
peared in  the  bedrooms  (where  they  were  capital  at  other 


128  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

times),  and  a  surprising  amount  of  packing  took  place,  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  amount  packed.  Largess,  in  the 
form  of  odds  and  ends  of  cold  cream  and  pomatum,  and 
also  of  hairpins,  was  freely  distributed  among  the  attend- 
ants. On  charges  of  inviolable  secrecy,  confidences  were 
interchanged  respecting  golden  youth  of  England  expected 
to  call,  "at  home,"  on  the  first  opportunity.  Miss  Giggles 
(deficient  in  sentiment)  did  indeed  profess  that  she,  for 
her  part,  acknowledged  such  homage  by  making  faces  at  the 
golden  youth;  but  this  young  lady  was  outvoted  by  an  im- 
mense majority. 

On  the  last  night  before  a  recess,  it  was  always  expressly 
made  a  point  of  honour  ftiat  nobody  should  go  to  sleep,  and 
that  Ghosts  should  be  encouraged  by  all  possible  means. 
This  compact  invariably  broke  down,  and  all  the  young 
ladies  went  to  sleep  very  soon,  and  got  up  very  early. 

The  concluding  ceremony  came  off  at  twelve  o'clock  on 
the  day  of  departure;  when  Miss  Twinkleton,  supported  by 
Mrs.  Tisher,  held  a  drawing-room  in  her  own  apartment 
(the  globes  already  covered  with  brown  Holland),  where 
glasses  of  white  wine  and  plates  of  cut  pound-cake  were 
discovered  on  the  table.  Miss  Twinkleton  then  said :  La- 
dies, another  revolving  year  had  brought  us  round  to  that 
festive  period  at  which  the  first  feelings  of  our  nature 
bounded  in  our — Miss  Twinkleton  was  annually  going  to 
add  "bosoms,"  but  annually  stopped  on  the  brink  of  that 
expression,  and  substituted  "hearts."  Hearts;  our  hearts. 
Hem !  Again  a  revolving  year,  ladies,  had  brought  us  to  a 
pause  in  our  studies — let  us  hope  our  greatly  advanced 
studies — and,  like  the  mariner  in  his  bark,  the  warrior  in 
his  tent,  the  captive  in  his  dungeon,  and  the  traveller  in 
his  various  conveyances,  we  yearned  for  home.  Did  we  say, 
on  such  an  occasion,  in  the  opening  words  of  Mr.  Addison's 
impressive  tragedy : 

"  The  dawn  is  overcast,  the  morning  lowers, 
And  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day, 
The  great,  th'  important  day — ?  " 

Not  so.  From  horizon  to  zenith  all  was  couleur  de  rose,  for 
all  was  redolent  of  our  relations  and  friends.  Might  we  find 
them  prospering  as  we  expected;  might  they  find  us  pros- 
pering as  they  expected !  Ladies,  we  would  now,  with  our 
love  to  one  another,  wish  one  another  good  bye,  and  happi- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  129 

ness,  until  we  met  again.  And  when  the  time  should  come 
for  our  resumption  of  those  pursuits  which  (here  a  general 
depression  set  in  all  round),  pursuits  which,  pursuits  which; 
— then  let  us  ever  remember  what  was  said  by  the  Spartan 
General,  in  words  too  trite  for  repetition,  at  the  battle  it 
were  superfluous  to  specify. 

The  handmaidens  of  the  establishment,  in  their  best  caps, 
then  handed  the  trays,  and  the  young  ladies  sipped  and 
crumbled,  and  the  bespoken  coaches  began  to  choke  the 
street.  Then  leave-taking  was  not  long  about;  and  Miss 
Twinkleton,  in  saluting  each  young  lady's  cheek,  confided 
to  her  an  exceedingly  neat  letter,  addressed  to  her  next 
friend  at  law,  "  with  Miss  Twinkle  ton's  best  compliments  " 
in  the  corner.  This  missive  she  handed  with  an  air  as 
if  it  had  not  the  least  connection  with  the  bill,  but  were 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  delicate  and  joyful  surprise. 

So  many  times  had  Rosa  seen  such  dispersals,  and  so  very 
little  did  she  know  of  any  other  Home,  that  she  was  con- 
tented to  remain  where  she  was,  and  was  even  better  con- 
tented than  ever  before,  having  her  latest  friend  with  her. 
And  yet  her  latest  friendship  had  a  blank  place  in  it  of 
which  she  could  not  fail  to  be  sensible.  Helena  Landless, 
having  been  a  party  to  her  brother's  revelation  about  Rosa, 
and  having  entered  into  that  compact  of  silence  with  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  shrank  from  any  allusion  to  Edwin  Drood's 
name.  Why  she  so  avoided  it,  was  mysterious  to  Rosa,  but 
she  perfectly  perceived  the  fact.  But  for  the  fact,  she 
might  have  relieved  her  own  little  perplexed  heart  of  some 
of  its  doubts  and  hesitations,  by  taking  Helena  into  her 
confidence.  As  it  was,  she  had  no  such  vent :  she  could 
only  ponder  on  her  own  difficulties,  and  wonder  more  and 
more  why  this  avoidance  of  Edwin's  name  should  last,  now 
that  she  knew — for  so  much  Helena  had  told  her — that  a 
good  understanding  was  to  be  reestablished  between  the  two 
young  men  when  Edwin  came  down. 

It  would  have  made  a  pretty  picture,  so  many  pretty 
girls  kissing  Rosa  in  the  cold  porch  of  the  Nuns'  House, 
and  that  sunny  little  creature  peeping  out  of  it  (unconscious 
of  sly  faces  carved  on  spout  and  gable  peeping  at  her),  and 
waving  farewells  to  the  departing  coaches,  as  if  she  repre- 
sented the  spirit  of  rosy  youth  abiding  in  the  place  to  keep 
it  bright  and  warm  in  its  desertion.  The  hoarse  High  Street 
became  musical  with  the  cry,  in  various  silvery  voices, 
9 


130  THE   MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN   DROOD. 

"  Good  bye,  Rosebud  darling !  "  and  the  effigy  of  Mr.  Sap- 
sea's  father  over  the  opposite  doorway  seemed  to  say  to 
mankind :  "  Gentlemen,  favour  me  with  your  attention  to 
this  charming  little  last  lot  left  behind,  and  bid  with  a 
spirit  worthy  of  the  occasion ! "  Then  the  staid  street,  so 
unwontedly  sparkling,  youthful,  and  fresh  for  a  few  rip- 
pling moments,  ran  dry,  and  Cloisterham  was  itself  again. 

If  Rosebud  in  her  bower  now  waited  Edwin  Drood' s  com- 
ing with  an  uneasy  heart,  Edwin  for  his'  part  was  uneasy 
too.  With  far  less  force  of  purpose  in  his  composition  than 
the  childish  beau-ty,  crowned  by  acclamation  fairy  queen  of 
Miss  Twinkleton's  establishment,  he  had  a  conscience,  and 
Mr.  Grewgious  had  pricked  it.  That  gentleman's  steady 
convictions  of  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong  in  such 
a  case  as  his,  were  neither  to  be  frowned  aside  nor  laughed 
aside.  They  would  not  be  moved.  But  for  the  dinner  in 
Staple  Inn,  and  but  for  the  ring  he  carried  in  the  breast 
pocket  of  his  coat,  he  would  have  drifted  into  their  wed- 
ding-day without  another  pause  for  real  thought,  loosely 
trusting  that  all  would  go  well,  left  alone.  But  that  seri- 
ous putting  him  on  his  truth  to  the  living  and  the  dead  had 
brought  him  to  a  check.  He  must  either  give  the  ring  to 
Rosa,  or  he  must  take  it  back.  Once  put  into  this  narrowed 
way  of  action,  it  was  curious  that  he  began  to  consider 
Rosa's  claims  upon  him  more  unselfishly  than  he  had  ever 
considered  them  before,  and  began  to  be  less  sure  of  himself 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  all  his  easy-going  days. 

"  I  will  be  guided  by  what  she  says,  and  by  how  we  get 
on,"  was  his  decision,  walking  from  the  gatehouse  to  the 
Nuns'  House.  "  Whatever  comes  of  it,  I  will  bear  his 
words  in  mind,  and  try  to  be  true  to  the  living  and  the 
dead." 

Rosa  was  dressed  for  walking.  She  expected  him.  It 
was  a  bright  frosty  day,  and  Miss  Twinkleton  had  already 
graciously  sanctioned  fresh  air.  Thus  they  got  out  together 
before  it  became  necessary  for  either  Miss  Twinkleton,  or 
the  deputy  high-priest  Mrs.  Tisher,  to  lay  even  so  much  as 
one  of  those  usual  offerings  on  the  shrine  of  Propriety. 

"My  dear  Eddy,"  said  Rosa,  when  they  had  turned  out 
of  the  High  Street,  and  had  got  among  the  quiet  walks  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  Cathedral  and  the  river :  "  I  want 
to  say  something  very  serious  to  you.  I  have  been  think- 
ing about  it  for  a  long,  long  time." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  131 

:;  I  want  to  be  serious  with  you  too,  Rosa  dear  I  mean 
to  be  serious  and  earnest." 

"Thank  you,  Eddy.  And  you  will  not  think  me  unkind 
because  I  begin,  will  you?  You  will  not  think  I  speak  for 
myself  only,  because  I  speak  first?  That  would  not  be  gen- 
erous, would  it?  And  I  know  you  are  generous !  " 

He  said,  "I  hope  I  am  not  ungenerous  to  you,  Rosa." 
He  called  her  Pussy  no  more.  Never  again. 

"And  there  is  no  fear,"  pursued  Rosa,  "of  our  quarrel- 
ling, is  there?  Because,  Eddy,"  clasping  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  "  we  have  so  much  reason  to  be  very  lenient  to  each 
other ! " 

"We  will  be,  Rosa." 

"That's  a  dear  good  boy!  Eddy,  let  us  be  courageous. 
Let  us  change  to  brother  and  sister  from  this  day  forth." 

"  Never  be  husband  and  wife?  " 

"Never!" 

Neither  spoke  again  for  a  little  while.  But  after  that 
pause  he  said,  with  some  effort: 

"  Of  course  I  know  that  this  has  been  in  both  our  minds, 
Rosa,  and  of  course  I  am  in  honour  bound  to  confess  freely 
that  it  does  not  originate  with  you." 

"No,  nor  with  you,  dear,"  she  returned,  with  pathetic 
earnestness.  "  That  sprung  up  between  us.  You  are  not 
truly  happy  in  our  engagement;  I  am  not  truly  happy  in  it. 
0, 1  am  so  sorry,  so  sorry !  "  And  there  she  broke  into  tears. 

"  I  am  deeply  sorry  too,  Rosa.     Deeply  sorry  for  you." 

"  And  I  for  you,  poor  boy !     And  I  for  you ! " 

This  pure  young  feeling,  this  gentle  and  forbearing  feel- 
ing of  each  towards  the  other,  brought  with  it  its  reward 
in  a  softening  light  that  seemed  to  shine  on  their  position. 
The  relations  between  them  did  not  look  wilful,  or  capri- 
cious, or  a  failure,  in  such  a  light;  they  became  elevated 
into  something  more  self-denying,  honourable,  affection- 
ate, and  true. 

"  If  we  knew  yesterday,"  said  Rosa,  as  she  dried  her 
eyes,  "  and  we  did  know  yesterday,  and  on  many,  many 
yesterdays,  that  we  were  far  from  right  together  in  those 
relations  which  were  not  of  our  own  choosing,  what  better 
could  we  do  to-day  than  change  them?  It  is  natural  that 
we  should  be  sorry,  and  you  see  how  sorry  we  both  are; 
but  how  much  better  to  be  sorry  now  than  then?  " 

"  When,  Rosa?  " 


132  THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  When  it  would  be  too  late.  And  then  we  should  be 
angry,  besides." 

Another  silence  fell  upon  them. 

"And  you  know,"  said  Rosa  innocently,  "you  couldn't 
like  me  then;  and  you  can  always  like  me  now,  for  I  shall 
not  be  a  drag  upon  you,  or  a  worry  to  you.  And  I  can  al- 
ways like  you  now,  and  your  sister  will  not  tease  or  trifle 
with  you.  I  often  did  when  I  was  not  your  sister,  and  I 
beg  your  pardon  for  it." 

"  Don't  let  us  come  to  that,  Rosa;  or  I  shall  want  more 
pardoning  than  I  like  to  think  of." 

"No,  indeed,  Eddy;  you  are  too  hard,  my  generous  boy, 
upon  yourself.  Let  us  sit  down,  brother,  on  these  ruins, 
and  let  me  tell  you  how  it  was  with  us.  I  think  I  know, 
for  I  have  considered  about  it  very  much  since  you  were 
here  last  time.  You  liked  me,  didn't  you?  You  thought 
I  was  a  nice  little  thing?  " 

"Everybody  thinks  that,  Rosa." 

"-Do  they?  "  She  knitted  her  brow  musingly  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  flashed  out  with  the  bright  little  induction : 
"Well,  but  say  they  do.  Surely  it  was  not  enough  that 
you  should  think  of  me  only  as  other  people  did;  now,  was 
it?" 

The  point  was  not  to  be  got  over.     It  was  not  enough. 

"And  that  is  just  what  I  mean;  that  is  just  how  it  was 
with  us,"  said  Rosa.  "  You  liked  me  very  well,  and  you 
had  grown  used  to  me,  and  had  grown  used  to  the  idea  of 
our  being  married.  You  accepted  the  situation  as  an  in- 
evitable kind  of  thing,  didn't  you?  It  was  to  be,  you 
thought,  and  why  discuss  or  dispute  it?  " 

It  was  new  and  strange  to  him  to  have  himself  presented 
to  himself  so  clearly,  in  a  glass  of  her  holding  up.  He 
had  always  patronised  her,  in  his  superiority  to  her  share 
of  woman's  wit.  Was  that  but  another  instance  of  some- 
thing radically  amiss  in  the  terms  on  which  they  had  been 
gliding  towards  a  lifelong  bondage? 

"  All  this  that  I  say  of  you  is  true  of  me  as  well,  Eddy. 
Unless  it  was,  I  might  not  be  bold  enough  to  say  it.  Only, 
the  difference  between  us  was,  that  by  little  and  little  there 
crept  into  my  mind  a  habit  of  thinking  about  it,  instead  of 
dismissing  it.  My  life  is  not  so  busy  as  yours,  you  see, 
and  I  have  not  so  many  things  to  think  of.  So  I  thought 
about  it  very  much,  and  I  cried  about  it  very  much  too 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  -133 

(though  that  was  not  your  fault,  poor  boy);  when  all  at 
once  my  guardian  came  down,  to  prepare  for  my  leaving 
the  Nuns'  House.  I  tried  to  hint  to  him  that  I  was  not 
quite  settled  in  my  mind,  but  I  hesitated  and  failed,  and 
he  didn't  understand  me.  But  he  is  a  good,  good  man. 
And  he  put  before  me  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  strongly,  how 
seriously  we  ought  to  consider,  in  our  circumstances,  that 
I  resolved  to  speak  to  you  the  next  moment  we  were  alone 
and  grave.  And  if  I  seem  to  come  to  it  easily  just  now, 
because  I  came  to  it  all  at  once,  don't  think  it  was  so  really, 
Eddy,  for  O,  it  was  very,  very  hard,  and  0  I  am  very,  very 
sorry ! " 

Her  full  heart  broke  into  tears  again.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  and  they  walked  by  the  river-side  to- 
gether. 

"  Your  guardian  has  spoken  to  me  too,  Rosa  dear.  I  saw 
him  before  I  left  London."  His  right  hand  was  in  his 
breast,  seeking  the  ring;  but  he  checked  it,  as  he  thought: 
"  If  I  am  to  take  it  back,  why  should  I  tell  her  of  it?  " 

"  And  that  made  you  more  serious  about  it,  didn't  it, 
Eddy?  And  if  I  had  not  spoken  to  you,  as  I  have,  you 
would  have  spoken  to  me?  I  hope  you  can  tell  me  so? 
I  don't  like  it  to  be  all  my  doing,  though  it  is  so  much  bet- 
ter for  us." 

"Yes,  I  should  have  spoken;  I  should  have  put  every- 
thing before  you;  I  came  intending  to  do  it.  But  I  never 
could  have  spoken  to  you  as  you  have  spoken  to  me, 
Rosa." 

"Don't  say  you  mean  so  coldly  or  unkindly,  Eddy, 
please,  if  you  can  help  it." 

"  I  mean  so  sensibly  and  delicately,  so  wisely  and  affec- 
tionately." 

"That's  my  dear  brother !"  She  kissed  his  hand  in  a 
little  rapture.  "  The  dear  girls  will  be  dreadfully  disap- 
pointed," added  Rosa,  laughing,  with  the  dewdrops  glisten- 
ing in  her  bright  eyes.  "They  have  looked  forward  to  it 
so,  poor  pets !  " 

"  Ah !  but  I  fear  it  will  be  a  worse  disappointment  to 
Jack,"  said  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  start.  "  I  never  thought 
of  Jack ! " 

Her  swift  and  intent  look  at  him  as  he  said  the  words 
could  no  more  be  recalled  than  a  flash  of  lightning  can. 
But  it  appeared  as  though  she  would  have  instantly  recalled 


134    .          THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN   DROOD. 

it,  if  she  could;  for  she  looked  down,  confused,  and  breathed 
quickly. 

"  You  don't  doubt  its  being  a  blow  to  Jack,  Rosa?  " 

She  merely  replied,  and  that  evasively  and  hurriedly : 
Why  should  she?  She  had  not  thought  about  it.  He 
seemed,  to  her,  to  have  so  little  to  do  with  it. 

"My  dear  child!  can  you  suppose  that  any  one  so 
wrapped  up  in  another — Mrs.  Tope's  expression :  not  mine 
— as  Jack  is  in  me,  could  fail  to  be  struck  all  of  a  heap  by 
such  a  sudden  and  complete  change  in  my  life?  I  say 
sudden,  because  it  will  be  sudden  to  him,  you  know." 

She  nodded  twice  or  thrice,  and  her  lips  parted  as  if  she 
would  have  assented.  But  she  uttered  no  sound,  and  her 
breathing  was  no  slower. 

"  How  shall  I  tell  Jack?  "  said  Edwin,  ruminating.  If 
he  had  been  less  occupied  with  the  thought,  he  must  have 
seen  her  singular  emotion.  "  I  never  thought  of  Jack.  It 
must  be  broken  to  him,  before  the  town-crier  knows  it.  I 
dine  with  the  dear  fellow  to-morrow  and  next  day — Christ- 
mas Eve  and  Christmas  Day — but  it  would  never  do  to  spoil 
his  feast-days.  He  always  worries  about  me,  and  moddley- 
coddleys  in  the  merest  trifles.  The  news  is  sure  to  overset 
him.  How  on  earth  shall  this  be  broken  to  Jack?  " 

"He  must  be  told,  I  suppose? "  said  Rosa. 

"  My  dear  Rosa !  who  ought  to  be  in  our  confidence,  if 
not  Jack?  " 

"  My  guardian  promised  to  come  down,  if  I  should  write 
and  ask  him.  I  am  going  to  do  so.  Would  you  like  to 
leave  it  to  him?  " 

"  A  bright  idea !  "  cried  Edwin.  "  The  other  trustee- 
Nothing  more  natural.  He  comes  down,  he  goes  to  Jack, 
he  relates  what  we  have  agreed  upon,  and  he  states  our  case 
better  than  we  could.  He  has  already  spoken  feelingly  to 
you,  he  has  already  spoken  feelingly  to  me,  and  he'll  put 
the  whole  thing  feelingly  to  Jack.  That's  it!  I  am  not  a 
coward,  Rosa,  but  to  tell  you  a  secret,  I  am  a  little  afraid 
of  Jack." 

"  No,  no !  you  are  not  afraid  of  him ! "  cried  Rosa,  turn- 
ing white,  and  clasping  her  hands. 

"  Why,  sister  Rosa,  sister  Rosa,  what  do  you  see  from 
the  turret?  "  said  Edwin,  rallying  her.  "  My  dear  girl !  " 

"You  frightened  me.'' 

"Most  unintentionally,  but  I  am  as  sorry  as  if  I  had 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  135 

meant  to  do  it.  Could  you  possibly  suppose  for  a  moment, 
from  any  loose  way  of  speaking  of  mine,  that  I  was  liter- 
ally afraid  of  the  dear  fond  fellow?  What  I  mean  is,  that 
he  is  subject  to  a  kind  of  paroxysm,  or  fit — I  saw  him  in  it 
once — and  I  don't  know  but  that  so  great  a  surprise,  com- 
ing upon  him  direct  from  me  whom  he  is  so  wrapped  up  in, 
might  bring  it  on  perhaps.  Which — and  this  is  the  secret 
I  was  going  to  tell  you — is  another  reason  for  your  guar- 
dian's making  the  communication.  He  is  so  steady,  precise, 
and  exact,  that  he  will  talk  Jack's  thoughts  into  shape,  in 
no  time :  whereas  with  me  Jack  is  always  impulsive  and 
hurried,  and,  I  may  say,  almost  womanish." 

Rosa  seemed  convinced.  Perhaps  from  her  own  very 
different  point  of  view  of  "  Jack,"  she  felt  comforted  and 
protected  by  the  interposition  of  Mr.  Grewgious  between 
herself  and  him. 

And  now,  Edwin  Drood's  right  hand  closed  again  upon 
the  ring  in  its  little  case,  and  again  was  checked  by  the 
consideration :  "  It  is  certain,  now,  that  I  am  to  give  it  back 
to  him ;  then  why  should  I  tell  her  of  it?  "  That  pretty 
sympathetic  nature  which  could  be  so  sorry  for  him  in  the 
blight  of  their  childish  hopes  of  happiness  together,  and 
could  so  quietly  find  itself  alone  in  a  new  world  to  weave 
fresh  wreaths  of  such  flowers  as  it  might  prove  to  bear,  the 
old  world's  flowers  being  withered,  would  be  grieved  by 
those  sorrowful  jewels;  and  to  what  purpose?  Why  should 
it  be?  They  were  but  a  sign  of  broken  joys  and  baseless 
projects;  in  their  very  beauty  they  were  (as  the  unlikeliest 
of  men  had  said)  almost  a  cruel  satire  on  the  loves,  hopes, 
plans,  of  humanity,  which  are  able  to  forecast  nothing,  and 
are  so  much  brittle  dust.  Let  them  be.  He  would  restore 
them  to  her  guardian  when  he  came  down ;  he  in  his  turn 
would  restore  them  to  the  cabinet  from  which  he  had  un- 
willingly taken  them;  and  there,  like  old  letters  or  old 
vows,  or  other  records  of  old  aspirations  come  to  nothing, 
they  would  be  disregarded,  until,  being  valuable,  they  were 
sold  into  circulation  again,  to  repeat  their  former  round. 

Let  them  be.  Let  them  lie  unspoken  of,  in  his  breast. 
However  distinctly  or  indistinctly  he  entertained  these 
thoughts,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  Let  them  be. 
Among  the  mighty  store  of  wonderful  chains  that  are  for 
ever  forging,  day  and  night,  in  the  vast  iron- works  of  time 
and  circumstance,  there  was  one  chain  forged  in  the  moment 


136  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

of  that  small  conclusion,  riveted  to  the  foundations  of 
heaven  and  earth,  and  gifted  with  invincible  force  to  hold 
and  drag. 

They  walked  on  by  the  river.  They  began  to  speak  of 
their  separate  plans.  He  would  quicken  his  departure  from 
England,  and  she  would  remain  where  she  was,  at  least  as 
long  as  Helena  remained.  The  poor  dear  girls  should  have 
their  disappointment  broken  to  them  gently,  and,  as  the 
first  preliminary,  Miss  Twinkleton  should  be  confided  in 
by  Rosa,  even  in  advance  of  the  reappearance  of  Mr.  Grew- 
gious.  It  should  be  made  clear  in  all  quarters  that  she  and 
Edwin  were  the  best  of  friends.  There  had  never  been  so 
serene  an  understanding  between  them  since  they  were  first 
affianced.  And  yet  there  was  one  reservation  on  each  side; 
on  hers,  that  she  intended  through  her  guardian  to  with- 
draw herself  immediately  from  the  tuition  of  her  music- 
master;  on  his,  that  he  did  already  entertain  some  wander- 
ing speculations  whether  it  might  ever  come  to  pass  that  he 
would  know  more  of  Miss  Landless. 

The  bright  frosty  day  declined  as  they  walked  and  spoke 
together.  The  sun  dipped  in  the  river  far  behind  them, 
and  the  old  city  lay  red  before  them,  as  their  walk  drew 
to  a  close.  The  moaning  water  cast  its  seaweed  duskily 
at  their  feet,  when  they  turned  to  leave  its  margin;  and 
the  rooks  hovered  above  them  with  hoarse  cries,  darker 
splashes  in  the  darkening  air. 

"  I  will  prepare  Jack  for  my  flitting  soon,"  said  Edwin, 
in  a  low  voice,  "  and  I  will  but  see  your  guardian  when  he 
comes,  and  then  go  before  they  speak  together.  It  will  be 
better  done  without  my  being  by.  Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"Yes." 

"  We  know  we  have  done  right,  Rosa?  " 

"Yes." 

"We  know  we  are  better  so,  even  now? " 

"And  shall  be  far,  far  better  so  by-and-bye." 

Still  there  was  that  lingering  tenderness  in  their  hearts 
towards  the  old  positions  they  were  relinquishing,  that 
they  prolonged  their  parting.  When  they  came  among  the 
elm-trees  by  the  Cathedral,  where  they  had  last  sat  to- 
gether, they  stopped  as  by  consent,  and  Rosa  raised  her 
face  to  his,  as  she  had  never  raised  it  in  the  old  days; — for 
they  were  old  already. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear !     Good  bye ! " 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  137 

"God  bless  you,  dear!     Good  bye!  " 

They  kissed  each  other  fervently. 

"Now,  please  take  me  home,  Eddy,  and  let  me  be  by 
myself. " 

"Don't  look  round,  Rosa,"  he  cautioned  her,  as  he  drew 
her  arm  through  his,  and  led  her  away.  "Didn't  you  see 
Jack?  » 

"No!     Where?" 

"  Under  the  trees.  He  saw  us,  as  we  took  leave  of  each 
other.  Poor  fellow !  he  little  thinks  we  have  parted.  This 
will  be  a  blow  to  him,  I  am  much  afraid !  " 

She  hurried  on,  without  resting,  and  hurried  on  until 
they  had  passed  under  the  gatehouse  into  the  street;  once 
there,  she  asked : 

"  Has  he  followed  us?  You  can  look  without  seeming  to. 
Is  he  behind?  " 

"No.  Yes,  he  is!  He  has  just  passed  out  under  the 
gateway.  The  dear  sympathetic  old  fellow  likes  to  keep 
us  in  sight.  I  am  afraid  he  will  be  bitterly  disappointed !  " 

She  pulled  hurriedly  at  the  handle  of  the  hoarse  old  bell, 
and  the  gate  soon  opened.  Before  going  in,  she  gave  him 
one  last  wide  wondering  look,  as  if  she  would  have  asked 
him  with  imploring  emphasis :  "  0 !  don't  you  understand?  " 
And  out  of  that  look  he  vanished  from  her  view. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

WHEN  SHALL  THESE  THREE  MEET  AGAIN? 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  in  Cloisterham.  A  few  strange  faces  in 
the  streets;  a  few  other  faces,  half  strange  and  half  famil- 
iar, once  the  faces  of  Cloisterham  children,  now'  the  faces 
of  men  and  women  who  come  back  from  the  outer  world  at 
long  intervals  to  find  the  city  wonderfully  shrunken  in  size, 
as  if  it  had  not  washed  by  any  means  well  in  the  mean- 
while. To  these,  the  striking  of  the  Cathedral  clock,  and 
the  cawing  of  the  rooks  from  the  Cathedral  tower,  are  like 
voices  of  their  nursery  time.  To  such  as  these,  it  has  hap- 
pened in  their  dying  hours  afar  off,  that  they  have  im- 
agined their  chamber-floor  to  be  strewn  with  the  autumnal 


138  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

leaves  fallen  from  the  elm-trees  in  the  Close :  so  have  the 
rustling  sounds  and  fresh  scents  of  their  earliest  impres- 
sions revived  when  the  circle  of  their  lives  was  very  nearly 
traced,  and  the  beginning  and  the  end  were  drawing  close 
together. 

Seasonable  tokens  are  about.  Red  berries  shine  here  and 
there  in  the  lattices  of  Minor  Canon  Corner;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tope  are  daintily  sticking  sprigs  of  holly  into  the  carvings 
and  sconces  of  the  Cathedral  stalls,  as  if  they  were  sticking 
them  into  the  coat-buttonholes  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter. 
Lavish  profusion  is  in  the  shops :  particularly  in  the  arti- 
cles of  currents,  raisins,  spices,  candied  peel,  and  moist 
sugar.  An  unusual  air  of  gallantry  and  dissipation  is 
abroad;  evinced  in  an  immense  bunch  of  mistletoe  hang- 
ing in  the  greengrocer's  shop  doorway,  and  a  poor  little 
Twelfth  Cake,  culminating  in  the  figure  of  a  Harlequin — 
such  a  very  poor  little  Twelfth  Cake,  that  one  would  rather 
call  it  a  Twenty-fourth  Cake  or  a  Forty-eighth  Cake — to  be 
raffled  for  at  the  pastrycook's,  terms  one  shilling  per  mem- 
ber. Public  amusements  are  not  wanting.  The  Wax- Work 
which  made  so  deep  an  impression  on  the  reflective  mind 
of  the  Emperor  of  China  is  to  be  seen  by  particular  desire 
duirng  Christmas  Week  only,  on  the  premises  of  the  bank- 
rupt livery-stable-keeper  up  the  lane;  and  a  new  grand 
comic  Christmas  pantomime  is  to  be  produced  at  the  Thea- 
tre :  the  latter  heralded  by  the  portrait  of  Signor  Jacksonini 
the  clown,  saying  "How  do  you  do  to-morrow?"  quite  as 
large  as  life,  and  almost  as  miserably.  In  short,  Cloister- 
ham  is  up  and  doing :  though  from  this  description  the 
High  School  and  Miss  Twinkleton's  are  to  be  excluded. 
From  the  former  establishment  the  scholars  have  gone 
home,  every  one  of  them  in  love  with  one  of  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton's  young  ladies  (who  knows  nothing  about  it);  and  only 
the  handmaidens  flutter  occasionally  in  the  windows  of  the 
latter.  It"  is  noticed,  by-the-bye,  that  these  damsels  be- 
come, within  the  limits  of  decorum,  more  skittish  when 
thus  intrusted  with  the  concrete  representation  of  their  sex, 
than  when  dividing  the  representation  with  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton's  young  ladies. 

Three  are  to  meet  at  the  gatehouse  to-night.  How  does 
each  one  of  the  three  get  through  the  day? 

Neville  Landless,  though  absolved  from  his  books  for  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  139 

time  by  Mr.  Crisparkle — whose  fresh  nature  is  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  a  holiday — reads  and  writes 
in  his  quiet  room,  with  a  concentrated  air,  until  it  is  two 
hours  past  noon.  He  then  sets  himself  to  clearing  his  table, 
to  arranging  his  books,  and  to  tearing  up  and  burning  his 
stray  papers.  He  makes  a  clean  sweep  of  all  untidy  accu- 
mulations, puts  all  his  drawers  in  order,  and  leaves  no  note 
or  scrap  of  paper  undestroyed,  save  such  memoranda  as 
bear  directly  on  his  studies.  This  done,  he  turns  to  his 
wardrobe,  selects  a  few  articles  of  ordinary  wear — among 
them,  change  of  stout  shoes  and  socks  for  walking — and 
packs  these  in  a  knapsack.  This  knapsack  is  new,  and  he 
bought  it  in  the  High  Street  yesterday.  He  also  purchased, 
at  the  same  time  and  at  the  same  place,  a  heavy  walking- 
stick  :  strong  in  the  handle  for  the  grip  of  the  hand,  and 
iron-shod.  He  tries  this,  swings  it,  poises  it,  and  lays  it 
by,  with  the  knapsack,  on  a  window-seat.  By  this  time 
his  arrangements  are  complete. 

He  dresses  for  going  out,  and  is  in  the  act  of  going — in- 
deed has  left  his  room,  and  has  met  the  Minor  Canon  on 
the  staircase,  coming  out  of  his  bedroom  upon  the  same 
story — when  he  turns  back  again  for  his  walking-stick, 
thinking  he  will  carry  it  now.  Mr.  Crisparkle,  who  has 
paused  on  the  staircase,  sees  it  in  his  hand  on  his  imme- 
diately reappearing,  takes  it  from  him,  and  asks  him  with 
a  smile  how  he  chooses  a  stick? 

"Really  I  don't  know  that  I  understand  the  subject,"  he 
answers.  "  I  chose  it  for  its  weight." 

"Much  too  heavy,  Neville;  much  too  heavy." 

"  To  rest  upon  in  a  long  walk,  sir?  " 

"  Rest  upon?  "  repeats  Mr.  Crisparkle,  throwing  himself 
into  pedestrian  form.  "  You  don't  rest  upon  it;  you  merely 
balance  with  it." 

"  I  shall  know  better,  with  practice,  sir.  I  have  not  lived 
in  a  walking  country,  you  know." 

"True,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle.  " Get  into  a  little  train- 
ing, and  we  will  have  a  few  score  miles  together.  I  should 
leave  you  nowhere  now.  Do  you  come  back  before  din- 
ner? " 

"I  think  not,  as  we  dine  early." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  gives  him  a  bright  uod  and  a  cheerful 
good  bye;  expressing  (not  without  intention)  absolute  con- 
fidence and  ease. 


140  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Neville  repairs  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  requests  that 
Miss  Landless  may  be  informed  that  her  brother  is  there, 
by  appointment.  He  waits  at  the  gate,  not  even  crossing 
the  threshold;  for  he  is  on  his  parole  not  to  put  himself  in 
Rosa's  way. 

His  sister  is  at  least  as  mindful  of  the  obligation  they 
have  taken  on  themselves  as  he  can  be,  and  loses  not  a  mo- 
ment in  joining  him.  They  meet  affectionately,  avoid  lin- 
gering there,  and  walk  towards  the  upper  inland  country. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  tread  upon  forbidden  ground,  Hel- 
ena," says  Neville,  when  they  have  walked  some  distance 
and  are  turning;  "  you  will  understand  in  another  moment 
that  I  cannot  help  referring  to — what  shall  I  say? — my  in- 
fatuation." 

"  Had  you  not  better  avoid  it,  Neville?  You  know  that 
I  can  hear  nothing." 

"  You  can  hear,  my  dear,  what  Mr.  Crisparkle  has  heard, 
and  heard  with  approval." 

"Yes;  I  can  hear  so  much." 

"  Well,  it  is  this.  I  am  not  only  unsettled  and  unhappy 
myself,  but  I  am  conscious  of  unsettling  and  interfering 
with  other  peopje.  How  do  I  know  that,  but  for  my  un- 
fortunate presence,  you,  and — and — the  rest  of  that  former 
party,  our  engaging  guardian  excepted,  might  be  dining 
cheerfully  in  Minor  Canon  Corner  to-morrow?  Indeed  it 
probably  would  be  so.  I  can  see  too  well  that  I  am  not 
high  in  the  old  lady's  opinion,  and  it  is  easy  to  understand 
what  an  irksome  clog  I  must  be  upon  the  hospitalities  of 
her  orderly  house — especially  at  this  time  of  year — when  I 
must  be  kept  asunder  from  this  person,  and  there  is  such 
a  reason  for  my  not  being  brought  into  contact  with  that 
person,  and  an  unfavourable  reputation  has  preceded  me 
with  such  another  person,  and  so  on.  I  have  put  this  very 
gently  to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  for  you  know  his  self-denying 
ways;  but  still  I  have  put  it.  What  I  have  laid  much 
greater  stress  upon  at  the  same  time,  is,  that  I  am  engaged 
in  a  miserable  struggle  with  myself,  and  that  a  little 
change  and  absence  may  enable  me  to  come  through  it  the 
better.  So,  the  weather  being  bright  and  hard,  I  am  going 
on  a  walking  expedition,  and  intend  taking  myself  out 
of  everybody's  way  (my  own  included,  I  hope)  to-morrow 
morning." 

"  When  to  come  back?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIK  DROOD.  141 

"In  a  fortnight." 

"  And  going  quite  alone?  " 

"  I  am  much  better  without  company,  even  if  there  were 
any  one  but  you  to  bear  me  company,  my  dear  Helena." 

"Mr.  Crisparkle  entirely  agrees,  you  say?" 

"  Entirely.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  at  first  he  was  in- 
clined to  think  it  rather  a  moody  scheme,  and  one  that 
might  do  a  brooding  mind  harm.  But  we  took  a  moonlight 
walk  last  Monday  night,  to  talk  it  over  at  leisure,  and  I 
represented  the  case  to  him  as  it  really  is.  I  showed  him 
that  I  do  want  to  conquer  myself,  and  that,  this  evening 
well  got  over,  it  is  surely  better  that  1  should  be  away  from 
here  just  now,  than  here.  I  could  hardly  help  meeting  cer- 
tain people  walking  together  here,  and  that  could  do  no 
good,  and  is  certainly  not  the  way  to  forget.  A  fortnight 
hence,  that  chance  will  probably  be  over,  for  the  time;  and 
when  it  again  arises  for  the  last  time,  why,  I  can  again  go 
away.  Farther,  I  really  do  feel  hopeful  of  bracing  exer- 
cise and  wholesome  fatigue.  You  know  that  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle allows  such  things  their  full  weight  in  the  preservation 
of  his  own  sound  mind  in  his  own  sound  body,  and  that  his 
just  spirit  is  not  likely  to  maintain  one  set  of  natural  laws 
for  himself  and  another  for  me.  He  yielded  to  my  view  of 
the  matter,  when  convinced  that  I  was  honestly  in  earnest; 
and  so,  with  his  full  consent,  I  start  to-morrow  morning. 
Early  enough  to  be  not  only  out  of  the  streets,  but  out  of 
hearing  of  the  bells,  when  the  good  people  go  to  church." 

Helena  thinks  it  over,  and  thinks  well  of  it.  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle doing  so,  she  would  do  so;  but  she  does  originally, 
out  of  her  own  mind,  think  well  of  it,  as  a  healthy  project, 
denoting  a  sincere  endeavour  and  an  active  attempt  at  self- 
correction.  She  is  inclined  to  pity  him,  poor  fellow,  for 
going  away  solitary  on  the  great  Christmas  festival;  but 
she  feels  it  much  more  to  the  purpose  to  encourage  him. 
And  she  does  encourage  him. 

He  will  write  to  her? 

He  will  write  to  her  every  alternate  day,  and  tell  her  all 
his  adventures. 

Does  he  send  clothes  on  in  advance  of  him? 

"  My  dear  Helena,  no.  Travel  like  a  pilgrim,  with  wal- 
let and  staff.  My  wallet — or  my  knapsack — is  packed,  and 
ready  for  strapping  on;  and  here  is  my  staff!  " 

He  hands  it  to  her;  she  makes  the  same  remark  as  Mr. 


142  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Crisparkle,  that  it  is  very  heavy;  and  gives  it  back  to  him, 
asking  what  wood  it  is?  Iron- wood. 

Up  to  this  point  he  has  been  extremely  cheerful.  Per- 
haps, the  having  to  carry  his  case  with  her,  and  therefore 
to  present  it  in  its  brightest  aspect,  has  roused  his  spirits. 
Perhaps,  the  having  done  so  with  success,  is  followed  by 
a  revulsion.  As  the  day  closes  in,  and  the  city-lights  be- 
gin to  spring  up  before  them,  he  grows  depressed. 

"I  wish  I  were  not  going  to  this  dinner,  Helena." 

"  Dear  Neville,  is  it  worth  while  to  care  much  about  it? 
Think  how  soon  it  will  be  over." 

"  How  soon  it  will  be  over ! "  he  repeats  gloomily.  "  Yes. 
But  I  don't  like  it." 

There  may  be  a  moment's  awkwardness,  she  cheeringly 
represents  to  him,  but  it  can  only  last  a  moment.  He  is 
quite  sure  of  himself. 

"  I  wish  I  felt  as  sure  of  everything  else,  as  I  feel  of  my- 
self," he  answers  her. 

"  How  strangely  you  speak,  dear !    What  do  you  mean?  " 

"Helena,  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  that  I  don't  like 
it.  What  a  strange  dead  weight  there  is  in  the  air ! " 

She  calls  his  attention  to  those  copperous  clouds  beyond 
the  river,  and  says  that  the  wind  is  rising.  He  scarcely 
speaks  again,  until  he  takes  leave  of  her,  at  the  gate  of  the 
Nuns'  House.  She  does  not  immediately  enter,  when  they 
have  parted,  but  remains  looking  after  him  along  the  street. 
Twice  he  passes  the  gatehouse,  reluctant  to  enter.  At 
length,  the  Cathedral  clock  chiming  one  quarter,  with  a 
rapid  turn  he  hurries  in. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern-stair. 

Edwin  Drood  passes  a  solitary  day.  Something  of  deeper 
moment  than  he  had  thought,  has  gone  out  of  his  life;  and 
in  the  silence  of  his  own  chamber  he  wept  for  it  last  night. 
Though  the  image  of  Miss  Landless  still  hovers  in  the 
background  of  his  mind,  the  pretty  little  affectionate  creat- 
ure so  much  firmer  and  wiser  than  he  had  supposed,  occu- 
pies its  stronghold.  It  is  with  some  misgiving  of  his  own 
unworthiness  that  he  thinks  of  her,  and  of  what  they  might 
have  been  to  one  another,  if  he  had  been  more  in  earnest 
some  time  ago;  if  he  had  set  a  higher  value  on  her;  if,  in- 
stead of  accepting  his  lot  in  life  as  an  inheritance  of  course, 
he  had  studied  the  right  way  to  its  appreciation  and  en- 


THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  143 

hancement.  And  still,  for  all  this,  and  though  there  is  a 
sharp  heartache  in  all  this,  the  vanity  and  caprice  of  youth 
sustain  that  handsome  figure  of  Miss  Landless  in  the  back- 
ground of  his  mind. 

That  was  a  curious  look  of  Eosa's  when  they  parted  at 
the  gate.  Did  it  mean  that  she  saw  below  the  surface  of 
his  thoughts,  and  down  into  their  twilight  depths?  Scarce- 
ly that,  for  it  was  a  look  of  astonished  and  keen  inquiry. 
He  decides  that  he  cannot  understand  it,  though  it  was  re- 
markably expressive. 

As  he  only  waits  for  Mr.  Grewgious  now,  and  will  de- 
part immediately  after  having  seen  him,  he  takes  a  saun- 
tering leave  of  the  ancient  city  and  its  neighbourhood.  He 
recalls  the  time  when  Eosa  and  he  walked  here  or  there, 
mere  children,  full  of  the  dignity  of  being  engaged.  Poor 
children !  he  thinks,  with  a  pitying  sadness. 

Finding  that  his  watch  has  stopped,  he  turns  into  the 
jeweller's  shop,  to  have  it  wound  and  set.  The  jeweller  is 
knowing  on  the  subject  of  a  bracelet,  which  he  begs  leave 
to  submit,  in  a  general  and  quite  aimless  way.  It  would 
suit  (he  considers)  a  young  bride,  to  perfection;  especially 
if  of  a  rather  diminutive  style  of  beauty.  Finding  the 
bracelet  but  coldly  looked  at,  the  jeweller  invites  attention 
to  a  tray  of  rings  for  gentlemen;  here  is  a  style  of  ring, 
now,  he  remarks — a  very  chaste  signet — which  gentle- 
men are  much  given  to  purchasing,  when  changing  their 
condition.  A  ring  of  a  very  responsible  appearance.  With 
the  date  of  their  wedding-day  engraved  inside,  several 
gentlemen  have  preferred  it  to  any  other  kind  of  memento. 

The  rings  are  as  coldly  viewed  as  the  bracelet.  Edwin 
tells  the  tempter  that  he  wears  no  jewellery  but  his  watch 
and  chain,  which  were  his  father's;  and  his  shirt-pin. 

"That  I  was  aware  of,"  is  the  jeweller's  reply,  "for 
Mr.  Jasper  dropped  in  for  a  watch-glass  the  other  day, 
and,  in  fact,  I  showed  these  articles  to  him,  remarking  that 
if  he  should  wish  to  make  a  present  to  a  gentleman  rela- 
tive, on  any  particular  occasion — But  he  said  with  a  smile 
that  he  had  an  inventory  in  his  mind  of  all  the  jewellery  his 
gentleman  relative  ever  wore;  namely,  his  watch  and  chain, 
and  his  shirt-pin."  Still  (the  jeweller  considers)  that  might 
not  apply  to  all  times,  though  applying  to  the  present  time. 
"  Twenty  minutes  past  two,  Mr.  Drood,  I  set  your  Avatch 
at.  Let  me  recommend  you  not  to  let  it  run  down,  sir." 


144  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Edwin  takes  his  watch,  puts  it  on,  and  goes  out,  think- 
ing :  "  Dear  old  Jack !  If  I  were  to  make  an  extra  crease 
in  my  neck-cloth,  he  would  think  it  worth  noticing ! " 

He  strolls  about  and  about,  to  pass  the  time  until  the 
dinner  hour.  It  somehow  happens  that  Cloisterham  seems 
reproachful  to  him  to-day;  has  fault  to  find  with  him,  as 
if  he  had  not  used  it  well;  but  is  far  more  pensive  with 
him  than  angry.  His  wonted  carelessness  is  replaced  by  a 
wistful  looking  at,  and  dwelling  upon,  all  the  old  land- 
marks. He  will  soon  be  far  away,  and  may  never  see  them 
again,  he  thinks.  Poor  youth !  Poor  youth ! 

As  dusk  draws  on,  he  paces  the  Monks'  Vineyard.  He 
has  walked  to  and  fro,  full  half  an  hour  by  the  Cathedral 
chimes,  and  it  has  closed  in  dark,  before  he  becomes  quite 
aware  of  a  woman  crouching  on  the  ground  near  a  wicket 
gate  in  a  corner.  The  gate  commands  a  cross  bye-path, 
little  iised  in  the  gloaming;  and  the  figure  must  have  been 
there  all  the  time,  though  he  has  but  gradually  and  lately 
made  it  out. 

He  strikes  into  that  path,  and  walks  up  to  the  wicket. 
By  the  light  of  a  lamp  near  it,  he  sees  that  the  woman  is 
of  a  haggard  appearance,  and  that  her  weazen  chin  is  rest- 
ing on  her  hands,  and  that  her  eyes  are  staring — with  an 
unwinking,  blind  sort  of  steadfastness — before  her. 

Always  kindly,  but  moved  to  be  unusually  kind  this 
evening,  and  having  bestowed  kind  words  on  most  of  the 
children  and  aged  people  he  has  met,  he  at  once  bends 
down,  and  speaks  to  this  woman.  ' 

"  Are  you  ill?  " 

"No,  deary,"  she  answers,  without  looking  at  him,  and 
with  no  departure  from  her  strange  blind  stare. 

"  Are  you  blind?  " 

"No,  deary." 

"Are  you  lost,  homeless,  faint?  What  is  the  mat- 
ter, that  you  stay  here  in  the  cold  so  long,  without  mov- 
ing? " 

By  slow  and  stiff  efforts,  she  appears  to  contract  her 
vision  until  it  can  rest  upon  him;  and  then  a  curious  film 
passes  over  her,  and  she  begins  to  shake. 

He  straightens  himself,  recoils  a  step,  and  looks  down  at 
her  in  a  dread  amazement;  for  he  seems  to  know  her. 

"  Good  Heaven !  "  he  thinks,  next  moment.  "  Like  Jack 
that  night!" 


THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  145 

As  he  looks  down  at  her,  she  looks  up  at  him,  and  whim- 
pers: "My  lungs  is  weakly;  my  lungs  is  dreffle  bad.  Poor 
me,  poor  me,  my  cough  is  rattling  dry ! "  and  coughs  in 
confirmation  horribly. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  " 

"Come  from  London,  deary."  (Her  cough  still  rending 
her.) 

"  Where  are  you  going  to?  " 

"  Back  to  London,  deary.  I  came  here,  looking  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack,  and  I  ain't  found  it.  Look'ee,  deary; 
give  me  three-and-sixpeiice,  and  don't  you  be  afeard  for 
me.  I'll  get  back  to  London  then,  and  trouble  no  one. 
I'm  in  a  business. — Ah,  me!  It's  slack,  it's  slack,  and 
times  is  very  bad! — but  I  can  make  a  shift  to  live  by  it." 

"  Do  you  eat  opium?  " 

"Smokes  it,"  she  replies  with  difficulty,  still  racked  by 
her  cough.  "  Give  me  three-and-sixpence,  and  I'll  lay  it 
out  well,  and  get  back.  If  you  don't  give  me  three-and- 
sixpence,  don't  give  me  a  brass  farden.  And  if  you  do 
give  me  three-and-sixpence,  deary,  I'll  tell  you  some- 
thing." 

He  counts  the  money  from  his  pocket,  and  puts  it  in  her 
hand.  She  instantly  clutches  it  tight,  and  rises  to  her  feet 
with  a  croaking  laugh  of  satisfaction. 

"Bless  ye!  Hark'ee,  dear  genl'mn.  What's  your  Chris'en 
name?  " 

"Edwin." 

"Edwin,  Edwin,  Edwin,"  she  repeats,  trailing  off  into  a 
drowsy  repetition  of  the  word ;  and  then  asks  suddenly : 
"  Is  the  short  of  that  name  Eddy?  " 

"  It  is  sometimes  called  so,"  he  replies,  with  the  colour 
starting  to  his  face. 

"Don't  sweethearts  call  it  so?"  she  asks,  pondering. 

"How  should  I  know?"' 

"  Haven't  you  a  sweetheart,  upon  your  soul?  " 

"None." 

She  is  moving  away,  with  another  "Bless  ye,  and 
thank'ee,  deary ! "  when  he  adds :  "  You  were  to  tell  me 
something;  you  may  as  well  do  so." 

"  So  I  was,  so  I  was.  Well,  then.  Whisper.  You  be 
thankful  that  your  name  ain't  Ned." 

He  looks  at  her  quite  steadily,  as  he  asks:  "  Why?  " 

"Because  it's  a  bad  name  to  have  just  now." 
10 


146  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  How  a  bad  name?  " 

"A  threatened  name.     A  dangerous  name." 

"The  proverb  says  that  threatened  men  live  long,"  he 
tells  her,  lightly. 

"  Then  Ned — so  threatened  is  he,  wherever  he  may  be 
while  I  am  a  talking  to  you,  deary — should  live  to  all 
eternity ! "  replies  the  woman. 

She  has  leaned  forward  to  say  it  in  his  ear,  with  her 
forefinger  shaking  before  his  eyes,  and  now  huddles  her- 
self together,  and  with  another  "  Bless  ye,  and  thank'ee ! " 
goes  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Travellers'  Lodging 
House. 

This  is  not  an  inspiriting  close  to  a  dull  day.  Alone,  in 
a  sequestered  place,  surrounded  by  vestiges  of  old  time  and 
decay,  it  rather  has  a  tendency  to  call  a  shudder  into  being. 
He  makes  for  the  better-lighted  streets,  and  resolves  as  he 
walks  on  to  say  nothing  of  this  to-night,  but  to  mention  it 
to  Jack  (who  alone  calls  him  Ned),  as  an  odd  coincidence, 
to-morrow ;  of  course  only  as  a  coincidence,  and  not  as  any- 
thing better  worth  remembering. 

Still,  it  holds  to  him,  as  many  things  much  better  worth 
remembering  never  did.  He  has  another  mile  or  so,  to 
linger  out  before  the  dinner- hour;  and,  when  he  walks  over 
the  bridge  and  by  the  river,  the  woman's  words  are  in  the 
rising  wind,  in  the  angry  sky,  in  the  troubled  water,  in  the 
flickering  lights.  There  is  some  solemn  echo  of  them  even 
in  the  Cathedral  chime,  which  strikes  a  sudden  surprise  to 
his  heart  as  he  turns  in  under  the  archway  of  the  gatehouse. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern- stair. 

John  Jasper  passes  a  more  agreeable  and  cheerful  day 
than  either  of  his  guests.  Having  no  music-lessons  to  give 
in  the  holiday  season,  his  tinje  is  his  own,  but  for  the 
Cathedral  services.  He  is  early  among  the  shopkeepers, 
ordering  little  table  luxuries  that  his  nephew  likes.  His 
nephew  will  not  be  with  him  long,  he  tells  his  provision- 
dealers,  and  so  must  be  petted  and  made  much  of.  While 
out  on  his  hospitable  preparations,  he  looks  in  on  Mr.  Sap- 
sea;  and  mentions  that  dear  Ned,  and  that  inflammable 
young  spark  of  Mr.  Crisparkle's,  are  to  dine  at  the  gate- 
house to-day,  and  make  up  their  difference.  Mr.  Sapsea  is 
by  no  means  friendly  towards  the  inflammable  young  spark. 
He  says  that  his  complexion  is  "  Un-English. "  And  when 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  147 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  once  declared  anything  to  be  Un-English,  he 
considers  that  thing  everlastingly  sunk  in  the  bottomless 
pit. 

John  Jasper  is  truly  sorry  to  hear  Mr.  Sapsea  speak 
thus,  for  he  knows  right  well  that  Mr.  Sapsea  never  speaks 
without  a  meaning,  and  that  he  has  a  subtle  trick  of  being 
right.  Mr.  Sapsea  (by  a  very  remarkable  Coincidence)  is 
of  exactly  that  opinion. 

Mr.  Jasper  is  in  beautiful  voice  this  day.  In  the  pa- 
thetic supplication  to  have  his  heart  inclined  to  keep  this 
law,  he  quite  astonishes  his  fellows  by  his  melodious  power. 
He  has  never  sung  difficult  music  with  such  skill  and  har- 
mony, as  in  this  day's  Anthem.  His  nervous  temperament 
is  occasionally  prone  to  take  difficult  music  a  little  too 
quickly;  to-day,  his  time  is  perfect. 

These  results  are  probably  attained  through  a  grand  com- 
posure of  the  spirits.  The  mere  mechanism  of  his  throat  is 
a  little  tender,  for  he  wears,  both  with  his  singing-robe  and 
withjiis  ordinary  dress,  a  large  black  scarf  of  strong  close- 
woven  silk,  slung  loosely  round  his  neck.  But  his  com- 
posure is  so  noticeable,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  speaks  of  it  as 
they  come  out  from  Vespers. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  Jasper,  for  the  pleasure  with  which 
I  have  heard  you  to-day.  Beautiful!  Delightful!  You 
could  not  have  so  outdone  yourself,  I  hope,  without  being 
wonderfully  well." 

"I  am  wonderfully  well." 

"Nothing  unequal,"  says  the  Minor  Canon,  with  a  smooth 
motion  of  his  hand :  "  nothing  unsteady,  nothing  forced, 
nothing  avoided;  all  thoroughly  done  in  a  masterly  man- 
ner, with  perfect  self-command." 

"Thank  you.     I  hope  so,  if  it  is  not  too  much  to  say." 

"  One  would  think,  Jasper,  you  had  been  trying  a  new 
medicine  for  that  occasional  indisposition  of  yours." 

"No,  really?     That's  well  observed;  for  I  have." 

"Then  stick  to  it,  my  good  fellow,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
clapping  him  on  the  shoulder  with  friendly  encouragement, 
"stick  to  it." 

"I  will." 

"I  congratulate  you,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  pursues,  as  they 
come  out  of  the  Cathedral,  "on  all  accounts." 

"  Thank  you  again.  I  will  walk  round  to  the  Corner 
with  you,  if  you  don't  object;  I  have  plenty  of  time  before 


148  THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

my  company  come;  and  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  which 
I  think  you  will  not  be  displeased  to  hear." 

"  What  is  it?  " 

"  Well.  We  were  speaking,  the  other  evening,  of  my 
black  humours." 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  face  falls,  and  he  shakes  his  head  de- 
ploringly. 

"  I  said,  you  know,  that  I  should  ma'ke  you  an  antidote 
to  those  black  humours;  and  you  said  you  hoped  I  would 
consign  them  to  the  flames." 

"  And  I  still  hope  so,  Jasper." 

"  With  the  best  reason  in  the  world !  I  mean  to  burn 
this  year's  Diary  at  the  year's  end." 

"  Because  you — ?  "  Mr.  Crisparkle  brightens  greatly  as 
he  thus  begins. 

"  You  anticipate  me.  Because  I  feel  that  I  have  been 
out  of  sorts,  gloomy,  bilious,  brain-oppressed,  whatever  it 
may  be.  You  said  I  had  been  exaggerative.  So  I  have." 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  brightened  face  brightens  still  more. 

"  I  couldn't  see  it  then,  because  I  was  out  of  sorts;  but 
I  am  in  a  healthier  state  now,  and  I  acknowledge  it  with 
genuine  pleasure.  I  made  a  great  deal  of  a  very  little; 
that's  the  fact." 

"It  does  me  good,"  cries  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "to  hear  you 
say  it ! " 

"A  man  leading  a  monotonous  life,"  Jasper  proceeds, 
"and  getting  his  nerves,  or  his  stomach,  out  of  order, 
dwells  upon  an  idea  until  it  loses  its  proportions.  That 
was  my  case  with  the  idea  in  question.  So  I  shall  burn  the 
evidence  of  my  case  when  the  book  is  full,  and  begin  the 
next  volume  with  a  clearer  vision." 

"This  is  better,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  stopping  at  the 
steps  of  his  own  door  to  shake  hands,  "  than  I  could  have 
hoped." 

"  VVhy,  naturally,"  returns  Jasper.  "  You  had  but  little 
reason  to  hope  that  I  should  become  more  like  yourself. 
You  are  always  training  yourself  to  be,  mind  and  body,  as 
clear  as  crystal,  and  you  always  are,  and  never  change; 
whereas  I  am  a  muddy,  solitary,  moping  weed.  However, 
I  have  got  over  that  mope.  Shall  I  wait,  while  you  ask  if 
Mr.  Neville  has  left  for  my  place?  If  not,  he  and  I  may 
walk  round  together." 

"I  think,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  opening  the  entrance- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  149 

door  with  his  key,  "that  he  left  some  time  ago;  at  least  I 
know  he  left,  and  I  think  he  has  not  come  back.  But  I'll 
inquire.  You  won't  come  in?  " 

"My  company  wait,"  said  Jasper,  with  a  smile. 

The  Minor  Canon  disappears,  and  in  a  few  moments  re- 
turns. As  he  thought,  Mr.  Neville  has  not  come  back;  in- 
deed, as  he  remembers  now,  Mr.  Neville  said  he  would 
probably  go  straight  to  the  gatehouse. 

"  Bad  manners  in  a  host !  "  says  Jasper.  "  My  company 
will  be  there  before  meT  What  will  you  bet  that  I  don't 
find  my  company  embracing?  " 

"I  will  bet — or  I  would,  if  ever  I  did  bet,"  returns  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "  that  your  company  will  have  a  gay  entertainer 
this  evening." 

Jasper  nods,  and  laughs  good  night! 

He  retraces  his  steps  to  the  Cathedral  door,  and  turns 
down  past  it  to  the  gatehouse.  He  sings,  in  a  low  voice 
and  with  delicate  expression,  as  he  walks  along.  It  still 
seems  as  if  a  false  note  were  not  within  his  power  to-night, 
and  as  if  nothing  could  hurry  or  retard  him.  Arriving  thus 
under  the  arched  entrance  of  his  dwelling,  he  pauses  for  an. 
instant  in  the  shelter  to  pull  off  that  great  black  scarf,  and 
hang  it  in  a  loop  upon  his  arm.  For  that  brief  time,  his 
face  is  knitted  and  stern.  But  it  immediately  clears,  as  he 
resumes  his  singing,  and  his  way. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern-stair. 

The  red  light  burns  steadily  all  the  evening  in  the  light- 
house on  the  margin  of  the  tide  of  busy  life.  Softened 
sounds  and  hum  of  traffic  pass  it  and  flow  on  irregularly 
into  the  lonely  Precincts;  but  very  little  else  goes  by,  save 
violent  rushes  of  wind.  It  comes  on  to  blow  a  boisterous 
gale. 

The  Precincts  are  never  particularly  well  lighted;  but 
the  strong  blasts  of  wind  blowing  out  many  of  the  lamps 
(in  some  instances  shattering  the  frames  too,  and  bringing 
the  glass  rattling  to  the  ground),  they  are  unusually  dark 
to-night.  The  darkness  is  augmented  and  confused,  by 
flying  dust  from  the  earth,  dry  twigs  from  the  trees,  and 
great  ragged  fragments  from  the  rooks'  nests  up  in  the 
Tower.  The  trees  themselves  so  toss  and  creak,  as  this 
tangible  part  of  the  darkness  madly  whirls  about,  that  they 
seem  iu  peril  of  being  torn  out  of  the  earth :  while  ever  and 


150  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD. 

again  a  crack,  and  a  rushing  fall,  denote  that  some  large 
branch  has  yielded  to  the  storm. 

No  such  power  of  wind  has  blown  for  many  a  winter 
night.  Chimneys  topple  in  the  streets,  and  people  hold  to 
posts  and  corners,  and  to  one  another,  to  keep  themselves 
upon  their  feet.  The  violent  rushes  abate  not,  but  increase 
in  frequency  and  fury  until  at  midnight,  when  the  streets 
are  empty,  the  storm  goes  thundering  along  them,  rattling 
at  all  the  latches,  and  tearing  at  all  the  shutters,  as  if 
warning  the  people  to  get  up  and  fly  with  it,  rather  than 
have  the  roofs  brought  down  upon  their  brains. 

Still,  the  red  light  burns  steadily.  Nothing  is  steady 
but  the  red  light. 

All  through  the  night  the  wind  blows,  and  abates  not. 
But  early  in  the  morning,  when  there  is  barely  enough  light 
in  the  east  to  dim  the  stars,  it  begins  to  lull.  From  that 
time,  with  occasional  wild  charges,  like  a  wounded  monster 
dying,  it  drops  and  sinks;  and  at  full  daylight  it  is  dead. 

It  is  then  seen  that  the  hands  of  the  Cathedral  clock  are 
torn  off;  that  lead  from  the  roof  has  been  stripped  away, 
•rolled  up,  and  blown  into  the  Close;  and  that  some  stones 
have  been  displaced  upon  the  summit  of  the  great  tower. 
Christmas  morning  though  it  be,  it  is  necessary  to  send  up 
workmen,  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  damage  done. 
These,  led  by  Durdles,  go  aloft;  while  Mr.  Tope  and  a 
crowd  of  early  idlers  gather  down  in  Minor  Canon  Corner, 
shading  their  eyes  and  watching  for  their  appearance  up 
there. 

This  cluster  is  suddenly  broken  and  put  aside  by  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Jasper;  all  the  gazing  eyes  are  brought  down 
to  the  earth  by  his  loudly  inquiring  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at 
an  open  window: 

"  Where  is  my  nephew?  " 

"He  has  not  been  here.     Is  he  not  with  you?  " 

"  No.  He  went  down  to  the  river  last  night,  with  Mr. 
Neville,  to  look  at  the  storm,  and  has  not  been  back.  Call 
Mr.  Neville ! " 

"He  left  this  morning,  early." 

"Left  this  morning  early?     Let  me  in!  let  me  in!  " 

There  is  no  more  looking  up  at  the  Tower,  now.  All 
the  assembled  eyes  are  turned  on  Mr.  Jasper,  white,  half- 
dressed,  panting,  and  clinging  to  the  rail  before  the  Minor 
Canon's  house. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  151 

CHAPTER    XV. 

IMPEACHED. 

NEVILLE  LANDLESS  had  started  so  early  and  walked  at 
so  good  a  pace,  that  when  the  church-bells  began  to  ring  in 
Cloisterham  for  morning  service,  he  was  eight  miles  away. 
As  he  wanted  his  breakfast  by  that  time,  having  set  forth 
on  a  crust  of  bread,  he  stopped  at  the  next  roadside  tavern 
to  refresh. 

Visitors  in  want  of  breakfast — unless  they  were  horses 
or  cattle,  for  which  class  of  guests  there  was  preparation 
enough  in  the  way  of  water-trough  and  hay — were  so  un- 
usual at  the  sign  of  The  Tilted  Waggon,  that  it  took  a  long 
time  to  get  the  waggon  into  the  track  of  tea  and  toast  and 
bacon.  Neville  in  the  interval,  sitting  in  a  sanded  par- 
lour, wondering  in  how  long  a  time  after  he  had  gone,  the 
sneezy  fire  of  damp  fagots  would  begin  to  make  somebody 
else  warm. 

Indeed,  The  Tilted  Waggon,  as  a  cool  establishment  on 
the  top  of  a  hill,  where  the  ground  before  the  door  was 
puddled  with  damp  hoofs  and  trodden  straw;  where  a 
scolding  landlady  slapped  a  moist  baby  (with  one  red  sock 
on  and  one  wanting),  in  the  bar;  where  the  cheese  was  cast 
aground  upon  a  shelf,  in  company  with  a  mouldy  table- 
cloth and  a  green-handled  knife,  in  a  sort  of  cast-iron 
canoe;  where  the  pale-faced  bread  shed  tears  of  crumb  over 
its  shipwreck  in  another  canoe;  where  the  family  linen, 
half  washed  and  half  dried,  led  a  public  life  of  lying  about; 
where  everything  to  drink  was  drunk  out  of  mugs,  and 
everything  else  was  suggestive  of  a  rhyme  to  mugs;  The 
Tilted  Waggon,  all  these  things  considered,  hardly  kept  its 
painted  promise  of  providing  good  entertainment  for  Man 
and  Beast.  However,  Man,  in  the  present  case,  was  not 
critical,  but  took  what  entertainment  he  could  get,  and  went 
on  again  after  a  longer  rest  than  he  needed. 

He  stopped  at  some  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house, 
hesitating  whether  to  pursue  the  road,  or  to  follow  a  cart 
track  between  two  high  hedgerows,  which  led  across  the 
slope  of  a  breezy  heath,  and  evidently  struck  into  the  road 


152  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

again  by-and-bye.  He  decided  in  favour  of  this  latter 
track,  and  pursued  it  with  some  toil;  the  rise  being  steep, 
and  the  way  worn  into  deep  ruts. 

He  was  labouring  along,  when  he  became  .aware  of  some 
other  pedestrians  behind  him.  As  they  were  coming  up  at 
a  faster  pace  than  his,  he  stood  aside,  against  one  of  the 
high  banks,  to  let  them  pass.  But  their  manner  was  very 
curious.  Only  four  of  them  passed.  Other  four  slackened 
speed,  and  loitered  as  intending  to  follow  him  when  he 
should  go  on.  The  remainder  of  the  party  (half-a-dozen 
perhaps)  turned,  and  went  back  at  a  great  rate. 

He  looked  at  the  four  behind  him,  and  he  looked  at  the 
four  before  him.  They  all  returned  his  look.  He  resumed 
his  way.  The  four  in  advance  went  on,  constantly  looking 
back;  the  four  in  the  rear  came  closing  up. 

When  they  all  ranged  out  from  the  narrow  track  upon 
the  open  slope  of  the  heath,  and  this  order  was  maintained, 
let  him  diverge  as  he  would  to  either  side,  there  was  no 
longer  room  to  doubt  that  he  was  beset  by  these  fellows. 
He  stopped,  as  a  last  test;  and  they  all  stopped. 

"  Why  do  you  attend  upon  me  in  this  way?  "  he  asked 
the  whole  body.  "Are  you  a  pack  of  thieves? " 

"Don't  answer  him,"  said  one  of  the  number;  he  did  not 
see  which.  "Better  be  quiet." 

"  Better  be  quiet?  "  repeated  Neville.     "  Who  said  so?  " 

Nobody  replied. 

"  It's  good  advice,  whichever  of  you  skulkers  gave  it,"  he 
went  on  angrily.  "  I  will  not  submit  to  be  penned  in  be- 
tween four  men  there,  and  four  men  there.  I  wish  to  pass, 
and  I  mean  to  pass,  those  four  in  front." 

They  were  all  standing  still;  himself  included. 

"  If  eight  men,  or  four  men,  or  two  men,  set  upon  one," 
he  proceeded,  growing  more  enraged,  "the  one  has  no 
chance  but  to  set  his  mark  upon  some  of  them.  And,  by 
the  Lord,  I'll  do  it,  if  I  am  interrupted  any  farther!" 

Shouldering  his  heavy  stick,  and  quickening  his  pace,  he 
shot  on  to  pass  the  four  ahead.  The  largest  and  strongest 
man  of  the  number  changed  swiftly  to  the  side  on  which  he 
came  up,  and  dexterously  closed  with  him  and  went  down 
with  him;  but  not  before  the  heavy  stick  had  descended 
smartly. 

"  Let  him  be ! "  said  this  man  in  a  suppressed  voice,  as 
they  struggled  together  on  the  grass.  "  Fair  play !  His  is 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  153 

the  build  of  a  girl  to  mine,  and  he's  got  a  weight  strapped 
to  his  back  besides.  Let  him  alone.  I'll  manage  him." 

After  a  little  rolling  about,  in  a  close  scuffle  which  caused 
the  faces  of  both  to  be  besmeared  with  blood,  the  man  took 
his  knee  from  Neville's  chest,  and  rose,  saying:  "There! 
Now  take  him  arm-in-arm,  any  two  of  you !  " 

It  was  immediately  done. 

"As  to  our  being  a  pack  of  thieves,  Mr.  Landless,"  said 
the  man,  as  he  spat  out  some  blood,  and  wiped  more  from 
his  face;  "you  know  better  than  that  at  midday.  We 
wouldn't  have  touched  you  if  you  hadn't  forced  us.  We're 
going  to  take  you  round  to  the  high  road,  anyhow,  and 
you'll  find  help  enough  against  thieves  there,  if  you  want 
it. — Wipe  his  face  somebody;  see  how  it's  a  trickling  down 
him!" 

When  his  face  was  cleansed,  Neville  recognised  in  the 
speaker,  Joe,  driver  of  the  Cloisterham  omnibus,  whom  he 
had  seen  but  once,  and  that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival. 

"And  what  I  recommend  you  for  the  present,  is,  don't 
talk,  Mr.  Landless.  You'll  find  a  friend  waiting  for  you, 
at  the  high  road — gone  ahead  by  the  other  way  when  we 
split  into  two  parties — and  you  had  much  better  say  nothing 
till  you  come  up  with  him.  Bring  that  stick  along,  some- 
body else,  and  let's  be  moving!  " 

Utterly  bewildered,  Neville  stared  around  him  and  said 
not  a  word.  Walking  between  his  two  conductors,  who 
held  his  arms  in  theirs,  he  went  on,  as  in  a  dream,  until 
they  came  again  into  the  high  road,  and  into  the  midst  of 
a  little  group  of  people.  The  men  who  had  turned  back 
were  among  the  group;  and  its  central  figures  were  Mr. 
Jasper  and  Mr.  Crisparkle.  Neville's  conductors  took  him 
up  to  the  Minor  Canon,  and  there  released  him,  as  an  act 
of  deference  to  that  gentleman. 

"  What  is  all  this,  sir?  What  is  the  matter?  I  feel  as 
if  I  had  lost  my  senses ! "  cried  Neville,  the  group  closing 
in  around  him. 

"  Where  is  my  nephew?  "  asked  Mr.  Jasper,  wildly. 

"  Where  is  your  nephew?  "  repeated  Neville.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  me?  " 

"  I  ask  you,"  retorted  Jasper,  "because  you  were  the  last 
person  in  his  company,  and  he  is  not  to  be  found." 

"  Not  to  be  found !  "  cried  Neville,  aghast. 

"  Stay,  stay,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.     "Permit  me,  Jasper 


154  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Neville,  you  are  confounded;  collect  your  thoughts;  it 
is  of  great  importance  that  you  should  collect  your  thoughts; 
attend  to  me." 

"  I  will  try,  sir,  but  I  seem  mad. " 

"  You  left  Mr.  Jasper  last  night  with  Edwin  Drood?  " 

"Yes." 

"  At  what  hour?  " 

"  Was  it  at  twelve  o'clock? "  asked  Neville,  with  his 
hand  to  his  confused  head,  and  appealing  to  Jasper. 

"Quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle;  "the  hour  Mr.  Jas- 
per has  already  named  to  me.  You  went  down  to  the  river 
together?  " 

"Undoubtedly.     To  see  the  action  of  the  wind  there." 

"  What  followed?     How  long  did  you  stay  there?  " 

"About  ten  minutes;  I  should  say  not  more.  We  then 
walked  together  to  your  house,  and  he  took  leave  of  me  at 
the  door." 

"  Did  he  say  that  he  was  going  down  to  the  river  again?  " 

"No.     Pie  said  that  he  was  going  straight  back." 

The  bystanders  looked  at  one  another,  and  at  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle. To  whom  Mr.  Jasper,  who  had  been  intensely 
watching  Neville,  said,  in  a  low,  distinct,  suspicious  voice : 
"What  are  those  stains  upon  his  dress?  " 

All  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  blood  upon  his  clothes. 

"  And  here  are  the  same  stains  upon  this  stick ! "  said 
Jasper,  taking  it  from  the  hand  of  the  man  who  held  it. 
"  I  know  the  stick  to  be  his,  and  he  carried  it  last  night. 
What  does  this  mean?  " 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  say  what  it  means,  Neville ! " 
urged  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"That  man  and  I,"  said  Neville,  pointing  out  his  late 
adversary,  "had  a  struggle  for  the  stick  just  now,  and 
you  may  see  the  same  marks  on  him,  sir.  What  was  I  to 
suppose,  when  I  found  myself  molested  by  eight  people? 
Could  I  dream  of  the  true  reason  when  they  would  give  me 
none  at  all?  " 

They  admitted  that  they  had  thought  it  discreet  to  be 
silent,  and  that  the  struggle  had  taken  place.  And  yet  the 
very  men  who  had  seen  it  looked  darkly  at  the  smears 
which  the  bright  cold  air  had  already  dried. 

"We  must  return,  Neville,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle;  "of 
course  you  will  be  glad  to  come  back  to  clear  yourself?  " 

"Of  course,  sir." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  155 

"Mr.  Landless  will  walk  at  my  side,"  the  Minor  Canon 
continued,  looking  around  him.  "Come,  Neville!  " 

They  set  forth  on  the  walk  back;  and  the  others,  with 
one  exception,  straggled  after  them  at  various  distances. 
Jasper  walked  on  the  other  side  of  Neville,  and  never 
quitted  that  position.  He  was  silent,  while  Mr.  Crisparkle 
more  than  once  repeated  his  former  questions,  and  while 
Neville  repeated  his  former  answers;  also,  while  they  both 
hazarded  some  explanatory  conjectures.  He  was  obstinately 
silent,  because  Mr.  Crisparkle 's  manner  directly  appealed 
to  him  to  take  some  part  in  the  discussion,  and  no  appeal 
would  move  his  fixed  face.  When  they  drew  near  to  the 
city,  and  it  was  suggested  by  the  Minor  Canon  that  they 
might  do  well  in  calling  on  the  Mayor  at  once,  he  assented 
with  a  stern  nod ;  but  he  spake  no  word  until  they  stood  in 
Mr.  Sapsea's  parlour. 

Mr.  Sapsea  being  informed  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  they  desired  to  make  a  voluntary 
statement  before  him,  Mr.  Jasper  broke  silence  by  declar- 
ing that  he  placed  his  whole  reliance,  humanly  speaking, 
on  Mr.  Sapsea's  penetration.  There  was  no  conceivable 
reason  why  his  nephew  should  have  suddenly  absconded, 
unless  Mr.  Sapsea  could  suggest  one,  and  then  he  would 
defer.  There  was  no  intelligible  likelihood  of  his  having 
returned  to  the  river,  and  been  accidentally  drowned  in  the 
dark,  unless  it  should  appear  likely  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  and 
then  again  he  would  defer.  He  washed  his  hands  as  clean 
as  he  could  of  all  horrible  suspicions,  unless  it  should  ap- 
pear to  Mr.  Sapsea  that  some  such  were  inseparable  from 
his  last  companion  before  his  disappearance  (not  on  good 
terms  with  previously)  and  then,  once  more,  he  would 
defer.  His  own  state  of  mind,  he  being  distracted  with 
doubts,  and  labouring  under  dismal  apprehensions,  was  not 
to  be  safely  trusted;  but  Mr.  Sapsea's  was. 

Mr.  Sapsea  expressed  his  opinion  that  the  case  had  a 
dark  look;  in  short  (and  here  his  eyes  rested  full  on  Nev- 
ille's countenance),  an  Un-English  complexion.  Having 
made  this  grand  point,  he  wandered  into  a  denser  haze  and 
maze  of  nonsense  than  even  a  mayor  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  disport  himself  in,  and  came  out  of  it  with  the 
brilliant  discovery  that  to  take  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature 
was  to  take  something  that  didn't  belong  to  you.  He  wa- 
vered whether  or  no  he  should  at  once  issue  his  warrant  for 


156  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  committal  of  Neville  Landless  to  gaol,  under  circum- 
stances of  grave  suspicion;  and  he  might  have  gone  so  far 
as  to  do  it  but  for  the  indignant  protest  of  the  Minor  Canon : 
who  undertook  for  the  young  man's  remaining  in  his  own 
house,  and  being  produced  by  his  own  liands,  whenever  de- 
manded. Mr.  Jasper  then  understood  Mr.  Sapsea  to  sug- 
gest that  the  river  should  be  dragged,  that  its  banks  should 
be  rigidly  examined,  that  particulars  of  the  disappearance 
should  be  sent  to  all  outlying  places  and  to  London,  and 
that  placards  and  advertisements  should  be  widely  circu- 
lated imploring  Edwin  Drood,  if  for  any  unknown  reason 
he  had  withdrawn  himself  from  his  uncle's  home  and  so- 
ciety, to  take  pity  on  that  loving  kinsman's  sore  bereave- 
ment and  distress,  and  somehow  inform  him  that  he  was 
yet  alive.  Mr.  Sapsea  was  perfectly  understood,  for  this 
was  exactly  his  meaning  (though  he  had  said  nothing  about 
it);  and  measures  were  taken  towards  all  these  ends 
immediately. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the  more 
oppressed  with  horror  and  amazement :  Neville  Landless, 
or  John  Jasper.  But  that  Jasper's  position  forced  him  to 
be  active,  while  Neville's  forced  him  to  be  passive,  there 
would  have  been  nothing  to  choose  between  them.  Each 
was  bowed  down  and  broken. 

With  the  earliest  light  of  the  next  morning,  men  were 
at  work  upon  the  river,  and  other  men — most  of  whom  vol- 
unteered for  the  service — were  examining  the  banks.  All 
the  livelong  day  the  search  went  on;  upon  the  river,  with 
barge  and  pole,  and  drag  and  net;  upon  the  muddy  and 
rushy  shore,  with  jack-boots,  hatchet,  spade,  rope,  dogs, 
and  all  imaginable  appliances.  Even  at  night,  the  river 
was  specked  with  lanterns,  and  lurid  with  fires;  far-off 
creeks,  into  which  the  tide  washed  as  it  changed,  had  their 
knots  of  watchers,  listening  to  the  lapping  of  the  stream, 
and  looking  out  for  any  burden  it  might  bear;  remote 
shingly  causeways  near  the  sea,  and  lonely  points  off  which 
there  was  a  race  of  water,  had  their  unwonted  flaring  cres- 
sets and  rough-coated  figures  when  the  next  day  dawned; 
but  no  trace  of  Edwin  Drood  revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

All  that  day,  again,  the  search  went  on.  Now,  in  barge 
and  boat;  and  now  ashore  among  the  osiers,  or  tramping 
amidst  mud  and  stakes  and  jagged  stones  in  low-lying 
places,  where  solitary  watermarks  and  signals  of  strange 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  157 

shapes  showed  like  spectres,  John  Jasper  worked  and 
toiled.  But  to  no  purpose;  for  still  no  trace  of  Edwin 
Drood  revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Setting  his  watches  for  that  night  again,  so  that  vigilant 
eyes  should  be  kept  on  every  change  of  tide,  he  went  home 
exhausted.  Unkempt  and  disordered,  bedaubed  with  mud 
that  had  dried  upon  him,  and  with  much  of  his  clothing 
torn  to  rags,  he  had  but  just  dropped  into  his  easy  chair, 
when  Mr.  Grewgious  stood  before  him. 

"  This  is  strange  news,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  Strange  and  fearful  news." 

Jasper  had  merely  lifted  up  his  heavy  eyes  to  say  it,  and 
now  dropped  them  again  as  he  drooped,  worn  out,  over  one 
side  of  his  easy-chair. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  head  and  face,  and  stood 
looking  at  the  fire. 

"How  is  your  ward?"  asked  Jasper,  after  a  time,  in  a 
faint,  fatigued  voice. 

"Poor  little  thing!     You  may  imagine  her  condition." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  sister?  "  inquired  Jasper,  as  before. 

"Whose?" 

The  curtness  of  the  counter-question,  and  the  cool  slow 
manner  in  which,  as  he  put  it,  Mr.  Grewgious  moved  his 
eyes  from  the  fire  to  his  companion's  face,  might  at  any 
other  time  have  been  exasperating.  In  his  depression  and 
exhaustion,  Jasper  merely  opened  his  eyes  to  say :  "  The 
suspected  young  man's." 

"Do  you  suspect  him?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  cannot  make  up  my 
mind." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "But  as  you  spoke  of 
him  as  the  suspected  young  man,  I  thought  you  had  made 
up  your  mind. — I  have  just  left  Miss  Landless." 

"  What  is  her  state?  " 

"  Defiance  of  all  suspicion,  and  unbounded  faith  in  her 
brother." 

"Poor  thing!" 

"However,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious,  "it  is  not  of  her 
that  I  came  to  speak.  It  is  of  my  ward.  I  have  a  com- 
munication to  make  that  will  surprise  you.  At  least,  it 
has  surprised  me." 

Jasper,  with  a  groaning  sigh,  turned  wearily  in  his 
chair. 


158  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Shall  I  put  it  off  till  to-morrow?  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Mind,  I  warn  you,  that  I  think  it  will  surprise  you !  " 

More  attention  and  concentration  came  into  John  Jas- 
per's eyes  as  they  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Grewgious  smooth- 
ing his  head  again,  and  again  looking  at  the  fire;  but  now, 
with  a  compressed  and  determined  mouth. 

"  What  is  it?  "  demanded  Jasper,  becoming  upright  in 
his  chair. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  provokingly  slowly 
and  internally,  as  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  fire :  "  I  might 
have  known  it  sooner;  she  gave  me  the  opening;  but  I  am 
such  an  exceedingly  Angular  man,  that  it  never  occurred 
to  me;  I  took  all  for  granted." 

"  What  is  it?  "  demanded  Jasper  once  more. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  alternately  opening  and  shutting  the 
palms  of  his  hands  as  he  warmed  them  at  the  fire,  and 
looking  fixedly  at  him  sideways,  and  never  changing  either 
his  action  or  his  look  in  all  that  followed,  went  on  to 
reply. 

"  This  young  couple,  the  lost  youth  and  Miss  Rosa,  my 
ward,  though  so  long  betrothed,  and  so  long  recognising 
their  betrothal,  and  so  near  being  married — " 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  staring  white  face,  and  two  quiv- 
ering white  lips,  in  the  easy  chair,  and  saw  two  muddy 
hands  gripping  its  sides.  But  for  the  hands,  he  might  have 
thought  he  had  never  seen  the  face. 

"  — This  young  couple  came  gradually  to  the  discovery 
(made  on  both  sides  pretty  equally,  I  think),  that  they 
would  be  happier  and  better,  both  in  their  present  and  their 
future  lives,  as  affectionate  friends,  or  say  rather  as  brother 
and  sister,  than  as  husband  and  wife." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  lead-coloured  face  in  the  easy  chair, 
and  on  its  surface  dreadful  starting  drops  or  bubbles,  as  if 
of  steel. 

"  This  young  couple  formed  at  length  the  -healthy  reso- 
lution of  interchanging  their  discoveries,  openly,  sensibly, 
and  tenderly.  They  met  for  that  purpose.  After  some  in- 
nocent and  generous  talk,  they  agreed  to  dissolve  their  ex- 
isting, and  their  intended,  relations,  for  ever  and  ever." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  ghastly  figure  rise,  open-mouthed, 
from  the  easy  chair,  and  lift  its  outspread  hands  towards 
its  head. 

"  One  of  this  young  couple,  and  that  one  your  nephew, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  159 

fearful,  however,  that  in  the  tenderness  of  your  affection 
for  him  you  would  be  bitterly  disappointed  by  so  wide  a 
departure  from  his  projected  life,  forbore  to  tell  you  the 
secret,  for  a  few  days,  and  left  it  to  be  disclosed  by  me, 
when  I  should  come  down  to  speak  to  you,  and  he  would 
be  gone.  I  speak  to  you,  and  he  is  gone." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  the  ghastly  figure  throw  back  its 
head,  clutch  its  hair  with  its  hands,  and  turn  with  a  writh- 
ing action  from  him. 

"  I  have  now  said  all  I  have  to  say :  except  that  this 
young  couple  parted,  firmly,  though  not  without  tears  and 
sorrow,  on  the  evening  when  you  last  saw  them  together." 

Mr.  Grewgious  heard  a  terrible  shriek,  and  saw  no 
ghastly  figure,  sitting  or  standing;  -saw  nothing  but  a  heap 
of  torn  and  miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Not  changing  his  action  even  then,  he  opened  and  shut 
the  palms  of  his  hands  as  he  warmed  them,  and  looked 
down  at  it. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

DEVOTED. 

WHEN  John  Jasper  recovered  from  his  fit  or  swoon,  he 
found  himself  being  tended  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tope,  whom 
his  visitor  had  summoned  for  the  purpose.  His  visitor, 
wooden  of  aspect,  sat  stiffly  in  a  chair,  with  his  hands  upon 
his  knees,  watching  his  recovery. 

"There!  You've  come  to  nicely  now,  sir,"  said  the  tear- 
ful Mrs.  Tope;  "you  were  thoroughly  worn  out,  and  no 
wonder ! " 

"A  man,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  his  usual  air  of  re- 
peating a  lesson,  "cannot  have  his  rest  broken,  and  his 
mind  cruelly  tormented,  and  his  body  overtaxed  by  fatigue, 
without  being  thoroughly  worn  out." 

"  I  fear  I  have  alarmed  you?  "  Jasper  apologised  faintly, 
when  he  was  helped  into  his  easy  chair. 

"Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  You  are  too  considerate." 

"Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Grewgious  again. 

"You  must  take  some  wine,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tope,  "and 


160  THE  MYSTERT    OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  jelly  that  I  had  ready  for  you,  and  that  you  wouldn't 
put  your  lips  to  at  noon,  though  I  warned  you  what  would 
come  of  it,  you  know,  and  you  not  breakfasted;  and  you 
must  have  a  wing  of  the  roast  fowl  that  has  been  put  back 
twenty  times  if  it's  been  put  back  once.  It  shall  all  be  on 
table  in  five  minutes,  and  this  good  gentleman  belike  will 
stop  and  see  you  take  it." 

This  good  gentleman  replied  with  a  snort,  which  might 
mean  yes,  or  no,  or  anything  or  nothing,  and  which  Mrs. 
Tope  would  have  found  highly  mystifying,  but  that  her  at- 
tention was  divided  by  the  service  of  the  table. 

"  You  will  take  something  with  me?  "  said  Jasper,  as  the 
cloth  was  laid. 

"  I  couldn't  get  a  morsel  down  my  throat,  I  thank  you," 
answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Jasper  both  ate  and  drank  almost  voraciously.  Com- 
bined with  the  hurry  in  his  mode  of  doing  it,  was  an  evi- 
dent indifference  to  the  taste  of  what  he  took,  suggesting 
that  he  ate  and  drank  to  fortify  himself  against  any  other 
failure  of  the  spirits,  far  more  than  to  gratify  his  palate. 
Mr.  Grewgious  in  the  meantime  sat  upright,  with  no  ex- 
pression in  his  face,  and  a  hard  kind  of  imperturbably  po- 
lite protest  all  over  him :  as  though  he  would  have  said,  in 
reply  to  some  invitation  to  discourse :  "I  couldn't  originate 
the  faintest  approach  to  an  observation  on  any  subject 
whatever,  I  thank  you." 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Jasper,  when  he  had  pushed  away 
his  plate  and  glass,  and  had  sat  meditating  for  a  few  min- 
utes: "do  you  know  that  I  find  some  crumbs  of  comfort  in 
the  communication  with  which  you  have  so  much  amazed 
me?" 

"  Do  you?  "  returned  Mr.  Grewgious;  pretty  plainly  add- 
ing the  unspoken  clause :  "  I  don't,  I  thank  you!  " 

"  After  recovering  from  the  shock  of  a  piece  of  news  of 
my  dear  boy,  so  entirely  unexpected,  and  so  destructive 
of  all  the  castles  I  had  built  for  him ;  and  after  having  had 
time  to  think  of  it;  yes." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  pick  up  your  crumbs,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  dryly. 

"  Is  there  not,  or  is  there — if  I  deceive  myself,  tell  me 
so,  and  shorten  my  pain — is  there  not,  or  is  there,  hope 
that,  finding  himself  in  this  new  position,  and  becoming 
sensitively  alive  to  the  awkward  burden  of  explanation,  in 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  161 

tli!.;  quarter,  and  that,  and  the  other,  with  which  it  would 
1  i  id  him,  he  avoided  the  awkwardness,  and  took  to  flight?  " 

"  Such  a  thing  might  be,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  ponder- 
ing. 

"  Such  a  thing  has  been.  I  have  read  of  cases  in  which 
people,  rather  than  face  a  seven  days'  wonder,  and  have  to 
account  for  themselves  to  the  idle  and  impertinent,  have 
taken  themselves  away,  and  been  long  unheard  of." 

"I  believe  such  things  have  happened,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, pondering  still. 

"When  I  had,  and  could  have,  no  suspicion,"  pursued 
Jasper,  eagerly  following  the  new  track,  "that  the  dear 
lost  boy  had  withheld  anything  from  me — most  of  all,  such 
a  leading  matter  as  this — what  gleam  of  light  was  there  for 
me  in  the  whole  black  sky?  When  I  supposed  that  his 
intended  wife  was  here,  and  his  marriage  close  at  hand, 
how  could  I  entertain  the  possibility  of  his  voluntarily  leav- 
ing this  place,  in  a  manner  that  would  be  so  unaccountable, 
capricious,  and  cruel?  But  now  that  I  know  what  you  have 
told  me,  is  there  no  little  chink  through  which  day  pierces? 
Supposing  him  to  have  disappeared  of  his  own  act,  is  not 
his  disappearance  more  accountable  and  less  cruel?  The 
fact  of  his  having  just  parted  from  your  ward,  is  in  itself 
a  sort  of  reason  for  his  going  away.  It  does  not  make  his 
mysterious  departure  the  less  cruel  to  me,  it  is  true;  but  it 
relieves  it  of  cruelty  to  her." 

Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

"And  even  as  to  me,"  continued  Jasper,  still  pursuing 
the  new  track,  with  ardour,  and,  as  he  did  so,  brightening 
with  hope:  "he  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  me;  he 
knew  that  you  were  intrusted  to  tell  me  what  you  have  told 
me;  if  your  doing  so  has  awakened  a  new  train  of  thought 
in  my  perplexed  mind,  it  reasonably  follows  that,  from  the 
same  premises,  he  might  have  foreseen  the  inferences  that 
I  should  draw.  Grant  that  he  did  foresee  them;  and  even 
the  cruelty  to  me — and  who  am  I! — John  Jasper,  Music 
Master,  vanishes ! " — 

Once  more,  Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

"  I  have  had  my  distrusts,  and  terrible  distrusts  they 
have  been,"  said  Jasper;  "  but  your  disclosure,  overpower- 
ing as  it  was  at  first — showing  me  that  my  own  dear  boy 
had  had  a  great  disappointing  reservation  from  me,  who  so 
fondly  loved  him,  kindles  hope  within  me.  You  do  not 
11 


162  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

extinguish  it  when  I  state  it,  but  admit  it  to  be  a  reason- 
able hope.  I  begin  to  believe  it  possible : "  here  he  clasped 
his  hands :  "  that  he  may  have  disappeared  from  among  us 
of  his  own  accord,  and  that  he  may  yet  be  alive  and  well." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  came  in  at  the  moment.  To  whom  Mr. 
Jasper  repeated : 

"  I  begin  to  believe  it  possible  that  he  may  have  disap- 
peared of  his  own  accord,  and  may  yet  be  alive  and  well." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  taking  a  seat,  and  inquiring :  "  Why  so?  " 
Mr.  Jasper  repeated  the  arguments  he  had  just  set  forth. 
If  they  had  been  less  plausible  than  they  were,  the  good 
Minor  Canon's  mind  would  have  been  in  a  state  of  prepara- 
tion to  receive  them,  as  exculpatory  of  his  unfortunate  pu- 
pil. But  he,  too,  did  really  attach  great  importance  to  the 
lost  young  man's  having  been,  so  immediately  before  his 
disappearance,  placed  in  a  new  and  embarrassing  relation 
towards  every  one  acquainted  with  his  projects  and  affairs; 
and  the  fact  seemed  to  him  to  present  the  question  in  a 
new  light. 

"I  stated  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  when  we  waited  on  him,"  said 
Jasper :  as  he  really  had  done :  "  that  there  was  no  quarrel 
or  difference  between  the  two  young  men  at  their  last  meet- 
ing. We  all  know  that  their  first  meeting  was  unfortu- 
nately very  far  from  amicable;  but  all  went  smoothly  and 
quietly  when  they  were  last  together  at  my  house.  My 
dear  boy  was  not  in  his  usual  spirits;  he  was  depressed — I 
noticed  that — and  I  am  bound  henceforth  to  dwell  upon  the 
circumstance  the  more,  now  that  I  know  there  was  a  special 
reason  for  his  being  depressed :  a  reason,  moreover,  which 
may  possibly  have  induced  him  to  absent  himself." 

"  I  pray  to  Heaven  it  may  turn  out  so ! "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

"  /  pray  to  Heaven  it  may  turn  out  so ! "  repeated  Jasper. 
"  You  know — and  Mr.  Grewgious  should  now  know  likewise 
— that  I  took  a  great  prepossession  against  Mr.  Neville 
Landless,  arising  out  of  his  furious  conduct  on  that  first 
occasion.  You  know  that  I  came  to  you,  extremely  appre- 
hensive, on  my  dear  boy's  behalf,  of  his  mad  violence. 
You  know  that  I  even  entered  in  my  Diary,  and  showed 
the  entry  to  you,  that  I  had  dark  forebodings  against  him. 
Mr.  Grewgious  ought  to  be  possessed  of  the  whole  case. 
He  shall  not,  through  any  suppression  of  mine,  be  informed 
of  a  part  of  it,  and  kept  in  ignorance  of  another  part  of  it 


THE   MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  163 

I  wish  him  to  be  good  enough  to  understand  that  the  com- 
munication he  has  made  to  me  has  hopefully  influenced  my 
mind,  in  spite  of  its  having  been,  before  this  mysterious 
occurrence  took  place,  profoundly  impressed  against  young 
Landless." 

This  fairness  troubled  the  Minor  Canon  much.  He  felt 
that  he  was  not  as  open  in  his  own  dealing.  He  charged 
against  himself  reproachfully  that  he  had  suppressed,  so 
far,  the  two  points  of  a  second  strong  outbreak  of  temper 
against  Edwin  Drood  on  the  part  of  Neville,  and  of  the 
passion  of  jealousy  having,  to  his  own  certain  knowledge, 
flamed  up  in  Neville's  breast  against  him.  He  was  con- 
vinced of  Neville's  innocence  of  any  part  in  the  ugly  disap- 
pearance; and  yet  so  many  little  circumstances  combined 
so  wofully  against  him,  that  he  dreaded  to  add  two  more 
to  their  cumulative  weight.  He  was  among  the  truest  of 
men;  but  he  had  been  balancing  in  his  mind,  much  to  its 
distress,  whether  his  volunteering  to  tell  these  two  frag- 
ments of  truth,  at  this  time,  would  not  be  tantamount  to  a 
piecing  together  of  falsehood  in  the  place  of  truth. 

However,  here  was  a  model  before  him.  He  hesitated 
no  longer.  Addressing  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  one  placed  in 
authority  by  the  revelation  he  had  brought  to  bear  on  the 
mystery  (and  surpassingly  Angular  Mr.  Grewgious  became 
when  he  found  himself  in  that  unexpected  position),  Mr. 
Crisparkle  bore  his  testimony  to  Mr.  Jasper's  strict  sense 
of  justice,  and,  expressing  his  absolute  confidence  in  the 
complete  clearance  of  his  pupil  from  the  least  taint  of  sus- 
picion, sooner  or  later,  avowed  that  his  confidence  in  that 
young  gentleman  had  been  formed,  in  spite  of  his  confiden- 
tial knowledge  that  his  temper  was  of  the  hottest  and 
fiercest,  and  that  it  was  directly  incensed  against  Mr.  Jas- 
per's nephew,  by  the  circumstance  of  his  romantically  sup- 
posing himself  to  be  enamoured  of  the  same  young  lady. 
The  sanguine  reaction  manifest  in  Mr.  Jasper  was  proof 
even  against  this  unlooked-for  declaration.  It  turned  him 
paler;  but  he  repeated  that  he  would  cling  to  the  hope  he 
had  derived  from  Mr.  Grewgious;  and  that  if  no  trace  of 
his  dear  boy  were  found,  leading  to  the  dreadful  inference 
that  he  had  been  made  away  with,  he  would  cherish  unto 
the  last  stretch  of  possibility  the  idea,  that  he  might  have 
absconded  of  his  own  wild  will. 

Now,  it  fell  out  that  Mr.  Crisparkle,  going  away  from 


164  THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN  DROOD. 

this  conference  still  very  uneasy  in  his  mind,  and  very 
much  troubled  on  behalf  of  the  young  man  whom  he  held 
as  a  kind  of  prisoner  in  his  own  house,  took  a  memorable 
night  walk. 

He  walked  to  Cloisterham  Weir. 

He  often  did  so,  and  consequently  there  was  nothing  re- 
markable in  his  footsteps  tending  that  way.  But  the  pre- 
occupation of  his  mind  so  hindered  him  from  planning  any 
walk,  or  taking  any  heed  of  the  objects  he  passed,  that  his 
first  consciousness  of  being  near  the  Weir,  was  derived 
from  the  sound  of  the  falling  water  close  at  hand. 

"  How  did  I  come  here ! "  was  his  first  thought,  as  he 
stopped. 

"  Why  did  I  come  here ! "  was  his  second. 

Then,  he  stood  intently  listening  to  the  water.  A  fa- 
miliar passage  in  his  reading,  about  airy  tongues  that  sylla- 
ble men's  names,  rose  so  unbidden  to  his  ear,  that  he  put 
it  from  him  with  his  hand,  as  if  it  were  tangible. 

It  was  starlight.  The  Weir  was  full  two  miles  above  the 
spot  to  which  the  young  men  had  repaired  to  watch  the 
storm.  No  search  had  been  made  up  here,  for  the  tide  had 
been  running  strongly  down,  at  that  time  of  the  night  of 
Christmas  Eve,  and  the  likeliest  places  for  the  discovery 
of  a  body,  if  a  fatal  accident  had  happened  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, all  lay — both  when  the  tide  ebbed,  and  when 
it  flowed  again — between  that  spot  and  the  sea.  The  water 
came  over  the  Weir,  with  its  usual  sound  on  a  cold  star- 
light night,  and  little  could  be  seen  of  it;  yet  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle  had  a  strange  idea  that  something  unusual  hung  about 
the  place. 

He  reasoned  with  himself:  What  was  it?  Where  was 
it?  Put  it  to  the  proof.  Which  sense  did  it  address? 

No  sense  reported  anything  unusual  there.  He  listened 
again,  and  his  sense  of  hearing  again  checked  the  water 
coming  over  the  Weir,  with  its  usual  sound  on  a  cold  star- 
light night. 

Knowing  very  well  that  the  mystery  with  which  his 
mind  was  occupied,  might  of  itself  give  the  place  this 
haunted  air,  he  strained  those  hawk's  eyes  of  his  for  the 
correction  of  his  sight.  He  got  closer  to  the  Weir,  and 
peered  at  its  well-known  posts  and  timbers.  Nothing  in 
the  least  unusual  was  remotely  shadowed  forth.  But  he 
resolved  that  he  would  come  back  early  in  the  morning. 


THE  MYSTER\    OP   EDWIN  DROOD.  165 

The  Weir  ran  through  his  broken  sleep,  all  night,  and  he 
was  back  again  at  sunrise.  It  was  a  bright  frosty  morning. 
The  whole  composition  before  him,  when  he  stood  where 
he  had  stood  last  night,  was  clearly  discernible  in  its  mi- 
nutest details.  He  had  surveyed  it  closely  for  some  minutes, 
and  was  about  to  withdraw  his  eyes,  when  they  were  at- 
tracted keenly  to  one  spot. 

He  turned  his  back  upon  the  Weir,  and  looked  far  away 
at  the  sky,  and  at  the  earth,  and  then  looked  again  at  that 
one  spot.  It  caught  his  sight  again  immediately,  and  he 
concentrated  his  vision  upon  it.  He  could  not  lose  it  now, 
though  it  was  but  such  a  speck  in  the  landscape.  It  fas- 
cinated his  sight.  His  hands  began  plucking  off  his  coat. 
For  it  struck  him  that  at  that  spot — a  corner  of  the  Weir 
— something  glistened,  which  did  not  move  and  come  over 
with  the  glistening  water-drops,  but  remained  stationary. 

He  assured  himself  of  this,  he  threw  off  his  clothes,  he 
plunged  into  the  icy  water,  and  swam  for  the  spot.  Climb- 
ing the  timbers,  he  took  from  them,  caught  among  their  in- 
terstices by  its  chain,  a  gold  watch,  bearing  engraved  upon 
its  back  E.  D. 

He  brought  the  watch  to  the  bank,  swam  to  the  Weir 
again,  climbed  it,  and  dived  off.  He  knew  every  hole  and 
corner  of  all  the  depths,  and  dived  and  dived  and  dived, 
until  he  could  bear  the  cold  no  more.  His  notion  was,  that 
he  would  find  the  body;  he  only  found  a  shirt-pin  sticking 
in  some  mud  and  ooze. 

With  these  discoveries  he  returned  to  Cloisterham,  and, 
taking  Neville  Landless  with  him,  went  straight  to  the 
Mayor.  Mr.  Jasper  was  sent  for,  the  watch  and  shirt-pin 
were  identified,  Neville  was  detained,  and  the  wildest 
frenzy  and  fatuity  of  evil  report  rose  against  him.  He  was 
of  that  vindictive  and  violent  nature,  that  but  for  his  poor 
sister,  who  alone  had  influence  over  him,  and  out  of  whose 
sight  he  was  never  to  be  trusted,  he  would  be  in  the  daily 
commission  of  murder.  Before  coining  to  England  he  had 
caused  to  be  whipped  to  death  sundry  "Natives  " — nomadic 
persons,  encamping  now  in  Asia,  now  in  Africa,  now  in  the 
West  Indies,  and  now  at  the  North  Pole — vaguely  supposed 
in  Cloisterham  to  be  always  black,  always  of  great  virtue, 
always  calling  themselves  Me,  and  everybody  else  Massa 
or  Missie  (according  to  sex),  and  always  reading  tracts  of 
the  obscurest  meaning,  in  broken  English,  but  always  accu- 


166  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

rately  understanding  them  in  the  purest  mother  tongue. 
He  had  nearly  brought  Mrs.  Crisparkle's  grey  hairs  with 
sorrow  to  the  grave.  (Those  original  expressions  were  Mr. 
Sapsea's.)  He  had  repeatedly  said  he  would  have  Mr. 
Crisparkle's  life.  He  had  repeatedly  said  he  would  have 
everybody's  life,  and  become  in  effect  the  last  man.  He 
had  been  brought  down  to  Cloisterham,  from  London,  by 
an  eminent  Philanthropist,  and  why?  Because  that  Phi- 
lanthropist had  expressly  declared :  "  I  owe  it  to  my  fellow- 
creatures  that  he  should  be,  in  the  words  of  BENTHAM, 
where  he  is  the  cause  of  the  greatest  danger  to  the  smallest 
number." 

These  dropping  shots  from  the  blunderbusses  of  blunder- 
headedness  might  not  have  hit  him  in  a  vital  place.  But 
he  had  to  stand  against  a  trained  and  well-directed  fire  of 
arms  of  precision  too.  He  had  notoriously  threatened  the 
lost  young  man,  and  had,  according  'to  the  showing  of  his 
own  faithful  friend  and  tutor  who  strove  so  hard  for  him, 
a  cause  of  bitter  animosity  (created  by  himself,  and  stated 
by  himself),  against  that  ill-starred  fellow.  He  had  armed 
himself  with  an  offensive  weapon  for  the  fatal  night,  and 
he  had  gone  off  early  in  the  morning,  after  making  prepa- 
rations for  departure.  He  had  been  found  with  traces  of 
blood  on  him;  truly,  they  might  have  been  wholly  caused 
as  he  represented,  but  they  might  not,  also.  On  a  search- 
warrant  being  issued  for  the  examination  of  his  room, 
clothes,  and  so  forth,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  de- 
stroyed all  his  papers,  and  rearranged  all  his  possessions, 
on  the  very  afternoon  of  the  disappearance.  The  watch 
found  at  the  Weir  was  challenged  by  the  jeweller  as  one  he 
had  wound  and  set  for  Edwin  Drood,  at  twenty  minutes 
past  two  on  that  same  afternoon;  and  it  had  run  down,  be- 
fore being  cast  into  the  water;  and  it  was  the  jeweller's 
positive  opinion  that  it  had  never  been  rewound.  This 
would  justify  the  hypothesis  that  the  watch  was  taken 
from  him  not  long  after  he  left  Mr.  Jasper's  house  at  mid- 
night, in  company  with  the  last  person  seen  with  him,  and 
that  it  had  been  thrown  away  after  being  retained  some 
hours.  Why  thrown  away?  If  he  had  been  murdered,  and 
so  artfully  disfigured,  or  concealed,  or  both,  as  that  the 
murderer  hoped  identification  to  be  impossible,  except  from 
something  that  he  wore,  assuredly  the  murderer  would  seek 
to  remove  from  the  body  the  most  lasting,  the  best  known, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  167 

and  the  most  easily  recognisable,  things  upon  it.  Those 
things  would  be  the  watch  and  shirt-pin.  As  to  his  oppor- 
tunities of  casting  them  into  the  river;  if  he  were  the  ob- 
ject of  these  suspicions,  they  were  easy.  For,  he  had  been 
seen  by  many  persons,  wandering  about  on  that  side  of  the 
city — indeed  on  all  sides  of  it — in  a  miserable  and  seem- 
ingly half-distracted  manner.  As  to  the  choice  of  the  spot, 
obviously  such  criminating  evidence  had  better  take  its 
chance  of  being  found  anywhere,  rather  than  upon  himself, 
or  in  his  possession.  Concerning  the  reconciliatory  nature 
of  the  appointed  meeting  between  the  two  young  men,  very 
little  could  be  made  of  that  in  young  Landless' s  favour; 
for  it  distinctly  appeared  that  the  meeting  originated,  not 
with  him,  but  with  Mr.  Ciisparkle,  and  that  it  had  been 
urged  on  by  Mr.  Crisparkle;  and  who  could  say  how  un- 
willingly, or  in  what  ill-conditioned  mood,  his  enforced 
pupil  had  gone  to  it?  The  more  his  case  was  looked  into, 
the  weaker  it  became  in  every  point.  Even  the  broad  sug- 
gestion that  the  lost  young  man  had  absconded,  was  ren- 
dered additionally  improbable  on  the  showing  of  the  young 
lady  from  whom  he  had  so  lately  parted;  for,  what  did  she 
say,  with  great  earnestness  and  sorrow,  when  interrogated? 
That  he  had,  expressly  and  enthusiastically,  planned  with 
her,  that  he  would  await  the  arrival  of  her  guardian,  Mr. 
Grewgious.  And  yet,  be  it  observed,  he  disappeared  be- 
fore that  gentleman  appeared. 

On  the  suspicions  thus  urged  and  supported,  Neville  was 
detained,  and  redetained,  and  the  search  was  pressed  on 
every  hand,  and  Jasper  laboured  night  and  day.  But 
nothing  more  was  found.  No  discovery  being  made,  which 
proved  the  lost  man  to  be  dead,  it  at  length  became  neces- 
sary to  release  the  person  suspected  of  having  made  away 
with  him.  Neville  was  set  at  large.  Then,  a  consequence 
ensued  which  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  too  well  foreseen.  Nev- 
ille must  leave  the  place,  for  the  place  shunned  him  and 
cast  him  out.  Even  had  it  not  been  so,  the  dear  old  china 
shepherdess  would  have  worried  herself  to  death  with  fears 
for  her  son,  and  with  general  trepidation  occasioned  by  their 
having  such  an  inmate.  Even  had  that  not]  been  so,  the 
authority  to  which  the  Minor  Canon  deferred  officially, 
would  have  settled  the  point. 

"Mr.  Crisparkle,"  quoth  the  Dean,  "human  justice  may 
err,  but  it  must  act  according  to  its  lights.  The  days  of 


168  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

taking  sanctuary  are  past.  This  young  man  must  not  take 
sanctuary  with  us." 

"  You  mean  that  he  must  leave  my  house,  sir?  " 

"Mr.  Crisparkle,"  returned  the  prudent  Dean,  "I  claim 
no  authority  in  your  house.  I  merely  confer  with  you,  on 
the  painful  necessity  you  find  yourself  under,  of  depriving 
this  young  man  of  the  great  advantages  of  your  counsel  and 
instruction." 

"It  is  very  lamentable,  sir,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  represented. 

"  Very  much  so,"  the  Dean  assented. 

"  And  if  it  be  a  necessity — "  Mr.  Crisparkle  faltered. 

"As  you  unfortunately  find  it  to  be,"  returned  the  Dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  submissively :  "  It  is  hard  to  pre- 
judge his  case,  sir,  but  I  am  sensible  that — " 

"Just  so.  Perfectly.  As  you  say,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  in- 
terposed the  Dean,  nodding  his  head  smoothly,  "  there  is 
nothing  else  to  be  done.  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  There  is  no 
alternative,  as  your  good  sense  has  discovered." 

"  I  am  entirely  satisfied  of  his  perfect  innocence,  sir, 
nevertheless.'' 

"  We-e-ell ! "  said  the  Dean,  in  a  more  confidential  tone, 
and  slightly  glancing  around  him,  "  I  would  not  say  so, 
generally.  Not  generally.  Enough  of  suspicion  attaches 
to  him  to — no,  I  think  I  would  not  say  so,  generally." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  again. 

"It  does  not  become  us,  perhaps,"  pursued  the  Dean, 
"to  be  partisans.  Not  partisans.  We  clergy  keep  our 
hearts  warm  and  our  heads  cool,  and  we  hold  a  judicious 
middle  course." 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  object,  sir,  to  my  having  stated  in 
public,  emphatically,  that  he  will  reappear  here,  whenever 
any  new  suspicion  may  be  awakened,  or  any  new  circum- 
stance may  come  to  light  in  this  extraordinary  matter?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  returned  the  Dean.  "And  yet,  do  you 
know,  I  don't  think,"  with  a  very  nice  and  neat  emphasis 
on  those  two  words:  "I  don't  think  I  would  state  it, 
emphatically.  State  it?  Ye-e-es!  But  emphatically? 
No-o-o.  I  think  not.  In  point  of  fact,  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
keeping  our  hearts  warm  and  our  heads  cool,  we  clergy 
need  do  nothing  emphatically." 

So  Minor  Canon  Row  knew  Neville  Landless  no  more; 
and  he  went  whithersoever  he  would,  or  could,  with  a 
blight  upon  his  name  and  fame- 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  169 

It  was  not  until  then  that  John  Jasper  silently  resumed 
his  place  in  the  choir.  Haggard  and  red-eyed,  his  hopes 
plainly  had  deserted  him,  his  sanguine  mood  was  gone,  and 
all  his  worst  misgivings  had  come  back.  A  day  or  two 
afterwards,  while  unrobing,  he  took  his  Diary  from  a  pocket 
of  his  coat,  turned  the  leaves,  and  with  an  impressive  look, 
and  without  one  spoken  word,  handed  this  entry  to  Mr. 
Crisparkle  to  read : 

"  My  dear  boy  is  murdered.  The  discovery  of  the  watch 
and  shirt-pin  convinces  me  that  he  was  murdered  that 
night,  and  that  his  jewellery  was  taken  from  him  to  pre- 
vent identification  by  its  means.  All  the  delusive  hopes  I 
had  founded  on  his  separation  from  his  betrothed  wife, 
I  give  to  the  winds.  They  perish  before  this  fatal  discovery. 
I  now  swear,  and  record  the  oath  on  this  page,  That  I 
nevermore  will  discuss  this  mystery  with  any  human 
creature  until  I  hold  the  clue  to  it  in  my  hand.  That  I 
never  will  relax  in  my  secrecy  or  in  my  search.  That 
I  will  fasten  the  crime  of  the  murder  of  my  dear  dead  boy 
upon  the  murderer.  And,  That  I  devote  myself  to  his  de- 
struction." 


CHAPTEE    XVII. 

PHILANTHROPY,   PROFESSIONAL    AND    UNPROFES- 
SIONAL. 

FULL  half  a  year  had  come  and  gone,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle 
sat  in  a  waiting-room  in  the  London  chief  offices  of  the 
Haven  of  Philanthropy,  until  he  could  have  audience  of 
Mr.  Honeythunder. 

In  his  college  days  of  athletic  exercises,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
had  known  professors  of  the  Noble  Art  of  fisticuffs,  and 
had  attended  two  or  three  of  their  gloved  gatherings.  He 
had  now  an  opportunity  of  observing  that  as  to  the  phren- 
ological formation  of  the  backs  of  their  heads,  the  Profess- 
ing Philanthropists  were  uncommonly  like  the  Pugilists. 
In  the  development  of  all  those  organs  which  constitute,  or 
attend,  a  propensity  to  "  pitch  into  "  your  fellow-creatures, 
the  Philanthropists  were  remarkably  favoured.  There 
were  several  Professors  passing  in  and  out,  with  exactly 


170  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  aggressive  air  upon  them  of  being  ready  for  a  turn-up 
with  any  Novice  who  might  happen  to  be  011  hand,  that 
Mr.  Crisparkle  well  remembered  in  the  circles  of  the  Fancy. 
Preparations  were  in  progress  for  a  moral  little  Mill  some- 
where on  the  rural  circuit,  and  other  Professors  were  back- 
ing this  or  that  Heavy- Weight  as  good  for  such  or  such 
speech-making  hits,  so  very  much  after  the  manner  of  the 
sporting  publicans,  that  the  intended  Kesolutions  might 
have  been  Rounds.  In  an  official  manager  of  these  displays 
much  celebrated  for  his  platform  tactics,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
recognised  (in  a  suit  of  black)  the  counterpart  of  a  deceased 
benefactor  of  his  species,  an  eminent  public  character,  once 
known  to  fame  as  Frosty-faced  Fogo,  who  in  days  of  yore 
superintended  the  formation  of  the  magic  circle  with  the 
ropes  and  stakes.  There  were  only  three  conditions  of  re- 
semblance wanting  between  these  Professors  and  those. 
Firstly,  the  Philanthropists  were  in  very  bad  training: 
much  too  fleshy,  and  presenting,  both  in  face  and  figure,  a 
superabundance  oL  what  is  known  to  Pugilistic  Experts  as 
Suet  Pudding.  Secondly,  the  Philanthropists  had  not  the 
good  temper  of  the  Pugilists,  and  used  worse  language. 
Thirdly,  their  fighting  code  stood  in  great  need  of  revision, 
as  empowering  them  not  only  to  bore  their  man  to  the 
ropes,  but  to  bore  him  to  the  confines  of  distraction;  also 
to  hit  him  when  he  was  down,  hit  him  anywhere  and  any- 
how, kick  him,  stamp  upon  him,  gouge  him,  and  maul  him 
behind  his  back  without  mercy.  In  these  last  particulars 
the  Professors  of  the  Noble  Art  were  much  nobler  than  the 
Professors  of  Philanthropy. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  was  so  completely  lost  in  musing  on  these 
similarities  and  dissimilarities,  at  the  same  time  watching 
the  crowd  which  came  and  went  by,  always,  as  it  seemed,  on 
errands  of  antagonistically  snatching  something  from  some- 
body, and  never  giving  anything  to  anybody,  that  his  name 
was  called  before  he  heard  it.  On  his  at  length  respond- 
ing, he  was  shown  by  a  miserably  shabby  and  underpaid 
stipendiary  Philanthropist  (who  could  hardly  have  done 
worse  if  he  had  taken  service  with  a  declared  enemy  of  the 
human  race)  to  Mr.  Honeythunder's  room. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Honey  thunder,  in  his  tremendous  voice, 
like  a  schoolmaster  issuing  orders  to  a  boy  of  whom  he  had 
a  bad  opinion,  "sit  down." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  seated  himself. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  171 

Mr.  Honeythunder  having  signed  the  remaining  few  score 
of  a  few  thousand  circulars,  calling  upon  a  corresponding 
number  of  families  without  means  to  come  forward,  stump 
up  instantly,  and  be  Philanthropists,  or  go  to  the  Devil, 
another  shabby  stipendiary  Philanthropist  (highly  disinter- 
ested, if  in  earnest)  gathered  these  into  a  basket  and  walked 
off  with  them. 

"Now,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder,  turn- 
ing his  chair  half  round  towards  him  when  they  were  alone, 
and  squaring  his  arms  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and  his 
brows  knitted,  as  if  he  added,  I  am  going  to  make  short 
work  of  you :  "  Now,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  we  entertain  different 
views,  you  and  I,  sir,  of  the  sanctity  of  human  life." 

"  Do  we?  "  returned  the  Minor  Canon. 

"We  do,  sir." 

"Might  I  ask  you,"  said  the  Minor  Canon:  "what  are 
your  views  on  that  subject?  " 

"That  human  life  is  a  thing  to  be  held  sacred,  sir." 

" Might  I  ask  you,"  pursued  the  Minor  Canon  as  before: 
"  what  you  suppose  to  be  my  views  on  that  subject?  " 

"  By  George,  sir !  "  returned  the  Philanthropist,  squaring 
his  arms  still  more,  as  he  frowned  on  Mr.  Crisparkle: 
"they  are  best  known  to  yourself." 

"  Readily  admitted.  But  you  began  by  saying  that  we 
took  different  views,  you  know.  Therefore  (or  you  could 
not  say  so)  you  must  have  set  up  some  views  as  mine. 
Pray,  what  views  have  you  set  up  as  mine?  " 

"  Here  is  a  man — and  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Honey- 
thunder,  as  ic  that  made  the  matter  infinitely  worse,  and 
he  could  have  easily  borne  the  loss  of  an  old  one,  "  swept  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  by  a  deed  of  violence.  What  do  you 
call  that?  " 

"Murder,"  said  the  Minor  Canon. 

"  What  do  you  call  the  doer  of  that  deed,  sir?  " 

"  A  murderer,"  said  the  Minor  Canon. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  admit  so  much,  sir,"  retorted 
Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  his  most  offensive  manner;  "and  I 
candidly  tell  you  that  I  didn't  expect  it."  Here  he  low- 
ered heavily  at  Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  those  very 
unjustifiable  expressions." 

"I  don't  sit  here,  sir,"  returned  the  Philanthropist,  rais- 
ing his  voice  to  a  roar,  "  to  be  browbeaten. " 


172  THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  As  the  only  other  person  present,  no  one  can  possibly 
know  that  better  than  I  do,"  returned  the  Minor  Canon 
very  quietly.  "But  I  interrupt  your  explanation." 

"  Murder ! "  proceeded  Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  a  kind  of 
boisterous  reverie,  with  his  platform  folding  of  his  arms, 
and  his  platform  nod  of  abhorrent  reflection  after  oach 
short  sentiment  of  a  word.  "Bloodshed!  Abel!  Cain!  I 
hold  no  terms  with  Cain.  I  repudiate  with  a  shudder  the 
red  hand  when  it  is  offered  me." 

Instead  of  instantly  leaping  into  his  chair  and  cheering 
himself  hoarse,  as  the  Brotherhood  in  public  meeting  as- 
sembled would  infallibly  have  done  on  this  cue,  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle  merely  reversed  the  quiet  crossing  of  his  legs,  and 
said  mildly :  "  Don't  let  me  interrupt  your  explanation — 
when  you  begin  it." 

"  The  Commandments  say,  no  murder.  NO  murder,  sir ! " 
proceeded  Mr.  Honeythunder,  platformally  pausing  as  if  he 
took  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  task  for  having  distinctly  asserted  that 
they  said :  You  may  do  a  little  murder,  and  then  leave  off. 

"And  they  also  say,  you  shall  bear  no  false  witness," 
observed  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Enough ! "  bellowed  Mr.  Honeythunder,  with  a  solem- 
nity and  severity  that  would  have  brought  the  house  down 
at  a  meeting,  "  E — e — nough !  My  late  wards  being  now 
of  age,  and  I  being  released  from  a  trust  which  I  cannot 
contemplate  without  a  thrill  of  horror,  there  are  the  accounts 
which  you  have  undertaken  to  accept  on  their  behalf,  and 
there  is  a  statement  of  the  balance  which  you  have  under- 
taken to  receive,  and  which  you  cannot  receive  too  soon. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  I  wish  that,  as  a  man  and  a  Minor 
Canon,  you  were  better  employed,"  with  a  nod.  "Better 
employed,"  with  another  nod.  "Bet — ter  em — ployed!" 
with  another  and  the  three  nods  added  up. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  rose;  a  little  heated  in  the  face,  but  with 
perfect  command  of  himself. 

"Mr.  Honeythunder,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  papers  re- 
ferred to :  "  my  being  better  or  worse  employed  than  I  am 
at  present  is  a  matter  of  taste  and  opinion.  You  might 
think  me  better  employed  in  enrolling  myself  a  member  of 
your  Society." 

"Ay,  indeed,  sir!"  retorted  Mr.  Honeythunder,  shaking 
his  head  in  a  threatening  manner.  "  It  would  have  been 
better  for  you  if  you  had  done  that  long  ago !  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  173 

"I  think  otherwise." 

"Or,"  said  Mr.  Honey  thunder,  shaking  his  head  again, 
"  I  might  think  one  of  your  profession  better  employed  in 
devoting  himself  to  the  discovery  and  punishment  of  guilt 
than  in  leaving  that  duty  to  be  undertaken  by  a  layman." 

"  I  may  regard  my  profession  from  a  point  of  view  which 
teaches  me  that  its  first  duty  is  towards  those  who  are  in 
necessity  and  tribulation,  who  are  desolate  and  oppressed," 
said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "However,  as  I  have  quite  clearly 
satisfied  myself  that  it  is  no  part  of  my  profession  to  make 
professions,  I  say  no  more  of  that.  But  I  owe  it  to  Mr. 
Neville,  and  to  Mr.  Neville's  sister  (and  in  a  much  lower 
degree  to  myself),  to  say  to  you  that  I  know  I  was  in  the 
full  possession  and  understanding  of  Mr.  Neville's  mind 
and  heart  at  the  time  of  this  occurrence;  and  that,  without 
in  the  least  colouring  or  concealing  what  was  to  be  deplored 
in  him  and  required  to  be  corrected,  I  feel  certain  that  his 
tale  is  true.  Feeling  that  certainty,  I  befriend  him.  As 
long  as  that  certainty  shall  last,  I  will  befriend  him.  And 
if  any  consideration  could  shake  me  in  this  resolve,  I  should 
be  so  ashamed  of  myself  for  my  meanness,  that  no  man's 
good  opinion — no,  nor  no  woman's — so  gained,  could  com- 
pensate me  for  the  loss  of  my  own." 

Good  fellow !  manly  fellow !  And  he  was  so  modest, 
too.  There  was  no  more  self-assertion  in  the  Minor  Canon 
than  in  the  schoolboy  who  had  stood  in  the  breezy  play- 
ing-fields keeping  a  wicket.  He  was  simply  and  staunchly 
true  to  his  duty  alike  in  the  large  case  and  in  the  small. 
So  all  true  souls  ever  are.  So  every  true  soul  ever  was, 
ever  is,  and  ever  will  be.  There  is  nothing  little  to  the 
really  great  in  spirit. 

"Then  who  do  you  make  out  did  the  deed?  "  asked  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  turning  on  him  abruptly. 

"Heaven  forbid,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "that  in  my  de- 
sire to  clear  one  man  I  should  lightly  criminate  another !  I 
accuse  no  one." 

"Tcha!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Honeythunder  with  great  dis- 
gust; for  this  was  by  no  means  the  principle  on  which  the 
Philanthropic  Brotherhood  usually  proceeded.  "  And,  sir, 
you  are  not  a  disinterested  witness,  we  must  bear  in 
mind." 

"  How  am  I  an  interested  one?  "  inquired  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
smiling  innocently,  at  a  loss  to  imagine. 


174  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  There  was  a  certain  stipend,  sir,  paid  to  you  for  your 
pupil,  which  may  have  warped  your  judgment  a  bit,"  said 
Mr.  Honeythunder,  coarsely. 

"Perhaps  I  expect  to  retain  it  still?  "  Mr.  Crisparkle  re- 
turned, enlightened;  "  do  you  mean  that  too?  " 

"Well,  sir,"  returned  the  professional  Philanthropist, 
getting  up  and  thrusting  his  hands  down  into  his  trousers- 
pockets,  "I  don't  go  about  measuring  people  for  caps.  If 
people  find  I  have  any  about  me  that  fit  'em,  they  can  put 
'em  on  and  wear  'em  if  they  like.  That's  their  look  out: 
not  mine." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  eyed  him  with  a  just  indignation,  and 
took  him  to  task  thus : 

"  Mr.  Honeythunder,  I  hoped  when  I  came  in  here  that 
I  might  be  under  no  necessity  of  commenting  on  the  intro- 
duction of  platform  manners  or  platform  manoeuvres  among 
the  decent  forbearances  of  private  life.  But  you  have  given 
me  such  a  specimen  of  both,  that  I  should  be  a  fit  subject 
for  both  if  I  remained  silent  respecting  them.  They  are 
detestable." 

"They  don't  suit  you,  I  dare  say,  sir." 

"They  are,"  repeated  Mr.  Crisparkle,  without  noticing 
the  interruption,  "detestable.  They  violate  equally  the 
justice  that  should  belong  to  Christians,  and  the  restraints 
that  should  belong  to  gentlemen.  You  assume  a  great 
crime  to  have  been  committed  by  one  whom  I,  acquainted 
with  the  attendant  circumstances,  and  having  numerous 
reasons  on  my  side,  devoutly  believe  to  be  innocent  of  it. 
Because  I  differ  from  you  on  that  vital  point,  what  is  your 
platform  resource?  Instantly  to  turn  upon  me,  charging 
that  I  have  no  sense  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime  itself, 
but  am  its  aider  and  abettor !  So,  another  time — taking 
me  as  representing  your  opponent  in  other  cases — you  set 
up  a  platform  credulity;  a  moved  and  seconded  and  carried  - 
unanimously  profession  of  faith  in  some  ridiculous  delu- 
sion or  mischievous  imposition.  I  decline  to  believe  it,  and 
you  fall  back  upon  your  platform  resource  of  proclaiming 
that  I  believe  nothing;  that  because  I  will  not  bow  down 
to  a  false  God  of  your  making,  I  deny  the  true  God !  An- 
other time  you  make  the  platform  discovery  that  War  is  a 
calamity,  and  you  propose  to  abolish  it  by  a  string  of 
twisted  resolutions  tossed  into  the  air  like  the  tail  of  a  kite. 
I  do  not  admit  the  discovery  to  be  yours  in  the  least,  and 


THE  MYSTERY  OF    EDWIN  DROOD.  175 

I  have  not  a  grain  of  faith  in  your  remedy.  Again,  your 
platform  resource  of  representing  me  as  revelling  in  the 
horrors  of  a  battle-field  like  a  fiend  incarnate !  Another 
time,  in  another  of  your  undiscriminating  platform  rushes, 
you  would  punish  the  sober  for  the  drunken.  I  claim 
consideration  for  the  comfort,  convenience,  and  refresh- 
ment of  the  sober;  and  you  presently  make  platform  proc- 
lamation that  I  have  a  depraved  desire  to  turn  Heaven's 
creatures  into  swine  and  wild  beasts !  In  all  such  cases 
your  movers,  and  your  seconders,  and  your  supporters — 
your  regular  Professors  of  all  degrees,  run  amuck  like  so 
many  mad  Malays;  habitually  attributing  the  lowest  and 
basest  motives  with  the  utmost  recklessness  (let  me  call 
your  attention  to  a  recent  instance  in  yourself  for  which 
you  should  blush),  and  quoting  figures  which  you  know  to 
be  as  wilfully  onesided  as  a  statement  of  any  complicated 
account  that  should  be  all  Creditor  side  and  no  Debtor, 
or  all  Debtor  side  and  no  Creditor.  Therefore  it  is,  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  that  I  consider  the  platform  a  sufficiently 
bad  example  and  a  sufficiently  bad  school,  even  in  public 
life;  but  hold  that,  carried  into  private  life,  it  becomes  an 
unendurable  nuisance." 

"  These  are  strong  words,  sir ! "  exclaimed  the  Philan- 
thropist. 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.     "Good  morning." 

He  walked  out  of  the  Haven  at  a  great  rate,  but  soon  fell 
into  his  regular  brisk  pace,  and  soon  had  a  smile  upon  his 
face  as  he  went  along,  wondering  what  the  china  shep- 
herdess would  have  said  if  she  had  seen  him  pounding  Mr. 
Honeythunder  in  the  late  little  lively  affair.  For  Mr. 
Crisparkle  had  just  enough  of  harmless  vanity  to  hope  that 
he  had  hit  hard,  and  to  glow  with  the  belief  that  he  had 
trimmed  the  Philanthropic  jacket  pretty  handsomely. 

He  took  himself  to  Staple  Inn,  but  not  to  P.  J.  T.  and 
Mr.  Grewgious.  Full  many  a  creaking  stair  he  climbed 
before  he  reached  some  attic  rooms  in  a  corner,  turned  the 
latch  of  their  unbolted  door,  and  stood  beside  the  table  of 
Neville  Landless. 

An  air  of  retreat  and  solitude  hung  about  the  rooms  and 
about  their  inhabitant.  He  was  much  worn,  and  so  were 
they.  Their  sloping  ceilings,  cumbrous  rusty  locks  and 
grates,  and  heavy  wooden  bins  and  beams,  slowly  moulder- 
ing withal,  had  a  prisonous  look,  and  he  had  the  haggard 


176  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

face  of  a  prisoner.  Yet  the  sunlight  shone  in  at  the  ugly 
garret  window,  which  had  a  penthouse  to  itself  thrust  out 
among  the  tiles;  and  on  the  cracked  and  smoke-blackened 
parapet  beyond,  some  of  the  deluded  sparrows  of  the  place 
rheumatically  hopped,  like  little  feathered  cripples  who  had 
left  their  crutches  in  their  nests ;  and  there  was  a  play  of 
living  leaves  at  hand  that  changed  the  air,  and  made  an 
imperfect  sort  of  music  in  it  that  would  have  been  melody 
in  the  country. 

The  rooms  were  sparely  furnished,  but  with  good  store  of 
books.  Everything  expressed  the  abode  of  a  poor  student. 
That  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  been  either  chooser,  lender,  or 
donor  of  the  books,  or  that  he  combined  the  three  charac- 
ters, might  have  been  easily  seen  in  the  friendly  beam  of 
his  eyes  upon  them  as  he  entered. 

"  How  goes  it,  Neville?  " 

"  I  am  in  good  heart,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  working  away." 

"  I  wish  your  eyes  were  not  quite  so  large  and  not  quite 
so  bright,"  said  the  Minor  Canon,  slowly  releasing  the  hand 
he  had  taken  in  his. 

"They  brighten  at  the  sight  of  you,"  returned  Neville. 
"  If  you  were  to  fall  away  from  me,  they  would  soon  be 
dull  enough." 

"  Rally,  rally ! "  urged  the  other,  in  a  stimulating  tone. 
"Fight  for  it,  Neville!" 

"  If  I  were  dying,  I  feel  as  if  a  word  from  you  would 
rally  me;  if  my  pulse  had  stopped,  I  feel  as  if  your  touch 
would  make  it  beat  again,"  said  Neville.  "But  I  have 
rallied,  and  am  doing  famously." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  turned  him  with  his  face  a  little  more 
towards  the  light. 

"I  want  to  see  a  ruddier  touch  here,  Neville, "l»he  said, 
indicating  his  own  healthy  cheek  by  way  of  pattern.  "  I 
want  more  sun  to  shine  upon  you." 

Neville  drooped  suddenly,  as  he  replied  in  a  lowered 
voice :  "  I  am  not  hardy  enough  for  that,  yet.  I  may  be- 
come so,  but  I  cannot  bear  it  yet.  If  you  had  gone  through 
those  Cloisterham  streets  as  I  did;  if  you  had  seen,  as  I 
did,  those  averted  eyes,  and  the  better  sort  of  people  si- 
lently giving  me  too  much  room  to  pass,  that  I  might  not 
touch  them  or  come  near  them,  you  wouldn't  think  it  quite 
unreasonable  that  I  cannot  go  about  in  the  daylight." 

"  My  poor  fellow ! "  said  the  Minor  Canon,  in  a  tone  so 


THE  MYSTERY   OF    EDWIN   DROOD.  177 

purely  sympathetic  that  the  young  man  caught  his  hand, 
"  I  never  said  it  was  unreasonable;  never  thought  so.  But 
I  should  like  you  to  do  it." 

"  And  that  would  give  me  the  strongest  motive  to  do  it. 
But  I  cannot  yet.  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  the  eyes 
of  even  the  stream  of  strangers  I  pass  in  this  vast  city  look 
at  me  without  suspicion.  I  feel  marked  and  tainted,  even 
when  I  go  out — as  I  do  only — at  night.  But  the  darkness 
covers  me  then,  and  I  take  courage  from  it." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  him. 

"If  I  could  have  changed  my  name,"  said  Neville,  "I 
would  have  done  so.  But  as  you  wisely  pointed  out  to  me, 
I  can't  do  that,  for  it  would  look  like  guilt.  If  I  could 
have  gone  to  some  distant  place,  I  might  have  found  relief 
in  that,  but  the  thing  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  for  the  same 
reason.  Hiding  and  escaping  would  be  the  construction  in 
either  case.  It  seems  a  little  hard  to  be  so  tied  to  a  stake, 
and  innocent;  but  I  don't  complain." 

"And  you  must  expect  no  miracle  to  help  you,  Neville," 
said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  compassionately. 

"No,  sir,  I  know  that.  The  ordinary  fulness  of  time 
and  circumstances  is  all  I  have  to  trust  to." 

"  It  will  right  you  at  last,  Neville." 

"  So  I  believe,  and  I  hope  I  may  live  to  know  it." 

But  perceiving  that  the  despondent  mood  into  which  he 
was  falling  cast  a  shadow  on  the  Minor  Canon,  and  (it  may 
be)  feeling  that  the  broad  hand  upon  his  shoulder  was  not 
then  quite  as  steady  as  its  own  natural  strength  had  ren- 
dered it  when  it  first  touched  him  just  now,  he  brightened 
and  said : 

"Excellent  circumstances  for  study,  anyhow!  and  you 
know,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  what  need  I  have  of  study  in  all 
ways.  Not  to  mention  that  you  have  advised  me  to  study 
for  the  difficult  profession  of  the  law,  specially,  and  that  of 
course  I  am  guiding  myself  by  the  advice  of  such  a  friend 
and  helper.  Such  a  good  friend  and  helper !  " 

He  took  the  fortifying  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and 
kissed  it.  Mr.  Crisparkle  beamed  at  the  books,  but  not  so 
brightly  as  when  he  had  entered. 

"  I  gather  from  your  silence  on  the  subject  that  my  late 
guardian  is  adverse,  Mr.  Crisparkle?  " 

The  Minor  Canon  answered :  "  Your  late  guardian  is  a 
12 


178  THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

— a  most  unreasonable  person,  and  it  signifies  nothing  to 
any  reasonable  person  whether  he  is  adverse,  or  perverse, 
or  the  reverse." 

"  Well  for  me  that  I  have  enough  with  economy  to  live 
upon,"  sighed  Neville,  half  wearily  and  half  cheerily, 
"  while  I  wait  to  be  learned,  and  wait  to  be  righted !  Else 
I  might  have  proved  the  proverb,  that  while  the  grass 
grows,  the  steed  starves !  " 

He  opened  some  books  as  he  said  it,  and  was  soon  im- 
mersed in  their  interleaved  and  annotated  passages;  while 
Mr.  Crisparkle  sat  beside  him,  expounding,  correcting,  and 
advising.  The  Minor  Canon's  Cathedral  duties  made  these 
visits  of  his  difficult  to  accomplish,  and  only  to  be  com- 
passed at  intervals  of  many  weeks.  But  they  were  as  ser- 
viceable as  they  were  precious  to  Neville  Landless. 

When  they  had  got  through  such  studies  as  they  had  in 
hand,  they  stood  leaning  on  the  window-sill,  and  looking 
down  upon  the  patch  of  garden.  "Next  week,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "you  will  cease  to  be  alone,  and  will  have  a 
devoted  companion." 

"And  yet,"  returned  Neville,  "this  seems  an  uncon- 
genial place  to  bring  my  sister  to." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  the  Minor  Canon.  "There  is 
duty  to  be  done  here;  and  there  are  womanly  feeling,  sense, 
and  courage  wanted  here." 

"I  meant,"  explained  Neville,  "that  the  surroundings 
are  so  dull  and  unwomanly,  and  that  Helena  can  have  no 
suitable  friend  or  society  here." 

"  You  have  only  to  remember,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
"  that  you  are  here  yourself,  and  that  she  has  to  draw  you 
into  the  sunlight. " 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  then  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle began  anew. 

"  When  we  first  spoke  together,  Neville,  you  told  me  that 
your  sister  had  risen  out  of  the  disadvantages  of  your  past 
lives  as  superior  to  you  as  the  tower  of  Cloisterham  Cathe- 
dral is  higher  than  the  chimneys  of  Minor  Canon  Corner. 
Do  you  remember  that?  " 

"  Right  well ! " 

"  I  was  inclined  to  think  it  at  the  time  an  enthusiastic 
flight.  No  matter  what  I  think  it  now.  What  I  would 
emphasise  is,  that  under  the  head  of  Pride  your  sister  is  a 
great  and  opportune  example  to  you." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  179 

"  Under  all  heads  that  are  included  in  the  composition  of 
a  fine  character,  she  is." 

"  Say  so;  but  take  this  one.  Your  sister  has  learnt  how 
to  govern  what  is  proud  in  her  nature.  She  can  dominate 
it  even  when  it  is  wounded  through  her  sympathy  with  you. 
No  doubt  she  has  suffered  deeply  in  those  same  streets 
where  you  suffered  deeply.  No  doubt  her  life  is  darkened 
by  the  cloud  that  darkens  yours.  But  bending  her  pride 
into  a  grand  composure  that  is  not  haughty  or  aggressive, 
but  is  a  sustained  confidence  in  you  and  in  the  truth,  she 
has  won  her  way  through  those  streets  until  she  passes  along 
them  as  high  in  the  general  respect  as  any  one  who  treads 
them.  Every  day  and  hour  of  her  life  since  Edwin  Drood's 
disappearance,  she  has  faced  malignity  and  folly — for  you 
— as  only  a  brave  nature  well  directed  can.  So  it  will  be 
with  her  to  the  end.  Another  and  weaker  kind  of  pride 
might  sink  broken-hearted,  but  never  such  a  pride  as  hers : 
which  knows  no  shrinking,  and  can  get  no  mastery  over 
her." 

The  pale  cheek  beside  him  flushed  under  the  comparison, 
and  the  hint  implied  in  it. 

"I  will  do  all  I  can  to  imitate  her,"  said  Neville. 

"  Do  so,  and  be  a  truly  brave  man,  as  she  is  a  truly  brave 
woman,"  answered  Mr.  Crisparkle  stoutly.  "It  is  grow- 
ing dark.  Will  you  go  my  way  with  me,  when  it  is  quite 
dark?  Mind !  it  is  not  I  who  wait  for  darkness." 

Neville  replied,  that  he  would  accompany  him  directly. 
But  Mr.  Crisparkle  said  he  had  a  moment's  call  to  make 
on  Mr.  Grewgious  as  an  act  of  courtesy,  and  would  run 
across  to  that  gentleman's  chambers,  and  rejoin  Neville 
on  his  own  doorstep,  if  he  would  come  down  there  to  meet 
him. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  bolt  upright  as  usual,  sat  taking  his  wine 
in  the  dusk  at  his  open  window;  his  wineglass  and  decanter 
on  the  round  table  at  his  elbow;  himself  and  his  legs  on 
the  window-seat;  only  one  hinge  in  his  whole  body,  like  a 
bootjack. 

"  How  do  you  do,  reverend  sir? "  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
with  abundant  offers  of  hospitality,  which  were  as  cordially 
declined  as  made.  "  And  how  is  your  charge  getting  on 
over  the  way  in  the  set  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  recom- 
mending to  you  as  vacant  and  eligible?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  replied  suitably. 


180  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  because  I  entertain  a  sort  of  fancy  for  having  him  under 
my  eye." 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  had  to  turn  his  eye  up  considerably 
before  he  could  see  the  chambers,  the  phrase  was  to  be 
taken  figuratively  and  not  literally. 

"  And  how  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir?  "  said 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  pretty  well. 

"  And  where  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  at  Cloisterham. 

"  And  when  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir?  " 

That  morning. 

"limps!"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "He  didn't  say  he  was 
coming,  perhaps?  " 

"Coming  where?  " 

"Anywhere,  for  instance?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"No." 

"  Because  here  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  who  had  asked 
all  these  questions,  with  his  preoccupied  glance  directed  out 
at  window,  "And  he  don't  look  agreeable,  does  he?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  was  craning  towards  the  window,  when 
Mr.  Grewgious  added : 

"  If  you  will  kindly  step  round  here  behind  me,  in  the 
gloom  of  the  room,  and  will  cast  your  eye  at  the  second- 
floor  landing  window  in  yonder  house,  I  think  you  will 
hardly  fail  to  see  a  slinking  individual  in  whom  I  recognise 
our  local  friend." 

"  You  are  right !  "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"Umps!  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  Then  he  added,  turning 
his  face  so  abruptly  that  his  head  nearly  came  into  collision 
with  Mr.  Crisparkle's :  "  what  should  you  say  that  our  local 
friend  was  up  to?  " 

The  last  passage  he  had  been  shown  in  the  Diary  returned 
on  Mr.  Crisparkle's  mind  with  the  force  of  'a  strong  recoil, 
and  he  asked  Mr.  Grewgious  if  he  thought  it  possible  that 
Neville  was  to  be  harassed  by  the  keeping  of  a  watch  upon 
him? 

"  A  watch?  "  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious  musingly.    "  Ay !  " 

"  Which  would  not  only  of  itself  haunt  and  torture  his 
life,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  warmly,  "but  would  expose  him 
to  the  torment  of  a  perpetually  reviving  suspicion,  what- 
ever he  might  do,  or  wherever  he  might  go." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.  181 

"  Ay !  n  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  musingly  still.  "  Do  I  see 
him  waiting  for  you?  " 

"No  doubt  you  do." 

"  Then  would  you  have  the  goodness  to  excuse  my  getting 
up  to  see  you  out,  and  to  go  out  to  join  him,  and  to  go  the 
way  that  you  were  going,  and  to  take  no  notice  of  our  local 
friend?  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  I  entertain  a  sort  of  fancy 
for  having  him  under  my  eye  to-night,  do  you  know?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  with  a  significant  nod,  complied;  and  re- 
joining Neville,  went  away  with  him.  They  dined  togeth- 
er, and  parted  at  the  yet  unfinished  and  undeveloped  rail- 
way station:  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  get  home;  Neville  to  walk 
the  streets,  cross  the  bridges,  make  a  wide  round  of  the  city 
in  the  friendly  darkness,  and  tire  himself  out. 

It  was  midnight  when  he  returned  from  his  solitary  ex- 
pedition and  climbed  his  staircase.  The  night  was  hot,  and 
the  windows  of  the  staircase  were  all  wide  open.  Coming 
to  the  top,  it  gave  him  a  passing  chill  of  surprise  (there 
being  no  rooms  but  his  up  there)  to  find  a  stranger  sitting 
on  the  window-sill,  more  after  the  manner  of  a  venture- 
some glazier  then  an  amateur  ordinarily  careful  of  his  neck; 
in  fact,  so  much  more  outside  the  window  than  inside,  as 
to  suggest  the  thought  that  he  must  have  come  up  by  the 
water-spout  instead  of  the  stairs. 

The  stranger  said  nothing  until  Neville  put  his  key  in 
his  door;  then,  seeming  to  make  sure  of  his  identity  from 
the  action,  he  spoke : 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  coming  from  the  window 
with  a  frank  and  smiling  air,  and  a  prepossessing  address; 
"the  beans." 

Neville  was  quite  at  a  loss. 

"Runners,"  said  the  visitor.  "Scarlet.  Next  door  at 
the  back." 

"O,"  returned  Neville.  "And  the  mignonette  and  wall- 
flower? " 

"  The  same,"  said  the  visitor. 

"Pray  walk  in." 

"Thank  you." 

Neville  lighted  his  candles,  and  the  visitor  sat  down.  A 
handsome  gentleman,  with  a  young  face,  but  with  an  older 
figure  in  its  robustness  and  its  breadth  of  shoulder;  say  a 
man  of  eight-and-twenty,  or  at  the  utmost  thirty;  so  ex- 
tremely sunburnt  that  the  contrast  between  his  brown  vis- 


182  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

age  and  the  white  forehead  shaded  out  of  doors  by  his  hat, 
and  the  glimpses  of  white  throat  below  the  neckerchief, 
would  have  been  almost  ludicrous  but  for  his  broad  tem- 
ples, bright  blue  eyes,  clustering  brown  hair,  and  laughing 
teeth. 

"I  have  noticed,"  said  he;  " — my  name  is  Tartar." 

Neville  inclined  his  head. 

"  I  have  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  shut  yourself  up  a 
good  deal,  and  that  you  seem  to  like  my  garden  aloft  here. 
If  you  would  like  a  little  more  of  it,  I  could  throw  out  a 
few  lines  and  stays  between  my  windows  and  yours,  which 
the  runners  would  take  to  directly.  And  I  have  some 
boxes,  both  of  mignonette  and  wallflower,  that  I  could 
shove  on  along  the  gutter  (with  a  boat-hook  I  have  by  me) 
to  your  windows,  and  draw  back  again  when  they  wanted 
watering  or  gardening,  and  shove  on  again  when  they  were 
ship-shape;  so  that  they  would  cause  you  no  trouble.  I 
couldn't  take  this  liberty  without  asking  your  permission,  so 
I  venture  to  ask  it.  Tartar,  corresponding  set,  next  door. " 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  ought  to  apologise  for  looking  in  so  late. 
But  having  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  generally  walk 
out  at  night,  I  thought  I  should  inconvenience  you  least  by 
awaiting  your  return.  I  am  always  afraid  of  inconvenien- 
cing busy  men,  being  an  idle  man." 

"I  should  not  have  thought  so,  from  your  appearance." 

"  No?  I  take  it  as  a  compliment.  In  fact,  I  was  bred 
in  the  Royal  Navy,  and  was  First  Lieutenant  when  I  quitted 
it.  But,  an  uncle  disappointed  in  the  service  leaving  me 
his  property  on  condition  that  I  left  the  Navy,  I  accepted 
the  fortune,  and  resigned  my  commission." 

"Lately,  I  presume?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  had  twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  knocking 
about  first.  I  came  here  some  nine  months  before  you;  I 
had  had  one  crop  before  you  came.  I  chose  this  place,  be- 
cause, having  served  last  in  a  little  corvette,  I  knew  I 
should  feel  more  at  home  where  I  had  a  constant  oppor- 
tunity of  knocking  my  head  against  the  ceiling.  Besides,  it 
would  never  do  for  a  man  who  had  been  aboard  ship  from 
his  boyhood  to  turn  luxurious  all  at  once.  Besides,  again; 
having  been  accustomed  to  a  very  short  allowance  of  land 
all  my  life,  T  thought  I'd  feel  my  way  to  the  command  of 
a  landed  estate,  by  beginning  in  boxes." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  183 

Whimsically  as  this  was  said,  there  was  a  touch  of  merry 
earnestness  in  it  that  made  it  doubly  whimsical. 

"However,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "I  have  talked  quite 
enough  about  myself.  It  is  not  my  way,  I  hope;  it  has 
merely  been  to  present  myself  to  you  naturally.  If  you 
will  allow  me  to  take  the  liberty  I  have  described,  it  will 
be  a  charity,  for  it  will  give  me  something  more  to  do. 
And  you  are  not  to  suppose  that  it  will  entail  any  interrup- 
ton  or  intrusion  on  you,  for  that  is  far  from  my  intention." 

Neville  replied  that  he  was  greatly  obliged,  and  that  he 
thankfully  accepted  the  kind  proposal. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  take  your  windows  in  tow,"  said  the 
Lieutenant.  "  From  what  I  have  seen  of  you  when  I  have 
been  gardening  at  mine,  and  you  have  been  looking  on,  I 
have  thought  you  (excuse  me)  rather  too  studious  and  del- 
icate. May  I  ask,  is  your  health  at  all  affected?  " 

"I  have  undergone  some  mental  distress,"  said  Neville, 
confused,  "which  has  stood  me  in  the  stead  of  illness." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

With  the  greatest  delicacy  he  shifted  his  ground  to  the 
windows  again,  and  asked  if  he  could  look  at  one  of  them. 
On  Neville's  opening  it,  he  immediately  sprang  out,  as  if 
he  were  going  aloft  with  a  whole  watch  in  an  emergency, 
and  were  setting  a  bright  example. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,"  cried  Neville,  "don't  do  that! 
Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Tartar?  You'll  be  dashed  to 
pieces ! " 

"  All  well ! "  said  the  Lieutenant,  coolly  looking  about 
him  on  the  housetop.  "  All  taut  and  trim  here.  Those 
lines  and  stays  shall  be  rigged  before  you  turn  out  in  the 
morning.  May  I  take  this  short  cut  home,  and  say  good 
night?  " 

"Mr.  Tartar!"  urged  Neville.  "Pray!  It  makes  me 
giddy  to  see  you ! " 

But  Mr.  Tartar,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  the  deft- 
ness of  a  cat,  had  already  dipped  through  his  scuttle  of 
scarlet  runners  without  breaking  a  leaf,  and  "gone  below." 

Mr.  Grewgious,  his  bedroom  window-blind  held  aside 
with  his  hand,  happened  at  that  moment  to  have  Neville's 
chambers  under  his  eye  for  the  last  time  that  night.  For- 
tunately his  eye  was  on  the  front  of  the  house  and  not  the 
back,  or  this  remarkable  appearance  and  disappearance 
might  have  broken  his  rest  as  a  phenomenon.  But  Mr. 


184  THE  MYSTERY  OP   EDWIN  DROOD. 

Grewgious  seeing  nothing  there,  not  even  a  light  in  the 
windows,  his  gaze  wandered  from  the  windows  to  the  stars, 
as  if  he  would  have  read  in  them  something  that  was  hid- 
den from  him.  Many  of  us  would,  if  we  could;  but  none 
of  us  so  much  as  know  our  letters  in  the  stars  yet — or  seem 
likely  to  do  it,  in  this  state  of  existence — and  few  lan- 
guages can  be  read  until  their  alphabets  are  mastered. 


CHAPTER     XVIII. 

A  SETTLER  IN  CLOISTERHAM. 

AT  about  this  time  a  stranger  appeared  in  Cloisterham; 
a  white-haired  personage,  with  black  eyebrows.  Being 
buttoned  up  in  a  tightish  blue  surtout,  with  a  buff  waist- 
coat and  grey  trousers,  he  had  something  of  a  military  air; 
but  he  announced  himself  at  the  Crozier  (the  orthodox 
hotel,  where  he  put  up  with  a  portmanteau)  as  an  idle  dog 
who  lived  upon  his  means;  and  he  farther  annouucd  that 
he  had  a  mind  to  take  a  lodging  in  the  picturesque  old  city 
for  a  month  or  two,  with  a  view  of  settling  down  there  al- 
together. Both  announcements  were  made  in  the  coffee- 
room  of  the  Crozier,  to  all  whom  it  might  or  might  not  con- 
cern, by  the  stranger  as  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the 
empty  fireplace,  waiting  for  his  fried  sole,  veal  cutlet,  and 
pint  of  sherry.  And  the  waiter  (business  being  chronically 
slack  at  the  Crozier)  represented  all  whom  it  might  or 
might  not  concern,  and  absorbed  the  whole  of  the  informa- 
tion. 

This  gentleman's  white  head  was  unusually  large,  and 
his  shock  of  white  hair  was  unusually  thick  and  ample.  "  I 
suppose,  waiter,"  he  said,  shaking  his  shock  of  hair,  as  a 
Newfoundland  dog  might  shake  his  before  sitting  down  to 
dinner,  "  that  a  fair  lodging  for  a  single  buffer  might  be 
found  in  these  parts,  eh?  " 

The  waiter  had  no  doubt  of  it. 

"  Something  old,"  said  the  gentleman.  "Take  my  hat 
down  for  a  moment  from  that  peg,  will  you?  No,  I  don't 
want  it;  look  into  it.  What  do  you  see  written  there?  " 

The  waiter  read:  "Datchery." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  185 

"Now  you  know  my  name,"  said  the  gentleman;  "Dick 
Datchery.  Hang  it  up  again.  I  was  saying  something  old 
is  what  I  should  prefer,  something  odd  and  out  of  the  way; 
something  venerable,  architectural,  and  inconvenient." 

"  We  have  a  good  choice  of  inconvenient  lodgings  in  the 
town,  sir,  I  think,"  replied  the  waiter,  with  modest  confi- 
dence in  its  resources  that  way;  "indeed,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  we  could  suit  you  that  far,  however  particular  you 
might  be.  But  a  architectural  lodging ! "  That  seemed  to 
trouble  the  waiter's  head,  and  he  shook  it. 

"Anything  Cathedraly,  now,"  Mr.  Datchery  suggested. 

"Mr.  Tope,"  said  the  waiter,  brightening,  as  he  rubbed 
his  chin  with  his  hand,  "  would  be  the  likeliest  party  to  in- 
form in  that  line." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Tope?"  inquired  Dick  Datchery. 

The  waiter  explained  that  he  was  the  Verger,  and  that 
Mrs.  Tope  had  indeed  once  upon  a  time  let  lodgings  herself 
— or  offered  to  let  them;  but  that  as  nobody  had  ever  taken 
them,  Mrs.  Tope's  window-bill,  long  a  Cloisterham  Insti- 
tution, had  disappeared;  probably  had  tumbled  down  one 
day,  and  never  been  put  up  again. 

"I'll  call  on  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "after 
dinner." 

So  when  he  had  done  his  dinner,  he  was  duly  directed  to 
the  spot,  and  sallied  out  for  it.  But  the  Crozier  being  an 
hotel  of  a  most  retiring  disposition,  and  the  waiter's  direc- 
tions being  fatally  precise,  he  soon  became  bewildered,  and 
went  boggling  about  and  about  the  Cathedral  Tower,  when- 
ever he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  it,  with  a  general  impres- 
sion on  his  mind  that  Mrs.  Tope's  was  somewhere  very 
near  it,  and  that,  like  the  children  in  the  game  of  hot 
boiled  beans  and  very  good  butter,  he  was  warm  in  his 
search  when  he  saw  the  Tower,  and  cold  when  he  didn't 
see  it. 

He  was  getting  very  cold  indeed  when  he  came  upon  a 
fragment  of  burial-ground  in  which  an  unhappy  sheep  was 
grazing.  Unhappy,  because  a  hideous  small  boy  was  ston- 
ing it  through  the  railings,  and  had  already  lamed  it  in 
one  leg,  and  was  much  excited  by  the  benevolent  sports- 
manlike purpose  of  breaking  its  other  three  legs,  and  bring- 
ing it  down. 

"'It  'iin  agin!"  cried  the  boy,  as  the  poor  creature 
leaped;  "and  made  a  dint  in  his  wool." 


186  THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Let  him  be !  "  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "Don't  you  see  you 
have  lamed  him?  " 

"  Yer  lie,"  returned  the  sportsman.  "E  went  and  lamed 
isself.  I  see  'im  do  it,  and  I  giv'  'im  a  shy  as  a  Widdy- 
warning  to  'im  not  to  go  a  bruisin'  'is  master's  mutton  any 
more." 

"Come  here." 

"I  won't;  I'll  come  when  yer  can  ketch  me." 

"Stay  there  then,  and  show  me  which  is  Mr.  Tope's." 

"  Ow  can  I  stay  here  and  show  you  which  is  Topeseses, 
when  Topeseses  is  t'other  side  the  Kinfreederal,  and  over 
the  crossings,  and  round  ever  so  many  corners?  Stoo-pid! 
Ya-a-ah ! " 

"  Show  me  where  it  is,  and  I'll  give  you  something." 

"  Come  on,  then." 

This  brisk  dialogue  concluded,  the  boy  led  the  way,  and 
by-and-bye  stopped  at  some  distance  from  an  arched  pas- 
sage, pointing. 

"  Lookie  yonder.     You  see  that  there  winder  and  door?  " 

"That's  Tope's?" 

"  Yer  lie;  it  ain't.     That's  Jarsper's." 

"  Indeed?  "  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with  a  second  look  of 
some  interest. 

"  Yes,  and  I  ain't  a  goin'  no  nearer  '!M,  I  tell  yer." 

"  Why  not?  " 

"  'Cos  I  ain't  a  goin'  to  be  lifted  off  my  legs  and  'ave 
my  braces  bust  and  be  choked;  not  if  I  knows  it,  and  not 
by  'Im.  Wait  till  I  set  a  jolly  good  flint  a  flyin'  at  the 
back  o'  'is  jolly  old  'ed  some  day!  Now  look  t'other  side 
the  harch;  not  the  side  where  Jarsper's  door  is;  t'other 
side." 

"  I  see." 

"A  little  way  in,  o'  that  side,  there's  a  low  door,  down 
two  steps.  That's  Topeseses  with  'is  name  on  a  hoval 
plate." 

"Good.  See  here,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  producing  a 
shilling.  "You  owe  me  half  of  this." 

"  Yer  lie;  I  don't  owe  yer  nothing;  I  never  seen  yer." 

"  I  tell  you  you  owe  me  half  of  this,  because  I  have  no 
sixpence  in  my  pocket.  So  the  next  time  you  meet  me  you 
shall  do  something  else  for  me,  to  pay  me." 

"All  right,  give  us  'old." 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  where  do  you  live?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  187 

"Deputy.     Travellers'  Twopenny,  'cross  the  green  " 

The  boy  instantly  darted  off  with  the  shilling,  lest  Mr. 
Datchery  should  repent,  but  stopped  at  a  safe  distance,  on 
the  happy  chance  of  his  being  uneasy  in  his  mind  about  it, 
to  goad  him  with  a  demon  dance  expressive  of  its  irrevo- 
cability. 

Mr.  Datchery,  taking  off  his  hat  to  give  that  shock  of 
white  hair  of  his  another  shake,  seemed  quite  resigned,  and 
betook  himself  whither  he  had  been  directed. 

Mr.  Tope's  official  dwelling,  communicating  by  an  upper 
stair  with  Mr.  Jasper's  (hence  Mrs.  Tope's  attendance  on 
that  gentleman),  was  of  very  modest  proportions,  and  par- 
took of  the  character  of  a  cool  dungeon.  Its  ancient  walls 
were  massive,  and  its  rooms  rather  seemed  to  have  been 
dug  out  of  them,  than  to  have  been  designed  beforehand 
with  any  reference  to  them.  The  main  door  opened  at  once 
on  a  chamber  of  no  describable  shape,  with  a  groined  roof, 
which  in  its  turn  opened  on  another  chamber  of  no  describ- 
able shape,  with  another  groined  roof:  their  windows 
small,  and  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls.  These  two  cham- 
bers, close  as  to  their  atmosphere,  and  swarthy  as  to  their 
illumination  by  natural  light,  were  the  apartments  which 
Mrs.  Tope  had  so  long  offered  to  an  unappreciative  city. 

Mr.  Datchery,  however,  was  more  appreciative.  He 
found  that  if  he  sat  with  the  main  door  open  he  would  en- 
joy the  passing  society  of  all  comers  to  and  fro  by  the  gate- 
way, and  would  have  light  enough.  He  found  that  if  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Tope,  living  overhead,  used  for  their  own  egress 
and  ingress  a  little  side  stair  that  came  plump  into  the 
Precincts  by  a  door  opening  outward,  to  the  surprise  and 
inconvenience  of  a  limited  public  of  pedestrians  in  a  narrow 
way,  he  would  be  alone,  as  in  a  separate  residence.  He 
found  the  rent  moderate,  and  everything  as  quaintly  incon- 
venient as  he  could  desire.  He  agreed,  therefore,  to  take 
the  lodging  then  and  there,  and  money  down,  possession 
to  be  had  next  evening,  on  condition  that  reference  was 
permitted  him  to  Mr.  Jasper  as  occupying  the  gatehouse, 
of  which  on  the  other  side  of  the  gateway,  the  Verger's 
hole-in-the-wall  was  an  appanage  or  subsidiary  part. 

The  poor  dear  gentleman  was  very  solitary  and  very  sad, 
Mrs.  Tope  said,  but  she  had  no  doubt  he  would  "  speak  for 
her. "  Perhaps  Mr.  Datchery  had  heard  something  of  what 
had  occurred  there  last  winter? 


188  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Datchery  had  as  confused  a  knowledge  of  the  event 
in  question,  on  trying  to  recall  it,  as  he  well  could  have. 
He  begged  Mrs.  Tope's  pardon  when  she  found  it  incum- 
bent on  her  to  correct  him  in  every  detail  of  his  summary 
of  the  facts,  but  pleaded  that  he  was  merely  a  single  buffer 
getting  through  life  upon  his  means  as  idly  as  he  could, 
and  that  so  many  people  were  so  constantly  making  away 
with  so  many  other  people,  as  to  render  it  difficult  for  a 
buffer  of  an  easy  temper  to  preserve  the  circumstances  of 
the  several  cases  unmixed  in  his  mind. 

Mr.  Jasper  proving  willing  to  speak  for  Mrs.  Tope,  Mr. 
Datchery,  who  had  sent  up  his  card,  was  invited  to  ascend 
the  postern  staircase.  The  Mayor  was  there,  Mr.  Tope 
said;  but  he  was  not  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  com- 
pany, as  he  and  Mr.  Jasper  were  great  friends. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  making  a  leg  with 
his  hat  under  his  arm,  as  he  addressed  himself  equally  to 
both  gentlemen;  "a  selfish  precaution  on  my  part,  and  not 
personally  interesting  to  anybody  but  myself.  But  as  a 
buffer  living  on  his  means,  and  having  an  idea  of  doing  it 
in  this  lovely  place  in  peace  and  quiet,  for  remaining  span 
of  life,  I  beg  to  ask  if  the  Tope  family  are  quite  respect- 
able? " 

Mr.  Jasper  could  answer  for  that  without  the  slightest 
hesitation. 

"That  is  enough,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Datchery. 

"My  friend  the  Mayor,"  added  Mr.  Jasper,  presenting 
Mr.  Datchery  with  a  courtly  motion  of  his  hand  towards 
that  potentate;  "whose  recommendation  is  actually  much 
more  important  to  a  stranger  than  that  of  an  obscure  per- 
son like  myself,  will  testify  in  their  behalf,  I  am  sure." 

"The  Worshipful  the  Mayor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with 
a  low  bow,  "places  me  under  an  infinite  obligation." 

"Very  good  people,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr. 
Sapsea,  with  condescension.  "  Very  good  opinions.  Very 
well  behaved.  Very  respectful.  Much  approved  by  the 
Dean  and  Chapter." 

"The  Worshipful  the  Mayor  gives  them  a  character," 
said  Mr.  Datchery,  "of  which  they  may  indeed  be  proud. 
I  would  ask  His  Honour  (if  I  might  be  permitted)  whether 
there  are  not  many  objects  of  great  interest  in  the  city 
which  is  under  his  beneficent  sway?  " 

"We  are,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea,  "an  ancient  city, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  189 

and  an  ecclesiastical  city.  We  are  a  constitutional  city,  as 
it  becomes  such  a  city  to  be,  and  we  uphold  and  maintain 
our  glorious  privileges." 

"His  Honour,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  bowing,  "inspires 
me  with  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  city,  and  confirms 
me  in  my  inclination  to  end  my  days  in  the  city." 

"  Retired  from  the  Army,  sir?  "  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

"His  Honour  the  Mayor  does  me  too  much  credit,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Datchery. 

"Navy,  sir?"  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

"Again,"  repeated  Mr.  Datchery,  "His  Honour  the 
Mayor  does  me  too  much  credit." 

"Diplomacy  is  a  fine  profession,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  as  a 
general  remark. 

"  There,  I  confess,  His  Honour  the  Mayor  is  too  many 
for  me,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with  an  ingenious  smile  and 
bow;  "even  a  diplomatic  bird  must  fall  to  such  a  gun." 

Now  this  was  very  soothing.  Here  was  a  gentleman  of 
a  great,  not  to  say  a  grand,  address,  accustomed  to  rank 
and  dignity,  really  setting  a  fine  example  how  to  behave  to 
a  Mayor.  There  was  something  in  that  third-person  style 
of  being  spoken  to,  that  Mr.  Sapsea  found  particularly 
recognisant  of  his  merits  and  position. 

"But  I  crave  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "His  Hon- 
our the  Mayor  will  bear  with  me,  if  for  a  moment  I  have 
been  deluded  into  occupying  his  time,  and  have  forgotten 
the  humble  claims  upon  my  own,  of  my  hotel,  the  Crozier." 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea.  "I  am  returning 
home,  and  if  you  would  like  to  take  the  exterior  of  our 
Cathedral  in  your  way,  I  shall  be  glad  to  point  it  out." 

"His  Honour  the  Mayor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "is  more 
than  kind  and  gracious." 

As  Mr.  Datchery,  when  he  had  made  his  acknowledg- 
ments to  Mr.  Jasper,  could  not  be  induced  to  go  out  of  the 
room  before  the  Worshipful,  the  Worshipful  led  the  way 
down-stairs;  Mr.  Datchery  following  with  his  hat  under  his 
arm,  and  his  shock  of  white  hair  streaming  in  the  evening 
breeze. 

"  Might  I  ask  His  Honour,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "  whether 
that  gentleman  we  have  just  left  is  the  gentleman  of  whom 
I  have  heard  in  the  neighbourhood  as  being  much  afflicted 
by  the  loss  of  a  nephew,  and  concentrating  his  life  on 
avenging  the  loss?  " 


190  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

"That  is  the  gentleman.     John  Jasper,  sir." 

"  Would  His  Honour  allow  me  to  inquire  whether  there 
are  strong  suspicions  of  any  one?  " 

"More  than  suspicions,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea;  "all 
but  certainties." 

"  Only  think  now !  "  cried  Mr.  Datchery. 

"  But  proof,  sir,  proof  must  be  built  up  stone  by  stone," 
said  the  Mayor.  "As  I  say,  the  end  crowns  the  work.  It 
is  not  enough  that  Justice  should  be  morally  certain ;  she 
must  be  immorally  certain — legally,  that  is." 

"His  Honour,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "reminds  me  of  the 
nature  of  the  law.  Immoral.  How  true! " 

"As  I  say,  sir,"  pompously  went  on  the  Mayor,  "the 
arm  of  the  law  is  a  strong  arm,  and  a  long  arm.  That  is 
the  way  I  put  it.  A  strong  arm  and  a  long  arm." 

"  How  forcible ! — And  yet,  again,  how  true !  "  murmured 
Mr.  Datchery. 

"And  without  betraying  what  I  call  the  secrets  of  the 
prison-house,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea;  "  the  secrets  of  the  prison- 
house  is  the  term  I  used  on  the  bench." 

"And  what  other  term  than  His  Honour's  would  express 
it?  "  said  Mr.  Datchery. 

"Without,  I  say,  betraying  them,  I  predict  to  you, 
knowing  the  iron  will  of  the  gentleman  we  have  just  left 
(I  take  the  bold  step  of  calling  it  iron,  on  account  of  its 
strength),  that  in  this  case  the  long  arm  will  reach,  and  the 
strong  arm  will  strike. — This  is  our  Cathedral,  sir.  The 
best  judges  are  pleased  to  admire  it,  and  the  best  among  our 
townsmen  own  to  being  a  little  vain  of  it." 

All  this  time  Mr.  Datchery  had  walked  with  his  hat  un- 
der his  arm,  and  his  white  hair  streaming.  He  had  an  odd 
momentary  appearance  upon  him  of  having  forgotten  his 
hat,  when  Mr.  Sapsea  now  touched  it;  and  he  clapped  his 
hand  up  to  his  head  as  if  with  some  vague  expectation  of 
finding  another  hat  upon  it. 

"Pray  be  covered,  sir,"  entreated  Mr.  Sapsea;  magnifi- 
cently implying:  "I  shall  not  mind  it,  I  assure  you." 

"  His  Honour  is  very  good,  but  I  do  it  for  coolness,"  said 
Mr.  Datchery. 

Then  Mr.  Datchery  admired  the  Cathedral,  and  Mr. 
Sapsea  pointed  it  out  as  if  he  himself  had  invented  and 
built  it :  there  were  a  few  details  indeed  of  which  he  did 
not  approve,  but  those  he  glossed  over,  as  if  the  workmen 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  191 

had  made  mistakes  in  his  absence.  The  Cathedral  disposed 
of,  he  led  the  way  by  the  churchyard,  and  stopped  to  extol 
the  beauty  of  the  evening — by  chance — in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  Mrs.  Sapsea's  epitaph. 

"And  by-the-bye,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  appearing  to  de- 
scend from  an  elevation  to  remember  it  all  of  a  sudden; 
like  Apollo  shooting  down  from  Olympus  to  pick  up  his 
forgotten  lyre;  "that  is  one  of  our  small  lions.  The  par- 
tiality of  our  people  hag  made  it  so,  and  strangers  have 
been  seen  taking  a  copy  of  it  now  and  then.  I  am  not  a 
judge  of  it  myself,  for  it  is  a  little  work  of  my  own.  But 
it  was  troublesome  to  turn,  sir;  I  may  say,  difficult  to  turn 
with  elegance." 

Mr.  Datchery  became  so  ecstatic  over  Mr.  Sapsea's  com- 
position, that,  in  spite  of  his  intention  to  end  his  days  in 
Cloisterham,  and  therefore  his  probably  having  in  reserve 
many  opportunities  of  copying  it,  he  would  have  transcribed 
it  into  his  pocket-book  on  the  spot,  but  for  the  slouching 
towards  them  of  its  material  producer  and  perpetuator, 
Durdles,  whom  Mr.  Sapsea  hailed,  not  sorry  to  show  him  a 
bright  example  of  behaviour  to  superiors. 

"Ah,  Durdles!  This  is  the  mason,  sir;  one  of  our  Clois- 
terham worthies;  everybody  here  knows  Durdles.  Mr. 
Datchery,  Durdles;  a  gentleman  who  is  going  to  settle 
here." 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I  was  him,"  growled  Durdles. 
"  We're  a  heavy  lot." 

"  You  surely  don't  speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Durdles,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Datchery,  "any  more  than  for  His  Honour." 

"Who's  His  Honour?"  demanded  Durdles. 

"His  Honour  the  Mayor." 

"I  never  was  brought  afore  him,"  said  Durdles,  with 
anything  but  the  look  of  a  loyal  subject  of  the  mayoralty, 
"and  it'll  be  time  enough  for  me  to  Honour  him  when  I 
am.  Until  which,  and  when,  and  where, 

'  Mister  Sapsea  is  his  name, 

England  is  his  nation, 
Cloisterham's  his  dwelling-place, 

Aukshneer's  his  occupation. '  " 

Here,  Deputy  (preceded  by  a  flying  oyster-shell)  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  requested  to  have  the  sum  of  three- 
pence instantly  "  chucked  "  to  him  by  Mr.  Durdles,  whom 
he  had  been  vainly  seeking  up  and  down,  as  lawful  wages 


192  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

overdue.  While  that  gentleman,  with  his  bundle  under  his 
arm,  slowly  found  and  counted  out  the  money,  Mr.  Sapsea 
informed  the  new  settler  of  Durdles's  habits,  pursuits, 
abode,  and  reputation.  "I  suppose  a  curious  stranger 
might  come  to  see  you,  and  your  works,  Mr.  Durdles,  at 
any  odd  time?  "  said  Mr.  Datchery  upon  that. 

"Any  gentleman  is  welcome  to  come  and  see  me  any 
evening  if  he  brings  liquor  for  two  with  him,"  returned 
Durdles,  with  a  penny  between  his  teeth  and  certain  half- 
pence in  his  hands;  "or  if  he  likes  to  make  it  twice  two, 
he'll  be  doubly  welcome." 

"  I  shall  come.     Master  Deputy,  what  do  you  owe  me?  " 

"A  job." 

"  Mind  you  pay  me  honestly  with  the  job  of  showing  me 
Mr.  Durdles's  house  when  I  want  to  go  there." 

Deputy,  with  a  piercing  broadside  of  whistle  through  the 
whole  gap  in  his  mouth,  as  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  arrears, 
vanished. 

The  Worshipful  and  the  Worshipper  then  passed  on  to- 
gether until  they  parted,  with  many  ceremonies,  at  the 
Worshipful's  door;  even  then  the  Worshipper  carried  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  and  gave  his  streaming  white  hair  to 
the  breeze. 

Said  Mr.  Datchery  to  himself  that  night,  as  he  looked 
at  his  white  hair  in  the  gas-lighted  looking-glass  over  the 
coffee-room  chimneypiece  at  the  Crozier,  and  shook  it  out : 
"  For  a  single  buffer,  of  an  easy  temper,  living  idly  on  his 
means,  I  have  had  a  rather  busy  afternoon  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

SHADOW  ON  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

AGAIN  Miss  Twinkleton  has  delivered  her  valedictory  ad- 
dress, with  the  accompaniments  of  white- wine  and  pound- 
cake, and  again  the  young  ladies  have  departed  to  their 
several  homes.  Helena  Landless  has  left  the  Nuns'  House 
to  attend  her  brother's  fortunes,  and  pretty  Rosa  is  alone. 

Cloisterham  is  so  bright  and  sunny  in  these  summer  days, 
that  the  Cathedral  and  the  monastery-ruins  show  as  if  their 
strong  walls  were  transparent.  A  soft  glow  seems  to  shine 


THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD.  193 

from  within  them,  rather  than  upon  them  from  without, 
such  is  their  mellowness  as  they  look  forth  on  the  hot  corn- 
fields and  the  smoking  roads  that  distantly  wind  among 
them.  The  Cloisterham  gardens  blush  with  ripening  fruit. 
Time  was  when  travel-stained  pilgrims  rode  in  clattering 
parties  through  the  city's  welcome  shades;  time  is  when 
wayfarers,  leading  a  gipsy  life  between  haymaking  time 
and  harvest,  and  looking  as  if  they  were  just  made  of  the 
dust  of  the  earth,  so  very  dusty  are  they,  lounge  about  on 
cool  door-steps,  trying  to  mend  their  unmendable  shoes,  or 
giving  them  to  the  city  kennels  as  a  hopeless  job,  and  seek- 
ing others  in  the  bundles  that  they  carry,  along  with  their 
yet  unused  sickles  swathed  in  bands  of  straw.  At  all  the 
more  public  pumps  there  is  much  cooling  of  bare  feet,  to- 
gether with  much  bubbling  and  gurgling  of  drinking  with 
hand  to  spout  on  the  part  of  these  Bedouins;  the  Cloister- " 
ham  police  meanwhile  looking  askant  from  their  beats  with 
suspicion,  and  manifest  impatience  that  the  intruders  should 
depart  from  within  the  civic  bounds,  and  once  more  fry 
themselves  on  the  simmering  highroads. 

On  the  afternoon  of  such  a  day,  when  the  last  Cathedral 
service  is  done,  and  when  that  side  of  the  High  Street  on 
which  the  Nuns'  House  stands  is  in  grateful  shade,  save 
where  its  quaint  old  garden  opens  to  the  west  between  the 
boughs  of  trees,  a  servant  informs  Rosa,  to  her  terror,  that 
Mr.  Jasper  desires  to  see  her. 

If  he  had  chosen  his  time  for  finding  her  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, he  could  have  done  no  better.  Perhaps  he  has  chosen 
it.  Helena  Landless  is  gone,  Mrs.  Tisher  is  absent  on 
leave,  Miss  Twinkleton  (in  her  amateur  state  of  existence) 
has  contributed  herself  and  a  veal  pie  to  a  picnic. 

"  0  why,  why,  why,  did  you  say  I  was  at  home ! "  cries 
Rosa,  helplessly. 

The  maid  replies,  that  Mr.  Jasper  never  asked  the  ques- 
tion. That  he  said  he  knew  she  was  at  home,  and  begged 
she  might  be  told  that  he  asked  to  see  her. 

"What  shall  I  do!  what  shall  I  do!"  thinks  Rosa, 
clasping  her  hands. 

Possessed  by  a  kind  of  desperation,  she  adds  in  the  next 
breath,  that  she  will  come  to  Mr.  Jasper  in  the  garden. 
She  shudders  at  the  thought  of  being  shut  up  with  him  in 
the  house;  but  many  of  its  windows  command  the  garden, 
and  she  can  be  seen  as  well  as  heard  there,  and  can  shriek 
13 


194  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  the  free  air  and  run  away.  Such  is  the  wild  idea  that 
flutters  through  her  mind. 

She  has  never  seen  him  since  the  fatal  night,  except  when 
she  was  questioned  before  the  Mayor,  and  then  he  was  pres- 
ent in  gloomy  watchfulness,  as  representing  his  lost  nephew 
and  burning  to  avenge  him.  She  hangs  her  garden-hat  on 
her  arm,  and  goes  out.  The  moment  she  sees  him  from  the 
porch,  leaning  on  the  sun-dial,  the  old  horrible  feeling  of 
being  compelled  by  him,  asserts  its  hold  upon  her.  She 
feels  that  she  would  even  then  go  back,  but  that  he  draws 
her  feet  towards  him.  She  cannot  resist,  and  sits  down, 
with  her  head  bent,  on  the  garden-seat  beside  the  sun-dial. 
She  cannot  look  up  at  him  for  abhorrence,  but  she  has  per- 
ceived that  he  is  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  So  is  she.  It 
was  not  so  at  first;  but  the  lost  has  long  been  given  up,  and 
'mourned  for,  as  dead. 

He  would  begin  by  touching  her  hand.  She  feels  the  in- 
tention, and  draws  her  hand  back.  His  eyes  are  then  fixed 
upon  her,  she  knows,  though  her  own  see  nothing  but  the 
grass. 

"I  have  been  waiting,"  he  begins,  "for  some  time,  to  be 
summoned  back  to  my  duty  near  you." 

After  several  times  forming  her  lips,  which  she  knows  he 
is  closely  watching,  into  the  shape  of  some  other  hesitating 
reply,  and  then  into  none,  she  answers :  "  Duty,  sir?  " 

"  The  duty  of  teaching  you,  serving  you  as  your  faithful 
music-master." 

"I  have  left  off  that  study." 

"Not  left  off,  I  think.  Discontinued.  I  was  told  by 
your  guardian  that  you  discontinued  it  under  the  shock  that 
we  have  all  felt  so  acutely.  When  will  you  resume?  " 

"Never,  sir." 

"Never?  You  could  have  done  no  more  if  you  had  loved 
my  dear  boy." 

"  I  did  love  him ! "  cried  Rosa,  with  a  flash  of  anger. 

"  Yes;  but  not  quite — not  quite  in  the  right  way,  shall  I 
say?  Not  in  the  intended  and  expected  way.  Much  as  my 
dear  boy  was,  unhappily,  too  self-conscious  and  self-satis- 
fied (I'll  draw  no  parallel  between  him  and  you  in  that  re- 
spect) to  love  as  he  should  have  loved,  or  as  any  one  in  his 
place  would  have  loved — must  have  loved !  " 

She  sits  in  the  same  still  attitude,  but  shrinking  a  little 
more. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  195 

"  Then,  to  be  told  that  you  discontinued  your  study  with 
me,  was  to  be  politely  told  that  you  abandoned  it  alto- 
gether? "  he  suggested. 

"Yes,"  says  Rosa,  with  sudden  spirit.  "The  politeness 
was  my  guardian's,  not  mine.  I  told  him  that  I  was  re- 
solved to  leave  off,  and  that  I  was  determined  to  stand  by 
my  resolution." 

"And  you  still  are?" 

"  I  still  am,  sir.  And  I  beg  not  to  be  questioned  any 
more  about  it.  At  all  events,  I  will  not  answer  any  more; 
I  have  that  in  my  power." 

She  is  so  conscious  of  his  looking  at  her  with  a  gloating 
admiration  of  the  touch  of  anger  on  her,  and  the  fire  and 
animation  it  brings  with  it,  that  even  as  her  spirit  rises,  it 
falls  again,  and  she  struggles  with  a  sense  of  shame,  af- 
front, and  fear,  much  as  she  did  that  night  at  the  piano. 

"  I  will  not  question  you  any  more,  since  you  object  to  it 
so  much;  I  will  confess — " 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hear  you,  sir,"  cries  Rosa,  rising. 

This  time  he  does  touch  her  with  his  outstretched  hand. 
In  shrinking  from  it,  she  shrinks  into  her  seat  again. 

"  We  must  sometimes  act  in  opposition  to  our  wishes,"  he 
tells  her  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  must  do  so  now,  or  do  more 
harm  to  others  than  you  can  ever  set  right." 

"  What  harm?  " 

"Presently,  presently.  You  question  me,  you  see,  and 
surely  that's  not  fair  when  you  forbid  me  to  question  you. 
Nevertheless,  I  will  answer  the  question  presently.  Dear- 
est Rosa !  Charming  Rosa ! " 

She  starts  up  again. 

This  time  he  does  not  touch  her.  But  his  face  looks  so 
wicked  and  menacing,  as  he  stands  leaning  against  the  sun- 
dial— setting,  as  it  were,  his  black  mark  upon  the  very  face 
of  day — that  her  flight  is  arrested  by  horror  as  she  looks  at 
him. 

"  I  do  not  forget  how  many  windows  command  a  view  of 
us,"  he  says,  glancing  towards  them.  "I  will  not  touch 
you  again;  I  will  come  no  nearer  to  you  than  I  am.  Sit 
down,  and  there  will  be  no  mighty  wonder  in  your  music- 
master's  leaning  idly  against  a  pedestal  and  speaking  with 
you,  remembering  all  that  has  happened,  and  our  shares  in 
it.  Sit  down,  my  beloved." 

She  would  have  gone  once  more — was  all  but  gone — and 


196  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

once  more  his  face,  darkly  threatening  what  would  follow 
if  she  went,  has  stopped  her.  Looking  at  him  with  the  ex- 
pression of  the  instant  frozen  on  her  face,  she  sits  down  on 
the  seat  again. 

"  Rosa,  even  when  my  dear  boy  was  affianced  to  you,  I 
loved  you  madly;  even  when  I  thought  his  happiness  in 
having  you  for  his  wife  was  certain,  I  loved  you  madly; 
even  when  I  strove  to  make  him  more  ardently  devoted  to 
you,  I  loved  you  madly;  even  when  he  gave  me  the  picture 
of  your  lovely  face  so  carelessly  traduced  by  him,  which  I 
feigned  to  hang  always  in  my  sight  for  his  sake,  but  wor- 
shipped in  torment  for  years,  I  loved  you  madly;  in  the 
distasteful  work  of  the  day,  in  the  wakeful  misery  of  the 
night,  girded  by  sordid  realities,  or  wandering  through 
Paradises  and  Hells  of  visions  into  which  I  rushed,  carry- 
ing your  image  in  my  arms,  I  loved  you  madly." 

If  anything  could  make  his  words  more  hideous  to  her 
than  they  are  in  themselves,  it  would  be  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  violence  of  his  look  and  delivery,  and  the  com- 
posure of  his  assumed  attitude. 

"  I  endured  it  all  in  silence.  So  long  as  you  were  his,  or 
so  long  as  I  supposed  you  to  be  his,  I  hid  my  secret  loyally. 
Did  I  not?  " 

This  lie,  so  gross,  while  the  mere  words  in  which  it 
is  told  are  so  true,  is  more  than  Rosa  can  endure.  She 
answers  with  kindling  indignation :  "  You  were  as  false 
throughout,  sir,  as  you  are  now.  You  were  false  to  him, 
daily  and  hourly.  You  know  that  you  made  my  life  un- 
happy by  your  pursuit  of  me.  You  know  that  you  made 
me  afraid  to  open  his  generous  eyes,  and  that  you  forced 
me,  for  his  own  trusting,  good,  good  sake,  to  keep  the  truth 
from  him,  that  you  were  a  bad,  bad  man ! " 

His  preservation  of  his  easy  attitude  rendering  his  work- 
ing features  and  his  convulsive  hands  absolutely  diabolical, 
he  returns,  with  a  fierce  extreme  of  admiration : 

"How  beautiful  you  are!  You  are  more  beautiful  in 
anger  than  in  repose.  I  don't  ask  you  for  your  love;  give 
me  yourself  and  your  hatred;  give  me  yourself  and  that 
pretty  rage;  give  me  yourself  and  that  enchanting  scorn; 
it  will  be  enough  for  me." 

Impatient  tears  rise  to  the  eyes  of  the  trembling  little 
beauty,  and  her  face  flames;  but  as  she  again  rises  to  leave 
him  in  indignation,  and  seek  protection  within  the  house, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  197 

he  stretches  out  his  hand  towards  the  porch,  as  though  he 
invited  her  to  enter  it. 

"  I  told  you,  you  rare  charmer,  you  sweet  witch,  that  you 
must  stay  and  hear  me,  or  do  more  harm  than  can  ever  be 
undone.  You  asked  me  what  harm.  Stay,  and  I  will  tell 
you.  Go,  and  I  will  do  it !  " 

Again  Rosa  quails  before  his  threatening  face,  though 
innocent  of  its  meaning,  and  she  remains.  Her  panting 
breathing  comes  and  goes  as  if  it  would  choke  her;  but 
with  a  repressive  hand  upon  her  bosom,  she  remains. 

"  I  have  made  my  confession  that  my  love  is  mad.  It  is 
so  mad,  that  had  the  ties  between  me  and  my  dear  lost  boy 
been  one  silken  thread  less  strong,  I  might  have  swept  even 
him  from  your  side  when  you  favoured  him." 

A.  film  comes  over  the  eyes  she  raises  for  an  instant,  as 
though  he  had  turned  her  faint. 

"Even  him,"  he  repeats.  "Yes,  even  him!  Rosa,  you 
see  me  and  you  hear  me.  Judge  for  yourself  whether  any 
other  admirer  shall  love  you  and  live,  whose  life  is  in  my 
hand." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  " 

"I  mean  to  show  you  how  mad  my  love  is.  It  was 
hawked  through  the  late  inquiries  by  Mr.  Crisparkle,  that 
young  Landless  had  confessed  to  him  that  he  was  a  rival 
of  my  lost  boy.  That  is  an  inexpiable  offence  in  my  eyes. 
The  same  Mr.  Crisparkle  knows  under  my  hand  that  I  have 
devoted  myself  to  the  murderer's  discovery  and  destruc- 
tion, be  he  whom  he  might,  and  that  I  determined  to  dis- 
cuss the  mystery  with  no  one  until  I  should  hold  the  clue 
in  which  to  entangle  the  murderer  as  in  a  net.  I  have  since 
worked  patiently  to  wind  and  wind  it  round  him ;  and  it  is 
slowly  winding  as  I  speak." 

"  Your  belief,  if  you  believe  in  the  criminality  of  Mr. 
Landless,  is  not  Mr.  Crisparkle's  belief,  and  he  is  a  good 
man,"  Rosa  retorts. 

"My  belief  is  my  own;  and  I  reserve  it,  worshipped  of 
my  soul !  Circumstances  may  accumulate  so  strongly  even 
against  an  innocent  man,  that  directed,  sharpened,  and 
pointed,  they  may  slay  him.  One  wanting  link  discovered 
by  perseverance  against  a  guilty  man,  proves  his  guilt,  how- 
ever slight  its  evidence  before,  and  he  dies.  Young  Land- 
less stands  in  deadly  peril  either  way." 

"If  you  really  suppose,"  Rosa  pleads  with  him,  turning 


198  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

paler,  "  that  I  favour  Mr.  Landless,  or  that  Mr.  Landless  has 
ever  in  any  way  addressed  himself  to  me,  you  are  wrong." 

He  puts  that  from  him  with  a  slighting  action  of  his 
hand  and  a  curled  lip. 

"  I  was  going  to  show  you  how  madly  I  love  you.  More 
madly  now  than  ever,  for  I  am  willing  to  renounce  the  sec- 
ond object  that  has  arisen  in  my  life  to  divide  it  with  you; 
and  henceforth  to  have  no  object  in  existence  but  you  only. 
Miss  Landless  has  become  your  bosom  friend.  You  care 
for  her  peace  of  mind?  " 

"I  love  her  dearly." 

"  You  care  for  her  good  name  ?  " 

"I  have  said,  sir,  I  love  her  dearly." 

"I  am  unconsciously,"  he  observes  with  a  smile,  as  he 
folds  his  hands  upon  the  sun-dial  and  leans  his  chin  upon 
them,  so  that  his  talk  would  seem  from  the  windows  (faces 
occasionally  come  and  go  there)  to  be  of  the  airiest  and 
play  fullest — "  I  am  unconsciously  giving  offence  by  ques- 
tioning again.  I  will  simply  make  statements,  therefore, 
and  not  put  questions.  You  do  care  for  your  bosom  friend's 
good  name,  and  you  do  care  for  her  peace  of  mind.  Then 
remove  the  shadow  of  the  gallows  from  her,  dear  one ! " 

"  You  dare  propose  to  me  to — " 

"  Darling,  I  dare  propose  to  you.  Stop  there.  If  it  be 
bad  to  idolise  you,  I  am  the  worst  of  men;  if  it  be  good,  I 
am  the  best.  My  love  for  you  is  above  all  other  love,  and 
my  truth  to  you  is  above  all  other  truth.  Let  me  have 
hope  and  favour,  and  I  am  a  forsworn  man  for  your 
sake." 

Kosa  puts  her  hands  to  her  temples,  and,  pushing  back 
her  hair,  looks  wildly  and  abhorrently  at  him,  as  though 
she  were  trying  to  piece  together  what  it  is  his  deep  pur- 
pose to  present  to  her  only  in  fragments. 

"  Reckon  up  nothing  at  this  moment,  angel,  but  the  sac- 
rifices that  I  lay  at  those  dear  feet,  which  I  could  fall  down 
among  the  vilest  ashes  and  kiss,  and  put  upon  my  head  as 
a  poor  savage  might.  There  is  my  fidelity  to  my  dear  boy 
after  death.  Tread  upon  it ! " 

With  an  action  of  his  hands,  as  though  he  cast  down 
something  precious. 

"  There  is  the  inexpiable  offence  against  my  adoration  of 
you.  Spurn  it ! " 

With  a  similar  action. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  199 

"  There  are  my  labours  in  the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance 
for  six  toiling  months.  Crush  them !  " 

With  another  repetition  of  the  action. 

"  There  is  my  past  and  my  present  wasted  life.  There 
is  the  desolation  of  rny  heart  and  soul.  There  is  my  peace; 
there  is  my  despair.  Stamp  them  into  the  dust;  so  that 
you  take  me,  were  it  even  mortally  hating  me !  " 

The  frightful  vehemence  of  the  man,  now  reaching  its 
full  height,  so  additionally  terrifies  her  as  to  break  the 
spell  that  has  held  her  to  the  spot.  She  swiftly  moves 
towards  the  porch;  but  in  an  instant  he  is  at  her  side,  and 
speaking  in  her  ear. 

"Rosa,  I  am  self -repressed  again.  I  am  walking  calmly 
beside  you  to  the  house.  I  shall  wait  for  some  encourage- 
ment and  hope.  I  shall  not  strike  too  soon.  Give  me  a 
sign  that  you  attend  to  me." 

She  slightly  and  constrainedly  moves  her  hand. 

"  Not  a  word  of  this  to  any  one,  or  it  will  bring  down  the 
blow,  as  certainly  as  night  follows  day.  Another  sign  that 
you  attend  to  me." 

She  moves  her  hand  once  more. 

"I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you !  If  you  were  to  cast  me 
off  now — but  you  will  not — you  would  never  be  rid  of  me. 
No  one  should  come  between  us.  I  would  pursue  you  to 
the  death." 

The  handmaid  coming  out  to  open  the  gate  for  him,  he 
quietly  pulls  off  his  hat  as  a  parting  salute,  and  goes  away 
with  no  greater  show  of  agitation  than  is  visible  in  the 
effigy  of  Mr.  Sapsea's  father  opposite.  Rosa  faints  in  go- 
ing up-stairs,  and  is  carefully  carried  to  her  room  and  laid 
down  on  her  bed.  A  thunderstorm  is  coming  on,  the  maids 
say,  and  the  hot  and  stifling  air  has  overset  the  pretty  dear : 
no  wonder;  they  have  felt  their  own  knees  all  of  a  tremble 
all  day  long. 


200  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD. 

CHAPTER    XX. 

A  FLIGHT. 

ROSA  no  sooner  came  to  herself  than  the  whole  of  the  late 
Interview  was  before  her.  It  even  seemed  as  if  it  had  pur- 
sued her  into  her  insensibility,  and  she  had  not  had  a  mo- 
ment's unconsciousness  of  it.  What  to  do,  she  was  at  a 
frightened  loss  to  know :  the  only  one  clear  thought  in  her 
mind  was,  that  she  must  fly  from  this  terrible  man. 

But  where  could  she  take  refuge,  and  how  could  she  go? 
She  had  never  breathed  her  dread  of  him  to  any  one  but 
Helena.  If  she  went  to  Helena,  and  told  her  what  had 
passed,  that  very  act  might  bring  down  the  irreparable  mis- 
chief that  he  threatened  he  had  the  power,  and  that  she 
knew  he  had  the  will,  to  do.  The  more  fearful  he  appeared 
to  her  excited  memory  and  imagination,  the  more  alarming 
her  responsibility  appeared;  seeing  that  a  slight  mistake 
on  her  part,  either  in  action  or  delay,  might  let  his  malevo- 
lence loose  on  Helena's  brother. 

Rosa's  mind  throughout  the  last  six  months  had  been 
stormily  confused.  A  half-formed,  wholly  unexpressed 
suspicion  tossed  in  it,  now  heaving  itself  up,  and  now  sink- 
ing into  the  deep;  now  gaining  palpability,  and  now  losing 
it.  Jasper's  self-absorption  .in  his  nephew  when  he  was 
alive,  and  his  unceasing  pursuit  of  the  inquiry  how  he  came 
by  his  death,  if  he  were  dead,  were  themes  so  rife  in  the 
place,  that  no  one  appeared  able  to  suspect  the  possibility 
of  foul  play  at  his  hands.  She  had  asked  herself  the  ques- 
tion, "  Am  I  so  wicked  in  my  thoughts  as  to  conceive  a 
wickedness  that  others  cannot  imagine?  "  Then  she  had 
considered,  Did  the  suspicion  come  of  her  previous  recoil- 
ing from  him  before  the  fact?  And  if  so,  was  not  that  a 
proof  of  its  baselessness?  Then  she  had  reflected,  "  What 
motive  could  he  have,  according  to  my  accusation?  "  She 
was  ashamed  to  answer  in  her  mind,  "The  motive  of  gain- 
ing me!  "  And  covered  her  face,  as  if  the  lightest  shadow 
of  the  idea  of  founding  murder  on  such  an  idle  vanity  were 
a  crime  almost  as  great. 

She  ran  over  in  her  mind  again,  all  that  he  had  said  by 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN   DKOOD.  201 

the  sun-dial  in  the  garden.  He  had  persisted  in  treating 
the  disappearance  as  murder,  consistently  with  his  whole 
public  course  since  the  finding  of  the  watch  and  shirt-pin. 
If  he  were  afraid  of  the  crime  being  traced  out,  would  he 
not  rather  encourage  the  idea  of  a  voluntary  disappearance? 
He  had  even  declared  that  if  the  ties  between  him  and  his 
nephew  had  been  less  strong,  he  might  have  swept  "  even 
him  "  away  from  her  side.  Was  that  like  his  having  really 
done  so?  He  had  spoken  of  laying  his  six  months'  labours 
in  the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance  at  her  feet.  Would  he 
have  done  that,  with  that  violence  of  passion,  if  they  were 
a  pretence?  Would  he  have  ranged  them  with  his  desolate 
heart  and  soul,  his  wasted  life,  his  peace  and  his  despair? 
The  very  first  sacrifice  that  he  represented  himself  as  mak- 
ing for  her,  was  his  fidelity  to  his  dear  boy  after  death. 
Surely  these  facts  were  strong  against  a  fancy  that  scarcely 
dared  to  hint  itself.  And  yet  he  was  so  terrible  a  man !  In 
short,  the  poor  girl  /for  what  could  she  know  of  the  crim- 
inal intellect,  which  its  own  professed  students  perpetually 
misread,  because  they  persist  in  trying  to  reconcile  it  with 
the  average  intellect  of  average  men,  instead  of  identifying 
it  as  a  horrible  wonder  apart)  could  get  by  no  road  to  any 
other  conclusion  than  that  he  was  a  terrible  man,  and  must 
be  fled  from. 

She  had  been  Helena's  stay  and  comfort  during  the 
whole  time.  She  had  constantly  assured  her  of  her  full 
belief  in  her  brother's  innocence,  and  of  her  sympathy  with 
him  in  his  misery.  But  she  had  never  seen  him  since  the 
disappearance,  nor  had  Helena  ever  spoken  one  word  of  his 
avowal  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  in  regard  of  Rosa,  though  as  a 
part  of  the  interest  of  the  case  it  was  well  known  far  and 
wide.  He  was  Helena's  unfortunate  brother,  to  her,  and 
nothing  more.  The  assurance  she  had  given  her  odious 
suitor  was  strictly  true,  though  it  would  have  been  better 
(she  considered  now)  if  she  could  have  restrained  herself 
from  so  giving  it.  Afraid  of  him  as  the  bright  and  delicate 
little  creature  was,  her  spirit  swelled  at  the  thought  of  his 
knowing  it  from  her  own  lips. 

But  where  was  she  to  go?  Anywhere  beyond  his  reach, 
was  no  reply  to  the  question.  Somewhere  must  be  thought 
of.  She  determined  to  go  to  her  guardian,  and  to  go  im- 
mediately. The  feeling  she  had  imparted  to  Helena  on  the 
night  of  their  first  confidence,  was  so  strong  upon  her — 


202  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

the  feeliiig  of  not  being  safe  from  him,  and  of  the  solid 
walls  of  the  old  convent  being  powerless  to  keep  out  his 
ghostly  following  of  her — that  no  reasoning  of  her  own 
could  calm  her  terrors.  The  fascination  of  repulsion  had 
been  upon  her  so  long,  and  now  culminated  so  darkly,  that 
she  felt  as  if  he  had  power  to  bind  her  by  a  spell.  Glan- 
cing out  at  window,  even  now,  as  she  rose  to  dress,  the  sight 
of  the  sun-dial  on  which  he  had  leaned  when  he  declared 
himself,  turned  her  cold,  and  made  her  shrink  from  it  as 
though  he  had  invested  it  with  some  awful  quality  from 
his  own  nature. 

She  wrote  a  hurried  note  to  Miss  Twinkleton,  saying 
that  she  had  sudden  reason  for  wishing  to  see  her  guardian 
promptly,  and  had  gone  to  him;  also,  entreating  the  good 
lady  not  to  be  uneasy,  for  all  was  well  with  her.  She  hur- 
ried a  few  quite  useless  articles  into  a  very  little  bag,  left 
the  note  in  a  conspicuous  place,  and  went  oui,  softly  clos- 
ing the  gate  after  her. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  even  in  Cloister- 
ham  High-street  alone.  But  knowing  all  its  ways  and 
windings  very  well,  she  hurried  straight  to  the  corner  from 
which  the  omnibus  departed.  It  was,  at  that  very  moment, 
going  off. 

"  Stop  and  take  me,  if  you  please,  Joe.  I  am  obliged  to 
go  to  London." 

In  less  than  another  minute  she  was  on  her  road  to  the 
railway,  under  Joe's  protection.  Joe  waited  on  her  when 
she  got  there,  put  her  safely  into  the  railway  carriage,  and 
handed  in  the  very  little  bag  after  her,  as  though  it  were 
some  enormous  trunk,  hundred- weights  heavy,  which  she 
must  on  no  account  endeavour  to  lift. 

"  Can  you  go  round  when  you  get  back,  and  tell  Miss 
Twinkleton  that  you  saw  me  safely  off,  Joe?  " 

"It  shall  be  done,  Miss." 

"With  my  love,  please,  Joe." 

"  Yes,  Miss — and  I  wouldn't  mind  having  it  myself !  " 
But  Joe  did  not  articulate  the  last  clause;  only  thought  it. 

Now  that  she  was  whirling  away  for  London  in  real  ear- 
nest, Rosa  was  at  leisure  to  resume  the  thoughts  which  her 
personal  hurry  had  checked.  The  indignant  thought  that 
his  declaration  of  love  soiled  her;  that  she  could  only  be 
cleansed  from  the  stain  of  its  impurity  by  appealing  to  the 
honest  and  true;  supported  her  for  a  time  against  her  fears, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  203 

and  confirmed  her  in  her  hasty  resolution.  But  as  the 
evening  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  the  great  city  im- 
pended nearer  and  nearer,  the  doubts  usual  in  such  cases 
began  to  arise.  Whether  this  was  not  a  wild  proceeding, 
after  all;  how  Mr.  Grewgious  might  regard  it;  whether  she 
should  find  him  at  the  journey's  end;  how  she  would  act  if 
he  were  absent;  what  might  become  of  her,  alone,  in  a 
place  so  strange  and  crowded;  how  if  she  had  but  waited 
and  taken  counsel  first;  whether,  if  she  could  now  go  back, 
she  would  not  do  it  thankfully;  a  multitude  of  such  uneasy 
speculations  disturbed  her,  more  and  more  as  they  accu- 
mulated. At  length  the  train  came  into  London  over  the 
housetops;  and  down  below  lay  the  gritty  streets  with  their 
yet  un-needed  lamps  aglow,  on  a  hot  light  summer  night. 

"  Hiram  Grewgious,  Esquire,  Staple  Inn,  London."  This 
was  all  Rosa  knew  of  her  destination;  but  it  was  enough  to 
send  her  rattling  away  again  in  a  cab,  through  deserts  of 
gritty  streets,  where  many  people  crowded  at  the  corner  of 
courts  and  byways  to  get  some  air,  and  where  many  other 
people  walked  with  a  miserably  monotonous  noise  of  shuf- 
fling of  feet  on  hot  paving-stones,  and  where  all  the  people 
and  all  their  surroundings  were  so  gritty  and  so  shabby ! 

There  was  music  playing  here  and  there,  but  it  did  not 
enliven  the  case.  No  barrel-organ  mended  the  matter,  and 
no  big  drum  beat  dull  care  away.  Like  the  chapel  bells 
that  were  also  going  here  and  there,  they  only  seemed  to 
evoke  echoes  from  brick  surfaces,  and  dust  from  everything. 
As  to  the  flat  wind-instruments,  they  seemed  to  have 
cracked  their  hearts  and  souls  in  pining  for  the  country. 

Her  jingling  conveyance  stopped  at  last  at  a  fast-closed 
gateway,  which  appeared  to  belong  to  somebody  who  had 
gone  to  bed  very  early,  and  was  much  afraid  of  housebreak- 
ers; Rosa,  discharging  her  conveyance,  timidly  knocked  at 
this  gateway,  and  was  let  in,  very  little  bag  and  all,  by  a 
watchman. 

"  Does  Mr.  Grewgious  live  here?  " 

"  Mr.  Grewgious  lives  there,  Miss,"  said  the  watchman, 
pointing  further  in. 

So  Rosa  went  further  in,  and,  when  the  clocks  were 
striking  ten,  stood  on  P.  J.  T.'s  doorsteps,  wondering  what 
P.  J.  T.  had  done  with  his  street-door. 

Guided  by  the  painted  name  of  Mr.  Grewgious,  she  went 
upstairs  and  softly  tapped  and  tapped  several  times.  But 


204  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

no  one  answering,  and  Mr.  Grewgious's  door-handle  yield- 
ing to  her  touch,  she  went  in,  and  saw  her  guardian  sitting 
on  a  window-seat  at  an  open  window,  with  a  shaded  lamp 
placed  far  from  him  on  a  table  in  a  corner. 

Rosa  drew  nearer  to  him  in  the  twilight  of  the  room. 
He  saw  her,  and  he  said,  in  an  undertone;  "  Good  Heaven ! " 

Eosa  fell  upon  his  neck,  with  tears,  and  then  he  said,  re- 
turning her  embrace : 

"  My  child,  my  child !  I  thought  you  were  your  mother ! 
—But  what,  what,  what,"  he  added,  soothingly,  "has  hap- 
pened? My  dear,  what  has  brought  you  here?  Who  has 
brought  you  here?  " 

"No  one.     I  came  alone." 

"  Lord  bless  me !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Came 
alone!  Why  didn't  you  write  to  me  to  come  and  fetch 
you?  " 

"I  had  no  time.  I  took  a  sudden  resolution.  Poor, 
poor  Eddy ! " 

"  Ah,  poor  fellow,  poor  fellow ! " 

"  His  uncle  has  made  love  to  me.  I  cannot  bear  it,"  said 
Rosa,  at  once  with  a  burst  of  tears,  and  the  stamp  of  her 
little  foot;  "  I  shudder  with  horror  of  him,  and  I  have  come 
to  you  to  protect  me  and  all  of  us  from  him,  if  you  will?  " 

"I  will,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
amazing  energy.  "  Damn  him ! 

'  Confound  his  politics ! 
Frustrate  his  knavish  tricks! 
On  Thee  his  hopes  to  fix? 
Damn  him  again ! '  " 

After  this  most  extraordinary  outburst,  Mr.  Grewgious, 
quite  beside  himself,  plunged  about  the  room,  to  all  ap- 
pearance undecided  whether  he  was  in  a  fit  of  loyal  enthu- 
siasm, or  combative  denunciation. 

He  stopped  and  said,  wiping  his  face;  "I  beg  your  par- 
don, my  dear,  but  you  will  be  glad  to  know  I  feel  better. 
Tell  me  no  more  just  now,  or  I  might  do  it  again.  You 
must  be  refreshed  and  cheered.  What  did  you  take  last? 
Was  it  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  tea,  or  supper?  And  what 
will  you  take  next?  Shall  it  be  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner, 
tea,  or  supper?  " 

The  respectful  tenderness  with  which,  on  one  knee  before 
her,  he  helped  her  to  remove  her  hat,  and  disentangle  her 
pretty  hair  from  it,  was  quite  a  chivalrous  sight.  Yet  who, 


THE  MYSTERY   OP   EDWIN   DROOD.  205 

knowing  him  only  on  the  surface,  would  have  expected 
chivalry — and  of  the  true  sort,  too;  not  the  spurious — from 
Mr.  Grewgious? 

"  Your  rest  too  must  be  provided  for,"  he  went  on;  "and 
you  shall  have  the  prettiest  chamber  in  Fumival's.  Your 
toilet  must  b«  provided  for,  and  you  shall  have  everything 
that  an  unlimited  head  chambermaid — by  which  expression 
I  mean  a  head  chambermaid  not  limited  as  to  outlay — can 
procure.  Is  that  a  bag?  "  he  looked  hard  at  it;  sooth  to 
say,  it  required  hard  looking  at  to  be  seen  at  all  in  a  dimly 
lighted  room :  "  and  is  it  your  property,  my  dear?  " 

"Yes,  sir.     I  brought  it  with  me." 

"It  is  not  an  extensive  bag,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  can- 
didly, "though  admirably  calculated  to  contain  a  day's 
provision  for  a  canary-bird.  Perhaps  you  brought  a  canary- 
bird?  " 

Kosa  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  had,  he  should  have  been  made  welcome, "  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "  and  I  think  he  would  have  been  pleased 
to  be  hung  upon  a  nail  outside  and  pit  himself  against  our 
Staple  sparrows;  whose  execution  must  be  admitted  to  be 
not  quite  equal  to  their  intention.  Which  is  the  case  with 
so  many  of  us!  You  didn't  say  what  meal,  my  dear. 
Have  a  nice  jumble  of  all  meals." 

Rosa  thanked  him,  but  said  she  could  only  take  a  cup  of 
tea.  Mr.  Grewgious,  after  several  times  running  out,  and 
in  again,  to  mention  such  supplementary  items  as  marma- 
lade, eggs,  water-cresses,  salted  fish,  and  frizzled  ham,  ran 
across  to  Fumival's  without  his  hat,  to  give  his  various  di- 
rections. And  soon  afterwards  they  were  realised  in  prac- 
tice, and  the  board  was  spread. 

"Lord  bless  my  soul,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  putting  the 
lamp  upon  it,  and  taking  his  seat  opposite  Rosa;  "what  a 
new  sensation  for  a  poor  old  Angular  bachelor,  to  be  sure !  " 

Rosa's  expressive  little  eyebrows  asked  him  what  he 
meant? 

"  The  sensation  of  having  a  sweet  young  presence  in  the 
place,  that  whitewashes  it,  paints  it,  papers  it,  decorates 
it  with  gilding,  and  makes  it  Glorious ! "  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious. "Ah  me!  Ah  me!" 

As  there  was  something  mournful  in  his  sigh,  Rosa,  in 
touching  him  with  her  tea-cup,  ventured  to  touch  him  with 
her  small  hand  too. 


20G  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DEOOD. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Ahem! 
Let' stalk!" 

"  Do  you  always  live  here,  sir?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"Yes,  my  dear." 

"  And  always  alone?  " 

"Always  alone;  except  that  I  have  daily  company  in  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Bazzard,  my  clerk." 

"  He  doesn't  live  here?  " 

"No,  he  goes  his  way,  after  office  hours.     In  fact,  he  is 
off  duty  here,  altogether,  just  at  present;  and  a  firm  down- . 
stairs,  with  which  I  have  business  relations,  lend  me  a  sub- 
stitute.    But  it  would  be  extremely  difficult  to  replace  Mr. 
Bazzard." 

"  He  must  be  very  fond  of  you,"  said  Rosa. 

"  He  bears  up  against  it  with  commendable  fortitude  if 
he  is,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious,  after  considering  the  mat- 
ter. "  But  I  doubt  if  he  is.  Not  particularly  so.  You  see, 
he  is  discontented,  poor  fellow." 

"  Why  isn't  he  contented?  "  was  the  natural  inquiry. 

"Misplaced,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  great  mystery. 

Rosa's  eyebrows  resumed  their  inquisitive  and  perplexed 
expression. 

"So  misplaced,"  Mr*  Grewgious  went  on,  "that  I  feel 
constantly  apologetic  towards  him.  And  he  feels  (though 
he  doesn't  mention  it)  that  I  have  reason  to  be." 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  this  time  grown  so  very  mysteri- 
ous, that  Rosa  did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  While  she  was 
thinking  about  it  Mr.  Grewgious  suddenly  jerked  out  of 
himself  for  the  second  time : 

"Let's  talk.  We  were  speaking  of  Mr.  Bazzard.  It's  a 
secret,  and  moreover  it  is  Mr.  Bazzard' s  secret;  but  the 
sweet  presence  at  my  table  makes  me  so  unusually  expan- 
sive, that  I  feel  I  must  impart  it  in  inviolable  confidence. 
What  do  you  think  Mr.  Baz/ard  has  done?  " 

"  0  dear ! "  cried  Rosa,  drawing  her  chair  a  little  nearer, 
and  her  mind  reverting  to  Jasper,  "nothing  dreadful,  I 
hope?  " 

"He  has  written  a  play,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  a  sol- 
emn whisper.  "A  tragedy." 

Rosa  seemed  much  relieved. 

"And  nobody,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious  in  the  same 
tone,  "  will  hear,  on  any  account  whatever,  of  bringing  it 
out." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         207 

Rosa  looked  reflective,  and  nodded  her  head  slowly;  as 
who  should  say,  "  Such  things  are,  and  why  are  they ! "  . 

"Now,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "/  couldn't 
write  a  play." 

"  Not  a  bad  one,  sir?  "  said  Rosa,  innocently,  with  her 
eyebrows  again  in  action. 

"  No.  If  I  was  under  sentence  of  decapitation,  and  was 
about  to  be  instantly  decapitated,  and  an  express  arrived 
with  a  pardon  for  the  condemned  convict  Grewgious  if  he 
wrote  a  play,  I  should  be  under  the  necessity  of  resuming 
the  block,  and  begging  the  executioner  to  proceed  to  ex- 
tremities,— meaning,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  passing  his 
hand  under  his  chin,  "  the  singular  number,  and  this  ex- 
tremity." 

Rosa  appeared  to  consider  what  she  would  do  if  the  awk- 
ward supposititious  case  were  hers. 

"Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "Mr.  Bazzard 
would  have  a  sense  of  my  inferiority  to  himself  under  any 
circumstances;  but  when  I  am  his  master,  you  know,  the 
case  is  greatly  aggravated." 

Mr.  Grewgious  shook  his  head  seriously,  as  if  he  felt  the 
offence  to  be  a  little  too  much,  though  of  his  own  commit- 
ting. 

"  How  came  you  to  be  his  master,  sir?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  A  question  that  naturally  follows,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Let's  talk.  Mr.  Bazzard's  father,  being  a  Norfolk  farmer, 
would  have  furiously  laid  about  him  with  a  flail,  a  pitch- 
fork, and  every  agricultural  implement  available  for  as- 
saulting purposes,  on  the  slightest  hint  of  his  son's  having 
written  a  play.  So  the  son,  bringing  to  me  the  father's 
rent  (which  I  receive),  imparted  his  secret,  and  pointed  out 
that  he  was  determined  to  pursue  his  genius,  and  that  it 
would  put  him  in  peril  of  starvation,  and  that  he  was  not 
formed  for  it." 

"  For  pursuing  his  genius,  sir?  " 

"No,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "for  starvation. 
It  was  impossible  to  deny  the  position,  that  Mr.  Bazzard 
was  not  formed  to  be  starved,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  then  pointed 
out  that  it  was  desirable  that  I  should  stand  between  him 
and  a  fate  so  perfectly  unsuited  to  his  formation.  In  that 
way  Mr.  Bazzard  became  my  clerk,  and  he  feels  it  very 
much." 

"I  am  glad  he  is  grateful,"  said  Rosa. 


208  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD. 

"  I  didn't  quite  mean  that,  my  dear.  I  mean,  that  he 
feels  the  degradation.  There  are  some  other  geniuses  that 
Mr.  Bazzard  has  become  acquainted  with,  who  have  also 
written  tragedies,  which  likewise  nobody  will  on  any  ac- 
count whatever  hear  of  bringing  out,  and  these  choice  spirits 
dedicate  their  plays  to  one  another  in  a  highly  panegyrical 
manner.  Mr.  Bazzard  has  been  the  subject  of  one  of  these 
dedications.  Now,  you  know,  1  never  had  a  play  dedicated 
to  me  !  " 

Rosa  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would  have  liked  him  to  be 
the  recipient  of  a  thousand  dedications. 

"  Which  again,  naturally,  rubs  against  the  grain  of  Mr. 
Bazzard,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "He  is  very  short  with  me 
sometimes,  and  then  I  feel  that  he  is  meditating,  '  This 
blockhead  is  my  master!  A  fellow  who  couldn't  write  a 
tragedy  on  pain  of  death,  and  who  will  never  have  one  ded- 
icated to  him  with  the  most  complimentary  congratulations 
on  the  high  position  he  has  taken  in  the  eyes  of  posterity ! ' 
Very  trying,  very  trying.  However,  in  giving  him  direc- 
tions, I  reflect  beforehand :  '  Perhaps  he  may  not  like  this,' 
or  '  He  might  take  it  ill  if  I  asked  that; '  and  so  we  get  on 
very  well.  Indeed,  better  than  I  could  have  expected." 

"  Is  the  tragedy  named,  sir?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"Strictly  between  ourselves,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  it  has  a  dreadfully  appropriate  name.  It  is  called  The 
Thorn  of  Anxiet}'.  But  Mr.  Bazzard  hopes — and  I  hope — 
that  it  will  come  out  at  last." 

It  was  not  hard  to  divine  that  Mr.  Grewgious  had  related 
the  Bazzard  history  thus  fully,  at  least  quite  as  much  for 
the  recreation  of  his  ward's  mind  from  the  subject  that  had 
driven  her  there,  as  for  the  gratification  of  his  own  ten- 
dency to  be  social  and  communicative. 

"And  now,  my  dear,"  he  said  at  this  point,  "if  you  are 
not  too  tired  to  tell  me  more  of  what  passed  to-day — but 
only  if  you  feel  quite  able — I  should  be  glad  to  hear  it.  I 
may  digest  it  the  better,  if  I  sleep  on  it  to-night." 

Rosa,  composed  now,  gave  him  a  faithful  account  of  the 
interview.  Mr.  Grewgious  often  smoothed  his  head  while 
it  was  in  progress,  and  begged  to  be  told  a  second  time 
those  parts  which  bore  on  Helena  and  Neville.  When  Rosa 
had  finished,  he  sat  grave,  silent,  and  meditative  for  a 
while. 

"Clearly  narrated,"  was  his  only  remark  at  last,  "and, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  209 

I  hope,  clearly  put  away  here/'  smoothing  his  head  again. 
"See,  my  dear,"  taking  her  to  the  open  window,  "where 
they  live!  The  dark  windows  over  yonder." 

"  I  may  go  to  Helena  to-morrow?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  I  should  like  to  sleep  on  that  question  to-night,"  he 
answered  doubtfully.  "  But  let  me  take  you  to  your  own 
rest,  for  you  must  need  it." 

With  that  Mr.  Grewgious  helped  her  to  get  her  hat  on 
again,  and  hung  upon  his  arm  the  very  little  bag  that  was 
of  no  earthly  use,  and  led  her  by  the  hand  (with  a  certain 
stately  awkwardness,  as  if  he  were  going  to  walk  a  minuet) 
across  Holborn,  and  into  Furnival's  Inn.  At  the  hotel 
door,  he  confided  her  to  the  Unlimited  head  chambermaid, 
and  said  that  while  she  went  up  to  see  her  room,  he  would 
remain  below,  in  case  she  should  wish  it  exchanged  for  an- 
other, or  should  find  that  there  was  anything  she  wanted. 

Rosa's  room  was  airy,  clean,  comfortable,  almost  gay. 
The  Unlimited  had  laid  in  everything  omitted  from  the  very 
little  bag  (that  is  to  say,  everything  she  could  possibly 
need),  and  Rosa  tripped  down  the  great  many  stairs  again, 
to  thank  her  guardian  for  his  thoughtful  and  affectionate 
care  of  her. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  infinitely 
gratified;  "it  is  I  who  thank  you  for  your  charming  confi- 
dence and  for  your  charming  company.  Your  breakfast 
will  be  provided  for  you  in  a  neat,  compact,  and  graceful 
little  sitting-room  (appropriate  to  your  figure),  and  I  will 
come  to  you  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  hope  you 
don't  feel  very  strange  indeed,  in  this  strange  place." 

"  O  no,  I  feel  so  safe !  " 

"  Yes,  you  may  be  sure  that  the  stairs  are  fire-proof," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "and  that  any  outbreak  of  the  de- 
vouring element  would  be  perceived  and  suppressed  by  the 
watchmen." 

"I  did  not  mean  that,"  Rosa  replied.  "I  mean,  I  feel 
so  safe  from  him." 

"  There  is  a  stout  gate  of  iron  bars  to  keep  him  out,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious  smiling;  "and  Furnival's  is  fire-proof,  and 
specially  watched  and  lighted,  and  1  live  over  the  way ! " 
In  the  stoutness  of  his  knight-errantry,  he  seemed  to  think 
the  last-named  protection  all-sufficient.  In  the  same  spirit 
he  said  to  the  gate-porter  as  he  went  out,  "  If  some  one 
staying  in  the  hotel  should  wish  to  send  across  the  road  to 
14 


210  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

me  in  the  night,  a  crown  will  be  ready  for  the  messenger." 
In  the  same  spirit,  he  walked  up  and  down  outside  the  iron 
gate  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  with  some  solicitude;  oc- 
casionally looking  in  betweeen  the  bars,  as  if  he  had  laid 
a  dove  in  a  high  roost  in  a  cage  of  lions,  and  had  it  on  his 
mind  that  she  might  tumble  out. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

A  RECOGNITION. 

NOTHING  occurred  in  the  night  to  flutter  the  tired  dove; 
and  the  dove  arose  refreshed.  With  Mr.  Grewgious,  when 
the  clock  struck  ten  in  the  morning,  came  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
who  had  come  at  one  plunge  out  of  the  river  at  Cloisterham. 

"  Miss  Twinkleton  was  so  uneasy,  Miss  Rosa,"  he  ex- 
plained to  her,  "  and  came  round  to  Ma  and  me  with  your 
note,  in  such  a  state  of  wonder,  that,  to  quiet  her,  I  volun- 
teered on  this  service  by  the  very  first  train  to  be  caught  in 
the  morning.  I  wished  at  the  time  that  you  had  come  to 
me;  but  now  I  think  it  best  that  you  did  as  you  did,  and 
came  to  your  guardian. " 

"  I  did  think  of  you,"  Rosa  told  him;  "  but  Minor  Canon 
Corner  was  so  near  him — " 

"I  understand.     It  was  quite  natural." 

"I  have  told  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "all 
that  you  told  me  last  night,  my  dear.  Of  course  I  should 
have  written  it  to  him  immediately;  but  his  coming  was 
most  opportune.  And  it  was  particularly  kind  of  him  to 
come,  for  he  had  but  just  gone." 

"Have  you  settled,"  asked  Rosa,  appealing  to  them 
both,  "  what  is  to  be  done  for  Helena  and  her  brother?  " 

"Why  really,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "I  am  in  great  per- 
plexity. If  even  Mr.  Grewgious,  whose  head  is  much 
longer  than  mine,  and  who  is  a  whole  night's  cogitation  in 
advance  of  me,  is  undecided,  what  must  I  be !  " 

The  Unlimited  here  put  her  head  in  at  the  door — after 
having  rapped,  and  been  authorised  to  present  herself — an- 
nouncing that  a  gentleman  wished  for  a  word  with  another 
gentleman  named  Crisparkle,  if  any  such  gentleman  were 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD. 

there.  If  no  sucli  gentleman  were  there,  he  begged  pardon 
for  being  mistaken. 

"  Such  a  gentleman  is  here,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "but  is 
engaged  just  now." 

"  Is  it  a  dark  gentleman?  "  interposed  Eosa,  retreating  011 
her  guardian. 

"No,  Miss,  more  of  a  brown  gentleman." 

"  You  are  sure  not  with  black  hair?  "  asked  Rosa,  taking 
courage. 

"Quite  sure  of  that,  Miss.     Brown  hair  and  blue  eyes." 

"Perhaps,"  hinted  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  habitual  cau- 
tion, "it  might  be  well  to  see  him,  reverend  sir,  if  you 
don't  object.  When  one  is  in  a  difficulty  or  at  a  loss,  one 
never  knows  in  what  direction  a  way  out  may  chance  to 
open.  It  is  a  business  principle  of  mine,  in  such  a  case, 
not  to  close  up  any  direction,  but  to  keep  an  eye  on  every 
direction  that  may  present  itself.  I  could  relate  an  anec- 
dote in  point,  but  that  it  would  be  premature." 

"  If  Miss  Rosa  will  allow  me,  then?  Let  the  gentleman 
come  in,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

The  gentleman  came  in;  apologised,  with  a  frank  but 
modest  grace,  for  not  finding  Mr.  Crisparkle  alone;  turned 
to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  smilingly  asked  the  unexpected 
question :  "  Who  am  I?  " 

"  You  are  the  gentleman  I  saw  smoking  under  the  trees 
in  Staple  Inn,  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"True.     There  I  saw  you.     Who  else  am  I?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  concentrated  his  attention  on  a  handsome 
face,  much  sunburnt;  and  the  ghost  of  some  departed  boy 
seemed  to  rise,  gradually  and  dimly,  in  the  room. 

The  gentleman  saw  a  struggling  recollection  lighten  up 
the  Minor  Canon's  features,  and  smiling  again,  said: 
"  What  will  you  have  for  breakfast  this  morning?  You  are 
out  of  jam." 

"  Wait  a  moment ! "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle,  raising  his 
right  hand.  "  Give  me  another  instant !  Tartar !  " 

The  two  shook  hands  with  the  greatest  heartiness,  and 
then  went  the  wonderful  length — for  Englishmen — of  lay- 
ing their  hands  each  on  the  other's  shoulders,  and  looking 
joyfully  each  into  the  other's  face. 

"My  old  fag!"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  My  old  master !  "  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

"  You  saved  me  from  drowning !  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 


212  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  After  which  you  took  to  swimming,  you  know ! "  said 
Mr.  Tartar. 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Amen !  "  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

And  then  they  fell  to  shaking  hands  most  heartily  again. 

"Imagine,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Crisparkle,  with  glistening 
eyes:  "Miss  Rosa  Bud  and  Mr.  Grewgious,  imagine  Mr. 
Tartar,  when  he  was  the  smallest  of  juniors,  diving  for  me, 
catching  me,  a  big  heavy  senior,  by  the  hair  of  the  head, 
and  striking  out  for  the  shore  with  me  like  a  water-giant !  " 

"Imagine  my  not  letting  him  sink,  as  I  was  his  fag!" 
said  Mr.  Tartar.  "  But  the  truth  being  that  he  was  my 
best  protector  and  friend,  and  did  me  more  good  than  all 
the  masters  put  together,  an  irrational  impulse  seized  me 
to  pick  him  up,  or  go  down  with  him." 

"Hem!  Permit  me,  sir,  to  have  the  honour,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  advancing  with  extended  hand,  "  for  an  honour 
I  truly  esteem  it.  I  am  proud  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
I  hope  you  didn't  take  cold.  I  hope  you  were  not  incon- 
venienced by  swallowing  too  much  water.  How  have  you 
been  since?  " 

It  was  by  no  means  apparent  that  Mr.  Grewgious  knew 
what  he  said,  though  it  was  very  apparent  that  he  meant 
to  say  something  highly  friendly  and  appreciative. 

If  Heaven,  Rosa  thought,  had  but  sent  such  courage  and 
skill  to  her  poor  mother's  aid !  And  he  to  have  been  so 
slight  and  young  then ! 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  complimented  upon  it,  I  thank  you; 
but  I  think  I  have  an  idea,"  Mr.  Grewgious  announced, 
after  taking  a  jog-trot  or  two  across  the  room,  so  unex- 
pected and  unaccountable  that  they  all  stared  at  him,  doubt- 
ful whether  he  was  choking  or  had  the  cramp—"  I  think  I 
have  an  idea.  I  believe  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
Mr.  Tartar's  name  as  tenant  of  the  top  set  in  the  house 
next  the  top  set  in  the  corner?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tartar.    "  You  are  right  so  far." 

"I  am  right  so  far,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Tick  that 
off;  "  which  he  did,  with  his  right  thumb  on  his  left. 
"  Might  you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  your  neighbour 
in  the  top  set  on  the  other  side  of  the  party- wall?  "  coming 
very  close  to  Mr.  Tartar,  to  lose  nothing  of  his  face,  in  his 
shortness  of  sight 

"Landless." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  213 

"Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  taking  another 
trot,  and  then  coming  back.  "No  personal  knowledge,  I 
suppose,  sir?  " 

"Slight,  but  some." 

"  Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  taking  another  trot, 
and  again  coming  back.  "Nature  of  knowledge,  Mr.  Tar- 
tar? " 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  to  be  a  young  fellow  in  a  poor 
way,  and  I  asked  his  leave — only  within  a  day  or  so — to 
share  my  flowers  up  there  with  him;  that  is  to  say,  to  ex- 
tend my  flower-garden  to  his  windows." 

"  Would  you  have  the  kindness  to  take  seats?  "  said  Mr. 
Grewgious.  "  I  have  an  idea !  " 

They  complied;  Mr.  Tartar  none  the  less  readily,  for 
being  all  abroad;  and  Mr.  Grewgious,  seated  in  the  centre, 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  thus  stated  his  idea,  with 
his  usual  manner  of  having  got  the  statement  by  heart. 

"  I  cannot  as  yet  make  up  my  mind  whether  it  is  prudent 
to  hold  open  communication  under  present  circumstances, 
and  on  the  part  of  the  fair  member  of  the  present  company, 
with  Mr.  Neville  or  Miss  Helena.  I  have  reason  to  know 
that  a  local  friend  of  ours  (on  whom  I  beg  to  bestow  a  pass- 
ing but  a  hearty  malediction,  with  the  kind  permission  of 
my  reverend  friend)  sneaks  to  and  fro,  and  dodges  up  and 
down.  When  not  doing  so  himself,  he  may  have  some  in- 
formant skulking  about,  in  the  person  of  a  watchman,  por- 
ter, or  such-like  hanger-on  of  Staple.  On  the  other  hand, 
Miss  Eosa  very  naturally  wishes  to  see  her  friend  Miss 
Helena,  and  it  would  seem  important  that  at  least  Miss 
Helena  (if  not  her  brother  too,  through  her)  should  pri- 
vately know  from  Miss  Rosa's  lips  what  has  occurred,  and 
what  has  been  threatened.  Am  I  agreed  with  generally 
in  the  views  I  take?  " 

"I  entirely  coincide  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
who  had  been  very  attentive. 

"As  I  have  no  doubt  I  should,"  added  Mr.  Tartar,  smil- 
ing, "if  I  understood  them."  % 

"Fair  and  softly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious;  "we  shall 
fully  confide  in  you  directly,  if  you  will  favour  us  with 
your  permission.  Now,  if  our  local  friend  should  have  any 
informant  on  the  spot,  it  is  tolerably  clear  that  such  in- 
formant can  only  be  set  to  watch  the  chambers  in  the  occu- 
pation of  Mr.  Neville.  He  reporting,  to  our  local  friend, 


214  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

who  comes  and  goes  there,  our  local  friend  would  supply 
for  himself,  from  his  own  previous  knowledge,  the  identity 
of  the  parties.  Nobody  can  be  set  to  watch  all  Staple,  or 
to  concern  himself  with  comers  and  goers  to  other  sets  of 
chambers:  unless,  indeed,  mine." 

"  I  begin  to  understand  to  what  you  tend,"  said  Mr,  Cris- 
parkle,  "and  highly  approve  of  your  caution." 

"  I  needn't  repeat  that  I  know  nothing  yet  of  the  why 
and  wherefore,"  said  Mr.  Tartar  ;  "but  I  also  understand 
to  what  you  tend,  so  let  me  say  at  once  that  my  chambers 
are  freely  at  your  disposal." 

"  There ! "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  smoothing  his  head  tri- 
xamphantly,  "now  we  have  all  got  the  idea.  You  have  it, 
my  dear?  " 

"I  think  I  have,"  said  Rosa,  blushing  a  little  as  Mr. 
Tartar  looked  quickly  towards  her. 

"  You  see,  you  go  over  to  Staple  with  Mr.  Crisparkle  and 
Mr.  Tartar,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious;  "I  going  in  and  out,  and 
out  and  in  alone,  in  my  usual  way;  you  go  up  with  those 
gentlemen  to  Mr.  Tartar's  rooms;  you  look  into  Mr.  Tar- 
tar's flower-garden;  you  wait  for  Miss  Helena's  appearance 
there,  or  you  signify  to  Miss  Helena  that  you  are  close  by; 
and  you  communicate  with  her  freely,  and  no  spy  can  be 
the  wiser." 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid  I  shall  be — " 

"  Be  what,  my  dear?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  she  hesi- 
tated .  "  Not  frightened  ?  " 

"No,  not  that,"  said  Rosa,  shyly;  "in  Mr.  Tartar's  way. 
We  seem  to  be  appropriating  Mr.  Tartar's  residence  so  very 
coolly." 

"I  protest  to  you,"  returned  that  gentleman,  "that  I 
shall  think  the  better  of  it  for  evermore,  if  your  voice  sounds 
in  it  only  once. " 

Rosa,  not  quite  knowing  what  to  say  about  that,  cast 
down  her  eyes,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Grewgious,  dutifully 
asked  if  she  should  put  her  hat  on?  Mr.  Grewgious  being 
of  opinion  that  she  could  not  do  better,  she  withdrew  for 
the  purpose.  Mr.  Crisparkle  took  the  opportunity  of  giv- 
ing Mr.  Tartar  a  summary  of  the  distresses  of  Neville  and 
his  sister;  the  opportunity  was  quite  long  enough,  as  the 
hat  happened  to  require  a  little  extra  fitting  on. 

Mr.  Tartar  gave  his  arm  to  Rosa,  and  Mr.  Crispaikle 
walked,  detached,  in  front. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  215 

"  Poor,  poor  Eddy !  "  thought  Rosa,  as  they  went  along. 

Mr.  Tartar  waved  his  right  hand  as  he  bent  his  head 
down  over  Rosa,  talking  in  an  animated  way. 

"It  was  not  so  powerful  or  so  sun-browned  when  it 
saved  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  thought  Rosa,  glancing  at  it;  "but 
it  must  have  been  very  steady  and  determined  even  then." 

Mr.  Tartar  told  her  he  had  been  a  sailor,  roving  every- 
where for  years  and  years. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  sea  again?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"Never!" 

Rosa  wondered  what  the  girls  would  say  if  they  could 
see  her  crossing  the  wide  street  on  the  sailor's  arm.  And 
she  fancied  that  the  passers-by  must  think  her  very  little 
and  very  helpless,  contrasted  with  the  strong  figure  that 
could  have  caught  her  up  and  carried  her  out  of  any  dan- 
ger, miles  and  miles  without  resting. 

She  was  thinking  further,  that  his  far-seeing  blue  eyes 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  used  to  watch  danger  afar  off, 
and  to  watch  it  without  flinching,  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer :  when,  happening  to  raise  her  own  eyes,  she  found 
that  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  something  about  them. 

This  a  little  confused  Rosebud,  and  may  account  for  her 
never  afterwards  quite  knowing  how  she  ascended  (with 
his  help)  to  his  garden  in  the  air,  and  seemed  to  get  into  a 
marvellous  country  that  came  into  sudden  bloom  like  the 
country  on  the  summit  of  the  magic  bean-stalk.  May  it 
flourish  for  ever ! 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

A  GRITTY  STATE  OF  THINGS  COMES  ON. 

MR.  TARTAR'S  chambers  were  the  neatest,  the  cleanest, 
and  the  best-ordered  chambers  ever  seen  under  the  sun, 
moon,  and  stars.  The  floors  were  scrubbed  to  that  extent, 
that  you  might  have  supposed  the  London  blacks  emanci- 
pated for  ever,  and  gone  out  of  the  land  for  good.  Every 
inch  of  brass- work  in  Mr.  Tartar's  possession  was  polished 
and  burnished,  till  it  shone  like  a  brazen  mirror.  No  speck, 
nor  spot,  nor  spatter  soiled  the  purity  of  any  of  Mr.  Tar- 
tar's household  gods,  large,  small,  or  middle-sized.  His 


216  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

sitting-room  was  like  the  admiral's  cabin,  his  bath-room 
was  like  a  dairy,  his  sleeping-chamber,  fitted  all  about  with 
lockers  and  drawers,  was  like  a  seedsman's  shop;  and  his 
nicely-balanced  cot  just  stirred  in  the  midst,  as  if  it 
breathed.  Everything  belonging  to  Mr.  Tartar  had  quar- 
ters of  its  own  assigned  to  it :  his  maps  and  charts  had 
their  quarters;  his  books  had  theirs;  his  brushes  had  theirs; 
his  boots  had  theirs;  his  clothes  had  theirs;  his  case-bot- 
tles had  theirs;  his  telescopes  and  other  instruments  had 
theirs.  Everything  was  readily  accessible.  Shelf,  bracket, 
locker,  hook,  and  drawer  were  equally  within  reach,  and 
were  equally  contrived  with  a  view  to  avoiding  waste  of 
room,  and  providing  some  snug  inches  of  stowage  for  some- 
thing that  would  have  exactly  fitted  nowhere  else.  His 
gleaming  little  service  of  plate  was  so  arranged  upon  his 
sideboard  as  that  a  slack  salt-spoon  would  have  instantly 
betrayed  itself;  his  toilet  implements  were  so  arranged 
upon  his  dressing-table  as  that  a  toothpick  of  slovenly  de- 
portment could  have  been  reported  at  a  glance.  So  with 
the  curiosities  he  had  brought  home  from  various  voyages. 
Stuffed,  dried,  repolished,  or  otherwise  preserved,  accord- 
ing to  their  kind;  birds,  fishes,  reptiles,  arms,  articles  of 
dress,  shells,  seaweeds,  grasses,  or  memorials  of  coral  reef; 
each  was  displayed  in  its  especial  place,  and  each  could 
have  been  displayed  in  no  better  place.  Paint  and  varnish 
seemed  to  be  kept  somewhere  out  of  sight,  in  constant  readi- 
ness to  obliterate  stray  finger-marks  wherever  any  might 
become  perceptible  in  Mr.  Tartar's  chambers.  No  man-of- 
war  was  ever  kept  more  spick  and  span  from  careless  touch. 
On  this  bright  summer  day,  a  neat  awning  was  rigged  over 
Mr.  Tartar's  flower-garden  as  only  a  sailor  could  rig  it; 
and  there  was  a  sea-going  air  upon  the  whole  effect,  so  de- 
lightfully complete,  that  the  flower-garden  might  have  ap- 
pertained to  stern-windows  afloat,  and  the  whole  concern 
might  have  bowled  away  gallantly  with  all  on  board,  if 
Mr.  Tartar  had  only  clapped  to  his  lips  the  speaking-trum- 
pet that  was  slung  in  a  corner,  and  given  hoarse  orders  to 
heave  the  anchor  up,  look  alive  there,  men,  and  get  all  sail 
upon  her ! 

Mr.  Tartar  doing  the  honours  of  this  gallant  craft  was  of 
a  piece  with  the  rest.  When  a  man  rides  an  amiable  hobby 
that  shies  at  nothing  and  kicks  nobody,  it  is  only  agreeable 
to  find  him  riding  it  with  a  humorous  sense  of  the  droll 


THE   MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  217 

side  of  the  creature.  When  the  man  is  a  cordial  and  an 
earnest  man  by  nature,  and  withal  is  perfectly  fresh  and 
genuine,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  he  is  ever  seen  to 
greater  advantage  than  at  such  a  time.  So  Rosa  would 
have  naturally  thought  (even  if  she  hadn't  been  conducted 
over  the  ship  with  all  the  homage  due  to  the  First  Lady  of 
the  Admiralty,  or  First  Fairy  of  the  Sea),  that  it  was  charm- 
ing to  see  and  hear  Mr.  Tartar  half  laughing  at,  and  half 
rejoicing  in,  his  various  contrivances.  So  Rosa  would  have 
naturally  thought,  anyhow,  that  the  sunburnt  sailor  showed 
to  great  advantage  when,  the  inspection  finished,  he  deli- 
cately withdrew  out  of  his  admiral's  cabin,  beseeching  her 
to  consider  herself  its  Queen,  and  waving  her  free  of  his 
flower-garden  with  the  hand  that  had  had  Mr.  Crisparkle's 
life  in  it. 

"  Helena !     Helena  Landless !     Are  you  there?  " 

"  Who  speaks  to  me?  Not  Rosa?  "  Then  a  second  hand- 
some face  appearing. 

"  Yes,  my  darling !  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  come  here,  dearest?  " 

"I — I  don't  quite  know,"  said  Rosa  with  a  blush;  "un- 
less I  am  dreaming !  " 

Why  with  a  blush?  For  their  two  faces  were  alone  with 
the  other  flowers.  Are  blushes  among  the  fruits  of  the 
country  of  the  magic  bean-stalk? 

"  /  am  not  dreaming,"  said  Helena,  smiling.  "  I  should 
take  more  for  granted  if  I  were.  How  do  we  come  to- 
gether— or  so  near  together — so  very  unexpectedly?  " 

Unexpectedly  indeed,  among  the  dingy  gables  and  chim- 
ney-pots of  P.  J.  T.'s  connection,  and  the  flowers  that  had 
sprung  from  the  salt  sea.  But  Rosa,  waking,  told  in  a 
hurry  how  they  came  to  be  together,  and  all  the  why  and 
wherefore  of  that  matter. 

"And  Mr.  Crisparkle  is  here,"  said  Rosa,  in  rapid  con- 
clusion; "and,  could  you  believe  it?  long  ago  he  saved  his 
life ! " 

"  I  could  believe  any  such  thing  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  re- 
turned Helena,  with  a  mantling  face. 

(More  blushes  in  the  bean-stalk  country !) 

"Yes,  but  it  wasn't  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Rosa,  quickly 
putting  in  the  correction. 

"I  don't  understand,  love." 

"It  was  very  nice  of  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  be  saved,"  said 


218  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Rosa,  "and  he  couldn't  have  shown  his  high  opinion  of 
Mr.  Tartar  more  expressively.  But  it  was  Mr.  Tartar  who 
saved  him." 

Helena's  dark  eyes  looked  very  earnestly  at  the  bright 
face  among  the  leaves,  and  she  asked,  in  a  slower  and  more 
thoughtful  tone : 

"  Is  Mr.  Tartar  with  you  now,  dear?  " 

"No;  because  he  has  given  up  his  rooms  to  me — to  us,  I 
mean.  It  is  such  a  beautiful  place ! " 

"Is  it?" 

"  It  is  like  the  inside  of  the  most  exquisite  ship  that  ever 
sailed.  It  is  like — it  is  like — " 

"  Like  a  dream?  "  suggested  Helena. 

Rosa  answered  with  a  little  nod,  and  smelled  the  flowers. 

Helena  resumed,  after  a  short  pause  of  silence,  during 
which  she  seemed  (or  it  was  Rosa's  fancy)  to  compassion- 
ate somebody:  "My  poor  Neville  is  reading  in  his  own 
room,  the  sun  being  so  very  bright  on  this  side  just  now. 
I  think  he  had  better  not  know  that  you  are  so  near." 

"  0,  I  think  so  too ! "  cried  Rosa  very  readily. 

"  I  suppose,"  pursued  Helena,  doubtfully,  "  that  he  must 
know  by-and-bye  all  you  have  told  me;  but  I  am  not  sure. 
Ask  Mr.  Crisparkle's  advice,  my  darling.  Ask  him  whether 
I  may  tell  Neville  as  much  or  as  little  of  what  you  have 
told  me  as  I  think  best." 

Rosa  subsided  into  her  state-cabin,  and  propounded  the 
question.  The  Minor  Canon  was  for  the  free  exercise  of 
Helena's  judgment. 

"I  thank  him  very  much,"  said  Helena,  when  Rosa 
emerged  again  with  her  report.  "Ask  him  whether  it 
would  be  best  to  wait  until  any  more  maligning  and  pur- 
suing of  Neville  on  the  part  of  this  wretch  shall  disclose 
itself,  or  to  try  to  anticipate  it :  I  mean,  so  far  as  to  find 
out  whether  any  such  goes  on  darkly  about  us?  " 

The  Minor  Canon  found  this  point  so  difficult  to  give  a 
confident  opinion  on,  that,  after  two  or  three  attempts  and 
failures,  he  suggested  a  reference  to  Mr.  Grewgious.  Hel- 
ena acquiescing,  he  betook  himself  (with  a  most  unsuccess- 
ful assumption  of  lounging  indifference)  across  the  quad- 
rangle to  P.  J.  T's.,  and  stated  it.  Mr.  Grewgious  held  de- 
cidedly to  the  general  principle,  that  if  you  could  steal  a 
inarch  upon  a  brigand  or  a  wild  beast,  you  had  better  do 
itj  and  he  also  held  decidedly  to  the  special  case,  that 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWlN  1)ROOD.  210 

John  Jasper  was  a  brigand  and  a  wild  beast  in  combina- 
tion. 

Thus  advised,  Mr.  Crisparkle  came  back  again  and  re- 
ported to  Rosa,  who  in  her  turn  reported  to  Helena.  She 
now  steadily  pursuing  her  train  of  thought  at  her  window, 
considered  thereupon. 

"We  may  count  on  Mr.  Tartar's  readiness  to  help  us, 
Rosa?  "  she  inquired. 

0  yes !  Rosa  shyly  thought  so.  O  yes,  Rosa  shyly  be- 
lieved she  could  almost  answer  for  it.  But  should  she  ask 
Mr.  Crisparkle?  "  I  think  your  authority  on  the  point  as 
good  as  his,  my  dear,"  said  Helena,  sedately,  "and  you 
needn't  disappear  again  for  that."  Odd  of  Helena! 

"  You  see,  Neville,"  Helena  pursued  after  more  reflec- 
tion, "  knows  no  one  else  here :  he  has  not  so  much  as  ex- 
changed a  word  with  any  one  else  here.  If  Mr.  Tartar 
would  call  to  see  him  openly  and  often;  if  he  would  spare 
a  minute  for  the  purpose,  frequently;  if  he  would  even  do 
so,  almost  daily;  something  might  come  of  it." 

"  Something  might  come  of  it,  dear? "  repeated  Rosa, 
surveying  her  friend's  beauty  with  a  highly  perplexed  face. 
"  Something  might?  " 

"If  Neville's  movements  are  really  watched,  and  if  the 
purpose  really  is  to  isolate  him  from  all  friends  and  ac- 
quaintance and  wear  his  daily  life  out  grain  by  grain  (which 
would  seem  to  be  the  threat  to  you),  does  it  not  appear 
likely,"  said  Helena,  "that  his  enemy  would  in  some  way 
communicate  with  Mr.  Tartar  to  warn  him  off  from  Nev- 
ille? In  which  case,  we  might  not  only  know  the  fact,  but 
might  know  from  Mr.  Tartar  what  the  terms  of  the  com- 
munication were." 

"  I  see ! "  cried  Rosa.  And  immediately  darted  into  her 
state-cabin  again. 

Presently  her  pretty  face  reappeared,  with  a  greatly 
heightened  colour,  and  she  said  that  she  had  told  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, and  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  fetched  in  Mr.  Tar- 
tar, and  that  Mr.  Tartar — "  who  is  waiting  now,  in  case 
you  want  him,"  added  Rosa,  with  a  half  look  back,  and  in 
not  a  little  confusion  between  the  inside  of  the  state-cabin 
and  out — had  declared  his  readiness  to  act  as  she  had  sug- 
gested, and  to  enter  on  his  task  that  very  day. 

"  I  thank  him  from  my  heart,"  said  Helena.  "Pray  tell 
him  so." 


220  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Again  not  a  little  confused  between  the  Flower-garden 
and  the  Cabin,  Rosa  dipped  in  with  her  message,  and  dipped 
out  again  with  more  assurances  from  Mr.  Tartar,  and 
stood  wavering  in  a  divided  state  between  Helena  and 
him,  which  proved  that  confusion  is  not  always  necessarily 
awkward,  but  may  sometimes  present  a  very  pleasant  ap- 
pearance. 

"And  now,  darling,"  said  Helena,  "we  will  be  mindful 
of  the  caution  that  has  restricted  us  to  this  interview  for 
the  present,  and  will  part.  I  hear  Neville  moving  too. 
Are  you  going  back?  " 

"  To  Miss  Twinkleton's?  »  asked  Rosa. 

"Yes." 

"0,  I  could  never  go  there  any  more;  I  couldn't  indeed, 
after  that  dreadful  interview ! "  said  Rosa. 

"Then  where  are  you  going,  pretty  one?  " 

"Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  know,"  said  Rosa. 
"I  have  settled  nothing  at  all  yet,  but  my  guardian  will 
take  care  of  me.  Don't  be  uneasy,  dear.  I  shall  be  sure 
to  be  somewhere." 

(It  did  seem  likely.) 

"  And  I  shall  hear  of  my  Rosebud  from  Mr.  Tartar?  " 
inquired  Helena. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so;  from — "  Rosa  looked  back  again 
in  a  nutter,  instead  of  supplying  the  name  "  But  tell  me 
one  thing  before  we  part,  dearest  Helena.  Tell  me  that 
you  are  sure,  sure,  sure,  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"Help  it,  love?" 

"  Help  making  him  malicious  and  revengeful.  I  couldn't 
hold  any  terms  with  him,  could  I?  " 

"  You  know  how  I  love  you,  darling,"  answered  Helena, 
with  indignation;  "but  I  would  sooner  see  you  dead  at  his 
wicked  feet." 

"  That's  a  great  comfort  to  me !  And  you  will  tell  your 
poor  brother  so,  won't  you?  And  you  will  give  him  my 
remembrance  and  my  sympathy?  And  you  will  ask  him 
not  to  hate  me?  " 

With  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head,  as  if  that  would  be 
quite  a  superfluous  entreaty,  Helena  lovingly  kissed  her 
two  hands  to  her  friend,  and  her  friend's  two  hands  were 
kissed  to  her;  and  then  she  saw  a  third  hand  (a  brown  one) 
appear  among  the  flowers  and  leaves,  and  help  her  friend 
out  of  sight. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  221 

The  reflection  that  Mr.  Tartar  produced  in  the  Admiral's 
Cabin  by  merely  touching  the  spring  knob  of  a  locker  and 
the  handle  of  a  drawer,  was  a  dazzling  enchanted  repast. 
Wonderful  macaroons,  glittering  liqueurs,  magically-pre- 
served tropical  spices,  and  jellies  of  celestial  tropical  fruits, 
displayed  themselves  profusely  at  an  instant's  notice.  But 
Mr.  Tartar  could  not  make  time  stand  still;  and  time,  with 
his  hardhearted  fleetness,  strode  on  so  fast,  that  Rosa  was 
obliged  to  come  down  from  the  bean-stalk  country  to  earth 
and  her  guardian's  chambers. 

"And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "what  is  to 
be  done  next?  To  put  the  same  thought  in  another  form; 
what  is  to  be  done  with  you?  " 

Rosa  could  only  look  apologetically  sensible  of  being  very 
much  in  her  own  way  and  in  everybody  else's.  Some  pass- 
ing idea  of  living,  fireproof,  up  a  good  many  stairs  in  Fur- 
nival's  Inn  for  the  rest  of  her  life,  was  the  only  thing  in 
the  nature  of  a  plan  that  occurred  to  her. 

"It  has  come  into  my  thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  that  as  the  respected  lady,  Miss  Twinkleton,  occasionally 
repairs  to  London  in  the  recess,  with  the  view  of  extending 
her  connection,  and  being  available  for  interviews  with 
metropolitan  parents,  if  any — whether,  until  we  have  time 
in  which  to  turn  ourselves  round,  we  might  invite  Miss 
Twinkleton  to  come  and  stay  with  you  for  a  month?  " 

"  Stay  where,  sir?  " 

"  Whether,"  explained  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  we  might  take  a 
furnished  lodging  in  town  for  a  month,  and  invite  Miss 
Twinkleton  to  assume  the  charge  of  you  in  it  for  that 
period  ?  " 

"And  afterwards?"  hinted  Rosa. 

"And  afterwards,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "we  should  be 
no  worse  off  than  we  are  now." 

"  I  think  that  might  smooth  the  way,"  assented  Rosa. 

"Then  let  us,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  rising,  "go  and  look 
for  a  furnished  lodging.  Nothing  could  be  more  acceptable 
to  me  than  the  sweet  presence  of  last  evening,  for  all  the 
remaining  evenings  of  my  existence;  but  these  are  not  fit 
surroundings  for  a  young  lady.  Let  us  set  out  in  quest  of 
adventures,  and  look  for  a  furnished  lodging.  In  the  mean- 
time, Mr.  Crisparkle  here,  about  to  return  home  immediate- 
ly, will  no  doubt  kindly  see  Miss  Twiukleton,  and  invite 
that  lady  to  co-operate  in  our  plan." 


222  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  willingly  accepting  the  commission,  took 
his  departure;  Mr.  Grewgious  and  his  ward  set  forth  on 
their  expedition. 

As  Mr.  Grewgious' s  idea  of  looking  at  a  furnished  lodg- 
ing was  to  get  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stieet  to  a  house 
with  a  suitable  bill  in  the  window,  and  stare  at  it;  and 
then  work  his  way  tortuously  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
stare  at  that;  and  then  not  go  in,  but  make  similar  trials  of 
another  house,  with  the  same  result;  their  progress  was 
but  slow.  At  length  he  bethought  himself  of  a  widowed 
cousin,  divers  times  removed,  of  Mr.  Bazzard's,  who  had 
once  solicited  his  influence  in  the  lodger  world,  and  who 
lived  in  Southampton  Street,  Bloomsbury  Square.  This 
lady's  name,  stated  in  uncompromising  capitals  of  consid- 
erable size  on  a  brass  doorplate,  and  yet  not  lucidly  as  to 
sex  or  condition,  was  BILLICKIN. 

Personal  faintness,  and  an  overpowering  personal  can- 
dour, were  the  distinguishing  features  of  Mrs.  Billickin's 
organization.  She  came  languishing  out  of  her  own  exclu- 
sive back  parlour,  with  the  air  of  having  been  expressly 
brought-to  for  the  purpose,  from  an  accumulation  of  several 
swoons. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  recog- 
nising her  visitor  with  a  bend. 

"  Thank  you,  quite  well.  And  you,  ma'am?  "  returned 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

"I  am  as  well,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  becoming  aspira- 
tional  with  excess  of  faintness,  "as  I  hever  ham." 

"My  ward  and  an  elderly  lady,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  wish  to  find  a  genteel  lodging  for  a  month  or  so.  Have 
you  any  apartments  available,  ma'am?  " 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "I  will  not 
deceive  you;  far  from  it.  I  have  apartments  available." 

This  with  the  air  of  adding :  "  Convey  me  to  the  stake, 
if  you  will;  but  while  I  live,  I  will  be  candid." 

"And  now,  what  apartments,  ma'am?"  asked  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, cosily.  To  tame  a  certain  severity  apparent  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Billickin. 

"There  is  this  sitting-room — which,  call  it  what  you 
will,  it  is  the  front  parlour,  Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  im- 
pressing Rosa  into  the  conversation:  "the  back  parlour 
being  what  I  cling  to  and  never  part  with;  and  there  is 
two  bedrooms  at  the  top  of  the  'ouse  with  gas  laid  on.  I 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  223 

do  not  tell  you  that  your  bedroom  floors  is  firm,  for  firm 
they  are  not.  The  gas-fitter  himself  allowed,  that  to  make 
a  firm  job,  he  must  go  right  under  your  jistes,  and  it  were 
not  worth  the  outlay  as  a  yearly  tenant  so  to  do.  The  pip- 
ing is  carried  above  your  jistes,  and  it  is  best  that  it  should 
be  made  known  to  you." 

Mr.  Grewgious  and  Rosa  exchanged  looks  of  some  dis- 
may, though  they  had  not  the  least  idea  what  latent  hor- 
rors this  carriage  of  the  piping  might  involve.  Mrs.  Bil- 
lickin  put  her  hand  to  her  heart,  as  having  eased  it  of  a  load. 

"  Well !  The  roof  is  all  right,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, plucking  up  a  little. 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "if  I  was  to 
tell  you,  sir,  that  to  have  nothink  above  you  is  to  have  a 
floor  above  you,  I  should  put  a  deception  upon  you  which  I 
will  not  do.  No,  sir.  Your  slates  WILL  rattle  loose  at  that 
elewation  in  windy  weather,  do  your  utmost,  best  or  worst ! 
I  defy  you,  sir,  be  you  what  you  may,  to  keep  your  slates 
tight,  try  how  you  can."  Here  Mrs.  Billickin,  having 
been  warm  with  Mr.  Grewgious,  cooled  a  little,  not  to  abuse 
the  moral  power  she  held  over  him.  "Consequent,"  pro- 
ceeded Mrs.  Billickin,  more  mildly,  but  still  firmly  in  her 
incorruptible  candour :  "  consequent  it  would  be  worse  than 
of  no  use  for  me  to  trapse  and  travel  up  to  the  top  of  the 
'ouse  with  you,  and  for  you  to  say,  '  Mrs.  Billickin,  what 
stain  do  I  notice  in  the  ceiling,  for  a  stain  I  do  consider 
it?  '  and  for  me  to  answer,  '  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir.' 
No,  sir,  I  will  not  be  so  underhand.  I  do  understand  you 
before  you  pint  it  out.  It  is  the  wet,  sir.  It  do  come  in, 
and  it  do  not  come  in.  You  may  lay  dry  there  half  your 
lifetime;  but  the  time  will  come,  and  it  is  best  that  you 
should  know  it,  when  a  dripping  sop  would  be  no  name  for 
you. " 

Mr.  Grewgious  looked  much  disgraced  by  being  prefigured 
in  this  pickle. 

"  Have  you  any  other  apartments,  ma'am?  "  he  asked. 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  with  much 
solemnity,  "  I  have.  You  ask  me  have  I,  and  my  open  and 
my  honest  answer  air,  I  have.  The  first  and  second  floors 
is  wacant,  and  sweet  rooms." 

"Come,  come!  There's  nothing  against  them,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  comforting  himself 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  "pardon  me, 


224  THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWItf  DROOD. 

there  is  the  stairs.  Unless  your  mind  is  prepared  for  the 
stairs,  it  will  lead  to  inevitable  disappointment.  You  can- 
not, Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  addressing  Rosa  reproach- 
fully, "place  a  first  floor,  and  far  less  a  second,  on  the 
level  footing  of  a  parlour.  No,  you  cannot  do  it,  Miss,  it 
is  beyond  your  power,  and  wherefore  try?  " 

Mrs.  Billickin  put  it  very  feelingly,  as  if  Rosa  had  shown 
a  headstrong  determination  to  hold  the  untenable  position. 

"  Can  we  see  these  rooms,  ma'am?  "  inquired  her  guar- 
dian. 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "you  can.  I 
will  not  disguise  it  from  you,  sir;  you  can." 

Mrs.  Billickin  then  sent  into  her  back-parlour  for  her 
shawl  (it  being  a  state  fiction,  dating  from  immemorial  an- 
tiquity, that  she  could  never  go  anywhere  without  being 
wrapped  up),  and  having  been  enrolled  by  her  attendant, 
led  the  way.  She  made  various  genteel  pauses  on  the  stairs 
for  breath,  and  clutched  at  her  heart  in  the  drawing-room 
as  if  it  had  very  nearly  got  loose,  and  she  had  caught  it  in 
the  act  of  taking  wing. 

"  And  the  second  floor?  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  finding 
the  first  satisfactory. 

"Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  turning  upon 
him  with  ceremony,  as  if  the  time  had  now  come  when  a 
distinct  understanding  on  a  difficult  point  must  be  arrived 
at,  and  a  solemn  confidence  established,  "  the  second  floor 
is  over  this." 

"  Can  we  see  that  too,  ma'am?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "it  is  open  as  the 
day." 

That  also  proving  satisfactory,  Mr.  Grewgious  retired 
into  a  window  with  Rosa  for  a  few  words  of  consultation, 
and  then  asking  for  pen  and  ink,  sketched  out  a  line  or  two 
of  agreement.  In  the  meantime  Mrs.  Billickin  took  a  seat, 
and  delivered  a  kind  of  Index  to,  or  Abstract  of,  the  gen- 
eral question. 

"  Five-and-forty  shillings  per  week  by  the  month  certain 
at  the  time  of  year,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  "is  only  reason- 
able to  both  parties.  It  is  not  Bond-street  nor  yet  St. 
James's  Palace;  but  it  is  not  pretended  that  it  is.  Neither 
is  it  attempted  to  be  denied — for  why  should  it? — that  the 
Arching  leads  to  a  mews.  Mewses  must  exist.  Respecting 
attendance;  two  is  kep',  at  liberal,  wages.  Words  ha* 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  225 

arisen  as  to  tradesmen,  but  dirty  shoes  on  the  fresh  hearth- 
stoning  was  attributable,  and  no  wish  for  a  commission  on 
your  orders.  Coals  is  either  by  the  fire,  or  per  the  scuttle." 
She  emphasised  the  prepositions  as  marking  a  subtle  but  im- 
mense difference.  "  Dogs  is  not  viewed  with  favour.  Be- 
sides litter,  they  gets  stole,  and  sharing  suspicions  is  apt 
to  creep  in,  and  unpleasantness  takes  place." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Grewgious  had  his  agreement-lines,  and 
his  earnest-money,  ready.  "I  have  signed  it  for  the  ladies, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  "and  you'll  have  the  goodness  to  sign  it 
for  yourself,  Christian  and  Surname,  there,  if  you  please." 

"Mr.  Grewgious, ".said  Mrs.  Billickin  in  a  new  burst  of 
candour,  "no,  sir!  You  must  excuse  the  Christian  name." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  her. 

"The  doorplate  is  used  as  a  protection,"  said  Mrs.  Bil- 
lickin, "and  acts  as  such,  and  go  from  it  1  will  not." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  Rosa. 

"  No,  Mr.  Grewgious,  you  must  excuse  me.  So  long  as 
this  'ouse  is  known  indefinite  as  Billickin's,  and  so  long 
as  it  is  a  doubt  with  the  riff-raff  where  Billickin  may  be 
hidin',  near  the  street-door  or  down  the  airy,  and  what  his 
weight  and  size,  so  long  I  feel  safe.  But  commit  myself 
to  a  solitary  female  statement,  no,  Miss !  Nor  would  you 
for  a  moment  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  with  a  strong 
sense  of  injury,  "  to  take  that  advantage  of  your  sex,  if  you 
were  not  brought  to  it  by  inconsiderate  example." 

Rosa  reddening  as  if  she  had  made  some  most  disgraceful 
attempt  to  overreach  the  good  lady,  besought  Mr.  Grew- 
gious to  rest  content  with  any  signature.  And  accordingly, 
in  a  baronial  way,  the  sign-manual  BILLICKIN  got  appended 
to  the  document. 

Details  were  then  settled  for  taking  possession  on  the 
next  day  but  one,  when  Miss  Twinkleton  might  be  reason- 
ably expected;  and  Rosa  went  back  to  Furnival's  Inn  on 
her  guardian's  arm. 

Behold  Mr.  Tartar  walking  up  and  down  Furnival's  Inn, 
checking  himself  when  he  saw  them  coming,  and  advancing 
towards  them! 

"It  occurred  to  me,"  hinted  Mr.  Tartar,  "that  we  might 
go  up  the  river,  the  weather  being  so  delicious  and  the  tide 
serving.  I  have  a  boat  of  my  own  at  the  Temple  Stairs." 

"  I  have  not  been  up  the  river  for  this  many  a  day,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  tempted. 
15 


THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"I  was  never  up  the  river,"  added  Rosa. 

Within  half  an  hour  they  were  setting  this  matter  right 
by  going  up  the  river.  The  tide  was  running  with  them, 
the  afternoon  was  charming.  Mr.  Tartar's  boat  was  per- 
fect. Mr.  Tartar  and  Lobley  (Mr.  Tartar's  man)  pulled  a 
pair  of  oars.  Mr.  Tartar  had  a  yacht,  it  seemed,  lying 
somewhere  down  by  Greenhithe;  and  Mr.  Tartar's  man 
had  charge  of  this  yacht,  and  was  detached  upon  his  pres- 
ent service.  He  was  a  jolly  favoured  man,  with  tawny  hair 
and  whiskers,  and  a  big  red  face.  He  was  the  dead  image 
of  the  sun  in  old  woodcuts,  his  hair  and  whiskers  answering 
for  rays  all  around  him.  Resplendent  in  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  he  was  a  shining  sight,  with  a  man-of-war's  man's 
shirt  on — or  off,  according  to  opinion — and  his  arms  and 
breast  tattooed  all  sorts  of  patterns.  Lobley  seemed  to  take 
it  easily,  and  so  did  Mr.  Tartar;  yet  their  oars  bent  as  they 
pulled,  and  the  boat  bounded  under  them.  Mr.  Tartar 
talked  as  if  he  were  doing  nothing,  to  Rosa  who  was  really 
doing  nothing,  and  to  Mr.  Grewgious  who  was  doing  this 
much  that  he  steered  all  wrong;  but  what  did  that  matter, 
when  a  turn  of  Mr.  Tartar's  skilful  wrist,  or  a  mere  grin  of 
Mr.  Lobley 's  over  the  bow,  put  all  to  rights!  The  tide 
bore  them  on  in  the  gayest  and  most  sparkling  manner, 
until  they  stopped  to  dine  in  some  everlastingly-green  gar- 
den, needing  no  matter-of-fact  identification  here;  and  then 
the  tide  obligingly  turned — being  devoted  to  that  party 
alone  for  that  day;  and  as  they  floated  idly  among  some 
osier-beds,  Rosa  tried  what  she  could  do  in  the  rowing 
way,  and  came  off  splendidly,  being  much  assisted;  and 
Mr.  Grewgious  tried  what  he  could  do,  and  came  off  on  his 
back,  doubled  up  with  an  oar  under  his  chin,  being  not  as- 
sisted at  all.  Then  there  was  an  interval  of  rest  under 
boughs  (such  rest!)  what  time  Mr.  Lobley  mopped,  and, 
arranging  cushions,  stretchers,  and  the  like,  danced  the 
tight-rope  the  whole  length  of  the  boat  like  a  man  to  whom 
shoes  were  a  superstition  and  stockings  slavery;  and  then 
came  the  sweet  return  among  delicious  odours  of  limes  in 
bloom,  and  musical  ripplings;  and,  all  too  soon,  the  great 
black  city  cast  its  shadow  on  the  waters,  and  its  dark 
bridges  spanned  them  as  death  spans  life,  and  the  everlast- 
ingly-green garden  seemed  to  be  left  for  everlasting,  unre- 
gainable,  and  far  away. 

"  Cannot  people  get  through  life  without  gritty  stages,  T 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  '227 

wonder?  "  Rosa  thought  next  day,  when  the  town  was  very 
gritty  again,  and  everything  had  a  strange  and  an  uncom- 
fortable appearance  of  seeming  to  wait  for  something  that 
wouldn't  come.  No.  She  began  to  think,  that,  now  the 
Cloisterham  school-days  had  glided  past  and  gone,  the 
gritty  stages  would  begin  to  set  in  at  intervals  and  make 
themselves  wearily  known! 

Yet  what  did  Rosa  expect?  Did  she  expect  Miss  Twin- 
kleton?  Miss  Twinkleton  duly  came.  Forth  from  her 
back-parlour  issued  the  Billickin  to  receive  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton,  and  War  was  in  the  Billickin' s  eye  from  that  fell 
moment. 

Miss  Twinkleton  brought  a  quantity  of  luggage  with  her, 
having  all  Rosa's  as  well  as  her  own.  The  Billickin  took 
it  ill  that  Miss  Twinkleton's  mind,  being  sorely  disturbed 
by  this  luggage,  failed  to  take  in  her  personal  identity  with 
that  clearness  of  perception  which  was  due  to  its  demands. 
Stateliness  mounted  her  gloomy  throne  upon  the  Billickin's 
brow  in  consequence.  And  when  Miss  Twinkleton,  in  agi- 
tation taking  stock  of  her  trunks  and  packages,  of  which 
she  had  seventeen,  particularly  counted  in  the  Billickin 
herself  as  number  eleven,  the  B.  found  it  necessary  to 
repudiate. 

"Things  cannot  too  soon  be  put  upon  the  footing,"  said 
she,  with  a  candour  so  demonstrative  as  to  be  almost  ob- 
trusive, "  that  the  person  of  the  'ouse  is  not  a  box  nor  yet 
a  bundle,  nor  a  carpet-bag.  No,  I  am  'ily  obleeged  to  you, 
Miss  Twinkleton,  nor  yet  a  beggar." 

This  last  disclaimer  had  reference  to  Miss  Twinkleton's 
distractedly  pressing  two-and-sixpence  on  her,  instead  of 
the  cabman. 

Thus  cast  off,  Miss  Twinkleton  wildly  inquired,  "  which 
gentleman"  Avas  to  be  paid?  There  being  two  gentlemen 
in  that  position  (Miss  Twinkleton  having  arrived  with  two 
cabs),  each  gentleman  on  being  paid  held  forth  his  two- 
and-sixpence  on  the  flat  of  his  open  hand,  and,  with  a 
speechless  stare  and  a  dropped  jaw,  displayed  his  wrong  to 
heaven  and  earth.  Terrified  by  this  alarming  spectacle, 
Miss  Twinkleton  placed  another  shilling  in  each  hand;  at 
the  same  time  appealing  to  the  law  in  flurried  accents,  and 
recounting  her  luggage  this  time  with  the  two  gentlemen 
in,  who  caused  the  total  to  come  out  complicated.  Mean- 
while the  two  gentlemen,  each  looking  very  hard  at  the  last 


228  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

shilling  grumblingly,  as  if  it  might  become  eighteenpence 
if  he  kept  his  eyes  on  it,  descended  the  doorsteps,  ascended 
their  carriages,  and  drove  away,  leaving  Miss  Twinkleton 
on  a  bonnet-box  in  tears. 

The  Billickin  beheld  this  manifestation  of  weakness 
without  sympathy,  and  gave  directions  for  "  a  young  man 
to  be  got  in"  to  wrestle  with  the  luggage.  When  that 
gladiator  had  disappeared  from  the  arena,  peace  ensued, 
and  the  new  lodgers  dined. 

But  the  Billickin  had  somehow  come  to  the  knowledge 
that  Miss  Twinkleton  kept  a  school.  The  leap  from  that 
knowledge  to  the  inference  that  Miss  Twiukleton  set  her- 
self to  teach  her  something,  was  easy.  "  But  you  don't  do 
it,"  soliloquised  the  Billickin;  "  /am  not  your  pupil,  what- 
ever she,"  meaning  Rosa,  "  may  be,  poor  thing!  " 

Miss  Twinkleton,  on  the  other  hand,  having  changed  her 
dress  and  recovered  her  spirits,  was  animated  by  a  bland 
desire  to  improve  the  occasion  in  all  ways,  and  to  be  as 
serene  a  model  as  possible.  In  a  happy  compromise  be- 
tween her  two  states  of  existence,  she  had  already  become, 
with  her  workbasket  before  her,  the  equably  vivacious  com- 
panion with  a  slight  judicious  flavouring  of  information, 
when  the  Billickin  announced  herself. 

"I  will  not  hide  from  you,  ladies,"  said  the  B.,  envel- 
oped in  the  shawl  of  state,  "  for  it  is  not  my  character  to 
hide  neither  my  motives  nor  my  actions,  that  I  take  the 
liberty  to  look  in  upon  you  to  express  a  'ope  that  your  din- 
ner was  to  your  liking.  Though  not  Professed  but  Plain, 
still  her  wages  should  be  a  sufficient  object  to  her  to  stimu- 
late to  soar  above  mere  roast  and  biled. " 

"We  dined  very  well  indeed,"  said  Rosa,  "thank  you." 

"Accustomed,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton  with  a  gracious 
air,  which  to  the  jealous  ears  of  the  Billickin  seemed  to  add 
"  my  good  woman  " — "  accustomed  to  a  liberal  and  nutri- 
tious, yet  plain  and  salutary  diet,  we  have  found  no  reason 
to  bemoan  our  absence  from  the  ancient  city,  and  the  me- 
thodical household,  in  which  the  quiet  routine  of  our  lot 
has  been  hitherto  cast." 

I  did  think  it  well  to  mention  to  my  cook,"  observed 
the  Billickin  with  a  gush  of  candour,  "  which  I  'ope  you 
will  agree  with,  Miss  Twinkleton,  was  a  right  precaution, 
that  the  young  lady  being  used  to  what  we  should  consider 
here  but  poor  diet,  had  better  be  brought  forward  by  de- 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  229 

grees.  For,  a  rush  from  scanty  feeding  to  generous  feed- 
ing, and  from  what  you  may  call  messing  to  what  you  may 
call  method,  do  require  a  power  of  constitution  which  is 
not  often  found  in  youth,  particular  when  undermined  by 
boarding-school ! " 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  Billickin  now  openly  pitted  her- 
self against  Miss  Twinkleton,  as  one  whom  she  had  fully 
ascertained  to  be  her  natural  enemy. 

"  Your  remarks,"  returned  Miss  Twinkleton,  from  a  re- 
mote moral  eminence,  "are  well  meant,  I  have  no  doubt; 
but  you  will  permit  me  to  observe  that  they  develop  a  mis- 
taken view  of  the  subject,  which  can  only  be  imputed  to 
your  extreme  want  of  accurate  information." 

"  My  informiation,"  retorted  the  Billickin,  throwing  in  an 
extra  syllable  for  the  sake  of  emphasis  at  once  polite  and 
powerful — "  my  informiation,  Miss  Twinkleton,  were  my 
own  experience,  which  I  believe  is  usually  considered  to 
be  good  guidance.  But  whether  so  or  not,  I  was  put  in 
youth  to  a  very  genteel  boarding-school,  the  mistress 
being  no  less  a  lady  than  yourself,  of  about  your  own 
age  or  it  may  be  some  years  younger,  and  a  poorness  of 
blood  flowed  from  the  table  which  has  run  through  my 
life." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton,  still  from  her  dis- 
tant eminence;  "and  very  much  to  be  deplored. — Rosa,  my 
dear,  how  are  you  getting  on  with  your  work?  " 

"Miss  Twinkleton,"  resumed  the  Billickin,  in  a  courtly 
manner,  "before  retiring  on  the  'int,  as  a  lady  should,  I 
wish  to  ask  of  yourself,  as  a  lady,  whether  I  am  to  consider 
that  my  words  is  doubted?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware  on  what  ground  you  cherish  such  a  sup- 
position," began  Miss  Twinkleton,  when  the  Billickin  neatly 
stopped  her. 

"  Do  not,  if  you  please,  put  suppositions  betwixt  my  lips 
where  none  such  have  been  imparted  by  myself.  Your  flow 
of  words  is  great,  Miss  Twinkleton,  and  no  doubt  is  ex- 
pected from  you  by  your  pupils,  and  no  doubt  is  considered 
worth  the  money.  No  doubt,  I  am  sure.  But  not  paying 
for  flows  of  words,  and  not  asking  to  be  favoured  with  them 
here,  I  wish  to  repeat  my  question." 

"If  you  refer  to  the  poverty  of  your  circulation,"  began 
Miss  Twinkleton,  when  again  the  Billickin  neatly  stopped 
her. 


230  THE  MYSTERY  OP  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"I  have  used  no  such  expressions." 

"If  you  refer,  then,  to  the  poorness  of  your  blood — ' 

"Brought  upon  me,"  stipulated  the  Billickin,  expressly, 
"  at  a  boarding-school — " 

"Then,"  resumed  Miss  Twinkleton,  "all  I  can  say  is, 
that  I  am  bound  to  believe,  on  your  asseveration,  that  it  is 
very  poor  indeed.  I  cannot  forbear  adding,  that  if  that 
unfortunate  circumstance  influences  your  conversation,  it  is 
much  to  be  lamented,  and  it  is  eminently  desirable  that 
your  blood  were  richer. — Rosa,  my  dear,  how  are  you  get- 
ting on  with  your  work?  " 

"Hem!  Before  retiring,  Miss,"  proclaimed  the  Billickin 
to  Rosa,  loftily  cancelling  Miss  Twinkleton,  "  I  should  wish 
it  to  be  understood  between  yourself  and  me  that  my  trans- 
actions in  future  is  with  you  alone.  I  know  no  elderly 
lady  here,  Miss,  none  older  than  yourself." 

"A  highly  desirable  arrangement,  Rosa  my  dear,"  ob- 
served Miss  Twinkleton. 

"It  is  not,  Miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  with  a  sarcastic 
smile,  "  that  I  possess  the  Mill  I  have  heard  of,  in  which 
old  single  ladies  could  be  ground  up  young  (what  a  gift  it 
would  be  to  some  of  us),  but  that  I  limit  myself  to  you 
totally." 

"  When  I  have  any  desire  to  communicate  a  request  to 
the  person  of  the  house,  Rosa  my  dear,"  observed  Miss 
Twinkleton  with  majestic  cheerfulness,  "I  will  make  it 
known  to  you,  and  you  will  kindly  undertake,  I  am  sure, 
that  it  is  conveyed  to  the  proper  quarter." 

"Good  evening,  Miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  at  once  affec- 
tionately and  distantly.  "  Being  alone  in  my  eyes,  I  wish 
you  good  evening  with  best  wishes,  and  do  not  find  myself 
drove,  I  am  truly  'appy  to  say,  into  expressing  my  con- 
tempt for  an  indiwidual,  unfortunately  for  yourself,  be- 
longing to  you." 

The  Billickin  gracefully  withdrew  with  this  parting 
speech,  and  from  that  time  Rosa  occupied  the  restless  posi- 
tion of  shuttlecock  between  these  two  battledores.  Nothing 
could  be  done  without  a  smart  match  being  played  out. 
Thus,  on  the  daily-arising  question  of  dinner,  Miss  Twin- 
kleton would  say,  the  three  being  present  together : 

"Perhaps,  my  love,  you  will  consult  with  the  person  of 
the  house,  whether  she  can  procure  us  a  lamb's  fry;  or, 
failing  that,  a  roast  fowl." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN   DROOD.  231 

On  which  the  Billickiu  would  retort  (Rosa  not  having 
spoken  a  word),  "  If  you  was  better  accustomed  to  butcher's 
meat,  Miss,  you  would  not  entertain  the  idea  of  a  lamb's 
fry.  Firstly,  because  lambs  has  long  been  sheep,  and  sec- 
ondly, because  there  is  such  things  as  killing-days,  and 
there  is  not.  As  to  roast  fowls,  Miss,  why  you  must  be 
quite  surfeited  with  roast  fowls,  letting  alone  your  buying, 
when  you  market  for  yourself,  the  agedest  of  poultry  with 
the  scaliest  of  legs,  quite  as  if  you  was  accustomed  to  pick- 
ing 'em  out  for  cheapness.  Try  a  little  inwention,  Miss. 
Use  yourself  to  'ousekeeping  a  bit.  Come  now,  think  of 
somethink  else." 

To  this  encouragement,  offered  with  the  indulgent  toler- 
ation of  a  wise  and  liberal  expert,  Miss  Twinkleton  would 
rejoin,  reddening: 

"  Or,  my  dear,  you  might  propose  to  the  person  of  the 
house  a  duck." 

"  Well,  Miss !  "  the  Billickin  would  exclaim  (still  no  word 
being  spoken  by  Rosa),  "you  do  surprise  me  when  you 
speak  of  ducks !  Not  to  mention  that  they're  getting  out 
of  season  and  very  dear,  it  really  strikes  to  my  heart  to  see 
you  have  a  duck;  for  the  breast,  which  is  the  only  delicate 
cuts  in  a  duck,  always  goes  in  a  direction  which  I  cannot 
imagine  where,  and  your  own  plate  comes  down  so  miser- 
ably skin-and-bony !  Try  again,  Miss.  Think  more  of 
yourself,  and  less  of  others.  A  dish  of  sweetbreads  now, 
or  a  bit  of  mutton.  Something  at  which  you  can  get  your 
equalchance." 

Occasionally  the  game  would  wax  very  brisk  indeed, 
and  would  be  kept  up  with  a  smartness  rendering  such 
an  encounter  as  this  quite  tame.  But  the  Billickin  al- 
most invariably  made  by  far  the  higher  score;  and 
would  come  in  with  side  hits  of  the  most  unexpected 
and  extraordinary  description,  when  she  seemed  without 
a  chance. 

All  this  did  not  improve  the  gritty  state  of  things  in 
London,  or  the  air  that  London  had  acquired  in  Rosa's  eyes 
of  waiting  for  something  that  never  came.  Tired  of  work- 
ing, and  conversing  with  Miss  Twinkleton,  she  suggested 
working  and  reading:  to  which  Miss  Twinkleton  readily 
assented,  as  an  admirable  reader,  of  tried  powers.  But 
Rosa  soon  made  the  discovery  that  Miss  Twinkleton  didn't 
read  fairly.  She  cut  the  love-scenes,  interpolated  passages 


232  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  praise  of  female  celibacy,  and  was  guilty  of  other  glar- 
ing pious  frauds.  As  an  instance  in  point,  take  the  glow- 
ing passage:  "Ever  dearest  and  best  adored, — said  Ed- 
ward, clasping  the  dear  head  to  his  breast,  and  drawing  the 
silken  hair  through  his  caressing  fingers,  from  which  he 
suffered  it  to  fall  like  golden  rain, — ever  dearest  and  best 
adored,  let  us  fly  from  the  unsympathetic  world  and  the 
sterile  coldness  of  the  stony-hearted,  to  the  rich  warm  Para- 
dise of  Trust  and  Love."  Miss  Twinkleton's  fraudulent 
version  tamely  ran  thus :  "  Ever  engaged  to  me  with  the 
consent  of  our  parents  on  both  sides,  and  the  approbation 
of  the  silver-haired  rector  of  the  district, — said  Edward, 
respectfully  raising  to  his  lips  the  taper  fingers  so  skilful 
in  embroidery,  tambour,  crochet,  and  other  truly  feminine 
arts, — let  me  call  on  thy  papa  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  has 
sunk  into  the  west,  and  propose  a  suburban  establishment, 
lowly  it  may  be,  but  within  our  means,  where  he  will  be 
always  welcome  as  an  evening  guest,  and  where  every  ar- 
rangement shall  invest  economy,  and  constant  interchange 
of  scholastic  acquirements  with  the  attributes  of  the  minis- 
tering angel  to  domestic  bliss." 

As  the  days  crept  on  and  nothing  happened,  the  neigh- 
bours began  to  say  that  the  pretty  girl  at  Billickin's  who 
looked  so  wistfully  and  so  much  out  of  the  gritty  windows 
of  the  drawing-room,  seemed  to  be  losing  her  spirits.  The 
pretty  girl  might  have  lost  them  but  for  the  accident  of 
lighting  on  some  books  of  voyages  and  sea-adventure.  As 
a  compensation  against  their  romance,  Miss  Twinkleton, 
reading  aloud,  made  the  most  of  all  the  latitudes  and  lon- 
gitudes, bearings,  winds,  currents,  offsets,  and  other  statis- 
tics (which  she  felt  to  be  none  the  less  improving  because 
they  expressed  nothing  whatever  to  her);  while  Rosa,  lis- 
tening intently,  made  the  most  of  what  was  nearest  to  her 
heart.  So  they  both  did  better  than  before. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  233 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  DAWN  AGAIN. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  John  Jasper  met  daily 
under  the  Cathedral  roof,  nothing  at  any  time  passed  be- 
tween them  having  reference  to  Edwin  Drood,  after  the 
time,  more  than  half  a  year  gone  by,  when  Jasper  mutely 
showed  the  Minor  Canon  the  conclusion  and  the  resolution 
entered  in  his  Diary.  It  is  not  likely  that  they  ever  met, 
though  so  often,  without  the  thoughts  of  each  reverting  to 
the  subject.  It  is  not  likely  that  they  ever  met,  though  so 
often,  without  a  sensation  on  the  part  of  each  that  the  other 
was  a  perplexing  secret  to  him.  Jasper  as  the  denouncer 
and  pursuer  of  Neville  Landless,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle  as  his 
consistent  advocate  and  protector,  must  at  least  have  stood 
sufficiently  in  opposition  to  have  speculated  with  keen  in- 
terest on  the  steadiness  and  next  direction  of  the  other's 
designs.  But  neither  ever  broached  the  theme. 

False  pretence  not  being  in  the  Minor  Canon's  nature,  he 
doubtless  displayed  openly  that  he  would  at  any  time  have 
revived  the  subject,  and  even  desired  to  discuss  it.  The 
determined  reticence  of  Jasper,  however,  was  not  to  be  so 
approached.  Impassive,  moody,  solitary,  resolute,  so  con- 
centrated on  one  idea,  and  on  its  attendant  fixed  purpose, 
that  he  would  share  it  with  no  fellow-creature,  he  lived 
apart  from  human  life.  Constantly  exercising  an  Art  which 
brought  him  into  mechanical  harmony  with  others,  and 
which  could  not  have  been  pursued  unless  he  and  they  had 
been  in  the  nicest  mechanical  relations  and  unison,  it  is 
curious  to  consider  that  the  spirit  of  the  man  was  in  moral 
accordance  or  interchange  with  nothing  around  him.  This 
indeed  he  had  confided  to  his  lost  nephew,  before  the  occa- 
sion for  his  present  inflexibility  arose. 

That  he  must  know  of  Rosa's  abrupt  departure,  and  that 
he  must  divine  its  cause,  was  not  to  be  doubted.  Did  he 
suppose  that  he  had  terrified  her  into  silence?  or  did  he 
suppose  that  she  had  imparted  to  any  one — to  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle himself,  for  instance — the  particulars  of  his  last  inter- 
view with  her?  Mr.  Crisparkle  could  not  determine  this 


234  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOB. 

in  his  mind.  He  could  not  but  admit,  however,  as  a  just 
man,  that  it  was  not,  of  itself,  a  crime  to  fall  in  love  with 
Rosa,  any  more  than  it  was  a  crime  to  offer  to  set  love 
above  revenge. 

The  dreadful  suspicion  of  Jasper,  which  Rosa  was  so 
shocked  to  have  received  into  her  imagination,  appeared  to 
have  no  harbour  in  Mr.  Crisparkle's.  If  it  ever  haunted 
Helena's  thoughts  or  Neville's,  neither  gave  it  one  spoken 
word  of  utterance.  Mr.  Grewgious  took  no  pains  to  con- 
ceal his  implacable  dislike  of  Jasper,  yet  he  never  referred 
it,  however  distantly,  to  such  a  source.  But  he  was  a  ret- 
icent as  well  as  an  eccentric  man;  and  he  made  no  mention 
of  a  certain  evening  when  he  warmed  his  hands  at  the  gate- 
house fire,  and  looked  steadily  down  upon  a  certain  heap 
of  torn  and  miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Drowsy  Cloisterham,  whenever  it  awoke  to  a  passing  re- 
consideration of  a  story  above  six  months  old  and  dismissed 
by  the  bench  of  magistrates,  was  pretty  equally  divided  in 
opinion  whether  John  Jasper's  beloved  nephew  had  been 
killed  by  his  treacherously  passionate  rival,  or  in  an  open 
struggle;  or  had,  for  his  own  purposes,  spirited  himself 
away.  It  then  lifted  up  its  head,  to  notice  that  the  be- 
reaved Jasper  was  still  ever  devoted  to  discovery  and  re- 
venge; and  then  dozed  off  again.  This  was  the  condition 
of  matters,  all  round,  at  the  period  to  which  the  present 
history  has  now  attained. 

The  Cathedral  doors  have  closed  for  the  night;  and  the 
Choir-master,  on  a  short  leave  of  absence  for  two  or  three 
services,  sets  his  face  towards  London.  He  travels  thither 
by  the  means  by  which  Rosa  travelled,  and  arrives,  as  Rosa 
arrived,  on  a  hot,  dusty  evening. 

His  travelling  baggage  is  easily  carried  in  his  hand,  and 
he  repairs  with  it  on  foot,  to  a  hybrid  hotel  in  a  little 
square  behind  Aldersgate  Street,  near  the  General  Post 
Office.  It  is  hotel,  boarding-house,  or  lodging-house,  at  its 
visitor's  option.  It  announces  itself,  in  the  new  Railway 
Advertisers,  as  a  novel  enterprise,  timidly  beginning  to 
spring  up.  It  bashfully,  almost  apologetically,  gives  the 
traveller  to  understand  that  it  does  not  expect  him,  on  the 
good  old  constitutional  hotel  plan,  to  order  a  pint  of  sweet 
blacking  for  his  drinking,  and  throw  it  away;  but  insinu- 
ates that  he  may  have  his  boots  blacked  instead  of  his 
stomach,  and  maybe  also  have  bed,  breakfast,  attendance, 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.  235 

and  a  porter  up  all  night,  for  a  certain  fixed  charge.  From 
these  and  similar  premises,  many  true  Britons  in  the  lowest 
spirits  deduce  that  the  times  are  levelling  times,  except  in 
the  article  of  high  roads,  of  which  there  will  shortly  be  not 
one  in  England. 

He  eats  without  appetite,  and  soon  goes  forth  again. 
Eastward  and  still  eastward  through  the  stale  streets  he 
takes  his  way,  until  he  reaches  his  destination :  a  miserable 
court,  specially  miserable  among  many  such. 

He  ascends  a  broken  staircase,  opens  a  door,  looks  into  a 
dark  stifling  room,  and  says :  "  Are  you  alone  here?  " 

"Alone,  deary;  worse  luck  for  me,  and  better  for  you," 
replies  a  croaking  voice.  "Come  in,  come  in,  whoever  you 
be :  I  can't  see  you  till  I  light  a  match,  yet  I  seem  to  know 
the  sound  of  your  speaking.  I'm  acquainted  with  you, 
ain't  I?  » 

"Light  your  match,  and  try." 

"  So  I  will,  deary,  so  I  will;  but  my  hand  that  shakes, 
as  I  can't  lay  it  on  a  match  all  in  a  moment.  And  I  cough 
so,  that,  put  my  matches  where  I  may,  I  never  find  'em 
there.  They  jump  and  start,  as  I  cough  and  cough,  like 
live  things.  Are  you  off  a  voyage,  deary?  " 

"No." 

"Not  seafaring?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  there's  land  customers,  and  there's  water  cus- 
tomers. I'm  a  mother  to  both.  Different  from  Jack  China- 
man t'other  side  the  court.  He  ain't  a  father  to  neither. 
It  ain't  in  him.  And  he  ain't  got  the  true  secret  of  mix- 
ing, though  he  charges  as  much  as  me  that  has,  and  more 
if  he  can  get  it.  Here's  a  match,  and  now  where 's  the  can- 
dle? If  my  cough  takes  me,  I  shall  cough  out  twenty 
matches  afore  I  gets  a  light." 

But  she  finds  the  candle,  and  lights  it,  before  the  cough 
comes  on.  It  seizes  her  in  the  moment  of  success,  and  she 
sits  down  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  gasping  at  inter- 
vals: "0,  my  lungs  is  awful  bad!  my  lungs  is  wore  away 
to  cabbage-nets ! "  until  the  fit  is  over.  During  its  continu- 
ance she  has  had  no  power  of  sight,  or  any  other  power  not 
absorbed  in  the  struggle;  but  as  it  leaves  her,  she  begins 
to  strain  her  eyes,  and  as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  articulate, 
she  cries,  staring : 

"Why,  it's  you!" 


236  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

"  Are  you  so  surprised  to  see  me?  " 

"  I  thought  I  never  should  have  seen  you  again,  deary. 
I  thought  you  was  dead,  and  gone  to  Heaven. " 

"Why?" 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  could  have  kept  away,  alive,  so 
long,  from  the  poor  old  soul  with  the  real  receipt  for 
mixing  it.  And  you  are  in  mourning  too!  Why  didn't 
you  come  and  have  a  pipe  or  two  of  comfort?  Did  they 
leave  you  money,  perhaps,  and  so  you  didn't  want  com- 
fort? " 

"No." 

"  Who  was  they  as  died,  deary?  " 

"A  relative." 

"  Died  of  what,  lovey?  " 

"Probably,  Death."' 

"  We  are  short  to-night !  "  cries  the  woman,  with  a  pro- 
pitiatory laugh.  "  Short  and  snappish  we  are !  But  we're 
out  of  sorts  for  want  of  a  smoke.  We've  got  the  all-overs, 
haven't  us,  deary?  But  this  is  the  place  to  cure  'em  in; 
this  is  the  place  where  the  all-overs  is  smoked  off." 

"You  may  make  ready,  then,"  replies  the  visitor,  "as 
soon  as  you  like." 

He  divests  himself  of  his  shoes,  loosens  his  cravat,  and 
lies  across  the  foot  of  the  squalid  bed,  with  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  left  hand. 

"Now  you  begin  to  look  like  yourself,"  says  the  woman 
approvingly.  "  Now  1  begin  to  know  my  old  customer  in- 
deed !  Been  trying  to  mix  for  yourself  this  long  time,  pop- 
pet? " 

"I  have  been  taking  it  now  and  then  in  my  own  way." 

"Never  take  it  your  own  way.  It  ain't  good  for  trade, 
and  it  ain't  good  for  you.  Where's  my  inkbottle,  and 
where's  my  thimble,  and  where's  my  little  spoon?  He's 
going  to  take  it  in  a  artful  form  now,  my  deary  dear ! " 

Entering  on  her  process,  and  beginning  to  bubble  and 
blow  at  the  faint  spark  enclosed  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands, 
she  speaks  from  time  to  time,  in  a  tone  of  snuffling  satis- 
faction, without  leaving  off.  When  he  speaks,  he  does  so 
without  looking  at  her,  and  as  if  his  thoughts  were  already 
roaming  away  by  anticipation. 

"  I've  got  a  pretty  many  smokes  ready  for  you,  first  and 
last,  haven't  I,  chuckey?  " 

"  A  good  many." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  237 

"When  you  first  come,  you  was  quite  new  to  it;  warn't 
ye?" 

"Yes,  I  was  easily  disposed  of,  then." 

"  But  you  got  on  in  the  world,  and  was  able  by-and-bye 
to  take  your  pipe  with  the  best  of  'em,  warn't  ye?  " 

"Ah;  and  the  worst." 

"It's  just  ready  for  you.  What  a  sweet  singer  you  was 
when  you  first  come !  Used  to  drop  your  head,  and  sing 
yourself  off  like  a  bird!  It's  ready  for  you  now,  deary." 

He  takes  it  from  her  with  great  care,  and  puts  the 
mouthpiece  to  his  lips.  She  seats  herself  beside  him,  ready 
to  refill  the  pipe.  After  inhaling  a  few  whiffs  in  silence, 
he  doubtingly  accosts  her  with : 

"  Is  it  as  potent  as  it  used  to  be?  " 

"  What  do  you  speak  of,  deary?  " 

"What  should  I  speak  of,  but  what  I  have  in  my 
mouth?  " 

"It's  just  the  same.     Always  the  identical  same." 

"It  doesn't  taste  so.     And  it's  slower." 

"You've  got  more  used  to  it,  you  see." 

"  That  may  be  the  cause,  certainly.  Look  here. "  He  stops, 
becomes  dreamy,  and  seems  to  forget  that  he  has  invited 
her  attention.  She  bends  over  him,  and  speaks  in  his 
ear. 

"I'm  attending  to  you.  Says  you  just  now,  Look  here. 
Says  I  now,  I'm  attending  to  ye.  We  was  talking  just  be- 
fore of  your  being  used  to  it." 

"I  know  all  that.  I  was  only  thinking.  Look  here. 
Suppose  you  had  something  in  your  mind;  something  you 
were  going  to  do." 

"  Yes,  deary;  something  I  was  going  to  do?  " 

"But  had  not  quite  determined  to  do." 

"Yes,  deary." 

"Might  or  might  not  do,  you  understand." 

"Yes."  With  the  point  of  a  needle  she  stirs  the  con- 
tents of  the  bowl. 

"  Should  you  do  it  in  your  fancy,  when  you  were  lying 
here  doing  this?  " 

She  nods  her  head.     "  Over  and  over  again." 

"  Just  like  me !  I  did  it  over  and  over  again.  I  have 
done  it  hundreds  of  thousands  of  times  in  this  room." 

"It's  to  be  hoped  it  was  pleasant  to  do,  deary." 

"  It  was  pleasant  to  do ! " 


238  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

He  says  this  with  a  savage  air,  and  a  spring  or  start  at 
her.  Quite  unmoved  she  retouches  and  replenishes  the  con- 
tents of  the  bowl  with  her  little  spatula.  Seeing  her  intent 
upon  the  occupation,  he  sinks  into  his  former  attitude. 

"It  was  a  journey,  a  difficult  and  dangerous  journey. 
That  was  the  subject  in  my  mind.  A  hazardous  and  peril- 
ous journey,  over  abysses  where  a  slip  would  be  destruc- 
tion. Look  down,  look  down !  You  see  what  lies  at  the 
bottom  there?  " 

He  has  darted  forward  to  say  it,  and  to  point  at  the 
ground,  as  though  at  some  imaginary  object  far  beneath. 
The  woman  looks  at  him,  as  his  spasmodic  face  approaches 
close  to  hers,  and  not  at  his  pointing.  She  seems  to  know 
what  the  influence  of  her  perfect  quietude  would  be;  if  so, 
she  has  not  miscalculated  it,  for  he  subsides  again. 

"  Well;  I  have  told  you  I  did  it  here  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  times.  What  do  I  say?  I  did  it  millions  and 
billions  of  times.  I  did  it  so  often,  and  through  such  vast 
expanses  of  time,  that  when  it  was  really  done,  it  seemed 
not  worth  the  doing,  it  was  done  so  soon." 

"That's  the  journey  you  have  been  away  upon,"  she 
quietly  remarks. 

He  glares  at  her  as  he  smokes;  and  then,  his  eyes  be- 
coming filmy,  answers:  "That's  the  journey." 

Silence  ensues.  His  eyes  are  sometimes  closed  and  some- 
times open.  The  woman  sits  beside  him,  very  attentive  to 
the  pipe,  which  is  all  the  while  at  his  lips. 

"I'll  warrant,"  she  observes,  when  he  has  been  looking 
fixedly  at  her  for  some  consecutive  moments,  with  a  singu- 
lar appearance  in  his  eyes  of  seeming  to  see  her  a  long  way 
off,  instead  of  so  near  him:  "I'll  warrant  you  made  the 
journey  in  a  many  ways,  when  you  made  it  so  often?  " 

"No,  always  in  one  way." 

"  Always  in  the  same  way?  " 

"Ay." 

"  In  the  way  in  which  it  was  really  made  at  last?  " 

"Ay." 

"  And  always  took  the  same  pleasure  in  harping  on  it?" 

"Ay." 

For  the  time  he  appears  unequal  to  any  other  reply  than 
this  lazy  monosyllabic  assent.  Probably  to  assure  herself 
that  it  is  not  the  assent  of  a  mere  automaton,  she  reverses 
the  form  of  her  next  sentence. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  239 

"Did  you  never  get  tired  of  it,  deary,  arid  try  to  call  up 
something  else  for  a  change?  " 

He  struggles  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  retorts  upon  her : 
"  What  do  you  mean?  What  did  I  want?  What  did  I 
come  for?  " 

She  gently  lays  him  back  again,  and  before  returning 
him  the  instrument  he  has  dropped,  revives  the  fire  in  it 
with  her  own  breath;  then  says  to  him,  coaxingly : 

"  Sure,  sure,  sure !  Yes,  yes,  yes !  Now  I  go  along  with 
you.  You  was  too  quick  for  me.  I  see  now.  You  come 
o'  purpose  to  take  the  journey.  Why,  I  might  have  known 
it,  through  its  standing  by  you  so." 

He  answers  first  with  a  laugh,  and  then  with  a  passion- 
ate setting  of  his  teeth:  "Yes,  I  came  on  purpose.  When 
I  could  not  bear  my  life,  I  came  to  get  the  relief,  and  I  got 
it.  It  WAS  one !  It  WAS  one !  "  This  repetition  with  ex- 
traordinary vehemence,  and  the  snarl  of  a  wolf. 

She  observes  him  very  cautiously,  as  though  mentally 
feeling  her  way  to  her  next  remark.  It  is :  "  There  was  a 
fellow-traveller,  deary." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha ! "    He  breaks  into  a  ringing  laugh,  or  rather 

yell. 

"To  think,"  he  cries,  "how  often  a  fellow-traveller,  and 
yet  not  know  it !  To  think  how  many  times  he  went  the 
journey,  and  never  saw  the  road !  " 

The  woman  kneels  upon  the  floor,  with  her  arms  crossed 
on  the  coverlet  of  the  bed,  close  by  him,  and  her  chin  upon 
them.  In  this  crouching  attitude  she  watches  him.  The 
pipe  is  falling  from  his  mouth.  She  puts  it  back,  and  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  his  chest,  moves  him  slightly  from  side 
to  side.  Upon  that  he  speaks,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  Yes !  I  always  made  the  journey  first,  before  the 
changes  of  colours  and  the  great  landscapes  and  glittering 
processions  began.  They  couldn't  begin  till  it  was  off  my 
mind.  I  had  no  room  till  then  for  anything  else." 

Once  more  he  lapses  into  silence.  Once  more  she  lays 
her  hand  upon  his  chest,  and  moves  him  slightly  to  and 
fro,  as  a  cat  might  stimulate  a  half-slain  mouse.  Once 
more  he  speaks,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  What?  I  told  you  so.  When  it  comes  to  be  real  at 
last,  it  is  so  short  that  it  seems  unreal  for  the  first  time. 
Hark ! " 

"Yes,  deary.     I'm  listening." 


240  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Time  and  place  are  both  at  hand." 

He  is  on  his  feet,  speaking  in  a  whisper,  and  as  if  in  the 
dark. 

"Time,  place,  and  fellow-traveller,"  she  suggests,  adopt- 
ing his  tone,  and  holding  him  softly  by  the  arm. 

"  How  could  the  time  be  at  hand  unless  the  fellow-trav- 
eller was?  Hush!  The  journey's  made.  It's  over." 

"  So  soon?  " 

"That's  what  I  said  to  you.  So  soon.  Wait  a  little. 
This  is  a  vision.  I  shall  sleep  it  off.  It  has  been  too  short 
and  easy.  I  must  have  a  better  vision  than  this;  this  is 
the  poorest  of  all.  No  struggle,  no  consciousness  of  peril, 
no  entreaty — and  yet  I  never  saw  that  before."  With  a 
start. 

"  Saw  what,  deary?  " 

"  Look  at  it !  Look  what  a  poor,  mean,  miserable  thing 
it  is !  That  must  be  real.  It's  over." 

He  has  accompanied  this  incoherence  with  some  wild  un- 
meaning gestures;  but  they  trail  off  into  the  progressive 
inaction  of  stupor,  and  he  lies  a  log  upon  the  bed. 

The  woman,  however,  is  still  inquisitive.  With  a  repe- 
tition of  her  cat-like  action  she  slightly  stirs  his  body  again, 
and  listens;  stirs  again,  and  listens;  whispers  to  it,  and 
listens.  Finding  it  past  all  rousing  for  the  time,  she  slowly 
gets  upon  her  feet,  with  an  air  of  disappointment,  and  flicks 
the  face  with  the  back  of  her  hand  in  turning  from  it. 

But  she  goes  no  further  away  from  it  than  the  chair  upon 
the  hearth.  She  sits  in  it,  with  an  elbow  on  one  of  its 
arms,  and  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  intent  upon  him.  "  I 
heard  ye  say  once,"  she  croaks  under  her  breath,  "  I  heard 
ye  say  once,  when  I  was  lying  where  you're  lying,  and  you 
were  making  your  speculations  upon  me,  '  Unintelligible ! ' 
I  heard  you  say  so,  of  two  more  than  me.  But  don't  ye  be 
too  sure  always;  don't  ye  be  too  sure,  beauty!  " 

Unwinking,  cat-like,  and  intent,  she  presently  adds: 
"  Not  so  potent  as  it  once  was?  Ah !  Perhaps  not  at  first. 
You  may  be  more  right  there.  Practice  makes  perfect.  I 
may  have  learned  the  secret  how  to  make  ye  talk,  deary." 

He  talks  no  more,  whether  or  no.  Twitching  in  an  ugly 
way  from  time  to  time,  both  as  to  his  face  and  limbs,  he 
lies  heavy  and  silent.  The  wretched  candle  burns  down ; 
the  woman  takes  its  expiring  end  between  her  fingers, 
lights  another  at  it,  crams  the  guttering  frying  morsel  deep 


THE  MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  241 

into  the  candlestick,  and  rams  it  home  with  the  new  candle, 
as  if  she  were  loading  some  ill-savoured  and  unseemly 
weapon  of  witchcraft;  the  new  candle  in  its  turn  burns 
down;  and  still  he  lies  insensible.  At  length  what  remains 
of  the  last  candle  is  blown  out,  and  daylight  looks  into  the 
room. 

It  has  not  looked  very  long,  when  he  sits  up,  chilled  and 
shaking,  slowly  recovers  consciousness  of  where  he  is,  and 
makes  himself  ready  to  depart.  The  woman  receives  what 
he  pays  her  with  a  grateful,  "  Bless  ye,  bless  ye,  deary ! " 
and  seems,  tired  out,  to  begin  making  herself  ready  for 
sleep  as  he  leaves  the  room. 

But  seeming  may  be  false  or  true.  It  is  false  in  this 
case;  for,  the  moment  the  stairs  have  ceased  to  creak  under 
his  tread,  she  glides  after  him,  muttering  emphatically: 
"I'll  not  miss  ye  twice!  " 

There  is  DO  egress  from  the  court  but  by  its  entrance. 
With  a  weird  peep  from  the  doorway,  she  watches  for  his 
looking  back.  He  does  not  look  back  before  disappearing, 
with  a  wavering  step.  She  follows  him,  peeps  from  the 
court,  sees  him  still  faltering  on  without  looking  back,  and 
holds  him  in  view. 

He  repairs  to  the  back  of  Aldersgate  Street,  where  a 
door  immediately  opens  to  his  knocking.  She  crouches  in 
another  doorway,  watching  that  one,  and  easily  comprehend- 
ing that  he  puts  iip  temporarily  at  that  house.  Her  pa- 
tience is  unexhausted  by  hours.  For  sustenance  she  can, 
and  does,  buy  bread  within  a  hundred  yards,  and  milk  as 
it  is  carried  past  her. 

He  comes  forth  again  at  noon,  having  changed  his  dress, 
but  carrying  nothing  in  his  hand,  and  having  nothing  car- 
ried for  him.  He  is  not  going  back  into  the  country, 
therefore,  just  yet.  She  follows  him  a  little  way,  hesi- 
tates, instantaneously  turns  confidently,  and  goes  straight 
into  the  house  he  has  quitted. 

"  Is  the  gentleman  from  Cloisterham  indoors?  " 

"Just  gone  out." 

"Unlucky.  When  does  the  gentleman  return  to  Clois- 
terham? " 

"At  six  this  evening." 

"  Bless  ye  and  thank  ye.     May  the  Lord  prosper  a  busi- 
ness where  a  civil  question,  even  from  a  poor  soul,  is  so 
civilly  answered!" 
16 


242  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I'll  not  miss  ye  twice ! "  repeats  the  poor  soul  in  the 
street,  and  not  so  civilly.  "  I  lost  ye  last,  where  that  om- 
nibus you  got  into  nigh  your  journey's  end  plied  betwixt 
the  station  and  the  place.  I  wasn't  so  much  as  certain  that 
you  even  went  right  on  to  the  place.  Now  I  know  ye  did. 
My  gentleman  from  Cloisterham,  I'll  be  there  before  ye, 
and  bide  your  coming.  I've  swore  my  oath  that  I'll  not 
miss  ye  twice ! " 

Accordingly,  that  same  evening  the  poor  soul  stands  in 
Cloisterham  High  Street,  looking  at  the  many  quaint  gables 
of  the  Nuns'  House,  arid  getting  through  the  time  as  she 
best  can  until  nine  o'clock;  at  which  hour  she  has  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  arriving  omnibus  passengers  may  have 
some  interest  for  her.  The  friendly  darkness,  at  that  hour, 
renders  it  easy  for  her  to  ascertain  whether  this  be  so  or 
not;  and  it  is  so,  for  the  passenger  not  to  be  missed  twice 
arrives  among  the  rest. 

"  Now  let  me  see  what  becomes  of  you.     Go  on ! " 

An  observation  addressed  to  the  air,  and  yet  it  might  be 
addressed  to  the  passenger,  so  compliantly  does  he  go  on 
along  the  High  Street  until  he  comes  to  an  arched  gateway, 
at  which  he  unexpectedly  vanishes.  The  poor  soul  quick- 
ens her  pace;  is  swift,  and  close  upon  him  entering  under 
the  gateway;  but  only  sees  a  postern  staircase  on  one  side 
of  it,  and  on  the  other  side  an  ancient  vaulted  room,  in 
which  a  large-headed,  grey-haired  gentleman  is  writing, 
under  the  odd  circumstances  of  sitting  open  to  the  thor- 
oughfare and  eyeing  all  who  pass,  as  if  he  were  toll-taker 
of  the  gateway :  though  the  way  is  free. 

"  Halloa ! "  he  cries  in  a  low  voice,  seeing  her  brought  to 
a  standstill :  "  who  are  you  looking  for?  " 

"There  was  a  gentleman  passed  in  here  this  minute,  sir." 

"Of  course  there  was.     What  do  you  want  with  him?  " 

"  Where  do  he  live,  deary?  " 

"Live?     Up  that  staircase." 

"Bless  ye!     Whisper.     What's  his  name,  deary?" 

"  Surname  Jasper,  Christian  name  John.  Mr.  John  Jas- 
per." 

"  Has  he  a  calling,  good  gentleman?  " 

"Calling?     Yes.     Sings  in  the  choir." 

"  In  the  spire?  " 

"Choir." 

"What's  that?" 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  243 

Mr.  Datchery  rises  from  his  papers,  and  comes  to  his 
doorstep.  "Do  you  know  what  a  cathedral  is?  "  he  asks, 
jocosely. 

The  woman  nods. 

"  What  is  it?  " 

She  looks  puzzled,  casting  about  in  her  mind  to  find  a 
definition,  when  it  occurs  to  her  that  it  is  easier  to  point 
out  the  substantial  object  itself,  massive  against  the  dark- 
blue  sky  and  the  early  stars. 

"That's  the  answer.  Go  in  there  at  seven  to-morrow 
morning,  and  you  may  see  Mr.  John  Jasper,  and  hear  him 
too." 

"Thank  ye!     Thank  ye!" 

The  burst  of  triumph  in  which  she  thanks  him  does  not 
escape  the  notice  of  the  single  buffer  of  an  easy  temper  liv- 
ing idly  on  his  means.  He  glances  at  her;  clasps  his  hands 
behind  him,  as  the  wont  of  such  buffers  is;  and  lounges 
along  the  echoing  Precincts  at  her  side. 

"Or,"  he  suggests,  with  a  backward  hitch  of  his  head, 
"you  can  go  up  at  once  to  Mr.  Jasper's  rooms  there." 

The  woman  eyes  him  with  a  cunning  smile,  and  shakes 
her  head. 

"  0 !  you  don't  want  to  speak  to  him?  " 

She  repeats  her  dumb  reply,  arid  forms  with  her  lips  a 
soundless  "No." 

"  You  can  admire  him  at  a  distance  three  times  a  day, 
whenever  you  like.  It's  a  long  way  to  come  for  that, 
though." 

The  woman  looks  up  quickly.  If  Mr.  Datchery  thinks 
she  is  to  be  so  induced  to  declare  where  she  comes  from,  he 
is  of  a  much  easier  temper  than  she  is  But  she  acquits 
him  of  such  an  artful  thought,  as  he  lounges  along,  like  the 
chartered  bore  of  the  city,  with  his  uncovered  grey  hair 
blowing  about,  and  his  purposeless  hands  rattling  the  loose 
money  in  the  pockets  of  his  trousers. 

The  clink  of  the  money  has  an  attraction  for  her  greedy 
ears.  "  Wouldn't  you  help  me  to  pay  for  my  traveller's 
lodging,  dear  gentleman,  and  to  pay  my  way  along?  I  am  a 
poor  soul,  I  am  indeed,  and  troubled  with  a  grievous  cough." 

"  You  know  the  travellers'  lodging,  I  perceive,  and  are 
making  directly  for  it,"  is  Mr.  Datchery 's  bland  comment, 
still  rattling  his  loose  money.  "  Been  here  often,  my  good 
woman?  " 


244  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Once  in  all  my  life." 

"Ay,  ay?" 

They  have  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  Monks'  Vine- 
yard. An  appropriate  remembrance,  presenting  an  exem- 
plary model  for  imitation,  is  revived  in  the  woman's  mind 
by  the  sight  of  the  place.  She  stops  at  the  gate,  and  says 
energetically : 

"By  this  token,  though  you  mayn't  believe  it,  That  a 
young  gentleman  gave  me  three  and  sixpence  as  I  was 
coughing  my  breath  away  on  this  very  grass.  I  asked  him 
for  three  and  sixpence,  and  he  gave  it  me." 

"  Wasn't  it  a  little  cool  to  name  your  sum?  "  hints  Mr. 
Datchery,  still  rattling.  "  Isn't  it  customary  to  leave  the 
amount  open?  Mightn't  it  have  had  the  appearance,  to  the 
young  gentleman — only  the  appearance — that  he  was  rather 
dictated  to?  " 

"Look'ee  here,  deary,"  she  replies,  in  a  confidential  and 
persuasive  tone,  "  I  wanted  the  money  to  lay  it  out  on  a 
medicine  as  does  me  good,  and  as  I  deal  in.  I  told  the 
young  gentleman  so,  and  he  gave  it  me,  and  I  laid  it  out 
honest  to  the  last  brass  farden.  I  want  to  lay  out  the  same 
sum  in  the  same  way  now;  and  if  you'll  give  it  me,  I'll 
lay  it  out  honest  to  the  last  brass  farden  again,  upon  my 
soul!" 

"  What's  the  medicine?  " 

"  I'll  be  honest  with  you  beforehand,  as  well  as  after. 
It's  opium." 

Mr.  Datchery,  with  a  sudden  change  of  countenance, 
gives  her  a  sudden  look. 

"  It's  opium,  deary.  Neither  more  nor  less.  And  it's 
like  a  human  creetur  so  far,  that  you  always  hear  what  can 
be  said  against  it,  but  seldom  what  can  be  said  in  its 
praise." 

Mr.  Datchery  begins  very  slowly  to  count  out  the  sum 
demanded  of  him.  Greedily  watching  his  hands,  she  con- 
tinues to  hold  forth  on  the  great  example  set  him. 

"  It  was  last  Christmas  Eve,  just  arter  dark,  the  once  that 
I  was  here  afore,  when  the  young  gentleman  gave  me  the 
three  and  six." 

Mr.  Datchery  stops  in  his  counting,  finds  he  has  counted 
wrong,  shakes  his  money  together,  and  begins  again. 

"And  the  young  gentleman's  name,"  she  adds,  "was 
Edwin." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  245 

Mr.  Datchery  drops  some  money,  stoops  to  pick  it  up, 
and  reddens  with  the  exertion  as  he  asks : 

"  How  do  you  know  the  young  gentleman's  name?  " 

"  I  asked  him  for  it,  and  he  told  it  me.  I  only  asked 
him  the  two  questions,  what  was  his  Chris'en  name,  and 
whether  he'd  a  sweetheart?  And  he  answered,  Edwin,  and 
he  hadn't." 

Mr.  Datchery  pauses  with  the  selected  coins  in  his  hand, 
rather  as  if  he  were  falling  into  a  brown  study  of  their 
value,  and  couldn't  bear  to  part  with  them.  The  woman 
looks  at  him  distrustfully,  and  with  her  auger  brewing 
for  the  event  of  his  thinking  better  of  the  gift;  but  he 
bestows  it  on  her  as  if  he  were  abstracting  his  mind  from 
the  sacrifice,  and  with  many  servile  thanks  she  goes  her 
way. 

John  Jasper's  lamp  is  kindled,  and  his  lighthouse  is 
shining  when  Mr.  Datchery  returns  alone  towards  it.  As 
mariners  on  a  dangerous  voyage,  approaching  an  iron-bound 
coast,  may  look  along  the  beams  of  the  warning  light  to  the 
haven  lying  beyond  it  that  may  never  be  reached,  so  Mr. 
Datchery's  wistful  gaze  is  directed  to  this  beacon,  and 
beyond. 

His  object  in  now  revisiting  his  lodging  is  merely  to  put 
on  the  hat  which  seems  so  superfluous  an  article  in  his 
wardrobe.  It  is  half-past  ten  by  the  Cathedral  clock  when 
he  walks  out  into  the  Precincts  again ;  he  lingers  and  looks 
about  him,  as  though,  the  enchanted  hour  when  Mr.  Dur- 
dles  may  be  stoned  home  having  struck,  he  had  some  ex- 
pectation of  seeing  the  Imp  who  is  appointed  to  the  mission 
of  stoning  him. 

In  effect,  that  Power  of  Evil  is  abroad.  Having  nothing 
living  to  stone  at  the  moment,  he  is  discovered  by  Mr. 
Datchery  in  the  unholy  office  of  stoning  the  dead,  through 
the  railings  of  the  churchyard.  The  Imp  finds  this  a  rel- 
ishing and  piquing  pursuit;  firstly,  because  their  resting- 
place  is  announced  to  be  sacred;  and  secondly,  because  the 
tall  headstones  are  sufficiently  like  themselves,  on  their 
beat  in  the  dark,  to  justify  the  delicious  fancy  that  they  are 
hurt  when  hit. 

Mr.  Datchery  hails  him  with :  "  Halloa,  Winks !  " 

He  acknowledges  the  hail  with :  "  Halloa,  Dick !  "  Their 
acquaintance  seemingly  having  been  established  on  a  fa- 
miliar footing. 


246  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"But,  I  say,"  lie  remonstrates,  "don't  yer  go  a  making 
my  name  public.  I  never  means  to  plead  to  no  name, 
mind  yer.  When  they  says  to  me  in  the  Lockup,  a  going 
to  put  me  down  in  the  book,  '  What's  your  name? '  I  says 
to  them,  '  Find  out.'  Likeways  when  they  says,  '  What's 
your  religion?  '  I  says,  '  Find  out.' ' 

Which,  it  may  be  observed  in  passing,  it  would  be  im- 
mensely difficult  for  the  State,  however  statistical,  to  do. 

"Asides  which,"  adds  the  boy,  "there  ain't  no  family  of 
Winkses." 

"  I  think  there  must  be." 

"  Yer  lie,  there  ain't.  The  travellers  give  me  the  name 
on  account  of  my  getting  no  settled  sleep  and  being  knocked 
up  all  night;  whereby  I  gets  one  eye  roused  open  afore  I've 
shut  the  other.  That's  what  Winks  means.  Deputy's  the 
nighest  name  to  indict  me  by :  but  yer  wouldn't  catch  me 
pleading  to  that,  neither." 

"Deputy  be  it  always,  then.  We  two  are  good  friends; 
eh,  Deputy?  " 

"Jolly  good." 

"  I  forgave  you  the  debt  you  owed  me  when  we  first  be- 
came acquainted,  and  many  of  my  sixpences  have  come 
your  way  since;  eh,  Deputy?" 

"Ah!  And  what's  more,  yer  ain't  no  friend  o'  Jars- 
per's.  What  did  he  go  a  histing  me  off  my  legs  for?  " 

"  What  indeed !  But  never  mind  him  now.  A  shilling 
of  mine  is  going  your  way  to-night,  Deputy.  You  have 
just  taken  in  a  lodger  I  have  been  speaking  to;  an  infirm 
woman  with  a  cough." 

"  Puffer,"  assents  Deputy,  with  a  shrewd  leer  of  recog- 
nition, and  smoking  an  imaginary  pipe,  with  his  head  very 
much  on  one  side  and  his  eyes  very  much  out  of  their 
places:  "Hopeum  Puffer." 

"  What  is  her  name?  " 

"  'Er  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Puffer." 

"  She  has  some  other  name  than  that;  where  does  she 
live?  " 

"Up  in  London.     Among  the  Jacks." 

"  The  sailors?  " 

"I  said  so;  Jacks;  and  Chayner  men;  and  hother 
Knifers." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  through  you,  exactly  where  she 
lives." 


THE  MYSTERY   OF   EDWIN  DROOD.  247 

"All  right.     Give  us 'old." 

A  shilling  passes;  and,  in  that  spirit  of  confidence  which 
should  pervade  all  business  transactions  between  principals 
of  honour,  this  piece  of  business  is  considered  done. 

"But  here's  a  lark!"  cries  Deputy.  "Where  did  yer 
think  'Er  Royal  Highness  is  a  goin'  to  to-morrow  morning? 
Blest  if  she  ain't  a  goin'  to  the  KIN-FREE-DER-EL  ! "  He 
greatly  prolongs  the  word  in  his  ecstasy,  and  smites  his  leg, 
and  doubles  himself  up  in  a  fit  of  shrill  laughter. 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  Deputy?  " 

"  Cos  she  told  me  so  so  just  now.  She  said  she  must  be 
hup  and  hout  o'  purpose.  She  ses,  '  Deputy,  I  must  'ave  a 
early  wash,  and  make  myself  as  swell  as  I  can,  for  I'm  a 
goin'  to  take  a  turn  at  the  KIN-FREE-DER-EL  ! "  He  sepa- 
rates the  syllables  with  his  former  zest,  and,  not  finding  his 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  sufficiently  relieved  by  stamping 
about  on  the  pavement,  breaks  into  a  slow  and  stately 
dance,  perhaps  supposed  to  be  performed  by  the  Dean. 

Mr.  Datchery  receives  the  communication  with  a  well- 
satisfied  though  pondering  face,  and  breaks  up  the  confer- 
ence. Returning  to  his  quaint  lodging,  and  sitting  long 
over  the  supper  of  bread-and-cheese  and  salad  and  ale 
which  Mrs.  Tope  has  left  prepared  for  him,  he  still  sits 
when  his  supper  is  finished.  At  length  he  rises,  throws 
open  the  door  of  a  corner  cupboard,  and  refers  to  a  few  un- 
couth chalked  strokes  on  its  inner  side. 

"I  like,"  says  Mr.  Datchery,  "the  old  tavern  way  of 
keeping  scores.  Illegible  except  to  the  scorer.  The  scorer 
not  committed,  the  scored  debited  with  what  is  against  him. 
Hum;  ha!  A  very  small  score  this;  a  very  poor  score! " 

He  sighs  over  the  contemplation  of  its  poverty,  takes  a 
bit  of  chalk  from  one  of  the  cupboard  shelves,  and  pauses 
with  it  in  his  hand,  uncertain  what  addition  to  make  to  the 
account. 

"  I  think  a  moderate  stroke,"  he  concludes,  "  is  all  I  am 
justified  in  scoring  up;  "  so,  suits  the  action  to  the  word, 
closes  the  cupboard,  and  goes  to  bed. 

A  brilliant  morning  shines  on  the  old  city.  Its  antiqui- 
ties and  ruins  are  surpassingly  beautiful,  with  a  lusty  ivy 
gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  the  rich  trees  waving  in  the  balmy 
air.  Changes  of  glorious  light  from  moving  boughs,  songs 
of  birds,  scents  from  gardens,  woods,  and  fields — or,  rather, 
from  the  one  great  garden  of  the  whole  cultivated  island  in 


248  THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

its  yielding  time — penetrate  into  the  Cathedral,  subdue  its 
earthy  odour,  and  preach  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life. 
The  cold  stone  tombs  of  centuries  ago  grow  warm;  and 
flecks  of  brightness  dart  into  the  sternest  marble  corners  of 
the  building,  fluttering  there  like  wings. 

Comes  Mr.  Tope  with  his  large  keys,  and  yawningly  un- 
locks and  sets  open.  Come  Mrs.  Tope  and  attendant  sweep- 
ing sprites.  Come,  in  due  time,  organist  and  bellows-boy, 
peeping  down  from  the  red  curtains  in  the  loft,  fearlessly 
flapping  dust  from  books  up  at  that  remote  elevation,  and 
whisking  it  from  stops  and  pedals.  Come  sundry  rooks, 
from  various  quarters  of  the  sky,  back  to  the  great  tower; 
who  may  be  presumed  to  enjoy  vibration,  and  to  know  that 
bell  and  organ  are  going  to  give  it  them.  Come  a  very 
small  and  straggling  congregation  indeed:  chiefly  from 
Minor  Canon  Corner  and  the  Precincts.  Come  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  fresh  and  bright;  and  his  ministering  brethren, 
not  quite  so  fresh  and  bright.  Come  the  Choir  in  a  hurry 
(always  in  a  hurry,  and  struggling  into  their  nightgowns  at 
the  last  moment,  like  children  shirking  bed),  and  comes 
John  Jasper  leading  their  line.  Last  of  all  comes  Mr. 
Datchery  into  a  stall,  one  of  a  choice  empty  collection  very 
much  at  his  service,  and  glancing  about  him  for  Her  Royal 
Highness  the  Princess  Puffer. 

The  service  is  pretty  well  advanced  before  Mr.  Datchery 
can  discern  Her  Royal  Highness.  But  by  that  time  he  has 
made  her  out,  in  the  shade.  She  is  behind  a  pillar,  care- 
fully withdrawn  from  the  Choir-master's  view,  but  regards 
him  with  the  closest  attention.  All  unconscious  of  her 
presence,  he  chants  and  sings.  She  grins  when  he  is 
most  musically  fervid,  and — yes,  Mr.  Datchery  sees  her  do 
it! — shakes  her  fist  at  him  behind  the  pillar's  friendly 
shelter. 

Mr.  Datchery  looks  again,  to  convince  himself.  Yes, 
again !  As  ugly  and  withered  as  one  of  the  fantastic  carv- 
ings on  the  under  brackets  of  the  stall  seats,  as  malignant 
as  the  Evil  One,  as  hard  as  the  big  brass  eagle  holding  the 
sacred  books  upon  his  wings  (and,  according  to  the  sculp- 
tor's representation  of  his  ferocious  attributes,  not  at  all 
converted  by  them),  she  hugs  herself  in  her  lean  arms,  and 
then  shakes  both  fists  at  the  leader  of  the  Choir. 

And  at  that  moment,  outside  the  grated  door  of  the 
Choir,  having  eluded  the  vigilance  of  Mr.  Tope  by  shifty 


THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD.  249 

resources  in  which  he  is  an  adept,  Deputy  peeps,  sharp- 
eyed,  through  the  bars,  and  stares  astounded  from  the 
threatener  to  the  threatened. 

The  service  comes  to  an  end,  and  the  servitors  disperse 
to  breakfast.  Mr.  Datchery  accosts  his  last  new  acquaint- 
ance outside,  when  the  Choir  (as  much  in  a  hurry  to  get 
their  bedgowns  off,  &3  they  were  but  now  to  get  them  on) 
have  scuffled  away. 

"  Well,  mistress.    Good  morning.    You  have  seen  him?  " 

"7've  seen  him,  deary;  I've  seen  him! " 

"  And  you  know  him?  " 

"  Know  him !  Better  far  than  all  the  Reverend  Parsons 
put  together  know  him." 

Mrs.  Tope's  care  has  spread  a  very  neat,  clean  breakfast 
ready  for  her  lodger.  Before  sitting  down  to  it,  he  opens 
his  corner-cupboard  door;  takes  his  bit  of  chalk  from  its 
shelf;  adds  one  thick  line  to  the  score,  extending  from  the 
top  of  the  cupboard  door  to  the  bottom;  and  then  falls  to 
with  an  appetite. 


MTJGBY    JUNCTION. 


Yfurrwi 


MUGBY    JUNCTION 

IN  FOUR  CHAPTERS. 
CHAPTER  I. 

BARBOX    BROTHERS. 
I. 

"  GUARD  !     What  place  is  this?  " 

"Mugby  Junction,  sir." 

"  A  windy  place ! " 

"Yes,  it  mostly  is,  sir." 

"  And  looks  comfortless  indeed  I H 

"  Yes,  it  generally  does,  sir." 

"  Is  it  a  rainy  night  still?  " 

"Pours,  sir." 

"Open  the  door.     I'll  get  out." 

"You'll have,  sir,"  said  the  guard,  glistening  with  drops 
of  wet,  and  looking  at  the  tearful  face  of  his  watch  by  the 
light  of  his  lantern  as  the  traveller  descended,  "  three  min- 
utes here." 

"More,  I  think. — For  I  am  not  going  on." 

"  Thought  you  had  a  through  ticket,  sir?  " 

"  So  I  have,  •  but  I  shall  sacrifice  the  rest  of  it.  I  want 
my  luggage." 

"  Please  to  come  to  the  van  and  point  it  out,  sir.  Be 
good  enough  to  look  very  sharp,  sir.  Not  a  moment  to 
spare." 

The  guard  hurried  to  the  luggage  van,  and  the  traveller 
hurried  after  him.  The  guard  got  into  it,  and  the  traveller 
looked  into  it. 

"Those  two  large  black  portmanteaus  in  the  cornei 
where  your  light  shines.  Those  are  mine." 

"Name  upon  'em,  sir?" 
1 


2  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"Barbox  Brothers." 

" Stand  clear,  sir,  if  you  please.     One.     Two.     Right!" 

Lamp  waved.  Signal  lights  ahead  already  changing. 
Shriek  from  engine.  Train  gone. 

"  Mugby  Junction ! "  said  the  traveller,  pulling  up  the 
woollen  muffler  round  his  throat  with  both  hands.  "  At 
past  three  o'clock  of  a  tempestuous  morning!  So !  " 

He  spoke  to  himself.  There  was  no  one  else  to  speak  to. 
Perhaps,  though  there  had  been  any  one  else  to  speak  to, 
he  would  have  preferred  to  speak  to  himself.  Speaking  to 
himself  he  spoke  to  a  man  within  five  years  of  fifty  eithc  r 
way,  who  had  turned  grey  too  soon,  like  a  neglected  tin ; 
a  man  of  pondering  habit,  brooding  carriage  of  the  head . 
and  suppressed  internal  voice  ;  a  man  with  many  indica- 
tions on  him  of  having  been  much  alone. 

He  stood  unnoticed  on  the  dreary  platform,  except  by 
the  rain  and  by  the  wind.  Those  two  vigilant  assailants 
made  a  rush  at  him.  "  Very  well,"  said  he,  yielding.  "  It 
signifies  nothing  to  me  to  what  quarter  I  turn  my  face." 

Thus,  at  Mugby  Junction,  at  past  three  o'clock  of  a 
tempestuous  morning,  the  traveller  went  where  the  weather 
drove  him. 

Not  but  what  he  could  make  a  stand  when  he  was  so 
minded,  for,  coming  to  the  end  of  the  roofed  shelter  (it  is 
of  considerable  extent  at  Mugby  Junction),  and  looking  out 
upon  the  dark  night,  with  a  yet  darker  spirit- wing  of  storm 
beating  its  wild  way  through  it,  he  faced  about,  and  held 
his  own  as  ruggedly  in  the  difficult  direction  as  he  had  held 
it  in  the  easier  one.  Thus,  with  a  steady  step,  the  trav- 
eller went  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  seek- 
ing nothing  and  finding  it. 

A  place  replete  with  shadowy  shapes,  this  Mugby  Junc- 
tion in  the  black  hours  of  the  four-and-twenty.  Mysterious 
goods  trains,  covered  with  palls  and  gliding  on  like  vast 
weird  funerals,  conveying  themselves  guiltily  away  from 
the  presence  of  the  few  lighted  lamps,  as  if  their  freight 
had  come  to  a  secret  and  unlawful  end.  Half-miles  of  coal 
pursuing  in  a  Detective  manner,  following  when  they  lead, 
stopping  when  they  stop,  backing  when  they  back.  Red- 
hot  embers  showering  out  upon  the  ground,  down  this  dark 
avenue,  and  down  the  other,  as  if  torturing  fires  were  being 
raked  clear;  concurrently,  shrieks  and  groans  and  grinds 
invading  the  ear,  as  if  the  tortured  were  at  the  height  of 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  3 

their  suffering.  Iron-barred  cages  full  of  cattle  jangling 
by  midway,  the  drooping  beasts  with  horns  entangled,  eyes 
frozen  with  terror,  and  mouths  too :  at  least  they  have  long 
icicles  (or  what  seem  so)  hanging  from  their  lips.  Un- 
known languages  in  the  air,  conspiring  in  red,  green,  and 
white  characters.  An  earthquake,  accompanied  with  thun- 
der and  lightning,  going  up  express  to  London.  Now,  all 
quiet,  all  rusty,  wind  and  rain  in  possession,  lamps  extin- 
guished, Mugby  Junction  dead  and  indistinct,  with  its  robe 
drawn  over  its  head,  like  Csesar. 

Now,  too,  as  the  belated  traveller  plodded  up  and  down, 
a  shadowy  train  went  by  him  in  the  gloom  which  was  no 
other  than  the  train  of  a  life.  From  whatsoever  intangible 
deep  cutting  or  dark  tunnel  it  emerged,  here  it  came,  un- 
summoned  and  unannounced,  stealing  upon  him,  and  pass- 
ing away  into  obscurity.  Here  mournfully  went  by  a 
child  who  had  never  had  a  childhood  or  known  a  parent, 
inseparable  from  a  youth  with  a  bitter  sense  of  his  name- 
lessness,  coupled  to  a  man  the  enforced  business  of  whose 
best  years  had  been  distasteful  and  oppressive,  linked  to  an 
ungrateful  friend,  dragging  after  him  a  woman  once  be- 
loved. Attendant,  with  many  a  clank  and  wrench,  were 
lumbering  cares,  dark  meditations,  huge  dim  disappoint- 
ments, monotonous  years,  a  long  jarring  line  of  the  dis- 
cords of  a  solitary  and  unhappy  existence. 

«_ Yours,  sir?" 

The  traveller  recalled  his  eyes  from  the  waste  into 
which  they  had  been  staring,  and  fell  back  a  step  or  so 
under  the  abruptness,  and  perhaps  the  chance  appropriate- 
ness, of  the  question. 

"  Oh !  My  thoughts  were  not  here  for  the  moment.  Yes. 
Yes.  Those  two  portmanteaus  are  mine.  Are  you  a  Porter?  " 

"On  Porter's  wages,  sir.     But  I  am  Lamps." 

The  traveller  looked  a  little  confused. 

"  Who  did  you  say  you  are?  " 

"Lamps,  sir,"  showing  an  oily  cloth  in  his  hand,  as 
further  explanation. 

"Surely,  surely.     Is  there  any  hotel  or  tavern  here? " 

"Not  exactly  here,  sir.  There  is  a  Refreshment  Room 
here,  but —  "  Lamps,  with  a  mighty  serious  look,  gave 
his  head  a  warning  roll  that  plainly  added — "but  it's  a 
blessed  circumstance  for  you  that  it's  not  open." 

"  You  couldn't  recommend  it,  I  see,  if  it  was  available?  " 


4  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"Ask  your  pardon,  sir.     If  it  was ?  n 

"Open?" 

"It  ain't  my  place,  as  a  paid  servant  of  the  company,  to 
give  my  opinion  on  any  of  the  company's  toepics," — he 
pronounced  it  more  like  toothpicks, — "beyond  lainp-ile  and 
cottons,"  returned  Lamps  in  a  confidential  tone;  "but, 
speaking  as  a  man,  I  wouldn't  recommend  my  father  (if  he 
was  to  come  to  life  again)  to  go  and  try  how  he'd  be 
treated  at  the  Eefreshment  Room.  Not,  speaking  as  a 
man,  no,  I  would  not." 

The  traveller  nodded  conviction.  "  I  suppose  I  can  put 
up  in  the  town?  There  is  a  town  here?  "  For  the  trav- 
eller (though  a  stay-at-home  compared  with  most  travellers) 
had  been,  like  many  others,  carried  on  the  steam  winds  and 
the  iron  tides  through  that  Junction  before,  without  having 
ever,  as  one  might  say,  gone  ashore  there. 

"Oh  yes,  there's  a  town,  sir!  Anyways,  there's  town 
enough  to  put  up  in.  But,"  following  the  glance  of  the 
other  at  his  luggage,  "  this  is  a  very  dead  time  of  the  night 
with  us,  sir.  The  deadest  time.  I  might  a'most  call  it 
our  deadest  and  buriedest  time." 

"  No  porters  about?  " 

"Well,  sir,  you  see,"  returned  Lamps,  confidential  again, 
"they  in  general  goes  off  with  the  gas.  That's  how  it  is. 
And  they  seem  to  have  overlooked  you,  through  your  walk- 
ing to  the  furder  end  of  the  platform.  But,  in  about 
twelve  minutes  or  so,  she  may  be  up." 

"  Who  may  be  up?  " 

"The  three  forty-two,  sir.  She  goes  off  in  a  sidin'  till 
the  Up  X  passes,  and  then  she" — here  an  air  of  hope- 
ful .  vagueness  pervaded  Lamps — "  does  all  as  lays  in  her 
power." 

"  I  doubt  if  I  comprehend  the  arrangement. " 

"I  doubt  if  anybody  do,  sir.  She's  a  Parliamentary 
air.  And,  you  see,  a  Parliamentary,  or  a  Skirinishun " 

"  Do  you  mean  an  Excursion?  " 

"That's  it,  sir. — A  Parliamentary  or  a  Skirmishun,  she 
mostly  doos  go  off  into  a  sidin'.  But,  when  she  can  get  a 
chance,  she's  whistled  out  of  it,  and  she's  whistled  up  into 
doin'  all  as," — Lamps  again  wore  the  air  of  a  highly  san- 
guine man  who  hoped  for  the  best, — "  all  as  lays  in  her 
power." 

He  then  explained  that  porters  on  duty,  being  required 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  5 

to  be  in  attendance  on  the  Parliamentary  matron  in  ques- 
tion, would  doubtless  turn  up  with  the  gas.  In  the  mean- 
time, if  the  gentleman  would  not  very  much  object  to  the 
smell  of  lamp-oil,  and  would  accept  the  warmth  of  his  little 
room —  The  gentleman,  being  by  this  time  very  cold, 
instantly  closed  with  the  proposal. 

A  greasy  little  cabin  it  was,  suggestive,  to  the  sense  of 
smell,  of  a  cabin  in  a  Whaler.  But  there  was  a  bright  fire 
burning  in  its  rusty  grate,  and  on  the  floor  there  stood  a 
wooden  stand  of  newly  trimmed  and  lighted  lamps,  ready 
for  carriage  service.  They  made  a  bright  show,  and  their 
light,  and  the  warmth,  accounted  for  the  popularity  of  the 
room,  as  borne  witness  to  by  many  impressions  of  velveteen 
trousers  on  a  form  by  the  fire,  and  many  rounded  smears 
and  smudges  of  stooping  velveteen  shoulders  on  the  adja- 
cent wall.  Various  untidy  shelves  accommodated  a  quan- 
tity of  lamps  and  oil-cans,  and  also  a  fragrant  collection  of 
what  looked  like  the  pocket-handkerchiefs  of  the  whole 
lamp  family. 

As  Barbox  Brothers  (so  to  call  the  traveller  on  the  war- 
ranty of  his  luggage)  took  his  seat  upon  the  form,  and 
warmed  his  now  ungloved  hands  at  the  fire,  he  glanced 
aside  at  a  little  deal  desk,  much  blotched  with  ink,  which 
his  elbow  touched.  Upon  it  were  some  scraps  of  coarse 
paper,  and  a  superannuated  steel  pen  in  very  reduced  and 
gritty  circumstances. 

From  glancing  at  the  scraps  of  paper,  he  turned  involun- 
tarily to  his  host,  and  said,  with  some  roughness : 

"  Why,  you  are  never  a  poet,  man?  " 

Lamps  had  certainly  not  the  conventional  appearance  of 
one,  as  he  stood  modestly  rubbing  his  squab  nose  with  a 
handkerchief  so  exceedingly  oily,  that  he  might  have  been 
in  the  act  of  mistaking  himself  for  one  of  his  charges.  He 
was  a  spare  man  of  about  the  Barbox  Brothers  time  of  life, 
with  his  features  whimsically  drawn  upward  as  if  they 
were  attracted  by  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  had  a  pecul- 
iarly shining  transparent  complexion,  probably  occasioned 
by  constant  oleaginous  application;  and  his  attractive  hair, 
being  cut  short,  and  being  grizzled,  and  standing  straight 
up  on  end  as  if  it  in  its  turn  were  attracted  by  some  invisi- 
ble magnet  above  it,  the  top  of  his  head  was  not  very  un- 
like a  lamp- wick. 

"But,  to  be  sure,  it's  no  business  of  mine,"  said  Barbox 


6  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

Brothers.  "  That  was  an  impertinent  observation  on  my 
part.  Be  what  you  like." 

"  Some  people,  sir,"  remarked  Lamps  in  a  tone  of  apol- 
ogy, "are  sometimes  what  they  don't  like." 

"Nobody  knows  that  better  than  I  do,"  sighed  the  other. 
"I  have  been  what  I  don't  like,  all  my  life." 

"When  I  first  took,  sir,"  resumed  Lamps,  "to  compos- 
ing little  Comic-Songs-like " 

Barbox  Brothers  eyed  him  with  great  disfavour. 

" — To  composing  little  Comic-Songs-like — and  what  was 
more  hard — to  singing  'em  afterwards,"  said  Lamps,  "it 
went  against  the  grain  at  that  time,  it  did  indeed." 

Something  that  was  not  all  oil  here  shining  in  Lamps's 
eye,  Barbox  Brothers  withdrew  his  own  a  little  discon- 
certed, looked  at  the  fire,  and  put  a  foot  on  the  top  bar. 
"Why  did  you  do  it,  then?  "  he  asked  after  a  short  pause; 
abruptly  enough,  but  in  a  softer  tone.  "If  you  didn't 
want  to  do  it,  why  did  you  do  it?  Where  did  you  sing 
them?  Public-house? " 

To  which  Mr.  Lamps  returned  the  curious  reply :  "  Bed- 
side." 

At  this  moment,  while  the  traveller  looked  at  him  for 
elucidation,  Mugby  Junction  started  suddenly,  trembled 
violently,  and  opened  its  gas  eyes.  "  She's  got  up ! " 
Lamps  announced,  excited.  "  What  lays  in  her  power  is 
sometimes  more,  and  sometimes  less;  but  it's  laid  in  her 
power  to  get  up  to-night,  by  George ! " 

The  legend  "Barbox  Brothers,"  in  large  white  letters  on 
two  black  surfaces,  was  very  soon  afterwards  trundling  on 
a  truck  through  a  silent  street,  and,  when  the  owner  of  the 
legend  had  shivered  on  the  pavement  half  an  hour,  what 
time  the  porter's  knocks  at  the  Inn  Door  knocked  up  the 
whole  town  first,  and  the  Inn  last,  he  groped  his  way  into 
the  close  air  of  a  shut-up  house,  and  so  groped  between  the 
sheets  of  a  shut-up  bed  that  seemed  to  have  been  expressly 
refrigerated  for  him  when  last  made. 

II. 

"You  remember  me,  Young  Jackson?" 

"What  do  I  remember  if  not  you?  You  are  my  first 
remembrance.  It  was  you  who  told  me  that  was  my  name. 
It  was  you  who  told  me  that  on  every  twentieth  of  Decem- 


MTJGBY  JUNCTION.  7 

her  my  life  had  a  penitential  anniversary  in  it  called  a  birth- 
day. I  suppose  the  last  communication  was  truer  than  the 
first!" 

"  What  am  I  like,  Young  Jackson?  " 

"  You  are  like  a  blight  all  through  the  year  to  me.  You 
hard-lined,  thin-lipped,  repressive,  changeless  woman  with 
a  wax  mask  on.  You  are  like  the  Devil  to  me;  most  of  all 
when  you  teach  me  religious  things,  for  you  make  me  abhor 
them." 

"  You  remember  me,  Mr.  Young  Jackson?  "  In  another 
voice  from  another  quarter. 

"Most  gratefully,  sir.  You  were  the  ray  of  hope  and 
prospering  ambition  in  my  life.  When  I  attended  your 
course,  I  believed  that  I  should  come  to  be  a  great  healer, 
and  I  felt  almost  happy — even  though  I  was  still  the  one 
boarder  in  the  house  with  that  horrible  mask,  and  ate 
and  drank  in  silence  and  constraint  with  the  mask  before 
me,  every  day.  As  I  had  done  every,  every,  every  day, 
through  my  school-time  and  from  my  earliest  recollec- 
tion." 

"  What  am  I  like,  Mr.  Young  Jackson?  " 

"  You  are  like  a  Superior  Being  to  me.  You  are  like 
Nature  beginning  to  reveal  herself  to  me.  I  hear  you 
again,  as  one  of  the  hushed  crowd  of  young  men  kindling 
under  the  power  of  your  presence  and  knowledge,  and  you 
bring  into  my  eyes  the  only  exultant  tears  that  ever  stood 
in  them." 

"  You  remember  Me,  Mr.  Young  Jackson?  "  In  a  grat- 
ing voice  from  quite  another  quarter. 

"Too  well.  You  made  your  ghostly  appearance  in  my 
life  one  day,  and  announced  that  its  course  was  to  be  sud- 
denly and  wholly  changed.  You  showed  me  which  was 
my  wearisome  seat  in  the  Galley  of  Barbox  Brothers. 
(When  they  were,  if  they  ever  were,  is  unknown  to  me; 
there  was  nothing  of  them  but  the  name  when  I  bent  to  the 
oar.)  You  told  me  what  I  was  to  do,  and  what  to  be  paid; 
you  told  me  afterwards,  at  intervals  of  years,  when  I  was 
to  sign  for  the  Firm,  when  I  became  a  partner,  when  I  be- 
came the  Firm.  I  know  no  more  of  it,  or  of  myself." 

"  What  am  I  like,  Mr.  Young  Jackson?  " 

"  You  are  like  my  father,  I  sometimes  think.  You  are 
hard  enough  and  cold  enough  so  to  have  brought  up  an 
acknowledged  son.  I  see  your  scanty  figure,  your  close 


8  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

brown  suit,  and  your  tight  brown  wig;  but  you,  too,  wear 
a  wax  mask  to  your  death.  You  never  by  a  chance  remove 
it — it  never  by  a  chance  falls  off — and  I  know  no  more  of 
you." 

Throughout  this  dialogue,  the  traveller  spoke  to  himself 
at  his  window  in  the  morning,  as  he  had  spoken  to  himself 
at  the  Junction  overnight.  And  as  he  had  then  looked  in 
the  darkness,  a  man  who  had  turned  grey  too  soon,  like  a 
neglected  fire :  so  he  now  looked  in  the  sunlight,  an  ashier 
grey,  like  a  fire  which  the  brightness  of  the  sun  put  out. 

The  firm  of  Barbox  Brothers  had  been  some  offshoot  or 
irregular  branch  of  the  Public  Notary  and  bill-broking  tree. 
It  had  gained  for  itself  a  griping  reputation  before  the  days 
of  Young  Jackson,  and  the  reputation  had  stuck  to  it  and  to 
him.  As  he  had  imperceptibly  come  into  possession  of  the 
dim  den  up  in  the  corner  of  a  court  off  Lombard  Street,  on 
whose  grimy  windows  the  inscription  Barbox  Brothers  had 
for  many  long  years  daily  interposed  itself  between  him  and 
the  sky,  so  he  had  insensibly  found  himself  a  personage 
held  in  chronic  distrust,  whom  it  was  essential  to  screw 
tight  to  every  transaction  in  which  he  engaged,  whose  word 
was  never  to  be  taken  without  his  attested  bond,  whom  all 
dealers  with  openly  set  up  guards  and  wards  against.  This 
character  had  come  upon  him  through  no  act  of  his  own. 
It  was  as  if  the  original  Barbox  had  stretched  himself  down 
upon  the  office  floor,  and  had  thither  caused  to  be  conveyed 
Young  Jackson  in  his  sleep,  and  had  there  effected  a  metem- 
psychosis and  exchange  of  persons  with  him.  The  discov- 
ery— aided  in  its  turn  by  the  deceit  of  the  only  woman  he 
had  ever  loved,  and  the  deceit  of  the  only  friend  he  had 
ever  made :  who  eloped  from  him  to  be  married  together — 
the  discovery,  so  followed  up,  completed  what  his  earliest 
rearing  had  begun.  He  shrank,  abashed,  within  the  form 
of  Barbox,  and  lifted  up  his  head  and  heart  no  more. 

But  he  did  at  last  effect  one  great  release  in  his  condition. 
He  broke  the  oar  he  plied  so  long,  and  he  scuttled  and  sank 
the  galley.  He  prevented  the  gradual  retirement  of  an  old 
conventional  business  from  him,  by  taking  the  initiative 
and  retiring  from  it.  With  enough  to  live  on  (though,  after 
all,  with  not  too  much),  he  obliterated  the  firm  of  Barbox 
Brothers  from  the  pages  of  the  Post-OfBce  Directory  and 
the  face  of  the  earth,  leaving  nothing  of  it  but  its  name  on 
two  portmanteaus.  .>  n 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  9 

"  For  one  must  have  some  name  in  going  about,  for  people 
to  pick  up,"  he  explained  to  Mugby  High  Street,  through 
the  Inn  window,  "  and  that  name  at  least  was  real  once. 
Whereas,  Young  Jackson! — Not  to  mention  its  being  a 
sadly  satirical  misnomer  for  Old  Jackson." 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  walked  out,  just  in  time  to  see, 
passing  along  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  a  velveteen 
man,  carrying  his  day's  dinner  in  a  small  bundle  that  might 
have  been  larger  without  suspicion  of  gluttony,  and  pelting 
away  towards  the  Junction  at  a  great  pace. 

"  There's  Lamps !  "  said  Barbox  Brothers.  "  And  by  the 
bye " 

Ridiculous,  surely,  that  a  man  so  serious,  so  self-con- 
tained, and  not  yet  three  days  emancipated  from  a  routine 
of  drudgery,  should  stand  rubbing  his  chin  in  the  street, 
in  a  brown  study  about  Comic  Songs. 

"Bedside?"  said  Barbox  Brothers  testily.  "Sings 
them  at  the  bedside?  Why  at  the  bedside,  unless  he  goes 
to  bed  drunk?  Does,  I  shouldn't  wonder.  But  it's  no 
business  of  mine.  Let  me  see.  Mugby  Junction,  Mugby 
Junction.  Where  shall  I  go  next  ?  As  it  came  into  my 
head  last  night  when  I  woke  from  an  uneasy  sleep  in  the 
carriage  and  found  myself  here,  I  can  go  anywhere  from 
here.  Where  shall  I  go?  I'll  go  and  look  at  the  Junction 
by  daylight.  There's  no  hurry,  and  I  may  like  the  look  of 
one  Line  better  than  another." 

But  there  were  so  many  Lines.  Gazing  down  upon 
them  from  a  bridge  at  the  Junction,  it  was  as  if  the  concen- 
trating Companies  formed  a  great  Industrial  Exhibition  of 
the  works  of  extraordinary  ground  spiders  that  spun  iron. 
And  then  so  many  of  the  Lines  went  such  wonderful  ways, 
so  crossing  and  curving  among  one  another,  that  the  eye 
lost  them.  And  then  some  of  them  appeared  to  start  with 
the  fixed  intention  of  going  five  hundred  miles,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  gave  it  up  at  an  insignificant  barrier,  or  turned  off 
into  a  workshop.  And  then  others,  like  intoxicated  men, 
went  a  little  way  very  straight,  and  surprisingly  slued 
round  and  came  back  again.  And  then  others  were  so, 
chock-full  of  trucks  of  coal,  others  were  so  blocked  with 
trucks  of  casks,  others  were  so  gorged  with  trucks  of  bal- 
last, others  were  so  set  apart  for  wheeled  objects  like  im- 
mense iron  cotton-reels :  while  others  were  so  bright  and 
clear,  and  others  were  so  delivered  over  to  rust  and  ashes 


10  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

and  idle  wheelbarrows  out  of  work,  with  their  legs  in  the 
air  (looking  much  like  their  masters  on  strike),  that  there 
was  no  beginning,  middle,  or  end  to  the  bewilderment. 

Barbox  Brothers  stood  puzzled  on  the  bridge,  passing  his 
right  hand  across  the  lines  on  his  forehead,  which  multiplied 
while  he  looked  down,  as  if  the  railway  Lines  were  getting 
themselves  photographed  on  that  sensitive  plate.  Then 
was  heard  a  distant  ringing  of  bells  and  blowing  of  whistles. 
Then,  puppet-looking  heads  of  men  popped  out  of  boxes 
in  perspective,  and  popped  in  again.  Then,  prodigious 
wooden  razors,  set  up  on  end,  began  shaving  the  atmos- 
phere. Then,  several  locomotive  engines  in  several  direc- 
tions began  to  scream  and  be  agitated.  Then,  along  one 
avenue  a  train  came  in.  Then,  along  another  two  trains 
appeared  that  didn't  come  in,  but  stopped  without.  Then, 
bits  of  trains  broke  off.  Then,  a  struggling  horse  became 
involved  with  them.  Then,  the  locomotives  shared  the 
bits  of  trains,  and  ran  away  with  the  whole. 

"  I  have  not  made  my  next  move  much  clearer  by  this. 
No  hurry.  No  need  to  make  up  my  mind  to-day,  or  to- 
morrow, nor  yet  the  day  after.  I'll  take  a  walk." 

It  fell  out  somehow  (perhaps  he  meant  it  should)  that 
the  walk  tended  to  the  platform  at  which  he  had  alighted, 
and  to  Lamps' s  room.  But  Lamps  was  not  in  his  room. 
A  pair  of  velveteen  shoulders  were  adapting  themselves  to 
one  of  the  impressions  on  the  wall  by  Lamps' s  fire-place, 
but  otherwise  the  room  was  void.  In  passing  back  to  get 
out  of  the  station  again,  he  learnt  the  cause  of  this  vacancy, 
by  catching  sight  of  Lamps  on  the  opposite  line  of  railway, 
skipping  along  the  top  of  a  train,  from  carriage  to  carriage, 
and  catching  lighted  namesakes  thrown  up  to  him  by  a 
coadjutor. 

"  He  is  busy.  He  has  not  much  time  for  composing  or 
singing  Comic  Songs  this  morning,  I  take  it." 

The  direction  he  pursued  now  was  into  the  country, 
keeping  very  near  to  the  side  of  one  great  Line  of  railway, 
and  within  easy  view  of  others.  "  I  have  half  a  mind,"  he 
said,  glancing  round,  "to  settle  the  question  from  this 
point,  by  saying,  '  I'll  take  this  set  of  rails,  or  that,  or 
t'other,  and  stick  to  it. '  They  separate  themselves  from 
the  confusion,  out  here,  and  go  their  ways." 

Ascending  a  gentle  hill  of  some  extent,  he  came  to  a  few 
cottages.  There,  looking  about  him  as  a  very  reserved 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  11 

man  might  who  had  never  looked  about  him  in  his  life  be- 
fore, he  saw  some  six  or  eight  young  children  come  mer- 
rily trooping  and  whooping  from  one  of  the  cottages,  and 
disperse.  But  not  until  they  had  all  turned  at  the  lit- 
tle garden-gate,  and  kissed  their  hands  to  a  face  at  the 
upper  window:  a  low  window  enough,  although  the  up- 
per, for  the  cottage  had  but  a  story  of  one  room  above  the 
ground. 

Now,  that  the  children  should  do  this  was  nothing;  but 
that  they  should  do  this  to  a  face  lying  on  the  sill  of  the 
open  window,  turned  towards  them  in  a  horizontal  position, 
and  apparently  only  a  face,  was  something  noticeable.  He 
looked  up  at  the  window  again.  Could  only  see"  a  very 
fragile,  though  a  very  bright  face,  lying  on  one  cheek  on 
the  window-sill.  The  delicate  smiling  face  of  a  girl  or 
woman.  Framed  in  long  bright  brown  hair,  round  which 
was  tied  a  light  blue  band  or  fillet,  passing  under  the  chin. 

He  walked  on,  turned  back,  passed  the  window  again, 
shyly  glanced  up  again.  No  change.  He  struck  off  by  a 
winding  branch-road  at  the  top  of  the  hill — which  he  must 
otherwise  have  descended — kept  the  cottages  in  view, 
worked  his  way  round  at  a  distance  so  as  to  come  out  once 
more  into  the  main  road,  and  be  obliged  to  pass  the  cot- 
tages again.  The  face  still  lay  on  the  window-sill,  but  not 
so  much  inclined  towards  him.  And  now  there  were  a 
pair  of  delicate  hands,  too.  They  had  the  action  of  per- 
forming on  some  musical  instrument,  and  yet  it  produced 
no  sound  that  reached  his  ears. 

"Mugby  Junction  must  be  the  maddest  place  in  Eng- 
land," said  Barbox  Brothers,  pursuing  his  way  down  the 
hill.  "  The  first  thing  I  find  here  is  a  Railway  Porter  who 
composes  comic  songs  to  sing  at  his  bedside.  The  second 
thing  I  find  here  is  a  face,  and  a  pair  of  hands  playing  a 
musical  instrument  that  don't  play !  " 

The  day  was  a  fine  bright  day  in  the  early  beginning  of 
November,  the  air  was  clear  and  inspiriting,  and  the  land- 
scape was  rich  in  beautiful  colours.  The  prevailing  colours 
in  the  court  off  Lombard  Street,  London  city,  had  been  few 
and  sombre.  Sometimes,  when  the  weather  elsewhere  was 
very  bright  indeed,  the  dwellers  in  those  tents  enjoyed  a 
pepper-and-salt  coloured  day  or  two,  but  their  atmosphere's 
usual  wear  was  slate  or  snuff  coloured. 

He  relished  his  walk  so  well  that  he  repeated  it  next 


12  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

day.  He  was  a  little  earlier  at  tlie  cottage  than  on  the  day 
before,  and  he  could  hear  the  children  up-stairs  singing  to 
a  regular  measure,  and  clapping  out  the  time  with  their 
hands. 

"  Still,  there  is  no  sound  of  any  musical  instrument,"  he 
said,  listening  at  the  corner,  "  and  yet  I  saw  the  perform- 
ing hands  again  as  I  came  by.  What  are  the  children 
singing?  Why,  good  Lord,  they  can  never  be  singing  the 
multiplication  table?  " 

They  were,  though,  and  with  infinite  enjoyment.  The 
mysterious  face  had  a  voice  attached  to  it,  which  occasion- 
ally led  or  set  the  children  right.  Its  musical  cheerfulness 
was  delightful.  The  measure  at  length  stopped,  and  was 
succeeded  by  a  murmuring  of  young  voices,  and  then  by  a 
short  song  which  he  made  out  to  be  about  the  current 
month  of  the  year,  and  about  what  work  it  yielded  to  the 
labourers  in  the  fields  and  farmyards.  Then  there  was  a 
stir  of  little  feet,  and  the  children  came  trooping  and 
whooping  out,  as  on  the  previous  day.  And  again,  as  on 
the  previous  day,  they  all  turned  at  the  garden-gate,  and 
kissed  their  hands — evidently  to  the  face  on  the  window- 
sill,  though  Barbox  Brothers  from  his  retired  post  of  disad- 
vantage at  the  corner  could  not  see  it. 

But,  as  the  children  dispersed,  he  cut  off  one  small 
straggler — a  brown- faced  boy  with  flaxen  hair — and  said  to 
him: 

"  Come  here,  little  one.     Tell  me,  whose  house  is  that?  " 

The  child,  with  one  swarthy  arm  held  up  across  his 
eyes,  half  in  shyness,  and  half  ready  for  defence,  said  from 
behind  the  inside  of  his  elbow : 

"Phoebe's." 

"And  who,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  quite  as  much  em- 
barrassed by  his  part  in  the  dialogue  as  the  child  could 
possibly  be  by  his,  "  is  Phoebe?  " 

To  which  the  child  made  answer:  "Why,  Phoebe,  of 
course." 

The  small  but  sharp  observer  had  eyed  his  questioner 
closely,  and  had  taken  his  moral  measure.  He  lowered  his 
guard,  and  rather  assumed  a  tone  with  him :  as  having  dis- 
covered him  to  be  an  unaccustomed  person  in  the  art  of 
polite  conversation. 

"Phoebe,"  said  the  child,  "can't  be  anybobby  else  but 
Phoebe.  Can  she?  » 

•  ': 


MUGBY   JUNCTION.  13 

"No,  I  suppose  not." 

"  Well,"  returned  the  child,  "  then  why  did  you  ask  me?  " 

Deeming  it  prudent  to  shift  his  ground,  Barbox  Brothers 
took  up  a  new  position. 

"What  do  you  do  there?  Up  there  in  that  room  where 
the  open  window  is.  What  do  you  do  there?  " 

"Cool,"  said  the  child. 

"Eh?" 

"  Co-o-ol,"  the  child  repeated  in  a  louder  voice,  lengthen- 
ing out  the  word  with  a  fixed  look  and  great  emphasis,  as 
much  as  to  say :  "  What's  the  use  of  your  having  grown  up, 
if  you're  such  a  donkey  as  not  to  understand  me?  " 

"Ah!  School,  school,"  said  Barbox  Brothers.  "Yes, 
yes,  yes.  And  Phoabe  teaches  you?  " 

The  child  nodded. 

"Good  boy." 

"  Tound  it  out,  have  you?  "  said  the  child. 

"  Yes,  I  have  found  it  out.  What  would  you  do  with 
twopence,  if  I  gave  it  you?  " 

"Pendit." 

The  knock-down  promptitude  of  this  reply  leaving  him 
not  a  leg  to  stand  upon,  Barbox  Brothers  produced  the  two- 
pence with  great  lameness,  and  withdrew  in  a  state  of  hu- 
miliation. 

But,  seeing  the  face  on  the  window-sill  as  he  passed  the 
cottage,  he  acknowledged  its  presence  there  with  a  gesture 
which  was  not  a  nod,  not  a  bow,  not  a  removal  of  his  hat 
from  his  head,  but  was  a  diffident  compromise  between  or 
struggle  with  all  three.  The  eyes  in  the  face  seemed 
amused,  or  cheered,  or  both,  and  the  lips  modestly  said : 
"  Good  day  to  you,  sir. " 

"  I  find  I  must  stick  for  a  time  to  Mugby  Junction,"  said 
Barbox  Brothers  with  much  gravity,  after  once  more  stop- 
ping on  his  return  road  to  look  at  the  Lines  where  they 
went  their  several  ways  so  quietly.  "I  can't  make  up  my 
mind  yet  which  iron  road  to  take.  In  fact,  I  must  get  a 
little  accustomed  to  the  Junction  before  I  can  decide." 

So,  he  announced  at  the  Inn  that  he  was  "  going  to  stay 
on  for  the  present,"  and  improved  his  acquaintance  with 
the  Junction  that  night,  and  again  next  morning,  and  again 
next  night  and  morning :  going  down  to  the  station,  min- 
gling with  the  people  there,  looking  about  him  down  all 
the  avenues  of  railway,  and  beginning  to  take  an  interest 


14  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

in  the  incomings  and  outgoings  of  the  trains.  At  first,  he 
often  put  his  head  into  Lamps's  little  room,  but  he  never 
found  Lamps  there.  A  pair  or  two  of  velveteen  shoulders 
he  usually  found  there,  stooping  over  the  fire,  sometimes 
in  connection  with  a  clasp-knife  and  a  piece  of  bread  and 
meat;  but  the  answer  to  his  inquiry,  "  Where's  Lamps?  " 
was,  either  that  he  was  "t'other  side  the  line,"  or,  that 
it  was  his  off-time,  or  (in  the  latter  case)  his  own  personal 
introduction  to  another  Lamps  who  was  not  his  lamps. 
However,  he  was  not  so  desperately  set  upon  seeing  Lamps 
now,  but  he  bore  the  disappointment.  Nor  did  he  so 
wholly  devote  himself  to  his  severe  application  to  the  study 
of  Mugby  Junction  as  to  neglect  exercise.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  took  a  walk  every  day,  and  always  the  same  walk. 
But  the  weather  turned  cold  and  wet  again,  and  the  window 
was  never  open. 

III. 

At  length,  after  a  lapse  of  some  days,  there  came  another 
streak  of  fine  bright  hardy  autumn  weather.  It  was  a 
Saturday.  The  window  was  open,  and  the  children  were 
gone.  Not  surprising,  this,  for  he  had  patiently  watched 
and  waited  at  the  corner  until  they  were  gone. 

"Good  day,"  he  said  to  the  face;  absolutely  getting  his 
hat  clear  off  his  head  this  time. 

"Good  day  to  you,  sir." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  a  fine  sky  again  to  look  at." 

"Thank  you,  sir.     It  is  kind  of  you." 

"  You  are  an  invalid,  I  fear?  " 

"No,  sir.     I  have  very  good  health." 

"But  are  you  not  always  lying  down?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  always  lying  down,  because  I  cannot  sit 
up!  But  I  am  not  an  invalid." 

The  laughing  eyes  seemed  highly  to  enjoy  his  great  mis- 
take. 

"  Would  you  mind  taking  the  trouble  to  come  in,  sir? 
There  is  a  beautiful  view  from  this  window.  And  you 
would  see  that  I  am  not  at  all  ill — being  so  good  as  to 
care." 

It  was  said  to  help  him,  as  he  stood  irresolute,  but  evi- 
dently desiring  to  enter,  with  his  diffident  hand  on  the 
latch  of  the  garden-gate.  It  did  help  him,  and  he  went  in. 
The  room  up-stairs  was  a  very  clean  white  room  with  a  low 


MTJGBY  JUNCTION.  15 

roof.  Its  only  inmate  lay  on  a  couch  that  brought  her  face 
to  a  level  with  the  window.  The  couch  was  white,  too;  and 
her  simple  dress  or  wrapper  being  light  blue,  like  the  band 
around  her  hair,  she  had  an  ethereal  look,  and  a  fanciful 
appearance  of  lying  among  clouds.  He  felt  that  she  in- 
stinctively perceived  him  to  be  by  habit  a  downcast,  taci- 
turn man;  it  was  another  help  to  him  to  have  established 
that  understanding  so  easily,  and  got  it  over. 

There  was  an  awkward  constraint  upon  him,  neverthe- 
less, as  he  touched  her  hand,  and  took  a  chair  at  the  side 
of  her  couch, 

"I  see  now,"  he  began,  not  at  all  fluently,  "how  you 
occupy  your  hand.  Only  seeing  you  from  the  path  outside, 
I  thought  you  were  playing  upon  something." 

She  was  engaged  in  very  nimbly  and  dexterously  making 
lace.  A  lace-pillow  lay  upon  her  breast;  and  the  quick 
movements  and  changes  of  her  hands  upon  it,  as  she 
worked,  had  given  them  the  action  he  had  misinterpreted. 

"That  is  curious,"  she  answered  with  a  bright  smile. 
"  For  I  often  fancy,  myself,  that  I  play  tunes  while  I  am 
at  work." 

"  Have  you  any  musical  knowledge?  n 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  think  I  could  pick  out  tunes,  if  I  had  any  instrument, 
which  could  be  made  as  handy  to  me  as  my  lace-pillow. 
But  I  dare  say  I  deceive  myself.  At  all  events,  I  shall 
never  know." 

"  You  have  a  musical  voice.  Excuse  me;  I  have  heard 
you  sing." 

"With  the  children?  "  she  answered,  slightly  colouring. 
"  Oh  yes.  I  sing  with  the  dear  children,  if  it  can  be  called 
singing." 

Barbox  Brothers  glanced  at  the  two  small  forms  in  the 
room,  and  hazarded  the  speculation  that  she  was  fond  of 
children,  and  that  she  was  learned  in  new  systems  of  teach- 
ing them? 

"Very  fond  of  them,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  again; 
"  but  I  know  nothing  of  teaching,  beyond  the  interest  I 
have  in  it,  and  the  pleasure  it  gives  me  when  they  learn. 
Perhaps  your  overhearing  my  little  scholars  sing  some  of 
their  lessons  has  led  you  so  far  astray  as  to  think  me  a 
grand  teacher?  Ah !  I  thought  so !  No,  I  have  only  read 
and  been  told  about  that  system.  It  seemed  so  pretty  and 


16  MUGBY   JUNCTION. 

pleasant,  and  to  treat  them  so  like  the  merry  Robins  they 
are,  that  I  took  up  with  it  in  my  little  way.  You  don't 
need  to  be  told  what  a  very  little  way  mine  is,  sir,"  she 
added  with  a  glance  at  the  small  forms  and  round  the  room. 

All  this  time  her  hands  were  busy  at  her  lace-pillow. 
As  they  still  continued  so,  and  as  there  was  a  kind  of  sub- 
stitute for  conversation  in  the  click  and  play  of  its  pegs, 
Barbox  Brothers  took  the  opportunity  of  observing  her. 
He  guessed  her  to  be  thirty.  The  charm  of  her  transpar- 
ent face  and  large  bright  brown  eyes  was,  not  that  they 
were  passively  resigned,  but  that  they  were  actively  and 
thoroughly  cheerful.  Even  her  busy  hands,  which  of  their 
own  thinness  alone  might  have  besought  compassion,  plied 
their  task  with  a  gay  courage  that  made  mere  compassion 
an  unjustifiable  assumption  of  superiority,  and  an  imperti- 
nence. 

He  saw  her  eyes  in  the  act  of  rising  towards  his,  and  he 
directed  his  towards  the  prospect,  saying:  "Beautiful,  in- 
deed! " 

"  Most  beautiful,  sir.  I  have  sometimes  had  a  fancy 
that  I  would  like  to  sit  up,  for  once,  only  to  try  how  it  looks 
to  an  erect  head.  But  what  a  foolish  fancy  that  would  be 
to  encourage !  It  cannot  look  more  lovely  to  any  one  than 
it  does  to  me." 

Her  eyes  were  turned  to  it,  as  she  spoke,  with  most  de- 
lighted admiration  and  enjoyment.  There  was  not  a  trace 
in  it  of  any  sense  of  deprivation. 

"And  those  threads  of  railway,  with  their  puffs  of 
smoke  and  steam  changing  places  so  fast,  make  it  so  lively 
for  me,"  she  went  on.  "I  think  of  the  number  of  people 
who  can  go  where  they  wish,  on  their  business,  or  their 
pleasure  ;  I  remember  that  the  puffs  make  signs  to  me  that 
they  are  actually  going  while  I  look  ;  and  that  enlivens  the 
prospect  with  abundance  of  company,  if  I  want  company. 
There  is  the  great  Junction,  too.  I  don't  see  it  under  the 
foot  of  the  hill,  but  I  can  very  often  hear  it,  and  I  always 
know  it  is  there.  It  seems  to  join  me,  in  a  way,  to  I  don't 
know  how  many  places  and  things  that  /shall  never  see." 

With  an  abashed  kind  of  idea  that  it  might  have  already 
joined  himself  to  something  he  had  never  seen,  he  said  con- 
strainedly: "Just  so." 

"And  so  you  see,  sir,"  pursued  Phoebe,  "I  am  not  the 
invalid  you  thought  me,  and  I  am  very  well  off  indeed." 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  17 

"You  have  a  happy  disposition,"  said  Barbox  Brothers: 
perhaps  with  a  slight  excusatory  touch  for  his  own  disposi- 
tion. 

"Ah!  But  you  should  know  my  father,"  she  replied. 
"His  is  the  happy  disposition ! — Don't  mind,  sir!"  For 
his  reserve  took  the  alarm  at  a  step  upon  the  stairs,  and 
he  distrusted  that  he  would  be  set  down  for  a  troublesome 
intruder.  "This  is  my  father  coming." 

The  door  opened,  and  the  father  paused  there. 

"  Why,  Lamps ! "  exclaimed  Barbox  Brothers,  starting 
from  his  chair.  "How  do  you  DO,  Lamps?" 

To  which  Lamps  responded:  "The  gentleman  for  No- 
where !  How  do  you  DO,  sir?  " 

And  they  shook  hands,  to  the  greatest  admiration  and 
surprise  of  Lamps' s  daughter. 

"I  have  looked  you  up  half-a-dozen  times  since  that 
night,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  "but  have  never  found  you." 

"So  I've  heerd  on,  sir,  so  I've  heerd  on,"  returned 
Lamps.  "It's  your  being  noticed  so  often  down  at  the 
Junction,  without  taking  any  train,  that  has  begun  to  get 
you  the  name  among  us  of  the  gentleman  for  Nowhere. 
No  offence  in  my  having  called  you  by  it  when  took  by  sur- 
prise, I  hope,  sir?  " 

"  None  at  all.  It's  as  good  a  name  for  me  as  any  other 
you  could  call  me  by.  But  may  I  ask  you  a  question  in 
the  corner  here?  " 

Lamps  suffered  himself  to  be  led  aside  from  his  daugh- 
ter's couch  by  one  of  the  buttons  of  his  velveteen  jacket. 

"Is  this  the  bedside  where  you  eing  your  songs?  " 

Lamps  nodded. 

The  gentleman  for  Nowhere  clapped  him  on  the  shoul- 
der, and  they  faced  about  again. 

"Upon  my  word,  my  dear,"  said  Lamps  then  to  his 
daughter,  looking  from  her  to  her  visitor,  "  it  is  such  an 
amaze  to  me,  to  find  you  brought  acquainted  with  this  gen- 
tleman, that  I  must  (if  this  gentleman  will  excuse  me)  take 
a  rounder o" 

Mr.  Lamps  demonstrated  in  action  what  this  meant,  by 
pulling  out  his  oily  handkerchief  rolled  up  in  the  form  of 
a  ball,  and  giving  himself  an  elaborate  smear,  from  behind 
the  right  ear,  up  the  cheek,  across  the  forehead,  and  down 
the  other  cheek  to  behind  his  left  ear.  After  this  opera- 
tion he  shone  exceedingly. 
2 


18  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"  It's  according  to  my  custom  when  particular  warmed 
up  by  any  agitation,  sir,"  he  offered  by  way  of  apology. 
"And  really,  I  am  throwed  into  that  state  of  amaze  by 
finding  you  brought  acquainted  with  Phoebe,  that  I — that  I 
think  I  will,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  take  another  rounder." 
Which  he  did,  seeming  to  be  greatly  restored  by  it. 

They  were  now  both  standing  by  the  side  of  her  couch, 
and  she  was  working  at  her  lace-pillow.  "  Your  daughter 
tells  me,"  said  Bar  box  Brothers,  still  in  a  half- reluctant, 
shamefaced  way,  "that  she  never  sits  up." 

"No,  sir,  nor  never  has  done.  You  see,  her  mother 
(who  died  when  she  was  a  year  and  two  months  old)  was 
subject  to  very  bad  fits,  and  as  she  had  never  mentioned  to 
me  that  she  was  subject  to  fits,  they  couldn't  be  guarded 
against.  Consequently,  she  dropped  the  baby  when  took, 
and  this  happened." 

"It  was  very  wrong  of  her,"  said  Barbox  Brothers  with 
a  knitted  brow,  "to  marry  you,  making  a  secret  of  her 
infirmity." 

"  Well,  sir ! "  pleaded  Lamps  in  behalf  of  the  long-de- 
ceased. "  You  see,  Phcebe  and  me,  we  have  talked  that 
over  too.  And  Lord  bless  us !  Such  a  number  on  us  has 
our  infirmities,  what  with  fits,  and  what  with  misfits,  of 
one  sort  and  another,  that  if  we  confessed  to  'em  all  before 
we  got  married,  most  of  us  might  never  get  married." 

"  Might  not  that  be  for  the  better?  " 

"Not  in  this  case,  sir,"  said  Phosbe,  giving  her  hand  to 
her  father. 

"No,  not  in  this  case,  sir,"  said  her  father,  patting  it 
between  his  own. 

"You  correct  me,"  returned  Barbox  Brothers  with  a 
blush;  "and  I  must  look  so  like  a  Brute,  that  at  all  events 
it  would  be  superfluous  in  me  to  confess  to  that  infirmity. 
I  wish  you  would  tell  me  a  little  more  about  yourselves.  I 
hardly  know  how  to  ask  it  of  you,  for  I  am  conscious  that 
I  have  a  bad  stiff  manner,  a  dull  discouraging  way  with 
me,  but  I  wish  you  would." 

"With  all  our  hearts,  sir,"  returned  Lamps  gaily  for 
both.  "  And  first  of  all,  that  you  may  know  my  name " 

"Stay!"  interposed  the  visitor  with  a  slight  flush. 
"  What  signifies  your  name?  Lamps  is  name  enough  for 
me.  I  like  it.  It  is  bright  and  expressive.  What  do  I 
want  more?  " 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  19 

"Why,  to  be  sure,  sir,"  returned  Lamps.  "I  have  in 
general  no  other  name  down  at  the  Junction;  but  I  thought, 
on  account  of  your  being  here  as  a  first-class  single,  in  a 
private  character,  that  you  might " 

The  visitor  waved  the  thought  away  with  his  hand,  and 
Lamps  acknowledged  the  mark  of  confidence  by  taking 
another  rounder. 

"  You  are  hard- worked,  I  take  for  granted?  "  said  Bar- 
box  Brothers,  when  the  subject  of  the  rounder  came  out  of 
it  much  dirtier  than  he  went  into  it. 

Lamps  was  beginning,  "Not  particular  so" — when  his 
daughter  took  him  up. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  he  is  very  hard- worked.  Fourteen,  fifteen, 
eighteen  hours  a  day.  Sometimes  twenty-four  hours  at  a 
time." 

"And  you,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  "what  with  your 
school,  Phoebe,  and  what  with  your  lace- making " 

"But  my  school  is  a  pleasure  to  me,"  she  interrupted, 
opening  her  brown  eyes  wider,  as  if  surprised  to  find  him 
so  obtuse.  "  I  began  it  when  I  was  but  a  child,  because  it 
brought  me  and  other  children  into  company,  don't  you 
see?  That  was  not  work.  I  carry  it  on  still,  because  it 
keeps  children  about  me.  That  is  not  work.  I  do  it  as 
love,  not  as  work.  Then  my  lace-pillow;  "  her  busy  hands 
had  stopped,  as  if  her  argument  required  all  her  cheerful 
earnestness,  but  now  went  on  again  at  the  name;  "it  goes 
with  my  thoughts  when  I  think,  and  it  goes  with  my  tunes 
when  I  hum  any,  and  that's  not  work.  Why,  you  yourself 
thought  it  was  music,  you  know,  sir.  And  so  it  is  to 
me." 

"  Everything  is !  "  cried  Lamps  radiantly.  "  Everything 
is  music  to  her,  sir." 

"My  father  is,  at  any  rate,"  said  Phoebe,  exultingly 
pointing  her  thin  fore-finger  at  him.  "There  is  more 
music  in  my  father  than  there  is  in  a  brass  band." 

"  I  say !  My  dear  !  It's  very  fillyillially  done,  you 
know;  but  you  are  flattering  your  father,"  he  protested, 
sparkling. 

"  No,  I  am  not,  sir,  I  assure  you.  No,  I  am  not.  If 
you  could  hear  my  father  sing,  you  would  know  I  am  not. 
But  you  never  will  hear  him  sing,  because  he  never  sings 
to  any  one  but  me.  However  tired  he  is,  he  always  sings 
to  me  when  he  comes  home.  When  I  lay  here  long  ago, 


20  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

quite  a  poor  little  broken  doll,  he  used  to  sing  to  me. 
More  than  that,  he  used  to  make  songs,  bringing  in  what- 
ever little  jokes  we  had  between  us.  More  than  that,  he 
often  does  so  to  this  day.  Oh!  I'll  tell  of  you,  father,  as 
the  gentleman  has  asked  about  you.  He  is  a  poet,  sir." 

"I  shouldn't  wish  the  gentleman,  my  dear,"  observed 
Lamps,  for  the  moment  turning  grave,  "  to  carry  away  that 
opinion  of  your  father,  because  it  might  look  as  if  I  was 
given  to  asking  the  stars  in  a  molloncolly  manner  what 
they  was  up  to.  Which  I  wouldn't  at  once  waste  the  time, 
and  take  the  liberty,  my  dear." 

"My  father,"  resumed  Phoebe,  amending  her  text,  "is 
always  on  the  bright  side,  and  the  good  side.  You  told 
me,  just  now,  I  had  a  happy  disposition.  How  can  I  help 
it?" 

"  Well;  but,  my  dear,"  returned-Lamps  argumentatively, 
"  how  can  I  help  it?  Put  it  to  yourself,  sir.  Look  at  her. 
Always  as  you  see  her  now.  Always  working — and  after 
all,  sir,  for  but  a  very  few  shillings  a  week — always  con- 
tented, always  lively,  always  interested  in  others,  of  all 
sorts.  I  said,  this  moment,  she  was  always  as  you  see  her 
now.  So  she  is,  with  a  difference  that  comes  to  much  the 
same.  For,  when  it  is  my  Sunday  off  and  the  morning 
bells  have  done  ringing,  I  hear  the  prayers  and  thanks 
read  in  the  touchingest  way,  and  I  have  the  hymns  sung  to 
me — so  soft,  sir,  that  you  couldn't  hear  'em  out  of  this  room 
— in  notes  that  seem  to  me,  I  am  sure,  to  come  from  Heaven 
and  go  back  to  it." 

It  might  have  been  merely  through  the  association  of 
these  words  with  their  sacredly  quiet  time,  or  it  might 
have  been  through  the  larger  association  of  the  words  with 
the  "Redeemer's  presence  beside  the  bedridden;  but  here 
her  dexterous  fingers  came  to  a  stop  on  the  lace-pillow,  and 
clasped  themselves  around  his  neck  as  he  bent  down. 
There  was  great  natural  sensibility  in  both  father  and 
daughter,  the  visitor  could  easily  see;  but  each  made  it, 
for  the  other's  sake,  retiring,  not  demonstrative;  and  per- 
fect cheerfulness,  intuitive  or  acquired,  was  either  the  first 
or  second  nature  of  both.  In  a  very  few  moments  Lamps 
was  taking  another  rounder  with  his  comical  features  beam- 
ing, while  Phosbe's  laughing  eyes  (just  a  glistening  speck 
or  so  upon  their  lashes)  were  again  directed  by  turns  to 
him,  and  to  her  work,  and  to  Barbox  Brothers. 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  21 

"When  my  father,  sir,"  she  said  brightly,  "tells  you 
about  my  being  interested  in  other  people,  even  though 
they  know  nothing  about  me — which,  by  the  bye,  I  told 
you  myself — you  ought  to  know  how  that  comes  about. 
That's  my  father's  doing." 

"No,  it  isn't!"  he  protested. 

"Don't  you  believe  him,  sir;  yes,  it  is.  He  tells  me  of 
everything  he  sees  down  at  his  work.  You  would  be  sur- 
prised what  a  quantity  he  gets  together  for  me  every  day. 
He  looks  into  the  carriages,  and  tells  me  how  the  ladies  are 
dressed — so  that  I  know  all  the  fashions !  He  looks  into 
the  carriages,  and  tells  me  what  pairs  of  lovers  he  sees,  and 
what  new-married  couples  on  their  wedding-trip — so  that  I 
know  all  about  that !  He  collects  chance  newspapers  and 
books — so  that  I  have  plenty  to  read !  He  tells  me  about 
the  sick  people  who  are  travelling  to  try  to  get  better — so 
that  I  know  all  about  them !  In  short,  as  I  began  by  say- 
ing, he  tells  me  everything  he  sees  and  makes  out  down  at 
his  work,  and  you  can't  think  what  a  quantity  he  does  see 
and  make  out." 

"  As  to  collecting  newspapers  and  books,  my  dear,"  said 
Lamps,  "it's  clear  I  can  have  no  merit  in  that,  because 
they're  not  my  perquisites.  You  see,  sir,  it's  this  way:  A 
Guard,  he'll  say  to  me,  '  Hallo,  here  you  are,  Lamps.  I've 
saved  this  paper  for  your  daughter.  How  is  she  a  going 
on?'  A  Head-Porter,  he'll  say  to  me,  'Here!  Catch 
hold,  Lamps.  Here's  a  couple  of  wollumes  for  your  daugh- 
ter. Is  she  pretty  much  where  she  were? '  And  that's 
what  makes  it  double  welcome,  you  see.  If  she  had  a 
thousand  pound  in  a  box,  they  wouldn't  trouble  themselves 
about  her;  but  being  what  she  is — that  is,  you  understand," 
Lamps  added,  somewhat  hurriedly,  "  not  having  a  thousand 
pound  in  a  box — they  take  thought  for  her.  And  as  con- 
cerning the  young  pairs,  married  and  unmarried,  it's  only 
natural  I  should  bring  home  what  little  I  can  about  them, 
seeing  that  there's  not  a  Couple  of  either  sort  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood that  don't  come  of  their  own  accord  to  confide  in 
Phoebe." 

She  raised  her  eyes  triumphantly  to  Barbox  Brothers  as 
she  said : 

"  Indeed,  sir,  that  is  true.  If  I  could  have  got  up  and 
gone  to  church,  I  don't  know  how  often  I  should  have  been 
a  bridesmaid.  But,  if  I  could  have  done  that,  some  girls 


22  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

in  love  might  have  been  jealous  of  me,  and,  as  it  is,  no  girl 
is  jealous  of  me.  And  my  pillow  would  not  have  been  half 
as  ready  to  put  the  piece  of  cake  under,  as  I  always  find 
it,"  she  added,  turning  her  face  on  it  with  a  light  sigh, 
and  a  smile  at  her  father. 

The  arrival  of  the  little  girl,  the  biggest  of  the  scholars, 
now  led  to  an  understanding  on  the  part  of  Barbox  Broth- 
ers, that  she  was  the  domestic  of  the  cottage,  and  had  come 
to  take  active  measures  in  it,  attended  by  a  pail  that  might- 
have  extinguished  her,  and  a  broom  three  times  her  height. 
He  therefore  rose  to  take  his  leave,  and  took  it;  saying 
that,  if  Phcsbe  had  no  objection,  he  would  come  again. 

He  had  muttered  that  he  would  come  "  in  the  course  of 
his  walks."  The  course  of  his  walks  must  have  been 
highly  favourable  to  his  return,  for  he  returned  after  an 
interval  of  a  single  day. 

"  You  thought  you  would  never  see  me  any  more,  I  sup- 
pose? "  he  said  to  Phoebe  as  he  touched  her  hand,  and  sat 
down  by  her  couch. 

"  Why  should  I  think  so?  "  was  her  surprised  rejoinder. 

"I  took  it  for  granted  you  would  mistrust  me." 

"  For  granted,  sir?     Have  you  been  so  much  mistrusted?  " 

"  I  think  I  am  justified  in  answering  yes.  But  I  may 
have  mistrusted,  too,  on  my  part.  No  matter  just  now. 
We  were  speaking  of  the  Junction  last  time.  I  have 
passed  hours  there  since  the  day  before  yesterday." 

'•'  Are  you  now  the  gentleman  for  Somewhere?  "  she  asked 
with  a  smile. 

"  Certainly  for  Somewhere;  but  I  don't  yet  know  Where. 
You  would  never  guess  what  I  am  travelling  from.  Shall 
I  tell  you?  I  am  travelling  from  my  birthday." 

Her  hands  stopped  in  her  work,  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  incredulous  astonishment. 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  not  quite  easy  in  his  chair, 
"from  my  birthday.  I  am,  to  myself,  an  unintelligible 
book  with  the  earlier  chapters  all  torn  out,  and  thrown 
away.  My  childhood  had  no  grace  of  childhood,  my  youth 
had  no  charm  of  youth,  and  what  can  be  expected  from 
such  a  lost  beginning?  "  His  eyes  meeting  hers  as  they 
were  addressed  intently  to  him,  something  seemed  to  stir 
within  his  breast,  whispering :  "  Was  this  bed  a  place  for 
the  graces  of  childhood  and  the  charms  of  youth  to  take  to 
kindly?  Oh,  shame,  shame!" 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  23 

"It  is  a  disease  with  me,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  check- 
ing himself,  and  making  as  though  he  had  a  difficulty  in 
swallowing  something,  "  to  go  wrong  about  that.  I  don't 
know  how  I  came  to  speak  of  that.  I  hope  it  is  because  of 
an  old  misplaced  confidence  in  one  of  your  sex  involving  an 
old  bitter  treachery.  I  don't  know.  I  am  all  wrong  to- 
gether." 

Her  hands  quietly  and  slowly  resumed  their  work. 
Glancing  at  her,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  thoughtfully 
following  them. 

"I  am  travelling  from  my  birthday,"  he  resumed,  "be- 
cause it  has  always  been  a  dreary  day  to  me.  My  first 
free  birthday  coming  round  some  five  or  six  weeks  hence, 
I  am  travelling  to  put  its  predecessors  far  behind  me,  and 
to  try  to  crush  the  day — or,  at  all  events,  put  it  out  of  my 
sight — by  heaping  new  objects  on  it." 

As  he  paused,  she  looked  at  him;  but  only  shook  her 
head  as  being  quite  at  a  loss. 

"This  is  unintelligible  to  your  happy  disposition,"  he 
pursued,  abiding  by  his  former  phrase  as  if  there  were 
some  lingering  virtue  of  self-defence  in  it.  "  I  knew  it 
would  be,  and  am  glad  it  is.  However,  on  this  travel  of 
mine  (in  which  I  mean  to  pass  the  rest  of  my  days,  having 
abandoned  all  thought  of  a  fixed  home),  I  stopped,  as  you 
have  heard  from  your  father,  at  the  Junction  here.  The 
extent  of  its  ramifications  quite  confused  me  as  to  whither 
I  should  go,  from  here.  I  have  not  yet  settled,  being  still 
perplexed  among  so  many  roads.  What  do  you  think  I 
mean  to  do?  How  many  of  the  branching  roads  can  you 
see  from  your  window?  " 

Looking  out,  full  of  interest,  she  answered,  "Seven." 

"  Seven,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  watching  her  with  a 
grave  smile.  "  Well'!  I  propose  to  myself  at  once  to  re- 
duce the  gross  number  to  those  very  seven,  and  gradually 
to  fine  them  down  to  one — the  most  promising  for  me — and 
to  take  that." 

"  But  how  will  you  know,  sir,  which  is  the  most  promis- 
ing? "  she  asked,  with  her  brightened  eyes  roving  over  the 
view. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Barbox  Brothers  with  another  grave  smile, 
and  considerably  improving  in  his  ease  of  speech.  "To  be 
sure.  In  this  way.  Where  your  father  can  pick  up  so 
much  every  day  for  a  good  purpose,  I  may  once  and  again 


24  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

pick  up  a  little  for  an  indifferent  purpose.  The  gentleman 
for  Nowhere  must  become  still  better  known  at  the  Junc- 
tion. He  shall  continue  to  explore  it,  until  he  attaches 
something  that  he  has  seen,  heard,  or  found  out,  at  the 
head  of  each  of  the  seven  roads,  to  the  road  itself.  And 
so  his  choice  of  a  road  shall  be  determined  by  his  choice 
among  his.  discoveries." 

Her  hands  still  busy,  she  again  glanced  at  the  prospect, 
as  if  it  comprehended  something  that  had  not  been  in  it  be- 
fore, and  laughed  as  if  it  yielded  her  new  pleasure. 

"But  I  must  not  forget,"  said  Bar  box  Brothers,  "(hav- 
ing got  so  far)  to  ask  a  favour.  I  want  your  help  in  this 
expedient  of  mine.  I  want  to  bring  you  what  I  pick  up  at 
the  heads  of  the  seven  roads  that  you  lie  here  looking  out 
at,  and  to  compare  notes  with  you  about  it.  May  I? 
They  say  two  heads  are  better  than  one.  I  should  say  my- 
self that  probably  depends  upon  the  heads  concerned.  But 
I  am  quite  sure,  though  we  are  so  newly  acquainted,  that 
your  head  and  your  father's  have  found  out  better  things, 
Phoebe,  than  ever  mine  of  itself  discovered." 

She  gave  him  her  sympathetic  right  hand,  in  perfect  rap- 
ture with  his  proposal,  and  eagerly  and  gratefully  thanked 
him. 

" That's  well !"  said  Barbox  Brothers.  "Again  I  must 
not  forget  (having  got  so  far)  to  ask  a  favour.  Will  you 
shut  your  eyes?  " 

Laughing  playfully  at  the  strange  nature  of  the  request, 
she  did  so. 

"  Keep  them  shut,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  going  softly 
to  the  door,  and  coming  back.  "  You  are  on  your  honour, 
mind,  not  to  open  your  eyes  until  I  tell  you  that  you  may?  " 

"  Yes !     On  my  honour." 

"Good.  May  I  take  your  lace-pillow  from  you  for  a 
minute?  " 

Still  laughing  and  wondering,  she  removed  her  hands 
from  it,  and  he  put  it  aside. 

"  Tell  me.  Did  you  see  the  puffs  of  smoke  and  steam 
made  by  the  morning  fast-train  yesterday  on  road  number 
seven  from  here?  " 

"  Behind  the  elm-trees  and  the  spire?  " 

"  That's  the  road,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  directing  his 
eyes  towards  it. 

"  Yes.     I  watched  them  melt  away." 


MUGBY   JUNCTION.  25 

"  Anything  unusual  in  what  they  expressed?  " 

"  No ! "  she  answered  merrily. 

"Not  complimentary  to  me,  for  I  was  in  that  train.  I 
went — don't  open  your  eyes — to  fetch  you  this,  from  the 
great  ingenious  town.  It  is  not  half  so  large  as  your  lace- 
pillow,  and  lies  easily  and  lightly  in  its  place.  These  lit- 
tle keys  are  like  the  keys  of  a  miniature  piano,  and  you 
supply  the  air  required  with  your  left  hand.  May  you 
pick  out  delightful  music  from  it,  my  dear !  For  the  pres- 
ent— you  can  open  your  eyes  now — good-bye !  " 

In  his  embarrassed  way,  he  closed  the  door  upon  himself, 
and  only  saw,  in  doing  so,  that  she  ecstatically  took  the 
present  to  her  bosom  and  caressed  it.  The  glimpse  glad- 
dened his  heart,  and  yet  saddened  it;  for  so  might  she,  if 
her  youth  had  flourished  in  its  natural  course,  have  taken 
to  her  breast  that  day  the  slumbering  music  of  her  own 
child's  voice. 

CHAPTER  II. 

BARBOX    BROTHERS    AND    CO. 

WITH  good- will  and  earnest  purpose,  the  gentleman  for 
Nowhere  began,  on  the  very  next  day,  his  researches  at  the 
heads  of  the  seven  roads.  The  results  of  his  researches,  as 
he  and  Phoebe  afterwards  set  them  down  in  fair  writing, 
hold  their  due  places  in  this  veracious  chronicle.  But  they 
occupied  a  much  longer  time  in  the  getting  together  than 
they  ever  will  in  the  perusal.  And  this  is  probably  the 
case  with  most  reading  matter,  except  when  it  is  of  that 
highly  beneficial  kind  (for  Posterity)  which  is  "thrown  off 
in  a  few  moments  of  leisure  "  by  the  superior  poetic  geni- 
uses who  scorn  to  take  prose  pains. 

It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  Bar  box  by  no  means 
hurried  himself.  His  heart  being  in  his  work  of  good- 
nature, he  revelled  in  it.  There  was  the  joy  too  (it  was  a 
true  joy  to  him)  of  sometimes  sitting  by,  listening  to  Phoe- 
be as  she  picked  out  more  and  more  discourse  from  her 
musical  instrument,  and  as  her  natural  taste  and  ear  re- 
fined daily  upon  her  first  discoveries.  Besides  being  a 
pleasure,  this  was  an  occupation,  and  in  the  course  of 
weeks  it  consumed  hours.  It  resulted  that  his  dreaded 
birthday  was  close  upon  him  before  he  had  troubled  him- 
self any  more  about  it. 


26  MUGBY   JUNCTION. 

The  matter  was  made  more  pressing  by  the  unforeseen 
circumstance  that  the  councils  held  (at  which  Mr.  Lamps, 
beaming  most  brilliantly,  on  a  few  rare  occasions  assisted) 
respecting  the  road  to  be  selected  were,  after  all,  in  nowise 
assisted  by  his  investigations.  For,  he  had  connected  this 
interest  with  this  road,  or  that  interest  with  the  other,  but 
could  deduce  no  reason  from  it  for  giving  any  road  the  pref- 
erence. Consequently,  when  the  last  council  was  holden, 
that  part  of  the  business  stood,  in  the  end,  exactly  where 
it  had  stood  in  the  beginning. 

"But,  sir,"  remarked  Phoebe,  "we  have  only  six  roads 
after  all.  Is  the  seventh  road  dumb?  " 

"  The  seventh  road?  Oh ! "  said  Barbox  Brothers,  rub- 
bing his  chin.  "  That  is  the  road  I  took,  you  know,  when 
I  went  to  get  your  little  present.  That  is  its  story, 
Phoebe." 

"Would  you  mind  taking  that  road  again,  sir?"  she 
asked  with  hesitation. 

"Not  in  the  least;  it  is  a  great  high-road  after  all." 

"I  should  like  you  to  take  it,"  returned  Phoebe  with  a 
persuasive  smile,  "  for  the  love  of  that  little  present  which 
must  ever  be  so  dear  to  me.  I  should  like  you  to  take  it, 
because  that  road  can  never  be  again  like  any  other  road  to 
me.  I  should  like  you  to  take  it,  in  remembrance  of  your 
having  done  me  so  much  good :  of  your  having  made  me  so 
much  happier !  If  you  leave  me  by  the  road  you  travelled 
when  you  went  to  do  me  this  great  kindness,"  sounding  a 
faint  chord  as  she  spoke,  "  I  shall  feel,  lying  here  watch- 
ing at  my  window,  as  if  it  must  conduct  you  to  a  prosper- 
ous end,  and  bring  you  back  some  day." 

"It  shall  be  done,  my  dear;  it  shall  be  done." 

So  at  last  the  gentleman  for  Nowhere  took  a  ticket  for 
Somewhere,  and  his  destination  was  the  great  ingenious 
town. 

He  had  loitered  so  long  about  the  Junction  that  it  was 
the  eighteenth  of  December  when  he  left  it.  "High 
time,"  he  reflected,  as  he  seated  himself  in  the  train, 
"  that  I  started  in  earnest !  Only  one  clear  day  remains  be- 
tween me  and  the  day  I  am  running  away  from.  I'll 
push  onward  for  the  hill-country  to-morrow.  I'll  go  to 
Wales." 

It  was  with  some  pains  that  he  placed  before  himself  the 
undeniable  advantages  to  be  gained  in  the  way  of  novel  oc- 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  27 

cupation  for  his  senses  from  misty  mountains,  swollen 
streams,  rain,  cold,  a  wild  seashore,  and  rugged  roads. 
And  yet  he  scarcely  made  them  out  as  distinctly  as  he 
could  have  wished.  Whether  the  poor  girl,  in  spite  of  her 
new  resource,  her  music,  would  have  any  feeling  of  loneli- 
ness upon  her  now — just  at  first — that  she  had  not  had 
before;  whether  she  saw  those  very  puffs  of  steam  and 
smoke  that  he  saw,  as  he  sat  in  the  train  thinking  of  her; 
whether  her  face  would  have  any  pensive  shadow  on  it  as 
they  died  out  of  the  distant  view  from  her  window; 
whether,  in  telling  him  he  had  done  her  so  much  good,  she 
had  not  unconsciously  corrected  his  old  moody  bemoaning 
of  his  station  in  life,  by  setting  him  thinking  that  a  man 
might  be  a  great  healer,  if  he  would,  and  yet  not  be  a  great 
doctor;  these  and  other  similar  meditations  got  between 
him  and  his  Welsh  picture.  There  was  within  him,  too, 
that  dull  sense  of  vacuity  which  follows  separation  from 
an  object  of  interest,  and  cessation  of  a  pleasant  pursuit; 
and  this  sense,  being  quite  new  to  him,  made  him  restless. 
Further,  in  losing  Mugby  Junction,  he  had  found  himself 
again;  and  he  was  not  the  more  enamoured  of  himself  for 
having  lately  passed  his  time  in  better  company. 

But  surely  here,  not  far  ahead,  must  be  the  great  inge- 
nious town.  This  crashing  and  clashing  that  the  train  was 
undergoing,  and  this  coupling  on  to  it  of  a  multitude  of 
new  echoes,  could  mean  nothing  less  than  approach  to  the 
great  station.  It  did  mean  nothing  less.  After  some 
stormy  flashes  of  town  lightning,  in  the  way  of  swift  reve- 
lations of  red  brick  blocks  of  houses,  high  red  brick  chim- 
ney-shafts, vistas  of  red  brick  railway  arches,  tongues  of 
fire,  blocks  of  smoke,  valleys  of  canal,  and  hills  of  coal, 
there  came  the  thundering  in  at  the  journey's  end. 

Having  seen  his  portmanteaus  safely  housed  in  the  hotel 
he  chose,  and  having  appointed  his  dinner  hour,  Barbox 
Brothers  went  out  for  a  walk  in  the  busy  streets.  And 
now  it  began  to  be  suspected  by  him  that  Mugby  Junction 
was  a  Junction  of  many  branches,  invisible  as  well  as  visi- 
ble, and  had  joined  him  to  an  endless  number  of  byeways. 
For,  whereas  he  would,  but  a  little  while  ago,  have  walked 
these  streets  blindly  brooding,  he  now  had  eyes  and 
thoughts  for  a  new  external  world.  How  the  many  toiling 
people  lived,  and  loved,  and  died;  how  wonderful  it  was 
to  consider  the  various  trainings  of  eye  and  hand,  the  nice 


28  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

distinctions  of  sight  and  touch,  that  separated  them  into 
classes  of  workers,  and  even  into  classes  of  workers  at  sub- 
divisions of  one  complete  whole  which  combined  their  many 
intelligences  and  forces,  though  of  itself  but  some  cheap 
object  of  use  or  ornament  in  common  life;  how  good  it  was 
to  know  that  such  assembling  in  a  multitude  on  their  part, 
and  such  contribution  of  their  several  dexterities  towards 
a  civilising  end,  did  not  deteriorate  them  as  it  was  the 
fashion  of  the  supercilious  Mayflies  of  humanity  to  pre- 
tend, but  engendered  among  them  a  self-respect,  and  yet  a 
modest  desire  to  be  much  wiser  than  they  were  (the  first 
evinced  in  their  well-balanced  bearing  and  manner  of  speech 
when  he  stopped  to  ask  a  question;  the  second,  in  the  an- 
nouncements of  their  popular  studies  and  amusements  on 
the  public  walls);  these  considerations,  and  a  host  of  such, 
made  his  walk  a  memorable  one.  "  I  too  am  but  a  little 
part  of  a  great  whole,"  he  began  to  think;  "and  to  be  ser- 
viceable to  myself  and  others,  or  to  be  happy,  I  must  cast 
my  interest  into,  and  draw  it  out  of,  the  common  stock." 

Although  he  had  arrived  at  his  journey's  end  for  the  day 
by  noon,  he  had  since  insensibly  walked  about  the  town  so 
far  and  so  long  that  the  lamp-lighters  were  now  at  their 
work  in  the  streets,  and  the  shops  were  sparkling  up  bril- 
liantly. Thus  reminded  to  turn  towards  his  quarters,  he 
was  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  when  a  very  little  hand  crept 
into  his,  and  a  very  little  voice  said : 

"  Oh !  if  you  please,  I  am  lost ! " 

He  looked  down,  and  saw  a  very  little  fair-haired  girl. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  confirming  her  words  with  a  serious  nod. 
"  I  am  indeed.  I  am  lost ! " 

Greatly  perplexed,  he  stopped,  looked  about  him  for 
help,  descried  none,  and  said,  bending  low : 

"  Where  do  you  live,  my  child?  " 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  live,"  she  returned.     "  I  am  lost." 

"  What  is  your  name?  " 

"Polly." 

"  What  is  your  other  name?  " 

The  reply  was  prompt,  but  unintelligible. 

Imitating  the  sound  as  he  caught  it,  he  hazarded  the 
guess,  "Trivits." 

"Oh  no!"  said  the  child,  shaking  her  head.  "Nothing 
like  that." 

"  Say  it  again,  little  one." 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  29 

An  unpromising  business.  For  this  time  it  had  quite  a 
different  sound. 

He  made  the  venture,  "  Paddens?  " 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  the  child.     "  Nothing  like  that." 

"Once  more.     Let  us  try  it  again,  dear." 

A  most  hopeless  business.  This  time  it  swelled  into  four 
syllables.  "  It  can't  be  Tappitarver?  "  said  Barbox  Broth- 
ers, rubbing  his  head  with  his  hat  in  discomfiture. 

"No!     It  ain't,"  the  child  quietly  assented. 

On  her  trying  this  unfortunate  name  once  more,  with  ex- 
traordinary efforts  at  distinctness,  it  swelled  into  eight  syl- 
lables at  least. 

"Ah!  I  think,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  with  a  desperate 
air  of  resignation,  "that  we  had  better  give  it  up." 

"But  I  am  lost,"  said  the  child,  nestling  her  little  hand 
more  closely  in  his,  "and  you'll  take  care  of  me,  won't 
you?  " 

If  ever  a  man  were  disconcerted  by  division  between 
compassion  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  very  imbecility  of  ir- 
resolution on  the  other,  here  the  man  was.  "  Lost ! "  he 
repeated,  looking  down  at  the  child.  "I  am  sure  1  am. 
What  is  to  be  done?  " 

"  Where  do  you  live? "  asked  the  child,  looking  up  at 
him  wistfully. 

"Over  there,"  he  answered,  pointing  vaguely  in  the  di- 
rection of  his  hotel. 

"Hadn't  we  better  go  there?  "  said  the  child. 

"Really,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  know  but  what  we 
had." 

So  they  set  off,  hand-in-hand.  He,  through  comparison 
of  himself  against  his  little  companion,  with  a  clumsy  feel- 
ing on  him  as  if  he  had  just  developed  into  a  foolish  giant. 
She,  clearly  elevated  in  her  own  tiny  opinion  by  having  got 
him  so  neatly  out  of  his  embarrassment. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  dinner  when  we  get  there,  I  sup- 
pose? "  said  Polly. 

"Well,"  he  rejoined,  "I Yes,  I  suppose  we  are." 

"  Do  you  like  your  dinner?  "  asked  the  child. 

"Why,  on  the  whole,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  "yes,  I 
think  I  do." 

"I  do  mine,"  said  Polly.  "Have  you  any  brothers  and 
sisters?  " 

«No.     Have  you?" 


30  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"Mine  are  dead." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Barbox  Brothers.  With  that  absurd  sense 
of  unwieldiness  of  mind  and  body  weighing  him  down,  he 
would  have  not  known  how  to  pursue  the  conversation  be- 
yond this  curt  rejoinder,  but  that  the  child  was  always 
ready  for  him. 

"What,"  she  asked,  turning  her  soft  hand  coaxingly  in 
his,  "  are  you  going  to  do  to  amuse  me  after  dinner?  " 

"Upon  my  soul,  Polly,"  exclaimed  Barbox  Brothers, 
very  much  at  a  loss,  "  I  have  not  the  slightest  idea ! " 

"Then  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Polly.  "Have  you  got 
any  cards  at  your  house?  " 

"Plenty,"  said  Barbox  Brothers  in  a  boastful  vein. 

"  Very  well.  Then  I'll  build  houses,  and  you  shall  look 
at  me.  You  mustn't  blow,  you  know." 

"Oh  no,"  said  Barbox  Brothers.  "No,  no,  no.  No 
blowing.  Blowing's  not  fair." 

He  flattered  himself  that  he  had  said  this  pretty  well  for 
an  idiotic  monster;  but  the  child,  instantly  perceiving  the 
awkwardness  of  his  attempt  to  adapt  himself  to  her  level, 
utterly  destroyed  his  hopeful  opinion  of  himself  by  saying 
compassionately :  "  What  a  funny  man  you  are ! " 

Feeling,  after  this  melancholy  failure,  as  if  he  every 
minute  grew  bigger  and  heavier  in  person,  and  weaker  in 
mind,  Barbox  gave  himself  up  for  a  bad  job.  No  giant 
ever  submitted  more  meekly  to  be  led  in  triumph  by  all- 
conquering  Jack  than  he  to  be  bound  in  slavery  to  Polly. 

"Do  you  know  any  stories?  "  she  asked  him. 

He  was  reduced  to  the  humiliating  confession:  "No." 

"  What  a  dunce  you  must  be,  mustn't  you?  "  said  Polly. 

He  was  reduced  to  the  humiliating  confession:  "Yes." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  teach  you  a  story?  But  you 
must  remember  it,  you  know,  and  be  able  to  tell  it  right  to 
somebody  else  afterwards." 

He  professed  that  it  would  afford  him  the  highest  men- 
tal gratification  to  be  taught  a  story,  and  that  he  would 
humbly  endeavour  to  retain  it  in  his  mind.  Whereupon 
Polly,  giving  her  hand  a  new  little  turn  in  his,  expressive 
of  settling  down  for  enjoyment,  commenced  a  long  romance, 
of  which  every  relishing  clause  began  with  the  words :  "  So 
this,"  or,  "  And  so  this."  As,  "  So  this  boy;"  or,  "  So  this 
fairy;"  or,  "And  so  this  pie  was  four  yards  round,  and  two 
yards  and  a  quarter  deep. "  The  interest  of  the  romance 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  31 

was  derived  from  the  intervention  of  this  fairy  to  punish 
this  boy  for  having  a  greedy  appetite.  To  achieve  which 
purpose,  this  fairy  made  this  pie,  and  this  boy  ate  and  ate 
and  ate,  and  his  cheeks  swelled  and  swelled  and  swelled. 

There  were  many  tributary  circumstances,  but  the  forci- 
ble interest  culminated  in  the  total  consumption  of  this  pie, 
and  the  bursting  of  this  boy.  Truly  he  was  a  fine  sight, 
Barbox  Brothers,  with  serious  attentive  face,  and  ear  bent 
down,  much  jostled  on  the  pavements  of  the  busy  town, 
but  afraid  of  losing  a  single  incident  of  the  epic,  lest  he 
should  be  examined  in  it  by  and  bye,  and  found  deficient. 

Thus  they  arrived  at  the  hotel.  And  there  he  had  to  say 
at  the  bar,  and  said  awkwardly  enough :  "  I  have  found  a 
little  girl ! " 

The  whole  establishment  turned  out  to  look  at  the  little 
girl.  Nobody  knew  her;  nobody  could  make  out  her  name, 
as  she  set  it  forth — except  one  chamber-maid,  who  said  it 
was  Constantinople — which  it  wasn't. 

"I  will  dine  with  my  young  friend  in  a  private  room," 
said  Barbox  Brothers  to  the  hotel  authorities,  "  and  perhaps 
you  will  be  so  good  as  to  let  the  police  know  that  the  pretty 
baby  is  here.  I  suppose  she  is  sure  to  be  inquired  for  soon, 
if  she  has  not  been  already.  Come  along,  Polly." 

Perfectly  at  ease  and  peace,  Polly  came  along,  but,  find- 
ing the  stairs  rather  stiff  work,  was  carried  up  by  Barbox 
Brothers.  The  dinner  was  a  most  transcendent  success, 
and  the  Barbox  sheepishness,  under  Polly's  directions  how 
to  mince  her  meat  for  her,  and  how  to  diffuse  gravy  over 
the  plate  with  a  liberal  and  equal  hand,  was  another  fine 
sight. 

"And  now,"  said  Polly,  "while  we  are  at  dinner,  you 
be  good,  and  tell  me  that  story  I  taught  you." 

With  the  tremors  of  a  Civil  Service  examination  upon 
him,  and  very  uncertain  indeed,  not  only  as  to  the  epoch 
at  which  the  pie  appeared  in  history,  but  also  as  to  the 
measurements  of  that  indispensable  fact,  Barbox  Brothers 
made  a  shaky  beginning,  but  under  encouragement  did  very 
fairly.  There  was  a  want  of  breadth  observable  in  his  ren- 
dering of  the  cheeks,  as  well  as  the  appetite,  of  the  boy; 
and  there  was  a  certain  tameness  in  his  fairy,  referable  to 
an  under-current  of  desire  to  account  for  her.  Still,  as  the 
first  lumbering  performance  of  a'  good-humoured  monster, 
it  passed  muster. 


32  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"I  told  you  to  be  good,"  said  Polly,  "and  you  are  good, 
ain't  you?  " 

"1  hope  so,"  replied  Barbox  Brothers. 

Such  was  his  deference  that  Polly,  elevated  on  a  platform 
of  sofa  cushions  in  a  chair  at  his  right  hand,  encouraged 
him  with  a  pat  or  two  on  the  face  from  the  greasy  bowl  of 
her  spoon,  and  even  with  a  gracious  kiss.  In  getting  on 
her  feet  upon  her  chair,  however,  to  give  him  this  last  re- 
ward, she  toppled  forward  among  the  dishes,  and  caused 
him  to  exclaim,  as  he  effected  her  rescue :  "  Gracious  Ari- 
gels !  Whew !  I  thought  we  were  in  the  fire,  Polly !  " 

"  What  a  coward  you  are,  ain't  you?  "  said  Polly  when 
replaced. 

"Yes,  I  am  rather  nervous,"  he  replied.  "Whew! 
Don't,  Polly!  Don't  flourish  your  spoon,  or  you'll  go  over 
sideways.  Don't  tilt  up  your  legs  when  you  laugh,  Polly, 
or  you'll  go  over  backwards.  Whew !  Polly,  Polly,  Polly," 
said  Barbox  Brothers,  nearly  succumbing  to  despair,  "  we 
are  environed  with  dangers ! " 

Indeed,  he  could  descry  no  security  from  the  pitfalls 
that  were  yawning  for  Polly,  but  in  proposing  to  her,  after 
dinner,  to  sit  upon  a  low  stool.  "  I  will,  if  you  will,"  said 
Polly.  So,  as  peace  of  mind  should  go  before  all,  he  begged 
the  waiter  to  wheel  aside  the  table,  bring  a  pack  of  cards, 
a  couple  of  footstools,  and  a  screen,  and  close  in  Polly  and 
himself  before  the  fire,  as  it  were  in  a  snug  room  within  the 
room.  Then,  finest  sight  of  all,  was  Barbox  Brothers  on 
his  footstool,  with  a  pint  decanter  on  the  rug,  contemplat- 
ing Polly  as  she  built  successfully,  and  growing  blue  in  the 
face  with  holding  his  breath,  lest  he  should  blow  the  house 
down. 

"How  you  stare,  don't  you?"  said  Polly  in  a  houseless 
pause. 

Detected  in  the  ignoble  fact,  he  felt  obliged  to  admit, 
apologetically :  "  I  am  afraid  I  was  looking  rather  hard  at 
you,  Polly." 

"  Why  do  you  stare?  "  asked  Polly. 

"I  cannot,"  he  murmured  to  himself,  "recall  why. — I 
don't  know,  Polly." 

"  You  must  be  a  simpleton  to  do  things  and  not  know 
why,  mustn't  you?  "  said  Polly. 

In  spite  of  which  reproof,  he  looked  at  the  child  again 
intently,  as  she  bent  her  head  over  her  card  structure, 


MUGBY  JUNCTION  33 

her  rich  curls  shading  her  face.  "It  is  impossible,"  he 
thought,  "  that  I  can  ever  have  seen  this  pretty  baby  before. 
Can  I  have  dreamed  of  her?  In  some  sorrowful  dream?  " 

He  could  make  nothing  of  it.  So  he  went  into  the  build- 
ing trade  as  a  journeyman  under  Polly,  and  they  built  three 
stories  high,  four  stories  high;  even  five. 

"  I  say !  Who  do  you  think  is  coming?  "  asked  Polly, 
rubbing  her  eyes  after  tea. 

He  guessed :  "  The  waiter?  " 

"No, "said  Polly,  "the  dustman.     lam  getting  sleepy." 

A  new  embarrassment  for  Bar  box  Brothers ! 

"I  don't  think  I  am  going  to  be  fetched  to-night,"  said 
Polly.  "  What  do  you  think?  " 

He  thought  not,  either.  After  another  quarter  of  an 
hour,  the  dustman  not  merely  impending,  but  actually  ar- 
riving, recourse  was  had  to  the  Constantinopolitan  cham- 
ber-maid: who  cheerily  undertook  that  the  child  should 
sleep  in  a  comfortable  and  wholesome  room,  which  she 
herself  would  share. 

"And  I  know  you  will  be  careful,  won't  you,"  said  Bar- 
box  Brothers,  as  a  new  fear  dawned  upon  him,  "  that  she 
don't  fall  out  of  bed?  " 

Polly  found  this  so  highly  entertaining  that  she  was  un- 
der the  necessity  of  clutching  him  round  the  neck  with 
both  arms  as  he  sat  on  his  footstool  picking  up  the  cards, 
and  rocking  him  to  and  fro,  with  her  dimpled  chin  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Oh,  what  a  coward  you  are,  ain't  you?"  said  Polly. 
"Do  you  fall  out  of  bed?  " 

"N— not  generally,  Polly." 

"No  more  do  I." 

With  that,  Polly  gave  him  a  reassuring  hug  or  two  to 
keep  him  going,  and  then  giving  that  confiding  mite  of  a 
hand  of  hers  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the  hand  of  the  Con- 
stantinopolitan chamber-maid,  trotted  off,  chattering,  with- 
out a  vestige  of  anxiety. 

He  looked  after  her,  had  the  screen  removed  and  the  table 
and  chairs  replaced,  and  still  looked  after  her.  He  paced 
the  room  for  half  an  hour.  " .  V  most  engaging  little  crea- 
ture, but  it's  not  that.  A  most  winning  little  voice,  but 
it's  not  that.  That  has  much  to  do  with  it,  but  there  is 
something  more.  How  can  it  be  that  I  seem  to  know  this 
child?  What  was  it  she  imperfectly  recalled  to  me  when 
3 


34  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

I  felt  her  touch  in  the  street,  and,  looking  down  at  her, 
saw  her  looking  up  at  me?  " 

"Mr.  Jackson!" 

With  a  start  he  turned  towards  the  sound  of  the  subdued 
voice,  and  saw  his  answer  standing  at  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Jackson,  do  not  be  severe  with  me !  Speak  a 
word  of  encouragement  to  me,  I  beseech  you." 

"You  are  Polly's  mother." 

"Yes." 

Yes.  Polly  herself  might  come  to  this,  one  day.  As 
you  see  what  the  rose  was  in  its  faded  leaves;  as  you  see 
what  the  summer  growth  of  the  woods  was  in  their  wintry 
branches;  so  Polly  might  be  traced,  one  day,  in  a  careworn 
woman  like  this,  with  her  hair  turned  grey.  Before  him 
were  the  ashes  of  a  dead  fire  that  had  once  burned  bright. 
This  was  the  woman  he  had  loved.  This  was  the  woman 
he  had  lost.  Such  had  been  the  constancy  of  his  imagina- 
tion to  her,  so  had  Time  spared  her  under  its  withholding, 
that  now,  seeing  how  roughly  the  inexorable  hand  had 
struck  her,  his  soul  was  filled  with  pity  and  amazement. 

He  led  her  to  a  chair,  and  stood  leaning  on  a  corner  of 
the  chimney-piece,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hand,  and 
his  face  half  averted. 

"  Did  you  see  me  in  the  street,  and  show  me  to  your 
child?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"  Is  the  little  creature,  then,  a  party  to  deceit?  " 

"  I  hope  there  is  no  deceit.  I  said  to  her,  '  We  have  lost 
our  way,  and  I  must  try  to  find  mine  by  myself.  Go  to 
that  gentleman,  and  tell  him  you  are  lost.  You  shall  be 
fetched  by  and  bye.'  Perhaps  you  have  not  thought  how 
very  young  she  is?  " 

"She  is  very  self-reliant." 

"Perhaps  because  she  is  so  young." 

He  asked,  after  a  short  pause.  "Why  did  you  do 
this?  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Jackson,  do  you  ask  me?  In  the  hope  that 
you  might  see  something  in  my  innocent  child  to  soften 
your  heart  towards  me.  Not  only  towards  me,  but  towards 
my  husband." 

He  suddenly  turned  about,  and  walked  to  the  opposite 
end  of  the  room.  He  came  back  again  with  a  slower  step, 
and  resumed  his  former  attitude,  saying : 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  35 

"  I  thought  you  had  emigrated  to  America?  " 

"  We  did.  But  life  went  ill  with  us  there,  and  we  came 
back." 

"  Do  you  live  in  this  town?  " 

"  Yes.  I  am  a  daily  teacher  of  music  here.  My  husband 
is  a  book-keeper." 

"  Are  you — forgive  my  asking — poor?  " 

"  We  earn  enough  for  our  wants.  That  is  not  our  dis- 
tress. My  husband  is  very,  very  ill  of  a  lingering  disor- 
der. He  will  never  recover " 

"  You  check  yourself.  If  it  is  for  want  of  the  encourag- 
ing word  you  spoke  of,  take  it  from  me.  I  cannot  forget 
the  old  time,  Beatrice." 

"  God  bless  you ! "  she  replied  with  a  burst  of  tears,  and 
gave  him  her  trembling  hand. 

"Compose  yourself.  I  cannot  be  composed  if  you  are 
not,  for  to  see  you  weep  distresses  me  beyond  expression. 
Speak  freely  to  me.  Trust  me." 

She  shaded  her  face  with  her  veil,  and  after  a  little 
while  spoke  calmly.  Her  voice  had  the  ring  of  Polly's. 

"It  is  not  that  my  husband's  mind  is  at  all  impaired  by 
his  bodily  suffering,  for  I  assure  you  that  is  not  the  case. 
But  in  his  weakness,  and  in  his  knowledge  that  he  is  incur- 
ably ill,  he  cannot  overcome  the  ascendancy  of  one  idea. 
It  preys  upon  him,  embitters  every  moment  of  his  painful 
life,  and  will  shorten  it." 

She  stopping,  he  said  again :  "  Speak  freely  to  me.  Trust 
me." 

"  We  have  had  five  children  before  this  darling,  and  they 
all  lie  in  their  little  graves.  He  believes  that  they  have 
withered  away  under  a  curse,  and  that  it  will  blight  this 
child  like  the  rest." 

"  Under  what  curse?  " 

"  Both  I  and  he  have  it  on  our  conscience  that  we  tried 
you  very  heavily,  and  I  do  not  know  but  that,  if  I  were  as 
ill  as  he,  I  might  suffer  in  my  mind  as  he  does.  This  is 
the  constant  burden : — '  I  believe,  Beatrice,  I  was  the  only 
friend  that  Mr.  Jackson  ever  cared  to  make,  though  I  was 
so  much  his  junior.  The  more  influence  he  acquired  in  the 
business,  the  higher  he  advanced  me,  and  I  was  alone  in 
his  private  confidence.  I  came  between  him  and  you,  and 
I  took  you  from  him.  We  were  both  secret,  and  the  blow 
fell  when  he  was  wholly  unprepared.  The  anguish  it 


36  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

caused  a  man  so  compressed  must  have  been  terrible;  the 
wrath  it  awakened  inappeasable.  So,  a  curse  came  to 
be  invoked  on  our  poor  pretty  little  flowers,  and  they 
fall.'" 

"  And  you,  Beatrice,"  he  asked,  when  she  had  ceased  to 
speak,  and  there  had  been  a  silence  afterwards,  "  how  say 
you?  " 

"  Until  within  these  few  weeks  I  was  afraid  of  you,  and 
I  believed  that  you  would  never,  never  forgive." 

"Until  within  these  few  weeks,"  he  repeated.  "Have 
you  changed  your  opinion  of  me  within  these  few  weeks?  " 

"Yes." 

"  For  what  reason?  " 

"  I  was  getting  some  pieces  of  music  in  a  shop  in  this 
town,  when,  to  my  terror,  you  came  in.  As  I  veiled  my 
face  and  stood  in  the  dark  end  of  the  shop,  I  heard  you 
explain  that  you  wanted  a  musical  instrument  for  a  bedrid- 
den girl.  Your  voice  and  manner  were  so  softened,  you 
showed  such  interest  in  its  selection,  you  took  it  away 
yourself  with  so  much  tenderness  of  care  and  pleasure,  that 
I  knew  you  were  a  man  with  a  most  gentle  heart.  Oh, 
Mr.  Jackson,  Mr.  Jackson,  if  you  could  have  felt  the  re- 
freshing rain  of  tears  that  followed  for  me !  " 

Was  Phosbe  playing  at  that  moment  on  her  distant 
couch?  He  seemed  to  hear  her. 

"  I  inquired  in  the  shop  where  you  lived,  but  could  get 
no  information.  As  I  had  heard  you  say  that  you  were 
going  back  by  the  next  train  (but  you  did  not  say  where), 
I  resolved  to  visit  the  station,  at  about  that  time  of  day,  as 
often  as  I  could,  between  my  lessons,  on  the  chance  of  see- 
ing you  again.  I  have  been  there  very  often,  but  saw  you 
no  more  until  to-day.  You  were  murmuring  as  you  walked 
the  street,  but  the  calm. expression  of  your  face  emboldened 
me  to  send  my  child  to  you.  And  when  I  saw  you  bend 
your  head  to  speak  tenderly  to  her,  I  prayed  to  GOD  to  for- 
give me  for  having  ever  brought  a  sorrow  on  it.  I  now 
pray  to  you  to  forgive  me,  and  to  forgive  my  husband.  I 
was  very  young,  he  was  young,  too,  and,  in  the  ignorant 
hardihood  of  such  a  time  of  life,  we  don't  know  what  we 
do  to  those  who  have  undergone  more  discipline.  You 
generous  man !  You  good  man !  So  to  raise  me  up  and 
make  nothing  of  my  crime  against  you !  " — for  he  would 
not  see  her  on  her  knees,  and  soothed  her  as  a  kind  father 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  37 

might  have  soothed  an  erring  daughter — "  thank  you,  bless 
you,  thank  you ! " 

When  he  next  spoke,  it  was  after  having  drawn  aside  the 
window  curtain  and  looked  out  awhile.  Then  he  only  said : 

"  Is  Polly  asleep?  " 

"  Yes.  As  I  came  in,  I  met  her  going  away  up-stairs, 
and  put  her  to  bed  myself." 

"  Leave  her  with  me  for  to-morrow,  Beatrice,  and  write 
me  your  address  on  this  leaf  of  my  pocket-book.  In  the 
evening  I  will  bring  her  home  to  you — and  to  her  father." 


"  Hallo ! "  cried  Polly,  putting  her  saucy  sunny  face  in 
at  the  door  next  morning  when  breakfast  was  ready :  "  I 
thought  I  was  fetched  last  night?  " 

"  So  you  were,  Polly,  but  I  asked  leave  to  keep  you  here 
for  the  day,  and  to  take  you  home  in  the  evening." 

"  Upon  my  word !  "  said  Polly.  "  You  are  very  cool, 
ain't  you?  " 

However,  Polly  seemed  to  think  it  a  good  idea,  and  added.: 

"I  suppose  I  must  give  you  a  kiss,  though  you  are  cool." 

The  kiss  given  and  taken,  they  sat  down  to  breakfast  in 
a  highly  conversational  tone. 

"•Of  course,  you  are  going  to  amuse  me?  "  said  Polly. 

"  Oh,  of  course !  "  said  Barbox  Brothers. 

In  the  pleasurable  height  of  her  anticipations,  Polly 
found  it  indispensable  to  put  down  her  piece  of  toast,  cross 
one  of  her  little  fat  knees  over  the  other,  and  bring  her  lit- 
tle fat  right  hand  down  into  her  left  hand  with  a  business- 
like slap.  After  this  gathering  of  herself  together,  Polly, 
by  that  time  a  mere  heap  of  dimples,  asked  in  a  wheedling 
manner : 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do,  you  dear  old  thing?  " 

"Why,  I  was  thinking,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  " — but 
are  you  fond  of  horses,  Polly?  " 

"Ponies,  I  am,"  said  Polly,  "especially  when  their  tails 
are  long.  But  horses — n — no — too  big,  you  know." 

"Well,"  pursued  Barbox  Brothers,  in  a  spirit  of  grave 
mysterious  confidence  adapted  to  the  importance  of  the 
consultation,  "I  did  see  yesterday,  Polly,  on  the  walls, 
pictures  of  two  long-tailed  ponies,  speckled  all  over " 

"  No,  no,  NO  ! "  cried  Polly,  in  an  ecstatic  desire  to  linger 
on  the  charming  details.  "  Not  speckled  all  over ! " 


38  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"Speckled  all  over.  Which  ponies  jump  through 
hoops ' 

"No,  no,  NO!"  cried  Polly  as  before.  "They  never 
jump  through  hoops ! " 

"  Yes,  they  do.  Oh,  I  assure  you  they  do !  And  eat  pie 
in  pinafores " 

"  Ponies  eating  pie  in  pinafores ! "  said  Polly.  "  What 
a  story-teller  you  are,  ain't  you?  " 

"Upon  my  honour.     — And  fire  off  guns." 

(Polly  hardly  seemed  to  see  the  force  of  the  ponies  re- 
sorting to  fire-arms.) 

"And  I  was  thinking,"  pursued  the  exemplary  Barbox, 
"  that  if  you  and  I  were  to  go  to  the  Circus  where  these 
ponies  are,  it  would  do  our  constitutions  good." 

"Does  that  mean  amuse  us?"  inquired  Polly.  "What 
long  words  you  do  use,  don't  you?  " 

Apologetic  for  having  wandered  out  of  his  depth,  he  re- 
plied : 

"  That  means  amuse  us.  That  is  exactly  what  it  means. 
There  are  many  other  wonders  besides  the  ponies,  and  we 
shall  see  them  all.  Ladies  and  gentlemen  in  spangled 
dresses,  and  elephants  and  lions  and  tigers." 

Polly  became  observant  of  the  teapot,  with  a  curled-up 
nose  indicating  some  uneasiness  of  mind. 

"They  never  get  out,  of  course,"  she  remarked  as  a  mere 
truism. 

"The  elephants  and  lions  and  tigers?     Oh,  dear  no!  " 

"  Oh,  dear  no !  "  said  Polly.  "  And  of  course  nobody's 
afraid  of  the  ponies  shooting  anybody." 

"Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"No,  no,  not  the  least  in  the  world,"  said  Polly. 

"I  was  also  thinking,"  proceeded  Barbox,  "that  if  we 
were  to  look  in  at  the  toy-shop,  to  choose  a  doll " 

"Not  dressed!"  cried  Polly  with  a  clap  of  her  hands. 
"No,  no,  NO,  not  dressed!  " 

"Full-dressed.  Together  with  a  house,  and  all  things 
necessary  for  housekeeping " 

Polly  gave  a  little  scream,  and  seemed  in  danger  of  fall- 
ing into  a  swoon  of  bliss. 

"  What  a  darling  you  are ! "  she  languidly  exclaimed, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair.  "Come  and  be  hugged,  or  I 
must  come  and  hug  you." 

This  resplendent  programme  was  carried  into  execution 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  39 

with  the  utmost  rigour  of  the  law.  It  being  essential  to 
make  the  purchase  of  the  doll  its  first  feature — or  that  lady 
would  have  lost  the  ponies — the  toy-shop  expedition  took 
precedence.  Polly  in  the  magic  warehouse,  with  a  doll  as 
large  as  herself  under  each  arm,  and  a  neat  assortment  of 
some  twenty  more  on  view  upon  the  counter,  did  indeed 
present  a  spectacle  of  indecision  not  quite  compatible  with 
unalloyed  happiness,  but  the  light  cloud  passed.  The 
lovely  specimen  oftenest  chosen,  oftenest  rejected,  and 
finally  abided  by,  was  of  Circassian  descent,  possessing  as 
much  boldness  of  beauty  as  was  reconcilable  with  extreme 
feebleness  of  mouth,  and  combining  a  sky-blue  silk  pelisse 
with  rose-coloured  satin  trousers,  and  a  black  velvet  hat: 
which  this  fair  stranger  to  our  northern  shores  would  seem 
to  have  founded  on  the  portraits  of  the  late  Duchess  of 
Kent.  The  name  this  distinguished  foreigner  brought 
with  her  from  beneath  the  glowing  skies  of  a  sunny  clime 
was  (on  Polly's  authority)  Miss  Melluka,  and  the  costly 
nature  of  her  outfit  as  a  housekeeper,  from  the  Barbox  cof- 
fers, may  be  inferred  from  the  two  facts  that  her  silver  tea- 
spoons were  as  large  as  her  kitchen-  poker,  and  that  the 
proportions  of  her  watch  exceeded  those  of  her  frying-pan. 
Miss  Melluka  was  graciously  pleased  to  express  her  entire 
approbation  of  the  Circus,  and  so  was  Polly;  for  the  ponies 
were  speckled,  and  brought  down  nobody  when  they  fired, 
and  the  savagery  of  the  wild  beasts  appeared  to  be  mere 
smoke — which  article,  in  fact,  they  did  produce  in  large 
quantities  from  their  insides.  The  Barbox  absorption  in 
the  general  subject  throughout  the  realisation  of  these  de- 
lights was  again  a  sight  to  see,  nor  was  it  less  worthy  to 
behold  at  dinner,  when  he  drank  to  Miss  Melluka,  tied  stiff 
in  a  chair  opposite  to  Polly  (the  fair  Circassian  possessing 
an  unbendable  spine),  and  even  induced  the  waiter  to  as- 
sist in  carrying  out  with  due  decorum  the  prevailing  glo- 
rious idea.  To  wind  up,  there  came  the  agreeable  fever  of 
getting  Miss  Melluka  and  all  her  wardrobe  and  rich  pos- 
sessions into  a  fly  with  Polly,  to  be  taken  home.  But,  by 
that  time,  Polly  had  become  unable  to  look  upon  such  ac- 
cumulated joys  with  waking  eyes,  and  had  withdrawn  her 
consciousness  into  the  wonderful  Paradise  of  a  child's 
sleep.  "  Sleep,  Polly,  sleep,"  said  Barbox  Brothers,  as 
her  head  dropped  on  his  shoulder;  "you  shall  not  fall  out 
of  this  bed  easily,  at  any  rate ! " 


40  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

What  rustling  piece  of  paper  he  took  from  his  pocket, 
and  carefully  folded  into  the  bosom  of  Polly's  frock,  shall 
not  be  mentioned.  He  said  nothing  about  it,  and  nothing 
shall  be  said  about  it.  They  drove  to  a  modest  suburb  of 
the  great  ingenious  town,  and  stopped  at  the  fore-court  of 
a  small  house.  "Do  not  wake  the  child,"  said  Barbox 
Brothers  softly  to  the  driver;  "I  will  carry  her  in  as  she 
is." 

Greeting  the  light  at  the  opened  door  which  was  held  by 
Polly's  mother,  Polly's  bearer  passed  on  with  mother  and 
child  into  a  ground-floor  room.  There,  stretched  on  a  sofa, 
lay  a  sick  man,  sorely  wasted,  who  covered  his  eyes  with 
his  emaciated  hands. 

"Tresham,"  said  Barbox  in  a  kindly  voice,  "I  have 
brought  you  back  your  Polly,  fast  asleep.  Give  me  your 
hand,  and  tell  me  you  are  better." 

The  sick  man  reached  forth  his  right  hand,  and  bowed 
his  head  over  the  hand  into  which  it  was  taken,  and  kissed 
it.  "  Thank  you,  thank  you !  I  may  say  that  I  am  well 
and  happy." 

"That's  brave,"  said  Barbox.  "Tresham,  I  have  a 
fancy Can  you  make  room  for  me  beside  you  here?  " 

He  sat  down  on  the  sofa  as  he  said  the  words,  cherishing 
the  plump  peachy  cheek  that  lay  uppermost  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  have  a  fancy,  Tresham  (I  am  getting  quite  an  old  fel- 
low now,  you  know,  and  old  fellows  may  take  fancies  into 
their  heads  sometimes),  to  give  up  Polly,  having  found 
her,  to  no  one  but  you.  Will  you  take  her  from  me?  " 

As  the  father  held  out  his  arms  for  the  child,  each  of  the 
two  men  looked  steadily  at  the  other. 

"  She  is  very  dear  to  you,  Tresham?  " 

"Unutterably  dear." 

"God  bless  her!  It  is  not  much,  Polly,"  he  continued, 
turning  his  eyes  upon  her  peaceful  face  as  he  apostrophised 
her,  "  it  is  not  much,  Polly,  for  a  blind  and  sinful  man  to 
invoke  a  blessing  on  something  so  far  better  than  himself 
as  a  little  child  is;  but  it  would  be  much — much  upon  his 
cruel  head,  and  much  upon  his  guilty  soul — if  he  could  be 
so  wicked  as  to  invoke  a  curse.  He  had  better  have  a  mill- 
stone round  his  neck,  and  be  cast  into  the  deepest  sea.  Live 
«nd  thrive,  my  pretty  baby ! "  Here  he  kissed  her.  "  Live 
and  prosper,  and  become  in  time  the  mother  of  other  little 
children,  like  the  Angels  who  behold  The  Father's  face ! " 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  41 

He  kissed  her  again,  gave  her  up  gently  to  both  her  par- 
ents, and  went  out. 

But  he  went  not  to  Wales.  No,  he  never  went  to  Wales. 
He  went  straightway  for  another  stroll  about  the  town,  and 
he  looked  in  upon  the  people  at  their  work,  and  at  their 
play,  here,  there,  everywhere,  and  where  not.  For  he  was 
Barbox  Brothers  and  Co.  now,  and  had  taken  thousands  of 
partners  into  the  solitary  firm. 

He  had  at  length  got  back  to  his  hotel  room,  and  was 
standing  before  his  fire  refreshing  himself  with  a  glass  of 
hot  drink  which  he  had  stood  upon  the  chimney-piece, 
when  he  heard  the  town  clocks  striking,  and,  referring  to 
his  watch,  found  the  evening  to  have  so  slipped  away,  that 
they  were  striking  twelve.  As  he  put  up  his  watch  again, 
his  eyes  met  those  of  his  reflection  in  the  chimney-glass. 

"Why,  it's  your  birthday  already,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  You  are  looking  very  well.  I  wish  you  many  happy  re- 
turns of  the  day." 

He  had  never  before  bestowed  that  wish  upon  himself. 
"  By  Jupiter ! "  he  discovered,  "  it  alters  the  whole  case  of 
running  away  from  one's  birthday!  It's  a  thing  to  explain 
to  Phoebe.  Besides,  here  is  quite  a  long  story  to  tell  her, 
that  has  sprung  out  of  the  road  with  no  story.  I'll  go  back, 
instead  of  going  on.  I'll  go  back  by  my  friend  Lamps' s 
Up  X  presently." 

He  went  back  to  Mugby  Junction,  and,  in  point  of  fact, 
he  established  himself  at  Mugby  Junction.  It  was  the 
convenient  place  to  live  in,  for  brightening  Phoebe's  life. 
It  was  the  convenient  place  to  live  in,  for  having  her 
taught  music  by  Beatrice.  It  was  the  convenient  place  to 
live  in,  for  occasionally  borrowing  Polly.  It  was  the  con- 
venient place  to  live  in,  for  being  joined  at  will  to  all  sorts 
of  agreeable  places  and  persons.  So,  he  became  settled 
there,  and,  his  house  standing  in  an  elevated  situation,  it 
is  noteworthy  of  him  in  conclusion,  as  Polly  herself  might 
(not  irreverently)  have  put  it : 

"There  was  an  Old  Barbox  who  lived  on  a  hill, 
And  if  he  ain't  gone,  he  lives  there  still." 

HERE  FOLLOWS  THE  SUBSTANCE  OP  WHAT  WAS  SEEN, 
HEARD,  OR  OTHERWISE  PICKED  UP,  BY  THE  GENTLEMAN 
FOR  NOWHERE  IN  HIS  CAREFUL  STUDY  OF  THE  JUNCTION. 


42  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

CHAPTER   III. 

MAIN    LINE. THE    BOY    AT    MUGBY. 

I  AM  the  boy  at  Mugby.     That's  about  what  7am. 

You  don't  know  what  I  mean?  What  a  pity !  But  I 
think  you  do.  I  think  you  must.  Look  here.  I  am  the 
boy  at  what  is  called  The  Refreshment  Room  at  Mugby 
Junction,  and  what's  proudest  boast  is,  that  it  never  yet 
refreshed  a  mortal  being. 

Up  in  a  corner  of  the  Down  Refreshment  Room  at  Mugby 
Junction,  in  the  height  of  twenty-seven  cross  draughts 
(I've  often  counted  'em  while  they  brush  the  First-class 
hair  twenty-seven  ways),  behind  the  bottles,  among  the 
glasses,  bounded  on  the  uor'west  by  the  beer,  stood  pretty 
far  to  the  right  of  a  metallic  object  that's  at  times  the  tea- 
urn  and  at  times  the  soup-tureen,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  last  twang  imparted  to  its  contents  which  are  the 
same  groundwork,  fended  off  from  the  traveller  by  a  bar- 
rier of  stale  sponge-cakes  erected  atop  of  the  counter,  and 
lastly  exposed  sideways  to  the  glare  of  Our  Missis's  eye — 
you  ask  a  Boy  so  sitiwated,  next  time  you  stop  in  a  hurry 
at  Mugby,  for  anything  to  drink;  you  take  particular  no- 
tice that  he'll  try  to  seem  not  to  hear  you,  that  he'll  ap- 
pear in  a  absent  manner  to  survey  the  Line  through  a  trans- 
parent medium  composed  of  your  head  and  body,  and  that 
he  won't  serve  you  as  long  as  you  can  possibly  bear  it. 
That's  me. 

What  a  lark  it  is !  We  are  the  Model  Establishment, 
we  are,  at  Mugby.  Other  Refreshment  Rooms  send  their 
imperfect  young  ladies  up  to  be  finished  off  by  our  Missis. 
For  some  of  the  young  ladies,  when  they're  new  to  the 
business,  come  into  it  mild!  Ah!  Our  Missis,  she  soon 
takes  that  out  of  'em.  Why,  I  originally  come  into  the 
business  meek  myself.  But  Our  Missis,  she  soon  took  that 
out  of  me. 

What  a  delightful  lark  it  is !  I  look  upon  us  Refresh- 
menters  as  ockipying  the  only  proudly  independent  footing 
on  the  Line.  There's  Papers,  for  instance, — my  honour- 
able friend,  if  he  will  allow  me  to  call  him  so, — him  as  be- 
longs to  Smith's  bookstall.  Why,  he  no  more  dares  to  be 
up  to  our  Refreshmenting  games  than  he  dares  to  jump 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  43 

atop  of  a  locomotive  with  her  steam  at  full  pressure,  and 
cut  away  upon  her  alone,  driving  himself,  at  limited-mail 
speed.  Papers,  he'd  get  his  head  punched  at  every  com- 
partment, first,  second,  and  third,  the  whole  length  of  a 
train,  if  he  was  to  ventur  to  imitate  my  demeanour.  It's 
the  same  with  the  porters,  the  same  with  the  guards,  the 
same  with  the  ticket  clerks,  the  same  the  whole  way  up  to 
the  secretary,  traffic-manager,  or  very  chairman.  There 
ain't  a  one  among  'em  on  the  nobly  independent  footing  we 
are.  Did  you  ever  catch  one  of  them,  when  you  wanted 
anything  of  him,  making  a  system  of  surveying  the  Line 
through  a  transparent  medium  composed  of  your  head  and 
body?  I  should  hope  not. 

You  should  see  our  Bandolining  Room  at  Mugby  Junc- 
tion. It's  led  to  by  the  door  behind  the  counter,  which 
you'll  notice  usually  stands  ajar,  and  it's  the  room  where 
Our  Missis  and  our  young  ladies  Bandolines  their  hair. 
You  should  see  'em  at  it,  betwixt  trains,  Bandolining 
away,  as  if  they  was  anointing  themselves  for  the  combat. 
When  you're  telegraphed,  you  should  see  their  noses  all  a 
going  up  with  scorn,  as  if  it  was  a  part  of  the  working  of 
the  same  Cooke  and  Wheatstone  electrical  machinery. 
You  should  hear  Our  Missis  give  the  word,  "  Here  comes 
the  Beast  to  be  Fed ! "  and  then  you  should  see  'em  indig- 
nantly skipping  across  the  Line,  from  the  Up  to  the  Down, 
or  Wicer  Warsaw,  and  begin  to  pitch  the  stale  pastry  into 
the  plates,  and  chuck  the  sawdust  sangwiches  under  the 
glass  covers,  and  get  out  the — ha,  ha,  ha! — the  sherry, — 
0  my  eye,  my  eye ! — for  your  Refreshment. 

It's  only  in  the  Isle  of  the  Brave  and  Land  of  the  Free 
(by  which,  of  course,  I  mean  to  say  Britannia)  that  Re- 
freshmenting  is  so  effective,  so  'olesome,  so  constitutional 
a  check  upon  the  public.  There  was  a  Foreigner,  which 
having  politely,  with  his  hat  off,  beseeched  our  young  la- 
dies and  Our  Missis  for  "a  leetel  gloss  hoff  prarndee,"  and 
having  had  the  Line  surveyed  through  him  by  all  and  no 
other  acknowledgment,  was  a  proceeding  at  last  to  help 
himself,  as  seems  to  be  the  custom  in  his  own  country, 
when  Our  Missis,  with  her  hair  almost  a  coming  un-Ban- 
dolined  with  rage,  and  her  eyes  omitting  sparks,  flew  at 
him,  cotched  the  decanter  out  of  his  hand,  and  said,  "  Put 
it  down!  I  won't  allow  that!"  The  Foreigner  turned 
pale,  stepped  back  with  his  arms  stretched  out  in  front  of 


44  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

him,  his  hands  clasped,  and  his  shoulders  riz,  and  ex- 
claimed :  "  Ah !  Is  it  possible,  this !  That  these  disdain- 
eous  females  and  this  ferocious  old  woman  are  placed  here 
by  the  administration,  not  only  to  empoison  the  voyagers, 
but  to  affront  them !  Great  Heaven !  How  arrives  it? 
The  English  people.  Or  is  he  then  a  slave?  Or  idiot?  " 
Another  time,  a  merry,  wideawake  American  gent  had 
tried  the  sawdust  and  spit  it  out,  and  had  tried  the  Sherry 
and  spit  that  out,  and  had  tried  in  vain  to  sustain  ex- 
hausted natur  upon  Batter- Scotch,  and  had  been  rather 
extra  Bandolined  and  Line-surveyed  through,  when,  as  the 
bell  was  ringing  and  he  paid  Our  Missis,  he  says,  very  loud 
and  good-tempered:  "I  tell  Yew  what  'tis,  ma'arm.  I 
la'af.  Theer!  I  la'af.  I  Dew.  I  oughter  ha'  seen  most 
things,  for  I  hail  from  the  Onlimited  side  of  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  and  I  haive  travelled  right  slick  over  the  Limited, 
head  on  through  Jeerusalemm  and  the  East,  and  likewise 
France  and  Italy,  Europe  Old  World,  and  am  now  upon 
the  track  to  the  Chief  Europian  Village ;  but  such  an  Insti- 
tution as  Yew,  and  Yewer  young  ladies,  and  Yewer  fixin's 
solid  and  liquid,  afore  the  glorious  Tarnal  I  never  did  see 
yet!  And  if  I  hain't  found  the  eighth  wonder  of  mon- 
archial  Creation,  in  finding  Yew,  and  Yewer  young  ladies, 
and  Yewer  fixin's  solid  and  liquid,  all  as  aforesaid,  estab- 
lished in  a  country  where  the  people  air  not  absolute 
Loo-naticks,  I  am  Extra  Double  Darned  with  a  Nip  and 
Frizzle  to  the  innermostest  grit!  Wheerfur — Theer! — I 
la'af!  I  Dew,  ma'arm.  I  la'af!"  And  so  he  went, 
stamping  and  shaking  his  sides,  along  the  platform  all  the 
way  to  his  own  compartment. 

I  think  it  was  her  standing  up  agin  the  Foreigner  as  giv' 
Our  Missis  the  idea  of  going  over  to  France,  and  droring  a 
comparison  betwixt  Refreshmenting  as  followed  among  the 
frog-eaters,  and  Refreshmenting  as  triumphant  in  the  Isle 
of  the  Brave  and  Land  of  the  Free  (by  which,  of  course,  I 
mean  to  say  agin,  Britannia).  Our  young  ladies,  Miss 
Whiff,  Miss  Piff,  and  Mrs.  Sniff,  was  unanimous  opposed 
to  her  going;  for,  as  they  says  to  Our  Missis  one  and  all, 
it  is  well  beknown  to  the  hends  of  the  herth  as  no  other 
nation  except  Britain  has  a  idea  of  anythink,  but  above  all 
of  business.  Why  then  should  you  tire  yourself  to  prove 
what  is  already  proved?  Our  Missis,  however  (being  a 
teazer  at  all  pints)  stood  out  grim  obstinate,  and  got  a  re- 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  45 

turn  pass  by  Southeastern  Tidal,  to  go  right  through,  if 
such  should  be  her  dispositions,  to  Marseilles. 

Sniff  is  husband  to  Mrs.  Sniff,  and  is  a  regular  insignifi- 
cant cove.  He  looks  arter  the  sawdust  department  in  a 
back  room,  and  is  sometimes,  when  we  are  very  hard  put 
to  it,  let  behind  the  counter  with  a  corkscrew;  but  never 
when  it  can  be  helped,  his  demeanour  towards  the  public 
being  disgusting  servile.  How  Mrs.  Sniff  ever  come  so  far 
to  lower  herself  as  to  marry  him,  I  don't  know;  but  I  sup- 
pose he  does,  and  I  should  think  he  wished  he  didn't, 
for  he  leads  a  awful  life.  Mrs.  Sniff  couldn't  be  much 
harder  with  him  if  he  was  public.  Similarly,  Miss  Whiff 
and  Miss  Piff,  taking  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Sniff,  they  shoulder 
Sniff  about  when  he  is  let  in  with  a  corkscrew,  and  they 
whisk  things  out  of  his  hands  when  in  his  servility  he  is  a 
going  to  let  the  public  have  'em,  and  they  snap  him  up 
when  in  the  crawling  baseness  of  his  spirit  he  is  a  going  to 
answer  a  public  question,  and  they  drore  more  tears  into 
his  eyes  than  ever  the  mustard  does  which  he  all  day  long 
lays  on  to  the  sawdust.  (But  it  ain't  strong.)  Once, 
when  Sniff  had  the  repulsiveness  to  reach  across  to  get  the 
milk-pot  to  hand  over  for  a  baby,  I  see  Our  Missis  in  her 
rage  catch  him  by  both  his  shoulders,  and  spin  him  out 
into  the  Bandolining  Room. 

But  Mrs.  Sniff, — how  different!  She's  the  one!  She's 
the  one  as  you'll  notice  to  be  always  looking  another  way 
from  you,  when  you  look  at  her.  She's  the  one  with  the 
small  waist  buckled  in  tight  in  front,  and  with  the  lace 
cuffs  at  her  wrists,  which  she  puts  on  the  edge  of  the  coun- 
ter before  her,  and  stands  a  smoothing  while  the  public 
foams.  This  smoothing  the  cuffs  and  looking  another  way 
while  the  public  foams  is  the  last  accomplishment  taught 
to  the  young  ladies  as  come  to  Mugby  to  be  finished  by 
Our  Missis;  and  it's  always  taught  by  Mrs.  Sniff. 

When  Our  Missis  went  away  upon  her  journey,  Mrs. 
Sniff  was  left  in  charge.  She  did  hold  the  public  in  check 
most  beautiful !  In  all  my  time,  I  never  see  half  so  many 
cups  of  tea  given  without  milk  to  people  as  wanted  it  with, 
nor  half  so  many  cups  of  tea  with  milk  given  to  people  as 
wanted  it  without.  When  foaming  ensued,  Mrs.  Sniff 
would  say:  "Then  you'd  better  settle  it  among  yourselves, 
and  change  with  one  another."  It  was  a  most  highly 
delicious  lark.  I  enjoyed  the  Refreshmenting  business 


46  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

more  than  ever,  and  was  so  glad  I  had  took  to  it  when 
young. 

Our  Missis  returned.  It  got  circulated  among  the  young 
ladies,  and  it  as  it  might  be  penetrated  to  me  through  the 
crevices  of  the  Bandolining  Room,  that  she  had  Orrors  to 
reveal,  if  revelations  so  contemptible  could  be  dignified 
with  the  name.  Agitation  become  awakened.  Excitement 
was  up  in  the  stirrups.  Expectation  stood  a- tiptoe.  At 
length  it  was  put  forth  that  on  our  slackest  evening  in  the 
week,  and  at  our  slackest  time  of  that  evening  betwixt 
trains,  Our  Missis  would  give  her  views  of  foreign  Refresh- 
menting,  in  the  Bandolining  Room. 

It  was  arranged  tasteful  for  the  purpose.  The  Bando- 
lining table  and  glass  was  hid  in  a  corner,  a  arm-chair  was 
elevated  on  a  packing-case  for  Our  Missis's  ockypation,  a 
table  and  a  tumbler  of  water  (no  sherry  in  it,  thankee)  was 
placed  beside  it.  Two  of  the  pupils,  the  season  being  au- 
tumn, and  hollyhocks  and  dahlias  being  in,  ornamented  the 
wall  with  three  devices  in  those  flowers.  On  one  might 
be  read,  "MAY  ALBION  NEVER  LEARN;"  on  another, 
"KEEP  THE  PUBLIC  DOWN;"  on  another,  "OuR  REFRESH- 
MENTING  CHARTER."  The  whole  had  a  beautiful  appear- 
ance, with  which  the  beauty  of  the  sentiments  corresponded. 

On  Our  Missis's  brow  was  wrote  Severity,  as  she  ascended 
the  fatal  platform.  (Not  that  that  was  anythink  new. ) 
Miss  Whiff  and  Miss  Piff  sat  at  her  feet.  Three  chairs 
from  the  Waiting  Room  might  have  been  perceived  by  a 
average  eye,  in  front  of  her,  on  which  the  pupils  was  ac- 
commodated. Behind  them  a  very  close  observer  might 
have  discerned  a  Boy.  Myself. 

"  Where,"  said  Our  Missis,  glancing  gloomily  around, 
"is  Sniff?" 

"I  thought  it  better,"  answered  Mrs.  Sniff,  "that  he 
should  not  be  let  to  come  in.  He  is  such  an  Ass." 

"No  doubt,"  assented  Our  Missis.  "  But  for  that  reason 
is  it  not  desirable  to  improve  his  mind?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  will  ever  improve  him,"  said  Mrs.  Sniff. 

"However,"  pursued  Our  Missis,  "call  him  in,  Ezekiel." 

I  called  him  in.  The  appearance  of  the  low-minded 
cove  was  hailed  with  disapprobation  from  all  sides,  on  ac- 
count of  his  having  brought  his  corkscrew  with  him.  He 
pleaded  "the  force  of  habit." 

"The  force! "  said  Mrs.  Sniff.     "Don't  let  us  have  you 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  47 

talking  about  force,  for  Gracious'  sake.  There!  Do  stand 
still  where  you  are,  with  your  back  against  the  wall." 

He  is  a  smiling  piece  of  vacancy,  and  he  smiled  in  the 
mean  way  in  which  he  will  even  smile  at  the  public  if  he 
gets  a  chance  (language  can  say  no  meaner  of  him),  and  he 
stood  upright  near  the  door  with  the  back  of  his  head  agin 
the  wall,  as  if  he  was  a  waiting  for  somebody  to  come  and 
measure  his  heighth  for  the  Army. 

"I  should  not  enter,  ladies,"  says  Our  Missis,  "011  the 
revolting  disclosures  I  am  about  to  make,  if  it  was  not  in 
the  hope  that  they  will  cause  you  to  be  yet  more  implacable 
in  the  exercise  of  the  power  you  wield  in  a  constitutional 
country,  and  yet  more  devoted  to  the  constitutional  motto 
which  I  see  before  me," — it  was  behind  her,  but  the  words 
sounded  better  so, — "  '  May  Albion  never  learn ! ' ' 

Here  the  pupils  as  had  made  the  motto  admired  it,  and 
cried,  "  Hear !  Hear !  Hear ! "  Sniff,  showing  an  inclina- 
tion to  join  in  chorus,  got  himself  frowned  down  by  every 
brow. 

"The  baseness  of  the  French,"  pursued  Our  Missis,  "as 
displayed  in  the  fawning  nature  of  their  Refreshmenting, 
equals,  if  not  surpasses,  anythink  as  was  ever  heard  of  the 
baseness  of  the  celebrated  Bonaparte." 

Miss  Whiff,  Miss  Piff,  and  me,  we  drored  a  heavy 
breath,  equal  to  saying,  "  We  thought  as  much ! "  Miss 
Whiff  and  Miss  Piff  seeming  to  object  to  my  droring  mine 
along  with  theirs,  I  drored  another  to  aggravate  'em. 

"  Shall  I  be  believed,"  says  Our  Missis,  with  flashing 
eyes,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  no  sooner  had  I  set  my  foot 
upon  that  treacherous  shore " 

Here  Sniff,  either  bursting  out  mad,  or  thinking  aloud, 
says,  in  a  low  voice:  "Feet.  Plural,  you  know." 

The  cowering  that  come  upon  him  when  he  was  spurned 
by  all  eyes,  added  to  his  being  beneath  contempt,  was  suffi- 
cient punishment  for  a  cove  so  grovelling.  In  the  midst 
of  a  silence  rendered  more  impressive  by  the  turned-up  fe- 
male noses  with  which  it  was  pervaded,  Our  Missis  went 
on: 

"  Shall  I  be  believed  when  I  tell  you,  that  no  sooner  had 
I  landed,"  this  word  with  a  killing  look  at  Sniff,  "on  that 
treacherous  shore,  than  I  was  ushered  into  a  Refreshment 
Room  where  there  were — I  do  not  exaggerate — actually 
eatable  things  to  eat?  " 


48  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

A  groan  burst  from  the  ladies.  I  not  only  did  myself 
the  honour  of  jining,  but  also  of  lengthening  it  out. 

"Where  there  were,"  Our  Missis  added,  "not  only 
eatable  things  to.  eat,  but  also  drinkable  things  to 
drink." 

A  murmur,  swelling  almost  into  a  scream,  ariz.  Miss 
Piff,  trembling  with  indignation,  called  out,  "Name? " 

"I  will  name,"  said  Our  Missis.  "There  was  roast 
fowls,  hot  and  cold;  there  was  smoking  roast  veal  sur- 
rounded with  browned  potatoes;  there  was  hot  soup  with 
(again  I  ask  shall  I  be  credited?)  nothing  bitter  in  it,  and 
no  flour  to  choke  off  the  consumer;  there  was  a  variety  of 
cold  dishes  set  off  with  jelly;  there  was  salad;  there  was 
— mark  me!  fresh  pastry,  and  that  of  a  light  construction; 
there  was  a  luscious  show  of  fruit;  there  was  bottles  and 
decanters  of  sound  small  wine,  of  every  size,  and  adapted 
to  every  pocket;  the  same  odious  statement  will  apply  to 
brandy;  and  these  were  set  out  upon  the  counter  so  that 
all  could  help  themselves." 

Our  Missis's  lips  so  quivered,  that  Mrs.  Sniff,  though 
scarcely  less  convulsed  than  she  were,  got  up  and  held  the 
tumbler  to  them. 

"This,"  proceeds  Our  Missis,  "was  my  first  unconstitu- 
tional experience.  Well  would  it  have  been  if  it  had  been 
my  last  and  worst.  But  no.  As  I  proceeded  farther  into 
that  enslaved  and  ignorant  land,  its  aspect  became  more 
hideous.  I  need  not  explain  to  this  assembly  the  ingre- 
dients and  formation  of  the  British  Refreshment  sang- 
wich?  " 

Universal  laughter, — except  from  Sniff,  who,  as  sang- 
wich-cutter,  shook  his  head  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  dejec- 
tion as  he  stood  with  it  agin  the  wall. 

"  Well ! "  said  Our  Missis,  with  dilated  nostrils.  "  Take 
a  fresh,  crisp,  long,  crusty  penny  loaf  made  of  the  whitest 
and  best  flour.  Cut  it  longwise  through  the  middle.  In- 
sert a  fair  and  nicely  fitting  slice  of  ham.  Tie  a  smart 
piece  of  ribbon  round  the  middle  of  the  whole  to  bind  it  to- 
gether. Add  at  one  end  a  neat  wrapper  of  clean  white 
paper  by  which  to  hold  it.  And  the  universal  French  Re- 
freshment sangwich  busts  on  your  disgusted  vision." 

^  A  cry  of  "  Shame ! "  from  all — except  Sniff,  which  rubbed 
his  stomach  with  a  soothing  hand. 

"I  need  not,"  said  Our  Missis,  "  explain  to  this  assembly 


ivitJGBY  JUNCTION.  49 

the  usual  formation  and  fitting  of  the  British  Refreshment 
Room?  " 

No,  no,  and  laughter.  Sniff  again  shaking  his  head  in 
low  spirits  agin  the  wall. 

"Well,"  said  Our  Missis,  "  what  would  you  say  to  a  gen- 
eral decoration  of  everythink,  to  hangings  (something  ele- 
gant), to  easy  velvet  furniture,  to  abundance  of  little  tables, 
to  abundance  of  little  seats,  to  brisk  bright  waiters,  to  great 
convenience,  to  a  pervading  cleanliness  and  tastefulness 
positively  addressing  the  public,  and  making  the  Beast 
thinking  itself  worth  the  pains?  " 

Contemptuous  fury  on  the  part  of  all  the  ladies.  Mrs. 
Sniff  looking  as  if  she  wanted  somebody  to  hold  her,  and 
everybody  else  looking  as  if  they'd  rayther  not. 

"Three  times,"  said  Our  Missis,  working  herself  into  a 
truly  terrimenjious  state, — "three  times  did  I  see  these 
shameful  things,  only  between  the  coast  and  Paris,  and  not 
counting  either:  at  Hazebroucke,  at  Arras,  at  Amiens. 
But  worse  remains.  Tell  me,  what  would  you  call  a  per- 
son who  should  propose  in  England  that  there  should  be 
kept,  say  at  our  own  model  Mugby  Junction,  pretty  bas- 
kets, each  holding  an  assorted  cold  lunch  and  dessert  for 
one,  each  at  a  certain  fixed  price,  and  each  within  a  pas- 
senger's power  to  take  away,  to  empty  in  the  carriage  at 
perfect  leisure,  and  to  return  at  another  station  fifty  or  a 
hundred  miles  farther  on?  " 

There  was  disagreement  what  such  a  person  should  be 
called.  Whether  revolutionist,  atheist,  Bright  (/  said 
him),  or  Un-English.  Miss  Piff  screeched  her  shrill  opin- 
ion last,  in  the  words :  "  A  malignant  maniac !  " 

"I  adopt,"  says  Our  Missis,  "the  brand  set  upon  such  a 
person  by  the  righteous  indignation  of  my  friend  Miss  Piff. 
A  malignant  maniac.  Know,  then,  that  that  malignant 
maniac  has  sprung  from  the  congenial  soil  of  France,  and 
that  his  malignant  madness  was  in  unchecked  action  on  this 
same  part  of  my  journey." 

I  noticed  that  Sniff  was  a-rubbing  his  hands,  and  that 
Mrs.  Sniff  had  got  her  eye  upon  him.  But  I  did  not  take 
more  particular  notice,  owing  to  the  excited  state  in  which 
the  young  ladies  was,  and  to  feeling  myself  called  upon  to 
keep  it  up  with  a  howl. 

"On  my  experience  south  of  Paris,"  said  Our  Missis,  in 
a  deep  tone,  "  I  will  not  expatiate.  Too  loathsome  were 
4 


50  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

the  task !  But  fancy  this.  Fancy  a  guard  coming  round, 
with  the  train  at  full  speed,  to  inquire  how  many  for  din- 
ner. Fancy  his  telegraphing  forward  the  number  of  din- 
ners. Fancy  every  one  expected,  and  the  table  elegantly 
laid  for  the  complete  party.  Fancy  a  charming  dinner,  in 
a  charming  room,  and  the  head-cook,  concerned  for  the 
honour  of  every  dish,  superintending  in  his  clean  white 
jacket  and  cap.  Fancy  the  Beast  travelling  six  hundred 
miles  on  end,  very  fast,  and  with  great  punctuality,  yet 
being  taught  to  expect  all  this  to  be  done  for  it ! " 

A  spirited  chorus  of  "The  Beast! " 

I  noticed  that  Sniff  was  agin  a-rubbing  his  stomach  with 
a  soothing  hand,  and  that  he  had  drored  up  one  leg.  But 
agin  didn't  take  particular  notice,  looking  on  myself  as 
called  upon  to  stimulate  public  feeling.  It  being  a  lark 
besides. 

"Putting  everything  together,"  said  Our  Missis,  "French 
Refreshmenting  comes  to  this,  and  oh,  it  comes  to  a  nice 
total !  First :  eatable  things  to  eat,  and  drinkable  things 
to  drink." 

A  groan  from  the  young  ladies,  kep'  up  by  me. 

"Second:  convenience,  and  even  elegance." 

Another  groan  from  the  young  ladies,  kep'  up  by  me. 

"Third:  moderate  charges." 

This  time  a  groan  from  me,  kep'  up  by  the  young  ladies. 

"Fourth: — and  here,"  says  Our  Missis,  "I  claim  your 
angriest  sympathy, — attention,  common  civility,  nay,  even 
politeness ! " 

Me  and  the  young  ladies  regularly  raging  mad  all  to- 
gether. 

"And  I  cannot  in  conclusion,"  says  Our  Missis,  with  her 
spitefullest  sneer,  "  give  you  a  completer  picture  of  that  de- 
spicable nation  (after  what  I  have  related),  than  assuring 
you  that  they  wouldn't  bear  our  constitutional  ways  and 
noble  independence  at  Mugby  Junction,  for  a  single  month, 
and  that  they  would  turn  us  to  the  right-about  and  put  an- 
other system  in  our  places,  as  soon  as  look  at  us;  perhaps 
sooner,  for  I  do  not  believe  they  have  the  good  taste  to 
care  to  look  at  us  twice." 

The  swelling  tumult  was  arrested  in  its  rise.  Sniff, 
bore  away  by  his  servile  disposition,  had  drored  up  his  leg 
with  a  higher  and  a  higher  relish,  and  was  now  discovered 
to  be  waving  his  corkscrew  over  his  head.  It  was  at  this 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  51 

moment  that  Mrs.  Sniff,  who  had  kep'  her  eye  upon  him 
like  the  fabled  obelisk,  descended  on  her  victim.  Our 
Missis  followed  them  both  out,  and  cries  was  heard  in  the 
sawdust  department. 

You  come  into  the  Down  Refreshment  Room,  at  the 
Junction,  making  believe  you  don't  know  me,  and  I'll 
pint  you  out  with  my  right  thumb  over  my  shoulder  which 
is  Our  Missis,  and  which  is  Miss  Whiff,  and  which  is  Miss 
Piff,  and  which  is  Mrs.  Sniff.  But  you  won't  get  a  chance 
to  see  Sniff,  because  he  disappeared  that  night.  Whether 
he  perished,  tore  to  pieces,  I  cannot  say;  but  his  corkscrew 
alone  remains,  to  bear  witness  to  the  servility  of  his  dispo- 
sition. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

NO.   1    BRANCH    LINE. — THE    SIGNAL-MAN. 

"  HALLOA  !     Below  there ! " 

When  he  heard  a  voice  thus  calling  to  him,  he  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door  of  his  box,  with  a  flag  in  his  hand,  furled 
round  its  short  pole.  One  would  have  thought,  considering 
the  nature  of  the  ground,  that  he  could  not  have  doubted 
from  what  quarter  the  voice  came;  but  instead  of  looking 
up  to  where  I  stood  on  the  top  of  the  steep  cutting  nearly 
over  his  head,  he  turned  himself  about,  and  locked  down 
the  Line.  There  was  something  remarkable  in  his  manner 
of  doing  so,  though  I  could  not  have  said  for  my  life  what. 
But  I  know  it  was  remarkable  enough  to  attract  my  notice, 
even  though  his  figure  was  foreshortened  and  shadowed, 
down  in  the  deep  trench,  and  mine  was  high  above  him,  so 
steeped  in  the  glow  of  an  angry  sunset,  that  I  had  shaded 
my  eyes  with  my  hand  before  I  saw  him  at  all. 

"Halloa!     Below!" 

From  looking  down  the  Line,  he  turned  himself  about 
again,  and,  raising  his  eyes,  saw  my  figure  high  above  him. 

"  Is  there  any  path  by  which  I  can  come  down  and  speak 
to  you?  " 

He  looked  up  at  me  without  replying,  and  I  looked  down 
at  him  without  pressing  him  too  soon  with  a  repetition  of 
my  idle  question.  Just  then  there  came  a  vague  vibration 
in  the  earth  and  air,  quickly  changing  into  a  violent  pulsa- 
tion, and  an  oncoming  rush  that  caused  me  to  start  back,  as 
though  it  had  force  to  draw  me  down.  When  such  vapour 


52  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

as  rose  to  my  height  from  this  rapid  train  had  passed  me, 
and  was  skimming  away  over  the  landscape,  I  looked 
down  again,  and  saw  him  refurling  the  flag  he  had  shown 
while  the  train  went  by. 

I  repeated  my  inquiry.  After  a  pause,  during  which  he 
seemed  to  regard  me  with  fixed  attention,  he  motioned  with 
his  rolled-up  flag  towards  a  point  on  my  level,  some  two  or 
three  hundred  yards  distant.  I  called  down  to  him,  "  All 
right !  "  and  made  for  that  point.  There,  by  dint  of  look- 
ing closely  about  me,  I  found  a  rough  zigzag  descending 
path  notched  out,  which  I  followed. 

The  cutting  was  extremely  deep,  and  unusually  precipi- 
tate. It  was  made  through  a  clammy  stone,  that  became 
oozier  and  wetter  as  I  went  down.  For  these  reasons,  I 
found  the  way  long  enough  to  give  me  time  to  recall  a  sin- 
gular air  of  reluctance  or  compulsion  with  which  he  had 
pointed  out  the  path. 

When  I  came  down  low  enough  upon  the  zigzag  descent 
to  see  him  again,  I  saw  that  he  was  standing  between  the 
rails  on  the  way  by  which  the  train  had  lately  passed,  in 
an  attitude  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  me  to  appear.  He 
had  his  left  hand  at  his  chin,  and  that  left  elbow  rested  on 
his  right  hand,  crossed  over  his  breast.  His  attitude  was 
one  of  such  expectation  and  watchfulness  that  I  stopped  a 
moment,  wondering  at  it. 

I  resumed  my  downward  way,  and  stepping  out  upon  the 
level  of  the  railroad,  and  drawing  nearer  to  him,  saw  that 
he  was  a  dark  sallow  man,  with  a  dark  beard  and  rather 
heavy  eyebrows.  His  post  was  in  as  solitary  and  dismal  a 
place  as  ever  I  saw.  On  either  side,  a  dripping- wet  wall 
of  jagged  stone,  excluding  all  view  but  a  strip  of  sky;  the 
perspective  one  way  only  a  crooked  prolongation  of  this 
great  dungeon;  the  shorter  perspective  in  the  other  direc- 
tion terminating  in  a  gloomy  red  light,  and  the  gloomier  en- 
trance to  a  black  tunnel,  in  whose  massive  architecture  there 
was  a  barbarous,  depressing,  and  forbidding  air.  So  little 
sunlight  ever  found  its  way  to  this  spot,  that  it  had  an  earthy, 
deadly  smell;  and  so  much  cold  wind  rushed  through  it, 
that  it  struck  chill  to  me,  as  if  I  had  left  the  natural  world. 

Before  he  stirred,  I  was  near  enough  to  him  to  have 
touched  him.  Not  even  then  removing  his  eyes  from  mine, 
he  stepped  back  one  step,  and  lifted  his  hand. 

This  was  a  lonesome  post  to  occupy  (I  said),  and  it  had 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  53 

riveted  my  attention  when  I  looked  down  from  up  yonder. 
A  visitor  was  a  rarity,  I  should  suppose ;  not  an  unwelcome 
rarity,  I  hoped?  In  me,  he  merely  saw  a  man  who  had 
been  shut  up  within  narrow  limits  all  his  life,  and  who, 
being  at  last  set  free,  had  a  newly-awakened  interest  in 
these  great  works.  To  such  purpose  I  spoke  to  him;  but 
I  am  far  from  sure  of  the  terms  I  used;  for,  besides  that  I 
am  not  happy  in  opening  any  conversation,  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  man  that  daunted  me. 

He  directed  a  most  curious  look  towards  the  red  light 
near  the  tunnel's  mouth,  and  looked  all  about  it,  as  if 
something  were  missing  from  it,  and  then  looked  at  me. 

That  light  was  part  of  his  charge?     Was  it  not? 

He  answered  in  a  low  voice, — "  Don't  you  know  it  is?  " 

The  monstrous  thought  came  into  my  mind,  as  I  perused 
the  fixed  eyes  and  the  saturnine  face,  that  this  was  a  spirit, 
not  a  man.  I  have  speculated  since,  whether  there  may 
have  been  infection  in  his  mind. 

In  my  turn,  I  stepped  back.  But  in  making  the  action, 
I  detected  in  his  eyes  some  latent  fear  of  me.  This  put 
the  monstrous  thought  to  flight. 

"You  look  at  me,"  I  said,  forcing  a  smile,  "as  if  you 
had  a  dread  of  me." 

"  I  was  doubtful,"  he  returned,  "  whether  I  had  seen  you 
before." 

"Where?" 

He  pointed  to  the  red  light  he  had  looked  at. 

"There?"  I  said. 

Intently  watchful  of  me,  he  replied  (but  without  sound), 
"Yes." 

"  My  good  fellow,  what  should  I  do  there?  However, 
be  that  as  it  may,  I  never  was  there,  you  may  swear." 

"I  think  I  may,"  he  rejoined.     "Yes;  I  am  sure  I  may." 

His  manner  cleared,  like  my  own.  He  replied  to  my  re- 
marks with  readiness,  arid  in  well-chosen  words.  Had  he 
much  to  do  there?  Yes;  that  was  to  say,  he  had  enough 
responsibility  to  bear;  but  exactness  and  watchfulness  were 
what  was  required  of  him,  and  of  actual  work — manual 
labour — he  had  next  to  none.  To  change  that  signal,  to 
trim  those  lights,  and  to  turn  this  iron  handle  now  and 
then,  was  all  he  had  to  do  under  that  head.  Regarding 
those  many  long  and  lonely  hours  of  which  I  seemed  to 
make  so  much,  he  could  only  say  that  the  routine  of  Ms 


64  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

life  had  shaped  itself  into  that  form,  and  he  had  grown 
used  to  it  He  had  taught  himself  a  language  down  here, 
— if  only  to  know  by  sight,  and  to  have  formed  his  own 
crude  ideas  of  its  pronunciation,  could  be  called  learning 
it.  He  had  also  worked  at  fractions  and  decimals,  and 
tried  a  little  algebra;  but  he  was,  and  had  been  as  a  boy,  a 
poor  hand  at  figures.  Was  it  necessary  for  him  when  on 
duty  always  to  remain  in  that  channel  of  damp  air,  and 
could  he  never  rise  into  the  sunshine  from  between  those 
high  stone  walls?  Why,  that  depended  upon  times  and 
circumstances.  Under  some  conditions  there  would  be  less 
upon  the  Line  than  under  others,  and  the  same  held  good 
as  to  certain  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  In  bright 
weather,  he  did  choose  occasions  for  getting  a  little  above 
these  lower  shadows;  but,  being  at  all  times  liable  to  be 
called  by  his  electric  bell,  and  at  such  times  listening  for  it 
with  redoubled  anxiety,  the  relief  was  less  than  I  would 
suppose. 

He  took  me  into  his  box,  where  there  was  a  fire,  a  desk 
for  an  official  book  in  which  he  had  'to  make  certain  entries, 
a  telegraphic  instrument  with  its  dial,  face,  and  needles, 
and  the  little  bell  of  which  he  had  spoken.  On  my  trust- 
ing that  he  would  excuse  the  remark  that  he  had  been  well 
educated,  and  (I  hoped  I  might  say  without  offence),  per- 
haps educated  above  that  station,  he  observed  that  instances 
of  slight  incongruity  in  such  wise  would  rarely  be  found 
wanting  among  large  bodies  of  men;  that  he  had  heard  it 
was  so  in  workhouses,  in  the  police  force,  even  in  that  last 
desperate  resource,  the  army;  and  that  he  knew  it  was  so, 
more  or  less,  in  any  great  railway  staff.  He  had  been, 
when  young  (if  I  could  believe  it,  sitting  in  that  hut, — he 
scarcely  could),  a  student  of  natural  philosophy,  and  had 
attended  lectures;  but  he  had  run  wild,  misused  his  oppor- 
tunities, gone  down,  and  never  risen  again.  He  had  no 
complaint  to  offer  about  that.  He  had  made  his  bed,  and 
he  lay  upon  it.  It  was  far  too  late  to  make  another. 

All  that  I  have  here  condensed  he  said  in  a  quiet  manner, 
with  his  grave  dark  regards  divided  between  me  and  the 
fire.  He  threw  in  the  word,  "  Sir,"  from  time  to  time,  and 
especially  when  he  referred  to  his  youth, — as  though  to  re- 
quest me  to  understand  that  he  claimed  to  be  nothing  but 
what  I  found  him.  He  was  several  times  interrupted  by 
the  little  bell,  and  had  to  read  off  messages,  and  send  re- 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  55 

plies.  Once  he  had  to  stand  without  the  door,  and  display 
a  flag  as  a  train  passed,  and  make  some  verbal  communica- 
tion to  the  driver.  In  the  discharge  of  his  duties,  I  ob- 
served him  to  be  remarkably  exact  and  vigilant,  breaking 
off  his  discourse  at  a  syllable,  and  remaining  silent  until 
what  he  had  to  do  was  done. 

In  a  word,  I  should  have  set  this  man  down  as  one  of  the 
safest  of  men  to  be  employed  in  that  capacity,  but  for  the 
circumstance  that  while  he  was  speaking  to  me  he  twice 
broke  off  with  a  fallen  colour,  turned  his  face  towards  the 
little  bell  when  it  did  NOT  ring,  opened  the  door  of  the  hut 
(which  was  kept  shut  to  exclude  the  unhealthy  damp), 
and  looked  out  towards  the  red  light  near  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel.  On  both  of  those  occasions,  he  came  back  to  the 
fire  with  the  inexplicable  air  upon  him  which  I  had  re- 
marked, without  being  able  to  define,  when  we  were  so  far 
asunder. 

Said  I,  when  I  rose  to  leave  him,  "  You  almost  make  me 
think  that  I  have  met  with  a  contented  man." 

(I  am  afraid  I  must  acknowledge  that  I  said  it  to  lead 
him  on.) 

"  I  believe  I  used  to  be  so,"  he  rejoined,  in  the  low  voice 
in  which  he  had  first  spoken;  "  but  I  am  troubled,  sir,  I  am 
troubled." 

He  would  have  recalled  the  words  if  he  could.  He  had 
said  them,  however,  and  I  took  them  up  quickly 

"  With  what?     What  is  your  trouble?  " 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  impart,  sir  It  is  very,  very  diffi- 
cult to  speak  of.  If  ever  you  make  me  another  visit,  I  will 
try  to  tell  you." 

"But  I  expressly  intend  to  make  you  another  visit. 
Say,  when  shall  it  be?  " 

"  I  go  off  early  in  the  morning,  and  I  shall  be  on  again 
at  ten  to-morrow  night,  sir. " 

"I  will  come  at  eleven." 

He  thanked  me,  and  went  out  at  the  door  with  me.  "  I'll 
show  my  white  light,  sir,"  he  said,  in  his  peculiar  low  voice, 
"till  you  have  found  the  way  up.  When  you  have  found 
it,  don't  call  out!  And  when  you  are  at  the  top,  don't  call 
out!" 

His  manner  seemed  to  make  the  place  strike  colder  to 
me,  but  I  said  no  more  than,  "Very  well." 

"And  when  you  come  down  to-morrow  night,  don't  call 


56  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

out!  Let  me  ask  you  a  parting  question.  What  made  you 
cry,  'Halloa!  Below  there!'  to-night?" 

"Heaven  knows,"  said  I.  "I  cried  something  to  that 
effect " 

"  Not  to  that  effect,  sir.  Those  were  the  very  words.  I 
know  them  well." 

"Admit  those  were  the  very  words.  I  said  them,  no 
doubt,  because  I  saw  you  below. " 

"  For  no  other  reason?  " 

"  What  other  reason  could  I  possibly  have?  " 

"  You  had  no  feeling  that  they  were  conveyed  to  you  in 
any  supernatural  way?  " 

"No." 

He  wished  me  good  night,  and  held  up  his  light.  I 
walked  by  the  side  of  the  down  Line  of  rails  (with  a  very 
disagreeable  sensation  of  a  train  coming  behind  me)  until  I 
found  the  path.  It  was  easier  to  mount  than  to  descend, 
and  I  got  back  to  my  inn  without  any  adventure. 

Punctual  to  my  appointment,  I  placed  my  foot  on  the 
first  notch  of  the  zigzag  next  night,  as  the  distant  clocks 
were  striking  eleven.  He  was  waiting  for  me  at  the  bot- 
tom, with  his  white  light  on.  "I  have  not  called  out,"  I 
said,  when  we  came  close  together;  "may  I  speak  now?" 
"By  all  means,  sir."  "Good  night,  then,  and  here's  my 
hand."  "Good  night,  sir,  and  here's  mine."  With  that 
we  walked  side  by  side  to  his  box,  entered  it,  closed  the 
door,  and  sat  down  by  the  fire. 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind,  sir,"  he  began,  bending  for- 
ward as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  but 
a  little  above  a  whisper,  "  that  you  shall  not  have  to  ask 
me  twice  what  troubles  me.  I  took  you  for  some  one  else 
yesterday  evening.  That  troubles  me." 

"  That  mistake?  " 

"  No.     That  some  one  else." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Like  me?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  never  saw  the  face.  The  left  arm  is 
across  the  face,  and  the  right  arm  is  waved, — violently 
waved.  This  way." 

I  followed  his  action  with  my  eyes,  and  it  was  the  action 
of  an  arm  gesticulating,  with  the  utmost  passion  and  vehe- 
mence, "For  God's  sake,  clear  the  way!" 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  57 

"One  moonlight  night,"  said  the  man,  "I  was  sitting 
here,  when  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  '  Halloa !  Below  there ! '  I 
started  up,  looked  from  that  door,  and  saw  this  Some  one 
else  standing  by  the  red  light  near  the  tunnel,  waving  as  I 
just  now  showed  you.  The  voice  seemed  hoarse  with  shout- 
ing, and  it  cried,  '  Look  out !  Look  out ! '  And  then  again, 
'  Halloa !  Below  there !  Look  out ! '  I  caught  up  my 
lamp,  turned  it  on  red,  and  ran  towards  the  figure,  calling, 
'  What's  wrong?  What  has  happened?  Where? '  It 
stood  just  outside  the  blackness  of  the  tunnel.  I  advanced 
so  close  upon  it  that  I  wondered  at  its  keeping  the  sleeve 
across  its  eyes.  I  ran  right  up  at  it,  and  had  my  hand 
stretched  out  to  pull  the  sleeve  away,  when  it  was  gone." 

"  Into  the  tunnel?  "  said  I. 

"No.  I  ran  on  into  the  tunnel,  five  hundred  yards.  I 
stopped,  and  held  my  lamp  above  my  head,  and  saw  the 
figures  of  the  measured  distance,  and  saw  the  wet  stains 
stealing  down  the  walls  and  trickling  through  the  arch. 
I  ran  out  again  faster  than  I  had  run  in  (for  I  had  a  mor- 
tal abhorrence  of  the  place  upon  me),  and  I  looked  all  round 
the  red  light  with  my  own  red  light,  and  I  went  up  the  iron 
ladder  to  the  gallery  atop  of  it,  and  I  came  down  again,  and 
ran  back  here.  I  telegraphed  both  ways,  '  An  alarm  has 
been  given.  Is  anything  wrong? '  The  answer  came  back, 
both  ways,  '  All  well.' ' 

Resisting  the  slow  touch  of  a  frozen  finger  tracing  out 
my  spine,  I  showed  him  how  that  this  figure  must  be  a  de- 
ception of  his  sense  of  sight;  and  how  that  figures,  origi- 
nating in  disease  of  the  delicate  nerves  that  minister  to  the 
functions  of  the  eye,  were  known  to  have  often  troubled  pa- 
tients, some  of  whom  had  become  conscious  of  the  nature  of 
their  affliction,  and  had  even  proved  it  by  experiments  upon 
themselves.  "As  to  an  imaginary  cry,"  said  I,  "do  but 
listen  for  a  moment  to  the  wind  in  this  unnatural  valley 
while  we  speak  so  low,  and  to  the  wild  harp  it  makes  of 
the  telegraph  wires." 

That  was  all  very  well,  he  returned,  after  we  had  sat  lis- 
tening for  a  while,  and  he  ought  to  know  something  of  the 
wind  and  the  wires, — he  who  so  often  passed  long  winter 
nights  there,  alone  and  watching.  But  he  would  beg  to  re- 
mark that  he  had  not  finished. 

I  asked  his  pardon,  and  he  slowly  added  these  words, 
touching  my  arm, — 


58  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"  Within  six  hours  after  the  Appearance,  the  memorable 
accident  on  this  Line  happened,  and  within  ten  hours  the 
dead  and  wounded  were  brought  along  through  the  tunnel 
over  the  spot  where  the  figure  had  stood." 

A  disagreeable  shudder  crept  over  me,  but  I  did  my  best 
against  it.  It  was  not  to  be  denied,  I  rejoined,  that  this 
was  a  remarkable  coincidence,  calculated  deeply  to  impress 
his  mind.  But  it  was  unquestionable  that  remarkable  co- 
incidences did  continually  occur,  and  they  must  be  taken 
into  account  in  dealing  with  such  a  subject.  Though  to  be 
sure  I  must  admit,  I  added  (for  I  thought  I  saw  that  he 
was  going  to  bring  the  objection  to  bear  upon  me),  men  of 
common  sense  did  not  allow  much  for  coincidences  in  mak- 
ing the  ordinary  calculations  of  life. 

He  again  begged  to  remark  that  he  had  not  finished. 

I  again  begged  his  pardon  for  being  betrayed  into  inter- 
ruptions. 

"This,  "he  said,  again  laying  his  hand  upon  my  arm, 
and  glancing  over  his  shoulder  with  hollow  eyes,  "  was  just 
a  year  ago.  Six  or  seven  months  passed,  and  I  had  re- 
covered from  the  surprise  and  shock,  when  one  morning,  as 
the  day  was  breaking,  I,  standing  at  the  door,  looked  tow- 
ards the  red  light,  and  saw  the  spectre  again."  He  stopped, 
with  a  fixed  look  at  me. 

"Did  it  cry  out?" 

"No.     It  was  silent." 

"  Did  it  wave  its  arm?  n 

"  No.  It  leaned  against  the  shaft  of  the  light,  with  both 
hands  before  the  face.  Like  this." 

Once  more  I  followed  his  action  with  my  eyes.  It  was 
an  action  of  mourning  I  have  seen  such  an  attitude  in 
stone  figures  on  tombs. 

"  Did  you  go  up  to  it?  " 

"  I  came  in  and  sat  down,  partly  to  collect  my  thoughts, 
partly  because  it  had  turned  me  faint.  When  I  went  to 
the  door  again,  daylight  was  above  me,  and  the  ghost  was 
gone  " 

"  But  nothing  followed?     Nothing  came  of  this?  " 

He  touched  me  on  the  arm  with  his  forefinger  twice  or 
thrice,  giving  a  ghastly  nod  each  time : 

"That  very  day,  as  a  train  came  out  of  the  tunnel,  I 
noticed,  at  a  carriage  window  on  my  side,  what  looked  like 
a  confusion  of  hands  and  heads,  and  something  waved.  I 


MUGBY  JUNCTION.  K9 

saw  it  just  in  time  to  signal  the  driver,  Stop !  He  shut  off, 
and  put  his  brake  on,  but  the  train  drifted  past  here  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  yards  or  more.  I  ran  after  it,  and,  as  I  went 
along,  heard  terrible  screams  and  cries.  A  beautiful  young 
lady  had  died  instantaneously  in  one  of  the  compartments, 
and  was  brought  in  here,  and  laid  down  on  this  floor  be- 
tween us." 

Involuntarily  I  pushed  my  chair  back,  as  I  looked  from 
the  boards  at  which  he  pointed  to  himself. 

"  True,  sir.  True.  Precisely  as  it  happened,  so  I  tell  it 
you." 

I  could  think  of  nothing  to  say,  to  any  purpose,  and  my 
mouth  was  very  dry.  The  wind  and  the  wires  took  up  the 
story  with  a  long  lamenting  wail. 

He  resumed.  "Now,  sir,  mark  this,  and  judge  how  my 
mind  is  troubled.  The  spectre  came  back  a  week  ago. 
Ever  since,  it  has  been  there,  now  and  again,  by  fits  and 
starts. " 

"  At  the  light?  " 

"At  the  Danger-light." 

"  What  does  it  seem  to  do?  " 

He  repeated,  if  possible  with  increased  passion  and  vehe- 
mence, that  former  gesticulation  of,  "For  God's  sake,  clear 
the  way ! " 

Then  he  went  on.  "I  have  no  peace  or  rest  for  it.  It 
calls  to  me,  for  many  minutes  together,  in  an  agonised 
manner,  '  Below  there !  Look  out !  Look  out ! '  It  stands 
waving  to  me  It  rings  my  little  bell — " 

I  caught  at  that.  "  Did  it  ring  your  bell  yesterday  even- 
ing when  I  was  here,  and  you  went  to  the  door?  " 

"Twice." 

"Why,  see,"  said  I,  "how  your  imagination  misleads 
you.  My  eyes  were  on  the  bell,  and  my  ears  were  open  to 
the  bell,  and  if  I  am  a  living  man,  it  did  NOT  ring  at  those 
times.  No,  nor  at  any  other  time,  except  when  it  was  rung 
in  the  natural  course  of  physical  things  by  the  station  com- 
municating with  you." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  never  made  a  mistake  as  to 
that  yet,  sir.  I  have  never  confused  the  spectre's  ring 
with  the  man's.  The  ghost's  ring  is  a  strange  vibration  in 
the  bell  that  it  derives  from  nothing  else,  and  I  have  not 
asserted  that  the  bell  stirs  to  the  eye.  I  don't  wonder  that 
you  failed  to  hear  it.  But  /heard  it." 


60  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

"  And  did  the  spectre  seem  to  be  there,  when  you  looked 
out?  " 

"It  WAS  there." 

"  Both  times?  " 

He  repeated  firmly :  "Both  times." 

"  Will  you  come  to  the  door  with  me,  and  look  for  it 
now?  " 

He  bit  his  under  lip  as  though  he  were  somewhat  unwill- 
ing, but  arose.  I  opened  the  door,  and  stood  on  the  step, 
while  he  stood  in  the  doorway.  There  was  the  Danger-light. 
There  was  the  dismal  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  There  were  the 
high,  wet  stone  walls  of  the  cutting.  There  were  the  stars 
above  them. 

"  Do  you  see  it?  "  I  asked  him,  taking  particular  note  of 
his  face.  His  eyes  were  prominent  and  strained,  but  not 
very  much  more  so,  perhaps,  than  my  own  had  been  when 
I  had  directed  them  earnestly  towards  the  same  spot. 

"No,"  he  answered.     "It  is  not  there." 

"Agreed,"  said  I. 

We  went  in  again,  shut  the  door,  and  resumed  our  seats. 
I  was  thinking  how  best  to  improve  this  advantage,  if  it 
might  be  called  one,  when  he  took  up  the  conversation  in 
such  a  matter-of-course  way,  so  assuming  that  there  could 
be  no  serious  question  of  fact  between  us,  that  I  felt  my- 
self placed  in  the  weakest  of  positions. 

"By  this  time  you  will  fully  understand,  sir,"  he  said, 
"  that  what  troubles  me  so  dreadfully  is  the  question,  What 
does  the  spectre  mean?  " 

I  was  not  sure,  I  told  him,  that  I  did  fully  understand. 

"What  is  its  warning  against?"  he  said,  ruminating, 
with  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  and  only  by  times  turning  them 
on  me.  "What  is  the  danger?  Where  is  the  danger? 
There  is  danger  overhanging  somewhere  on  the  Line. 
Some  dreadful  calamity  will  happen.  It  is  not  to  be 
doubted  this  third  time,  after  what  has  gone  before.  But 
surely  this  a  cruel  haunting  of  me.  What  can  /  do?  " 

He  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  and  wiped  the  drops 
from  his  heated  forehead. 

"  If  I  telegraph  Danger,  on  either  side  of  me,  or  on  both, 
I  can  give  no  reason  for  it,"  he  went  on,  wiping  the  palms 
of  his  hands.  "  I  should  get  into  trouble,  and  do  no  good. 
They  would  think  I  was  mad.  This  is  the  way  it  would 
work,  —  Message :  '  Danger !  Take  care ! '  Answer : 


MUGBY   JUNCTION.  61 

'What Danger?  Where?'  Message:  'Don't know.  But, 
for  God's  sake,  take  care!'  They  would  displace  me. 
What  else  could  they  do?  " 

His  pain  of  mind  was  most  pitiable  to  see.  It  was  the 
mental  torture  of  a  conscientious  man,  oppressed  beyond 
endurance  by  an  unintelligible  responsibility  involving  life. 

"When  it  first  stood  under  the  Danger-light,"  he  went 
on,  putting  his  dark  hair  back  from  his  head,  and  drawing 
his  hands  outward  across  and  across  his  temples  in  an  ex- 
tremity of  feverish  distress,  "  why  not  tell  me  where  that 
accident  was  to  happen, — if  it  must  happen?  Why  not 
tell  me  how  it  could  be  averted, — if  it  could  have  been 
averted?  When  on  its  second  coming  it  hid  its  face,  why 
not  tell  me,  instead,  '  She  is  going  to  die.  Let  them  keep 
her  at  home  '  ?  If  it  came,  on  those  two  occasions,  only  to 
show  me  that  its  warnings  were  true,  and  so  to  prepare  me 
for  the  third,  why  not  warn  me  plainly  now?  And  I,  Lord 
help  me !  A  mere  poor  signal-man  on  this  solitary  station ! 
Why  not  go  to  somebody  with  credit  to  be  believed,  and 
power  to  act?  " 

When  I  saw  him  in  this  state,  I  saw  that  for  the  poor 
man's  sake,  as  well  as  for  the  public  safety,  what  I  had  to 
do  for  the  time  was  to  compose  his  mind.  Therefore,  set- 
ting aside  all  question  of  reality  or  unreality  between  us,  I 
represented  to  him  that  whoever  thoroughly  discharged 
his  duty  must  do  well,  and  that  at  least  it  was  his  comfort 
that  he  understood  his  duty,  though  he  did  not  understand 
these  confounding  Appearances.  In  this  effort  I  succeeded 
far  better  than  in  the  attempt  to  reason  him  out  of  his  con- 
viction. He  became  calm;  the  occupations  incidental  to 
his  post  as  the  night  advanced  began  to  make  larger  de- 
mands on  his  attention :  and  I  left  him  at  two  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  had  offered  to  stay  through  the  night,  but  he  would 
not  hear  of  it. 

That  I  more  than  once  looked  back  at  the  red  light  as  I 
ascended  the  pathway,  that  I  did  not  like  the  red  light, 
and  that  I  should  have  slept  but  poorly  if  my  bed  had  been 
under  it,  I  see  no  reason  to  conceal.  Nor  did  I  like  the 
two  sequences  of  the  accident  and  the  dead  girl.  I  see  no 
reason  to  conceal  that  either. 

But  what  ran  most  in  my  thoughts  was  the  consideration 
how  ought  I  to  act,  having  become  the  recipient  of  this  dis- 
closure? I  had  proved  the  man  to  be  intelligent,  vigilant, 


62  MUGBY  JUNCTION. 

painstaking,  and  exact;  but  how  long  might  he  remain  so, 
in  his  state  of  mind?  Though  in  a  subordinate  position, 
still  he  held  a  most  important  trust,  and  would  I  (for 
instance)  like  to  stake  my  own  life  on  the  chances  of  his 
continuing  to  execute  it  with  precision? 

Unable  to  overcome  a  feeling  that  there  would  be  some- 
thing treacherous  in  my  communicating  what  he  had  told 
me  to  his  superiors  in  the  Company,  without  first  being 
plain  with  himself  and  proposing  a  middle  course  to  him,  I 
ultimately  resolved  to  offer  to  accompany  him  (otherwise 
keeping  his  secret  for  the  present)  to  the  wisest  medical 
practitioner  we  could  hear  of  in  those  parts,  and  to  take  his 
opinion.  A  change  in  his  time  of  duty  would  come  round 
next  night,  he  had  apprised  me,  and  he  would  be  off  an 
hour  or  two  after  sunrise,  and  on  again  soon  after  sunset. 
I  had  appointed  to  return  accordingly. 

Next  evening  was  a  lovely  evening,  and  I  walked  out 
early  to  enjoy  it.  The  sun  was  not  yet  quite  down  when  I 
traversed  the  field-path  near  the  top  of  the  deep  cutting. 
I  would  extend  my  walk  for  an  hour,  I  said  to  myself,  half 
an  hour  on  and  half  an  hour  back,  and  it  would  then  be 
time  to  go  to  my  signal-man's  box. 

Before  pursuing  my  stroll,  I  stepped  to  the  brink,  and 
mechanically  looked  down,  from  the  point  from  which  I 
had  first  seen  him.  I  cannot  describe  the  thrill  that  seized 
upon  me,  when,  close  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  I  saw  the 
appearance  of  a  man,  with  his  left  sleeve  across  his  eyes, 
passionately  waving  his  right  arm. 

The  nameless  horror  that  oppressed  me  passed  in  a  mo- 
ment, for  in  a  moment  I  saw  that  this  appearance  of  a  man 
was  a  man  indeed,  and  that  there  was  a  little  group  of  other 
men,  standing  at  a  short  distance,  to  whom  he  seemed  to  be 
rehearsing  the  gesture  he  made.  The  Danger-light  was  not 
yet  lighted.  Against  its  shaft,  a  little  low  hut,  entirely 
new  to  me,  had  been  made  of  some  wooden  supports  and 
tarpaulin.  It  looked  no  bigger  than  a  bed. 

With  an  irresistible  sense  that  something  was  wrong, — 
with  a  flashing  self-reproachful  fear  that  fatal  mischief  had 
come  of  my  leaving  the  man  there,  and  causing  no  one  to  be 
sent  to  overlook  or  correct  what  he  did, — I  descended  the 
notched  path  with  all  the  speed  I  could  make. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  I  asked  the  men. 

"  Signal-man  killed  this  morning,  sir." 


MUGBY  JUNCTION  63 

"Not  the  man  belonging  to  that  box?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Not  the  man  I  know?" 

"You  will  recognise  him,  sir,  if  you  knew  him,"  said  the 
man  who  spoke  for  the  others,  solemnly  uncovering  his  own 
head,  and  raising  an  end  of  the  tarpaulin,  "  for  his  face  is 
quite  composed." 

"0,  how  did  this  happen,  how  did  this  happen?"  I 
asked,  turning  from  one  to  another  as  the  hut  closed  in 
again. 

"  He  was  cut  down  by  an  engine,  sir.  No  man  in  Eng- 
land knew  his  work  better.  But  somehow  he  was  not  clear 
of  the  outer  rail.  It  was  just  at  broad  day.  He  had  struck 
the  light,  and  had  the  lamp  in  his  hand.  As  the  engine 
came  out  of  the  tunnel,  his  back  was  towards  her,  and  she 
cut  him  down.  That  man  drove  her,  and  was  showing  how 
it  happened.  Show  the  gentleman,  Tom." 

The  man,  who  wore  a  rough  dark  dress,  stepped  back  to 
his  former  place  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel. 

"Coming  round  the  curve  in  the  tunnel,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I 
saw  him  at  the  end,'  like  as  if  I  saw  him  down  a  perspec- 
tive-glass. There  was  no  time  to  check  speed,  and  I  knew 
him  to  be  very  careful.  As  he  didn't  seem  to  take  heed  of 
the  whistle,  I  shut  it  off  when  we  were  running  down  upon 
him,  and  called  to  him  as  loud  as  I  could  call-" 

"  What  did  you  say?  " 

"I  said,  'Below  there!  Look  out!  Look  out!  For 
God's  sake,  clear  the  way ! '  " 

I  started. 

"  Ah !  it  was  a  dreadful  time,  sir.  I  never  left  off  calling 
to  him.  I  put  this  arm  before  my  eyes  not  to  see,  and  I 
waved  this  arm  to  the  last;  but  it  was  no  use." 

Without  prolonging  the  narrative  to  dwell  on  any  one  of 
its  curious  circumstances  more  than  on  any  other,  I  may,  in 
closing  it,  point  out  the  coincidence  that  the  warning  of  the 
engine-driver  included,  not  only  the  words  which  the  un- 
fortunate signal-man  had  repeated  to  me  as  haunting  him, 
but  also  the  words  which  I  myself — not  he — had  attached, 
and  that  only  in  my  own  mind,  to  the  gesticulation  he  had 
imitated. 


vl     >iii. 

'"•h, 

T.  •  !•.• 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK. 


MASTER   HUMPHREY  FROM   HIS  CLOCK-SIDE 
IN  THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

THE  reader  must  not  expect  to  know  where  I  live.  At 
present,  it  is  true,  my  abode  may  be  a  question  of  little  or 
no  import  to  anybody;  but  if  I  should  carry  my  readers 
with  me,  as  I  hope  to  do,  and  there  should  spring  up,  be- 
tween them  and  me,  feelings  of  homely  affection  and  re- 
gard attaching  something  of  interest  to  matters  ever  co 
slightly  connected  with  my  fortunes  or  my  speculations, 
even  my  place  of  residence  might  one  day  have  a  kind  of 
charm  for  them.  Bearing  this  possible  contingency  in 
mind,  I  wish  them  to  understand  in  the  outset,  that  they 
must  never  expect  to  know  it. 

I  am  not  a  churlish  old  man.  Friendless  I  can  never  be, 
for  all  mankind  are  my  kindred,  and  I  am  ou  ill  terms  with 
no  one  member  of  my  great  family.  But  for  many  years  I 
have  led  a  lonely,  solitary  life; — what  wound  I  sought  to 
heal,  what  sorrow  to  forget,  originally,  matters  not  now; 
it  is  sufficient  that  retirement  has  become  a  habit  with  me, 
and  that  I  am  unwilling  to  break  the  spell  which  for  so 
long  a  time  has  shed  its  quiet  influence  upon  my  home  and 
heart. 

I  live  in  a  venerable  suburb  of  London,  in  an  old  house 
which  in  bygone  days  was  a  famous  resort  for  merry  roys- 
terers  and  peerless  ladies,  long  since  departed.  It  is  a  si- 
lent shady  place,  with  a  paved  courtyard  so  full  of  echoes, 
that  sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  believe  that  faint  responses 
to  the  noises  of  old  times  linger  there  yet,  and  that  these 
ghosts  of  sound  haunt  my  footsteps  as  I  pace  it  up  and 
down.  I  am  the  more  confirmed  in  this  belief,  because,  of 
late  years,  the  echoes  that  attend  my  walks  have  been  less 
1 


2  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

loud  and  marked  than  they  were  wont  to  be;  and  it  is 
pleasanter  to  imagine  in  them  the  rustling  of  silk  brocade, 
and  the  light  step  of  some  lovely  girl,  than  to  recognise  in 
their  altered  note  the  failing  tread  of  an  old  man. 

Those  who  like  to  read  of  brilliant  rooms  and  gorgeous 
furniture  would  derive  but  little  pleasure  from  a  minute 
description  of  my  simple  dwelling.  It  is  dear  to  me  for 
the  same  reason  that  they  would  hold  it  in  slight  regard. 
Its  worm-eaten  doors,  and  low  ceilings  crossed  by  clumsy 
beams;  its  walls  of  wainscot,  dark  stairs,  and  gaping  clos- 
ets; its  small  chambers,  communicating  with  each  other  by 
winding  passages  or  narrow  steps;  its  many  nooks,  scarce 
larger  than  its  corner-cupboards;  its  very  dust  and  dulness, 
are  all  dear  to  me.  The  moth  and  spider  are  my  constant 
tenants;  for  in  my  house  the  one  basks  in  his  long  sleep, 
and  the  other  plies  his  busy  loom  secure  and  undisturbed. 
I  have  a  pleasure  in  thinking  on  a  summer's  day  how  many 
butterflies  have  sprung  for  the  first  time  into  light  and  sun- 
shine from  some  dark  corner  of  these  old  walls. 

When  I  first  came  to  live  here,  which  was  many  years 
ago,  the  neighbours  were  curious  to  know  who  I  was,  and 
whence  I  came,  and  why  I  lived  so  much  alone.  As  time 
went  on,  and  they  still  remained  unsatisfied  on  these  points, 
I  became  the  centre  of  a  popular  ferment,  extending  for 
half  a  mile  round,  and  in  one  direction  for  a  full  mile. 
Various  rumours  were  circulated  to  my  prejudice.  I  was  a 
spy,  an  infidel,  a  conjurer,  a  kidnapper  of  children,  a  refu- 
gee, a  priest,  a  monster.  Mothers  caught  up  their  infants 
and  ran  into  their  houses  as  I  passed;  men  eyed  me  spite- 
fully, and  muttered  threats  and  curses.  I  was  the  object 
of  suspicion  and  distrust — ay,  of  downright  hatred  too. 

But  when  in  course  of  time  they  found  I  did  no  harm, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  inclined  towards  them  despite  their 
unjust  usage,  they  began  to  relent.  I  found  my  footsteps 
no  longer  dogged,  as  they  had  often  been  before,  and  ob- 
served that  the  women  and  children  no  longer  retreated, 
but  would  stand  and  gaze  at  me  as  I  passed  their  doors.  I 
took  this  for  a  good  omen,  and  waited  patiently  for  better 
times.  By  degrees  I  began  to  make  friends  among  these 
humble  folks;  and  though  they  were  yet  shy  of  speaking, 
would  give  them  "good-day,"  and  so  pass  on.  In  a  little 
time,  those  whom  I  had  thus  accosted  would  make  a  point 
of  coming  to  their  doors  and  windows  at  the  usual  hour, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  t 

and  nod  or  curtsey  to  me;  children,  too,  came  timidly 
within  my  reach,  and  ran  away  quite  scared  when  I  patted 
their  heads  and  bade  them  be  good  at  school.  These  little 
people  soon  grew  more  familiar.  From  exchanging  mere 
words  of  course  with  my  older  neighbours,  I  gradually  be- 
came their  friend  and  adviser,  the  depositary  of  their  cares 
and  sorrows,  and  sometimes,  it  may  be,  the  reliever,  in  my 
small  way,  of  their  distresses.  And  now  I  never  walk 
abroad  but  pleasant  recognitions  and  smiling  faces  wait  on 
Master  Humphrey. 

It  was  a  whim  of  mine,  perhaps  as  a  whet  to  the  curios- 
ity of  my  neighbours,  and  a  kind  of  retaliation  upon  them 
for  their  suspicions — it  was,  I  say,  a  whim  of  mine,  when 
I  first  took  up  my  abode  in  this  place,  to  acknowledge  no 
other  name  than  Humphrey.  With  my  detractors,  I  was 
Ugly  Humphrey.  When  I  began  to  convert  them  into 
friends,  I  was  Mr.  Humphrey  and  Old  Mr.  Humphrey.  At 
length  I  settled  down  into  plain  Master  Humphrey,  which 
was  understood  to  be  the  title  most  pleasant  to  my  ear;  and 
so  completely  a  matter  of  course  has  it  become,  that  some- 
times when  I  am  taking  my  morning  walk  in  my  little 
courtyard,  I  overhear  my  barber — who  has  a  profound  re- 
spect for  me,  and  would  not,  I  am  sure,  abridge  my  hon- 
ours for  the  world — holding  forth  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall,  touching  the  state  of  "Master  Humphrey's"  health, 
and  communicating  to  some  friend  the  substance  of  the 
conversation  that  he  and  Master  Humphrey  have  had  to- 
gether in  the  course  of  the  shaving  which  he  has  just 
concluded. 

That  I  may  not  make  acquaintance  with  my  readers  un- 
der false  pretences,  or  give  them  cause  to  complain  here- 
after that  I  have  withheld  any  matter  which  it  was  essen- 
tial for  them  to  have  learnt  at  first,  I  wish  them  to  know 
— and  I  smile  sorrowfully  to  think  that  the  time  has  been 
when  the  confession  would  have  given  me  pain — that  I  am 
a  mis-shapen,  deformed  old  man. 

I  have  never  been  made  a  misanthrope  by  this  cause.  I 
have  never  been  stung  by  any  insult,  nor  wounded  by  any 
jest  upon  my  crooked  figure.  As  a  child  I  was  melancholy 
and  timid,  but  that  was  because  the  gentle  consideration 
paid  to  my  misfortune  sank  deep  into  my  spirit  and  made 
me  sad,  even  in  those  early  days.  I  was  but  a  very  young 
creature  when  my  poor  mother  died,  and  yet  I  remember 


4  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

that  often  when  I  hung  around  her  neck,  and  oftener  still 
when  I  played  about  the  room  before  her,  she  would  catch 
me  to  her  bosom,  aud  bursting  into  tears,  soothe  me  with 
every  term  of  fondness  and  affection.  God  knows  1  was  a 
happy  child  at  those  times — happy  to  nestle  in  her  breast — 
happy  to  weep  when  she  did — happy  in  not  knowing  why. 

These  occasions  are  so  strongly  impressed  upon  my  mem- 
ory, that  they  seem  to  have  occupied  whole  years.  I  had 
numbered  very,  very  few  when  they  ceased  for  ever,  but  be- 
fore then  their  meaning  had  been  revealed  to  me. 

I  do  not  know  whether  all  children  are  imbued  with  a 
quick  perception  of  childish  grace  and  beauty,  and  a  strong 
love  for  it,  but  I  was.  I  had  no  thought  that  I  remember, 
either  that  I  possessed  it  myself  or  that  I  lacked  it,  but  I 
admired  it  with  an  intensity  I  cannot  describe.  A  little 
knot  of  playmates — they  must  have  been  beautiful,  for  I 
see  them  now — were  clustered  one  day  round  my  mother's 
knee  in  eager  admiration  of  some  picture  representing  a 
group  of  infant  angels,  which  she  held  in  her  hand.  Whose 
the  picture  was,  whether  it  was  familiar  to  me  or  otherwise, 
or  how  all  the  children  came  to  be  there,  I  forget;  I  have 
some  dim  thought  it  was  my  birthday,  but  the  beginning  of 
my  recollection  is  that  we  were  all  together  in  a  garden,  and 
it  was  summer  weather — I  am  sure  of  that,  for  one  of  the 
little  girls  had  roses  in  her  sash.  There  were  many  lovely 
angels  in  this  picture,  and  I  remember  the  fancy  coming 
upon  me  to  point  out  which  of  them  represented  each  child 
there,  and  that  when  I  had  gone  through  all  my  compan- 
ions, I  stopped  and  hesitated,  wondering  which  was  most 
like  me.  I  remember  the  children  looking  at  each  other, 
and  my  turning  red  and  hot,  and  their  crowding  round  to 
kiss  me,  saying  that  they  loved  me  all  the  same;  and  then, 
and  when  the  old  sorrow  came  into  my  dear  mother's  mild 
and  tender  look,  the  truth  broke  upon  me  for  the  first  time, 
and  I  knew,  while  watching  my  awkward  and  ungainly 
sports,  how  keenly  she  had  felt  for  her  poor  crippled  boy. 

I  used  frequently  to  dream  of  it  afterwards,  and  now  my 
heart  aches  for  that  child  as  if  I  had  never  been  he,  when 
I  think  how  often  he  awoke  from  some  fairy  change  to  his 
own  old  form,  and  sobbed  himself  to  sleep  again. 

Well,  well — all  these  sorrows  are  past.  My  glancing  at 
them  may  not  be  without  its  use,  for  it  may  help  in  some 
measure  to  explain  why  I  have  all  my  life  been  attached  to 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  5 

the  inanimate  objects  that  people  my  chamber,  and  how  I 
have  come  to  look  upon  them  rather  in  the  light  of  old  and 
constant  friends,  than  as  mere  chairs  and  tables  which  a 
little  money  could  replace  at  will. 

Chief  and  first  among  all  these  is  my  Clock — my  old, 
cheerful,  companionable  Clock.  How  can  I  ever  convey  to 
others  an  idea  of  the  comfort  and  consolation  that  this  old 
Clock  has  been  for  years  to  me ! 

It  is  associated  with  my  earliest  recollections.  It  stood 
upon  the  staircase  at  home  (I  call  it  home  still,  mechani- 
cally), nigh  sixty  years  ago.  I  like  it  for  that;  but  it  is  not 
on  that  account,  nor  because  it  is  a  quaint  old  thing  in  a 
huge  oaken  case  curiously  and  richly  carved,  that  I  prize  it 
as  I  do.  I  incline  to  it  as  if  it  were  alive,  and  could  un- 
derstand and  give  me  back  the  love  I  bear  it. 

And  what  other  thing  that  has  not  life  could  cheer  me  as 
it  does;  what  other  thing  that  has  not  life  (I  will  not  say 
how  few  things  that  have)  could  have  proved  the  same  pa- 
tient, true,  untiring  friend?  How  often  have  I  sat  in  the 
long  winter  evenings  feeling  such  society  in  its  cricket- 
voice,  that  raising  my  eyes  from  my  book  and  looking 
gratefully  towards  it,  the  face  reddened  by  the  glow  of  the 
shining  fire  has  seemed  to  relax  from  its  staid  expression 
and  to  regard  me  kindly ;  how  often  in  the  summer  twi- 
light, when  my  thoughts  have  wandered  back  to  a  melan- 
choly past,  have  its  regular  whisperings  recalled  them  to 
the  calm  and  peaceful  present;  how  often  in  the  dead  tran- 
quillity of  night  has  its  bell  broken  the  oppressive  silence, 
and  seemed  to  give  me  assurance  that  the  old  clock  was 
still  a  faithful  watcher  at  my  chamber-door!  My  easy- 
chair,  my  desk,  my  ancient  furniture,  my  very  books,  I 
can  scarcely  bring  myself  to  love  even  these  last  like  my 
old  clock ! 

It  stands  in  a  snug  corner,  midway  between  the  fireside 
and  a  low  arched  door  leading  to  my  bedroom.  Its  fame  is 
diffused  so  extensively  throughout  the  neighbourhood,  that 
I  have  often  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  the  publican  or  the 
baker,  and  sometimes  even  the  parish-clerk,  petitioning  my 
housekeeper  (of  whom  I  shall  have  much  to  say  by-and-by) 
to  inform  him  the  exact  time  by  Master  Humphrey's  clock. 
My  barber,  to  whom  I  have  referred,  would  sooner  believe 
it  than  the  sun.  Nor  are  these  its  only  distinctions.  It 
has  acquired,  I  am  happy  to  say,  another,  inseparably  con- 


6  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

necting  it  not  only  with  my  enjoyments  and  reflections,  but 
with  those  of  other  men;  as  I  shall  now  relate. 

I  lived  alone  here  for  a  long  time  without  any  friend  or 
acquaintance.  In  the  course  of  my  wanderings  by  night 
and  day,  at  all  hours  and  seasons,  in  city  streets  and  quiet 
country  parts,  I  came  to  be  familiar  with  certain  faces,  and 
to  take  it  to  heart  as  quite  a  heavy  disappointment  if  they 
failed  to  present  themselves  each  at  its  accustomed  spot. 
But  these  were  the  only  friends  I  knew,  and  beyond  them 
I  had  none. 

It  happened,  however,  when  I  had  gone  on  thus  for  a 
long  time,  that  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a  deaf  gen- 
tleman, which  ripened  into  intimacy  and  close  companion- 
ship. To  this  hour,  I  am  ignorant  of  his  name.  It  is  his 
humour  to  conceal  it,  or  he  has  a  reason  and  purpose  for  so 
doing.  In  either  case,  I  feel  that  he  has  a  right  to  require 
a  return  of  the  trust  he  has  reposed;  and  as  he  has  never 
sought  to  discover  my  secret,  I  have  never  sought  to  pene- 
trate his.  There  may  have  been  something  in  this  tacit 
confidence  in  each  other  flattering  and  pleasant  to  us  both, 
and  it  may  have  imparted  in  the  beginning  an  additional 
zest,  perhaps,  to  our  friendship.  Be  this  as  it  may,  we 
have  grown  to  be  like  brothers,  and  still  I  only  know  him 
as  the  deaf  gentleman. 

I  have  said  that  retirement  has  become  a  habit  with  me. 
When  I  add  that  the  deaf  gentleman  and  I  have  two 
friends,  I  communicate  nothing  which  is  inconsistent  with 
that  declaration.  I  spend  many  hours  of  every  day  in  soli- 
tude and  study,  have  no  friends  or  change  of  friends  but 
these,  only  see  them  at  stated  periods,  and  am  supposed  to 
be  of  a  retired  spirit  by  the  very  nature  and  object  of  our 
association. 

We  are  men  of  secluded  habits,  with  something  of  a  cloud 
upon  our  early  fortunes,  whose  enthusiasm  nevertheless 
has  not  cooled  with  age,  whose  spirit  of  romance  is  not 
yet  quenched,  who  are  content  to  ramble  through  the  world 
in  a  pleasant  dream,  rather  than  ever  waken  again  to  its 
harsh  realities.  We  are  alchemists  who  would  extract  the 
essence  of  perpetual  youth  from  dust  and  ashes,  tempt  coy 
Truth  in  many  light  and  airy  forms  from  the  bottom  of  her 
well,  and  discover  one  crumb  of  comfort  or  one  grain  of 
good  in  the  commonest  and  least-regarded  matter  that  passes 
through  our  crucible.  Spirits  of  past  times,  creatures  of 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  7 

imagination,  and  people  of  to-day  are  alike  the  objects  of 
our  seeking,  and,  unlike  the  objects  of  search  with  most 
philosophers,  we  can  ensure  their  coming  at  our  command. 

The  deaf  gentleman  and  I  first  began  to  beguile  our  days 
with  these  fancies,  and  our  nights  in  communicating  them 
to  each  other.  We  are  now  four.  But  in  my  room  there 
are  six  old  chairs,  and  we  have  decided  that  the  two  empty 
seats  shall  always  be  placed  at  our  table  when  we  meet,  to 
remind  us  that  we  may  yet  increase  our  company  by  that 
number,  if  we  should  find  two  men  to  our  mind.  When 
one  among  us  dies,  his  chair  will  always  be  set  in  its  usual 
place,  but  never  occupied  again;  and  I  have  caused  my 
will  to  be  so  drawn  out,  that  when  we  are  all  dead  the 
house  shall  be  shut  up,  and  the  vacant  chairs  still  left  in 
their  accustomed  places.  It  is  pleasant  to  think  that  even 
then  our  shades  may,  perhaps,  assemble  together  as  of  yore 
we  did,  and  join  in  ghostly  converse. 

One  night  in  every  week,  as  the  clock  strikes  ten,  we 
meet.  At  the  second  stroke  of  two,  I  am  alone. 

And  now  shall  I  tell  how  that  my  old  servant,  besides 
giving  us  note  of  time,  and  ticking  cheerful  encouragement 
of  our  proceedings,  lends  its  name  to  our  society,  which  for 
its  punctuality  and  my  love  is  christened  "  Master  Hum- 
phrey's Clock  "  ?  JSTow  shall  I  tell  how  that  in  the  bottom 
of  the  old  dark  closet,  where  the  steady  pendulum  throbs 
and  beats  with  healthy  action,  though  the  pulse  of  him 
who  made  it  stood  still  long  ago  and  never  moved  again, 
there  are  piles  of  dusty  papers  constantly  placed  there  by 
our  hands,  that  we  may  link  our  enjoyments  with  my  old 
friend,  and  draw  means  to  beguile  time  from  the  heart  of 
time  itself?  Shall  I,  or  can  I,  tell  with  what  a  secret  pride 
I  open  this  repository  when  we  meet  at  night,  and  still  find 
new  store  of  pleasure  in  my  dear  old  Clock? 

Friend  and  companion  of  my  solitude!  mine  is  not  a 
selfish  love ;  I  would  not  keep  your  merits  to  myself,  but 
disperse  something  of  pleasant  association  with  your  image 
through  the  whole  wide  world;  I  would  have  men  couple 
with  your  name  cheerful  and  healthy  thoughts;  I  would 
have  them  believe  that  you  keep  true  and  honest  time;  and 
how  it  would  gladden  me  to  know  that  they  recognised 
some  hearty  English  work  in  Master  Humphrey's  Clock ! 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 


THE  CLOCK  CASE. 

It  is  my  intention  constantly  to  address  my  readers  from 
the  chimney-corner,  and  I  would  fain  hope  that  such  ac- 
counts as  1  shall  give  them  of  our  histories  and  proceed- 
ings, our  quiet  speculations  or  more  busy  adventures,  will 
never  be  unwelcome.  Lest,  however,  I  should  grow  prolix 
in  the  outset  by  lingering  too  long  upon  our  little  associa- 
tion, confounding  the  enthusiasm  with  which  I  regard  this 
chief  happiness  of  my  life  with  that  minor  degree  of  inter- 
est which  those  to  whom  I  address  myself  may  be  supposed 
to  feel  for  it,  I  have  deemed  it  expedient  to  break  off  as 
they  have  seen. 

But,  still  clinging  to  my  old  friend  and  naturally  desir- 
ous that  all  its  merits  should  be  known,  I  am  tempted  to 
open  (somewhat  irregularly  and  against  our  laws,  I  must 
admit)  the  clock-case.  The  first  roll  of  paper  on  which  I 
lay  my  hand  is  in  the  writing  of  the  deaf  gentleman.  I 
shall  have  to  speak  of  him  in  my  next  paper;  and  how  can 
I  better  approach  that  welcome  task  than  by  prefacing  it 
with  a  production  of  his  own  pen,  consigned  to  the  safe 
keeping  of  my  honest  Clock  by  his  own  hands? 

The  manuscript  runs  thus : 

INTRODUCTION   TO   THE    GIANT    CHRONICLES. 

Once  upon  a  time,  that  is  to  say,  in  this  our  time, — the 
exact  year,  month,  and  day  are  of  no  matter, — there  dwelt 
in  the  city  of  London  a  substantial  citizen,  who  united  in 
his  single  person  the  dignities  of  wholesale  fruiterer,  Al- 
derman, Common- Councilman,  and  member  of  the  Worship- 
ful Company  of  Patten-makers;  who  had  superadded  to 
these  extraordinary  distinctions  the  important  post  and  title 
of  Sheriff,  and  who  at  length,  and  to  crown  all,  stood  next  in 
rotation  for  the  high  and  honourable  office  of  Lord  Mayor. 

He  was  a  very  substantial  citizen  indeed.  His  face  was 
like  the  full  moon  in  a  fog,  with  two  little  holes  punched 
out  for  his  eyes,  a  very  ripe  pear  stuck  on  for  his  nose,  and 
a  wide  gash  to  serve  for  a  mouth.  The  girth  of  his  waist- 
coat was  hung  up  and  lettered  in  his  tailor's  shop  as  an  ex- 
traordinary curiosity.  He  breathed  like  a  heavy  snorer, 
and  his  voice  in  speaking  came  thickly  forth,  as  if  it  were 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  9 

oppressed  and  stifled  by  feather-beds.  He  trod  the  ground 
like  an  elephant,  and  eat  and  drank  like — like  nothing  but 
an  alderman,  as  he  was. 

This  worthy  citizen  had  risen  to  his  great  eminence  from 
small  beginnings.  He  had  once  been  a  very  lean,  weazen 
little  boy,  never  dreaming  of  carrying  such  a  weight  of  flesh 
upon  his  bones  or  of  money  in  his  pockets,  and  glad  enough 
to  take  his  dinner  at  a  baker's  door,  and  his  tea  at  a  pump. 
But  he  had  long  ago  forgotten  all  this,  as  it  was  proper 
that  a  wholesale  fruiterer,  Alderman,  Common-Councilman, 
member  of  the  Worshipful  Company  of  Patten-makers,  past 
Sheriff,  and,  above  all,  a  Lord  Mayor  that  was  to  be, 
should;  and  he  never  forgot  it  more  completely  in  all  his 
life  than  on  the  eighth  of  November  in  the  year  of  his  elec- 
tion to  the  great  golden  civic  chair,  which  was  the  day  be- 
fore his  grand  dinner  at  Guildhall. 

It  happened  that  as  he  sat  that  evening  all  alone  in  his 
counting-house,  looking  over  the  bill  of  fare  for  next  day, 
and  checking  off  the  fat  capons  in  fifties,  and  the  turtle- 
soup  by  the  hundred  quarts,  for  his  private  amusement — it 
happened  that  as  he  sat  alone  occupied  in  these  pleasant 
calculations,  a  strange  man  came  in  and  asked  him  how  he 
did,  adding,  "  If  I  am  half  as  much  changed  as  you,  Sir, 
you  have  no  recollection  of  me,  I  am  sure." 

The  strange  man  was  not  over  and  above  well-dressed, 
and  was  very  far  from  being  fat  or  rich-looking  in  any 
sense  of  the  word,  yet  he  spoke  with  a  kind  of  modest  con- 
fidence, and  assumed  an  easy,  gentlemanly  sort  of  air,  to 
which  nobody  but  a  rich  man  can  lawfully  presume.  Be- 
sides this,  he  interrupted  the  good  citizen  just  as  he  had 
reckoned  three  hundred  and  seventy-two  fat  capons,  and 
was  carrying  them  over  to  the  next  column;  and  as  if  that 
were  not  aggravation  enough,  the  learned  Recorder  for  the 
City  of  London  had  only  ten  minutes  previously  gone  out 
at  that  very  same  door,  and  had  turned  round  and  said, 
"Good-night,  my  lord."  Yes,  he  had  said,  "my  lord;" 
— he,  a  man  of  birth  and  education,  of  the  Honourable  So- 
ciety of  the  Middle  Temple,  Barrister-at-Law, — he  who  had 
an  uncle  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  an  aunt  almost 
but  not  quite  in  the  House  of  Lords  (for  she  had  married  a 
feeble  peer,  and  made  him  vote  as  she  liked), — he,  this 
man,  this  learned  Recorder  had  said,  "  my  lord."  "  I'll  not 
wait  till  to-morrow  to  give  you  your  title,  my  Lord  Mayor," 


10  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

says  he,  with  a  bow  and  a  smile;  "you  are  Lord  Mayor  de 
facto,  if  not  de  jure.  Good-night,  my  lord !  " 

The  Lord  Mayor  elect  thought  of  this,  and  turning  to 
the  stranger,  and  sternly  bidding  him  "  go  out  of  his  pri- 
vate counting-house,"  brought  forward  the  three  hundred 
and  seventy-two  fat  capons,  and  went  on  with  his  account. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  said  the  other,  stepping  forward, 
— "do  you  remember  little  Joe  Toddy  high?  " 

The  port  wine  fled  for  a  moment  from  the  fruiterer's  nose 
as  he  muttered,  "  Joe  Toddyhigh !  What  about  Joe  Toddy- 
high?" 

"  1  am  Joe  Toddyhigh,"  cried  the  visitor.  "  Look  at  me, 
look  hard  at  me, — harder,  harder.  You  know  me  now? 
You  know  little  Joe  again?  What  a  happiness  to  us  both, 
to  meet  the  very  night  before  your  grandeur !  Oh !  give 
me  your  hand,  Jack — both  hands — both,  for  the  sake  of 
old  times." 

"  You  pinch  me,  Sir.  You're  a-hurting  of  me,"  said  the 
Lord  Mayor  elect  pettishly:  "don't — suppose  anybody 
should  come — Mr.  Toddyhigh,  Sir." 

"Mr.  Toddyhigh!  "  repeated  the  other  ruefully. 

"Oh!  don't  bother,"  said  the  Lord  Mayor  elect,  scratch- 
ing his  head.  "  Dear  me !  Why,  I  thought  you  was  dead. 
What  a  fellow  you  are ! " 

Indeed,  it  was  a  pretty  state  of  things,  and  worthy  the 
tone  of  vexation  and  disappointment  in  which  the  Lord 
Mayor  spoke.  Joe  Toddyhigh  had  been  a  poor  boy  with 
him  at  Hull,  and  had  oftentimes  divided  his  last  penny  and 
parted  his  last  crust  to  relieve  his  wants;  for  though  Joe 
was  a  destitute  child  in  those  times,  he  was  as  faithful  and 
affectionate  in  his  friendship  as  ever  man  of  might  could 
be.  They  parted  one  day  to  seek  their  fortunes  in  differ- 
ent directions.  Joe  went  to  sea,  and  the  now  wealthy  citi- 
zen begged  his  way  to  London.  They  separated  with  many 
tears,  like  foolish  fellows  as  they  were,  and  agreed  to  re- 
main fast  friends,  and  if  they  lived,  soon  to  communicate 
again. 

When  he  was  an  errand-boy,  and  even  in  the  early  days 
of  his  apprenticeship,  the  citizen  had  many  a  time  trudged 
to  the  Post-office  to  ask  if  there  were  any  letter  from  poor 
little  Joe,  and  had  gone  home  again  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
when  he  found  no  news  of  his  only  friend.  The  world  is  a 
wide  place,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  the  letter  came; 


MASTER   HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  11 

when  it  did,  the  writer  was  forgotten.  It  turned  from 
white  to  yellow  from  lying  in  the  Post-office  with  nobody 
to  claim  it,  and  in  course  of  time  was  torn  up  with  five 
hundred  others,  and  sold  for  waste-paper.  And  now  at 
last,  and  when  it  might  least  have  been  expected,  here  was 
this  Joe  Toddyhigh  turning  up  and  claiming  acquaintance 
with  a  great  public  character,  who  on  the  morrow  would  be 
cracking  jokes  with  the  Prime  Minister  of  England,  and 
who  had  only,  at  any  time  during  the  next  twelve  months, 
to  say  the  word,  and  he  could  shut  up  Temple  Bar,  and 
make  it  no  thoroughfare  for  the  King  himself ! 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  Mr.  Toddyhigh," 
said  the  Lord  Mayor  elect;  "I  really  don't.  It's  very  in- 
convenient. I'd  sooner  have  given  twenty  pound — it's  very 
inconvenient,  really." 

A  thought  had  struggled  into  his  mind,  that  perhaps  his 
old  friend  might  say  something  passionate  which  would 
give  him  an  excuse  for  being  angry  himself.  No  such 
thing.  Joe  looked  at  him  steadily,  but  very  mildly,  and 
did  not  open  his  lips. 

"Of  course  I  shall  pay  you  what  I  owe  you,"  said  the 
Lord  Mayor  elect,  fidgeting  in  his  chair.  "  You  lent  me — 
I  think  it  was  a  shilling  or  some  small  coin — when  we 
parted  company,  and  that  of  course  I  shall  pay,  with  good 
interest.  I  can  pay  my  way  with  any  man,  and  always 
have  done.  If  you  look  into  the  Mansion  House  the  day 
after  to-morrow — some  time  after  dusk — and  ask  for  my 
private  clerk,  you'll  find  he  has  a  draft  for  you.  I  haven't 
got  time  to  say  anything  more  just  now,  unless  " — he  hesi- 
tated, for,  coupled  with  a  strong  desire  to  glitter  for  once 
in  all  his  glory  in  the  eyes  of  his  former  companion,  was  a 
distrust  of  his  appearance  which  might  be  more  shabby 
than  he  could  tell  by  that  feeble  light — "unless  you'd  like 
to  come  to  the  dinner  to-morrow.  I  don't  mind  your  hav- 
ing this  ticket,  if  you  like  to  take  it.  A  great  many  people 
would  give  their  ears  for  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

His  old  friend  took  the  card  without  speaking  a  word, 
and  instantly  departed.  His  sunburnt  face  and  grey  hair 
were  present  to  the  citizen's  mind  for  a  moment;  but  by 
the  time  he  reached  three  hundred  and  eighty-one  fat 
capons,  he  had  quite  forgotten  him. 

Joe  Toddyhigh  had  never  been  in  the  capital  of  Europe 
before,  and  he  wandered  up  and  down  the  streets  that 


12  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

night,  amazed  at  the  number  of  churches  and  other  public 
buildings,  the  splendour  of  the  shops,  the  riches  that  were 
heaped  up  on  every  side,  the  glare  of  light  in  which  they 
were  displayed,  and  the  concourse  of  people  who  hurried  to 
and  fro,  indifferent  apparently  to  all  the  wonders  that  sur- 
rounded them.  But  in  all  the  long  streets  and  broad 
squares,  there  were  none  but  strangers;  it  was  quite  a  re- 
lief to  turn  down  a  byway  and  hear  his  own  footsteps  on 
the  pavement.  He  went  home  to  his  inn,  thought  that 
London  was  a  dreary,  desolate  place,  and  felt  disposed  to 
doubt  the  existence  of  one  true-hearted  man  in  the  whole 
Worshipful  Company  of  Patten-makers.  Finally,  he  went 
to  bed,  and  dreamed  that  he  and  the  Lord  Mayor  elect  were 
boys  again. 

He  went  next  day  to  the  dinner;  and  when,  in  a  burst 
of  light  and  music,  and  in  the  midst  of  splendid  decora- 
tions and  surrounded  by  brilliant  company,  his  former 
friend  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  Hall,  and  was  hailed 
with  shouts  and  cheering,  he  cheered  and  shouted  with  the 
best,  and  for  the  moment  could  have  cried.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  cursed  his  weakness  in  behalf  of  a  man  so  changed 
and  selfish,  and  quite  hated  a  jolly-looking  old  gentleman 
opposite  for  declaring  himself  in  the  pride  of  his  heart  a 
Patten-maker. 

As  the  banquet  proceeded,  he  took  more  and  more  to 
heart  the  rich  citizen's  unkindness;  and  that,  not  from  any 
envy,  but  because  he  felt  that  a  man  of  his  state  and  fort- 
une could  all  the  better  afford  to  recognise  an  old  friend, 
even  if  he  were  poor  and  obscure.  The  more  he  thought  of 
this,  the  more  lonely  and  sad  he  felt.  When  the  company 
dispersed  and  adjourned  to  the  ball-room,  he  paced  the  hall 
and  passages  alone,  ruminating  in  a  very  melancholy  con- 
dition upon  the  disappointment  he  had  experienced. 

It  chanced,  while  he  was  lounging  about  in  this  moody 
state,  that  he  stumbled  upon  a  flight  of  stairs,  dark,  steep, 
and  narrow,  which  he  ascended  without  any  thought  about 
the  matter,  and  so  came  into  a  little  music-gallery,  empty 
and  deserted.  From  this  elevated  post,  which  commanded 
the  whole  hall,  he  amused  himself  in  looking  down  upon 
the  attendants  who  were  clearing  away  the  fragments  of 
the  feast  very  lazily,  and  drinking  out  of  all  the  bottles  and 
glasses  with  most  commendable  perseverance. 

His  attention  gradually  relaxed,  and  he  fell  fast  asleep. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  13 

When  he  awoke,  he  thought  there  must  be  something  the 
matter  with  his  eyes;  but,  rubbing  them  a  little,  he  soon 
found  that  the  moonlight  was  really  streaming  through  the 
east  window,  that  the  lamps  were  all  extinguished,  and  that 
he  was  alone.  He  listened,  but  no  distant  murmur  in  the 
echoing  passages,  not  even  the  shutting  of  a  door  broke  the 
deep  silence;  he  groped  his  way  down  the  stairs,  and  found 
that  the  door  at  the  bottom  was  locked  on  the  other  side. 
He  began  now  to  comprehend  that  he  must  have  slept  a 
long  time,  that  he  had  been  overlooked,  and  was  shut  up 
there  for  the  night. 

His  first  sensation,  perhaps,  was  not  altogether  a  com- 
fortable one,  for  it  was  a  dark,  chilly,  earthy-smelling 
place,  and  something  too  large,  for  a  man  so  situated,  to 
feel  at  home  in.  However,  when  the  momentary  conster- 
nation of  his  surprise  was  over,  he  made  light  of  the  acci- 
dent, and  resolved  to  feel  his  way  up  the  stairs  again,  and 
make  himself  as  comfortable  as  he  could  in  the  gallery  un- 
til morning.  As  he  turned  to  execute  this  purpose,  he 
heard  the  clocks  strike  three. 

Any  such  invasion  of  a  dead  stillness  as  the  striking  of 
distant  clocks,  causes  it  to  appear  the  more  intense  and  in- 
supportable when  the  sound  has  ceased.  He  listened  with 
strained  attention  in  the  hope  that  some  clock,  lagging  be- 
hind its  fellows,  had  yet  to  strike — looking  all  the  time  into 
the  profound  darkness  before  him  until  it  seemed  to  weave 
itself  into  a  black  tissue,  patterned  with  a  hundred  reflec- 
tions of  his  own  eyes.  But  the  bells  had  all  pealed  out 
their  warning  for  that  once,  and  the  gust  of  wind  that 
moaned  through  the  place  seemed  cold  and  heavy  with 
their  iron  breath. 

The  time  and  circumstances  were  favourable  to  reflection. 
He  tried  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  the  current,  unpleasant 
though  it  was,  in  which  they  had  moved  all  day,  and  to 
think  with  what  a  romantic  feeling  he  had  looked  forward 
to  shaking  his  old  friend  by  the  hand  before  he  died,  and 
what  a  wide  and  cruel  difference  there  was  between  the 
meeting  they  had  had,  and  that  which  he  had  so  often  and 
so  long  anticipated.  Still  he  was  disordered  by  waking  to 
such  sudden  loneliness,  and  could  not  prevent  his  mind 
from  running  upon  odd  tales  of  people  of  undoubted  cour- 
age, who,  being  shut  up  by  night  in  vaults  or  churches,  or 
other  dismal  places,  had  scaled  great  heights  to  get  out, 


14  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

7 

and  fled  from  silence  as  they  had  never  done  from  danger. 
This  brought  to  his  mind  the  moonlight  through  the  win- 
dow, and  bethinking  himself  of  it,  he  groped  his  way  back 
up  the  crooked  stairs — but  very  stealthily,  as  though  he 
were  fearful  of  being  overheard. 

He  was  very  much  astonished  when  he  approached  the 
gallery  again,  to  see  a  light  in  the  building :  still  more  so, 
on  advancing  hastily 'and  looking  round,  to  observe  no  visi- 
ble source  from  which  it  could  proceed.  But  how  much 
greater  yet  was  his  astonishment  at  the  spectacle  which 
this  light  revealed ! 

The  statues  of  the  two  giants,  Gog  and  Magog,  each 
above  fourteen  feet  in  height,  those  which  succeeded  to  still 
older  and  more  barbarous  figures  after  the  Great  Fire  of 
London,  and  which  stand  in  the  Guildhall  to  this  day,  were 
endowed  with  life  and  motion.  These  guardian  genii  of 
the  City  had  quitted  their  pedestals,  and  reclined  in  easy 
attitudes  in  the  great  stained-glass  window.  Between  them 
was  an  ancient  cask,  which  seemed  to  be  full  of  wine;  for 
the  younger  Giant,  clapping  his  huge  hand  upon  it,  and 
throwing  up  his  mighty  leg,  burst  into  an  exulting  laugh, 
which  reverberated  through  the  hall  like  thunder. 

Joe  Toddyhigh  instinctively  stooped  down,  and,  more 
dead  than  alive,  felt  his  hair  stand  on  end,  his  knees  knock 
together,  and  a  cold  damp  break  out  upon  his  forehead. 
But  even  at  that  minute  curiosity  prevailed  over  every  other 
feeling,  and  somewhat  reassured  by  the  good-humour  of  the 
Giants  and  their  apparent  unconsciousness  of  his  presence, 
he  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the  gallery,  in  as  small  a  space 
as  he  could,  and,  peeping  between  the  rails,  observed  them 
closely. 

It  was  then  that  the  elder  Giant,  who  had  a  flowing  grey 
beard,  raised  his  thoughtful  eyes  to  his  companion's  face, 
and  in  a  grave  and  solemn  voice  addressed  him  thus : 

FIRST   NIGHT   OF    THE   GIANT    CHRONICLES. 

Turning  towards  his  companion,  the  elder  Giant  uttered 
these  words  in  a  grave,  majestic  tone : — 

"  Magog,  does  boisterous  mirth  beseem  the  Giant  Warder 
of  this  ancient  city?  Is  this  becoming  demeanour  for  a 
watchful  spirit  over  whose  bodiless  head  so  many  years 
have  rolled,  so  many  changes  swept  like  empty  air — in 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  15 

whose  impalpable  nostrils  the  scent  of  blood  and  crime, 
pestilence,  cruelty,  and  horror,  has  beeii  familiar  as  breath 
to  mortals — in  whose  sight  Time  has  gathered  in  the  har- 
vest of  centuries,  and  garnered  so  many  crops  of  human 
pride,  affections,  hopes,  and  sorrows?  Bethink  you  of  our 
compact.  The  night  wanes;  feasting,  revelry,  and  music 
have  encroached  upon  our  usual  hours  of  solitude,  and 
morning  will  be  here  apace.  Ere  we  are  stricken  mute 
again,  bethink  you  of  our  compact." 

Pronouncing  these  latter  words  with  more  of  impatience 
than  quite  accorded  with  his  apparent  age  and  gravity,  the 
Giant  raised  a  long  pole  (which  he  still  bears  in  his  hand) 
and  tapped  his  brother  Giant  rather  smartly  on  the  head; 
indeed  the  blow  was  so  smartly  administered,  that  the  lat- 
ter quickly  withdrew  his  lips  from  the  cask  to  which  they 
had  been  applied,  and  catching  up  his  shield  and  halberd 
assumed  an  attitude  of  defence.  His  irritation  was  but 
momentary,  for  he  laid  these  weapons  aside  as  hastily  as 
he  had  assumed  them,  and  said  as  he  did  so: — 

"  You  know,  Gog,  old  friend,  that  when  we  animate 
these  shapes  which  the  Londoners  of  old  assigned  (and  not 
unworthily)  to  the  guardian  genii  of  their  city,  we  are  sus- 
ceptible of  some  of  the  sensations  which  belong  to  human 
kind.  Thus  when  I  taste  wine,  I  feel  blows;  when  I  relish 
the  one,  I  disrelish  the  other.  Therefore,  Gog,  the  more 
especially  as  your  arm  is  none  of  the  lightest,  keep  your 
good  staff  by  your  side,  else  we  may  chance  to  differ.  Peace 
be  between  us ! " 

"  Amen ! "  said  the  other,  leaning  his  staff  in  the  win- 
dow-corner. "  Why  did  you  laugh  just  now?  " 

"To  think,"  replied  the  Giant  Magog,  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  cask,  "  of  him  who  owned  this  wine,  and  kept  it 
in  a  cellar  hoarded  from  the  light  of  day,  for  thirty  years 
— '  till  it  should  be  fit  to  drink,'  quoth  he.  He  was  two- 
score  and  ten  years  old  when  he  buried  it  beneath  his 
house,  and  yet  never  thought  that  he  might  be  scarcely  '  fit 
to  drink '  when  the  wine  became  so.  I  wonder  it  never  oc- 
curred to  him  to  make  himself  unfit  to  be  eaten*  There  is 
very  little  of  him  left  by  this  time." 

"The  night  is  waning,"  said  Gog  mournfully. 

"I  know  it,"  replied  his  companion,  "and  I  see  you  are 
impatient.  But  look.  Through  the  eastern  window — 
placed  opposite  to  us,  that  the  first  beams  of  the  rising  sun 


16  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

may  every  morning  gild  our  giant  faces — the  moon-rays 
fall  upon  the  pavement  in  a  stream  of  light  that  to  my 
fancy  sinks  through  the  cold  stone  and  gushes  into  the  old 
crypt  below.  The  night  is  scarcely  past  its  noon,  and  our 
great  charge  is  sleeping  heavily. " 

They  ceased  to  speak,  and  looked  upward  at  the  moon. 
The  sight  of  their  large,  black,  rolling  eyes  filled  Joe 
Toddyhigh  with  such  horror  that  he  could  scarcely  draw 
his  breath.  Still  they  took  no  note  of  him,  and  appeared 
to  believe  themselves  quite  alone. 

"Our  compact,"  said  Magog  after  a  pause,  "is,  if  I  un- 
derstand it,  that,  instead  of  watching  here  in  silence 
through  the  dreary  nights,  we  entertain  each  other  with 
stories  of  our  past  experience;  with  tales  of  the  past,  the 
present,  and  the  future;  with  legends  of  London  and  her 
sturdy  citizens  from  the  old  simple  times.  That  every 
night  at  midnight,  when  St.  Paul's  bell  tolls  out  one,  and 
we  may  move  and  speak,  we  thus  discourse,  nor  leave  such 
themes  till  the  first  grey  gleam  of  day  shall  strike  us  dumb. 
Is  that  our  bargain,  brother?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Giant  Gog,  "  that  is  the  league  between 
us  who  guard  this  city,  by  day  in  spirit,  and  by  night  in 
body  also;  and  never  on  ancient  holidays  have  its  conduits 
run  wine  more  merrily  than  we  will  pour  forth  our  legen- 
dary lore.  We  are  old  chroniclers  from  this  time  hence. 
The  crumbled  walls  encircle  us  once  more,  the  postern-gates 
are  closed,  the  drawbridge  is  up,  and  pent  in  its  narrow 
den  beneath,  the  water  foams  and  struggles  with  the  sunken 
starlings.  Jerkins  and  quarter-staves  are  in  the  streets 
again,  the  nightly  watch  is  set,  the  rebel,  sad  and  lonely 
in  his  Tower  dungeon,  tries  to  sleep  and  weeps  for  home 
and  children.  Aloft  upon  the  gates  and  walls  are  noble 
heads  glaring  fiercely  down  upon  the  dreaming  city,  and 
vexing  the  hungry  dogs  that  scent  them  in  the  air  and  tear 
the  ground  beneath  with  dismal  bowlings.  The  axe,  the 
block,  the  rack,  in  their  dark  chambers  give  signs  of  recent 
use.  The  Thames,  floating  past  long  lines  of  cheerful  win- 
dows whence  come  a  burst  of  music  and  a  stream  of  light, 
bears  sullenly  to  the  Palace  wall  the  last  red  stain  brought 
on  the  tide  from  Traitor's  Gate.  But  your  pardon,  brother. 
The  night  wears,  and  I  am  talking  idly."  - 

The  other  Giant  appeared  to  be  entirely  of  this  opinion, 
for  during  the  foregoing  rhapsody  of  his  fellow-sentinel  he 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  17 

had  been  scratching  his  head  with  an  air  of  comical  uneasi- 
ness, or  rather  with  an  air  that  would  have  been  very  com- 
ical if  he  had  been  a  dwarf  or  an  ordinary-sized  man.  He 
winked  too,  and  though  it  could  not  be  doubted  for  a  mo- 
ment that  he  winked  to  himself,  still  he  certainly  cocked 
his  enormous  eye  towards  the  gallery  where  the  listener  was 
concealed.  Nor  was  this  all,  for  he  gaped;  and  when  he 
gaped,  Joe  was  horribly  reminded  of  the  popular  prejudice 
on  the  subject  of  giants,  and  of  their  fabled  power  of  smell- 
ing out  Englishmen,  however  closely  concealed. 

His  alarm  was  such  that  he  nearly  swooned,  and  it  was 
some  little  time  before  his  power  of  sight  or  hearing  was 
restored.  When  he  recovered  he  found  that  the  elder  Giant 
was  pressing  the  younger  to  commence  the  Chronicles,  and 
that  the  latter  was  endeavouring  to  excuse  himself,  on  the 
ground  that  the  night  was  far  spent,  and  it  would  be  bet- 
ter to  wait  until  the  next.  Well  assured  by  this  that  he 
was  certainly  about  to  begin  directly,  the  listener  collected 
his  faculties  by  a  great  effort,  and  distinctly  heard  Magog 
express  himself  to  the  following  effect : — 

In  the  sixteenth  century  and  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth of  glorious  memory  (albeit  her  golden  days  are  sadly 
rusted  with  blood),  there  lived  in  the  city  of  London  a  bold 
young  'prentice  who  loved  his  master's  daughter.  There 
were  no  doubt  within  the  walls  a  great  many  young  'pren- 
tices in  this  condition,  but  I  speak  of  only  one,  and  his 
name  was  Hugh  Graham. 

This  Hugh  was  apprenticed  to  an  honest  Bowyer  who 
dwelt  in  the  ward  of  Cheype,  and  was  rumoured  to  possess 
great  wealth.  Humour  was  quite  as  infallible  in  those  days 
as  at  the  present  time,  but  it  happened  then  as  now  to  be 
sometimes  right  by  accident.  It  stumbled  upon  the  truth 
when  it  gave  the  old  Bowyer  a  mint  of  money.  His  trade 
had  been  a  profitable 'one  in  the  time  of  King  Henry  the 
Eighth,  who  encouraged  English  archery  to  the  utmost, 
and  he  had  been  prudent  and  discreet.  Thus  it  came  to 
pass  that  Mistress  Alice,  his  only  daughter,  was  the  richest 
heiress  in  all  his  "wealthy  ward.  Young  Hugh  had  often 
maintained  with  staff  and  cudgel  that  she  was  the  hand- 
somest. To  do  him  justice,  I  believe  she  was. 

If  he  could  have  gained  the  heart  of  pretty  Mistress 
Alice  by  knocking  this  conviction  into  stubborn  people's 
2 


18  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

heads,  Hugh  would  have  had  no  cause  to  fear.  But  though 
the  Bowyer's  daughter  smiled  in  secret  to  hear  of  his 
doughty  deeds  for  her  sake,  and  though  her  little  waiting- 
woman  reported  all  her  smiles  (and  many  more)  to  Hugh, 
and  though  lie  was  at  a  vast  expense  in  kisses  and  small 
coin  to  recompense  her  fidelity,  he  made  no  progress  in  his 
love.  He  durst  not  whisper  it  to  Mistress  Alice  save  on 
sure  encouragement,  and  that  she  never  gave  him.  A 
glance  of  her  dark  eye  as  she  sat  at  the  door  on  a  summer's 
evening  after  prayer-time,  while  he  and  the  neighbouring 
'prentices  exercised  themselves  in  the  street  with  blunted 
sword  and  buckler,  would  fire  Hugh's  blood  so  that  none 
could  stand  before  him ;  but  then  she  glanced  at  others  quite 
as  kindly  as  on  him,  and  where  was  the  use  of  cracking 
crowns  if  Mistress  Alice  smiled  upon  the  cracked  as  well 
as  on  the  cracker? 

Still  Hugh  went  on,  and  loved  her  more  and  more.  He 
thought  of  her  all  day,  and  dreamed  of  her  all  night  long. 
He  treasured  \\p  her  every  word  and  gesture,  and  had  a 
palpitation  of  the  heart  whenever  he  heard  her  footstep  on 
the  stairs  or  her  voice  in  an  adjoining  room.  To  him,  the 
old  Bowyer's  house  was  haunted  by  an  angel;  there  was 
enchantment  in  the  air  and  space  in  which  she  moved.  It 
would  have  been  no  miracle  to  Hugh  if  flowers  had  sprung 
from  the  rush-strewn  floors  beneath  the  tread  of  lovely 
Mistress  Alice. 

Never  did  'prentice  long  to  distinguish  himself  in  the 
eyes  of  his  lady-love  so  ardently  as  Hugh.  Sometimes  he 
pictured  to  himself  the  house  taking  fire  by  night,  and  he, 
when  all  drew  back  in  fear,  rushing  through  flame  and 
smoke,  and  bearing  her  from  the  ruins  in  his  arms.  At 
other  times  he  thought  of  a  rising  of  fierce  rebels,  an  attack 
upon  the  city,  a  strong  assault  upon  the  Bowyer's  house  in 
particular,  and  he  falling  on  the  threshold  pierced  with 
numberless  wounds  in  defence  of  Mistress  Alice.  If  he 
could  only  enact  some  prodigy  of  valour,  do  some  wonder- 
ful deed,  and  let  her  know  that  she  had  inspired  it,  he 
thought  he  could  die  contented. 

Sometimes  the  Bowyer  and  his  daughter  would  go  out  to 
supper  with  •».  worthy  citizen  at  the  fashionable  hour  of  six 
o'clock,  ana  on  such  occasions  Hugh,  wearing  his  blue 
'prentice-cloak  as  gallantly  as  'prentice  might,  would  at- 
tend with  a  lantern  and  his  trusty  club  to  escort  them 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  19 

home.  These  were  the  brightest  moments  of  his  life.  To 
hold  the  light  while  Mistress  Alice  picked  her  steps,  to 
touch  her  hand  as  he  helped  her  over  broken  ways,  to  have 
her  leaning  on  his  arm — it  sometimes  even  came  to  that — 
this  was  happiness  indeed ! 

When  the  nights  were  fair,  Hugh  followed  in  the  rear, 
his  eyes  riveted  on  the  graceful  figure  of  the  Bowyer's 
daughter  as  she  and  the  old  man  moved  on  before  him.  So 
they  threaded  the  narrow  winding  streets  of  the  city,  now 
passing  beneath  the  overhanging  gables  of  old  wooden 
houses  whence  creaking  signs  projected  into  the  street, 
and  now  emerging  from  some  dark  and  frowning  gateway 
into  the  clear  moonlight.  At  such  times,  or  when  the 
shouts  of  straggling  brawlers  met  her  ear,  the  Bowyer's 
daughter  would  look  timidly  back  at  Hugh,  beseeching  him 
to  draw  nearer;  and  then  how  he  grasped  his  club  and 
longed  to  do  battle  with  a  dozen  rufflers,  for  the  love  of 
Mistress  Alice ! 

The  old  Bowyer  was  in  the  habit  of  lending  money  on 
interest  to  the  gallants  of  the  Court,  and  thus  it  happened 
that  many  a  richly-dressed  gentleman  dismounted  at  his 
door.  More  waving  plumes  and  gallant  steeds,  indeed,  were 
seen  at  the  Bowyer's  house,  and  more  embroidered  silks 
and  velvets  sparkled  in  his  dark  shop  and  darker  private 
oloset  than  at  any  merchant's  in  the  city.  In  those  times 
no  less  than  in  the  present  it  would  seem  that  the  richest- 
looking  cavaliers  often  wanted  money  the  most. 

Of  these  glittering  clients  there  was  one  who  always 
came  alone.  He  was  always  nobly  mounted,  and  having 
no  attendant  gave  his  horse  in  charge  to  Hugh  while  he  and 
the  Bowyer  were  closeted  within.  Once  as  he  sprang  into 
the  saddle  Mistress  Alice  was  seated  at  an  upper  window, 
and  before  she  could  withdraw  he  had  doffed  his  jewelled 
cap  and  kissed  his  hand.  Hugh  watched  him  caracoling 
down  the  street,  and  burned  with  indignation.  But  how 
much  deeper  was  the  glow  that  reddened  in  his  cheeks 
when  raising  his  eyes  to  the  casement  he  saw  that  Alice 
watched  the  stranger  too! 

He  came  again  and  often,  each  time  arrayed  more  gaily 
than  before,  and  still  the  little  casement  showed  him  Mis- 
tress Alice.  At  length  one  heavy  day,  she  fled  from  home. 
It  had  cost  her  a  hard  struggle,  for  all  her  old  father's  gifts 
were  strewn  about  her  chamber  as  if  she  had  parted  from 


20  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

them  one  by  one,  and  knew  that  the  time  must  come  when 
these  tokens  of  his  love  would  wring  her  heart — yet  she 
was  gone. 

She  left  a  letter  commending  her  poor  father  to  the  care 
of  Hugh,  and  wishing  he  might  be  happier  than  he  could 
ever  have  been  with  her,  for  he  deserved  the  love  of  a  bet- 
ter and  a  purer  heart  than  she  had  to  bestow.  The  old 
man's  forgiveness  (she  said)  she  had  no  power  to  ask,  but 
she  prayed  God  to  bless  him — and  so  ended  with  a  blot 
upon  the  paper  where  her  tears  had  fallen. 

At  first  the  old  man's  wrath  was  kindled,  and  he  carried 
his  wrong  to  the  Queen's  throne  itself;  but  there  was  no 
redress  he  learnt  at  Court,  for  his  daughter  had  been  con- 
veyed abroad.  This  afterwards  appeared  to  be  the  truth, 
as  there  came  from  France,  after  an  interval  of  several 
years,  a  letter  in  her  hand.  It  was  written  in  trembling 
characters,  and  almost  illegible.  Little  could  be  made  out 
save  that  she  often  thought  of  home  and  her  old  dear  pleas- 
ant room — and  that  she  had  dreamt  her  father  was  dead 
and  had  not  blessed  her — and  that  her  heart  was  breaking. 

The  poor  old  Bowyer  lingered  on,  never  suffering  Hugh 
to  quit  his  sight,  for  he  knew  now  that  he  had  loved  his 
daughter,  and  that  was  the  only  link  that  bound  him  to 
earth.  It  broke  at  length  and  he  died,  bequeathing  his 
old  'prentice  his  trade  and  all  his  wealth,  and  solemnly 
charging  him  with  his  last  breath  to  revenge  his  child  if 
ever  he  who  had  worked  her  misery  crossed  his  path  in  life 
again. 

From  the  time  of  Alice's  flight,  the  tilting-ground,  the 
fields,  the  fencing-school,  the  summer-evening  sports,  knew 
Hugh  no  more.  His  spirit  was  dead  within  him.  He  rose 
to  great  eminence  and  repute  among  the  citizens,  but  was 
seldom  seen  to  smile,  and  never  mingled  in  their  revelries 
or  rejoicings.  Brave,  humane,  and  generous,  he  was  be- 
loved by  all.  He  was  pitied  too  by  those  who  knew  his 
story,  and  these  were  so  many  that  when  he  walked  along 
the  streets  alone  at  dusk,  even  the  rude  common  people 
doffed  their  caps  and  mingled  a  rough  air  of  sympathy  with 
their  respect. 

One  night  in  May — it  was  her  birthnight,  and  twenty 
years  since  she  had  left  her  home — Hugh  Graham  sat  in 
the  room  she  had  hallowed  in  his  boyish  days.  He  was 
now  a  grey-haired  man,  though  still  in  the  prime  of  life. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  21 

Old  thoughts  had  borne  him  company  for  many  hours  and 
the  chamber  had  gradually  grown  quite  dark,  when  he  was 
roused  by  a  low  knocking  at  the  outer  door. 

He  hastened  down,  and  opening  it,  saw  by  the  light  of  a 
lamp  which  he  had  seized  upon  the  way,  a  female  figure 
crouching  in  the  portal.  It  hurried  swiftly  past  him  and 
glided  up  the  stairs.  He  looked  out  for  pursuers.  There 
were  none  in  sight.  No,  not  one. 

He  was  inclined  to  think  it  a  vision  of  his  own  brain, 
when  suddenly  a  vague  suspicion  of  the  truth  flashed  upon 
his  mind.  He  barred  the  door,  and  hastened  wildly  back. 
Yes,  there  she  was — there,  in  the  chamber  he  had  quitted, 
— there  in  her  old  innocent  happy  home,  so  changed  that 
none  but  he  could  trace  one  gleam  of  what  she  had  been — 
there  upon  her  knees — with  her  hands  clasped  in  agony  and 
shame  before  her  burning  face. 

"  My  God,  my  God ! "  she  cried,  "  now  strike  me  dead ! 
Though  I  have  brought  death  and  shame  and  sorrow  on 
this  roof,  oh,  let  me  die  at  home  in  mercy ! " 

There  was  no  tear  upon  her  face  then,  but  she  trembled 
and  glanced  round  the  chamber.  Everything  was  in  its  old 
place.  Her  bed  looked  as  if  she  had  risen  from  it  but  that 
morning.  The  sight  of  these  familiar  objects,  marking  the 
dear  remembrance  in  which  she  had  been  held,  and  the 
blight  she  had  brought  upon  herself,  was  more  than  the 
woman's  better  nature  that  had  carried  her  there  could 
bear.  She  wept  and  fell  upon  the  ground. 

A  rumour  was  spread  about,  in  a  few  days'  time,  that 
the  Bowyer's  cruel  daughter  had  come  home,  and  that 
Master  Graham  had  given* her  lodging  in  his  house.  It 
was  rumoured  too  that  he  had  resigned  her  fortune,  in  or- 
der that  she  might  bestow  it  in  acts  of  charity,  and  that  he 
had  vowed  to  guard  her  in  her  solitude,  but  that  they  were 
never  to  see  each  other  more.  These  rumours  greatly  in- 
censed all  virtuous  wives  and  daughters  in  the  ward,  espe- 
cially when  they  appeared  to  receive  some  corroboration 
from  the  circumstance  of  Master  Graham  taking  up'  his 
abode  in  another  tenement  hard  by.  The  estimation  in 
which  he  was  held,  however,  forbade  any  questioning  on 
the  subject;  and  as  the  Bowyer's  house  was  close  shut  up, 
and  nobody  came  forth  when  public  shows  and  festivities 
were  in  progress,  or  to  flaunt  in  the  public  walks,  or  to  buy 
new  fashions  at  the  mercers'  booths,  all  the  well-conducted 


22  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

females  agreed  among  themselves  that  there  could  be  no 
woman  there. 

These  reports  had  scarcely  died  away  when  the  wonder 
of  every  good  citizen,  male  and  female,  was  utterly  absorbed 
and  swallowed  up  by  a  Eoyal  Proclamation,  in  which  her 
Majesty,  strongly  censuring  the  practice  of  wearing  long 
Spanish  rapiers  of  preposterous  length  (as  being  a  bullying 
and  swaggering  custom,  tending  to  bloodshed  and  public 
disorder),  commanded  that  on  a  particular  day  therein 
named,  certain  grave  citizens  should  repair  to  the  city 
gates,  and  there,  in  public,  break  all  rapiers  worn  or  car- 
ried by  persons  claiming  admission,  that  exceeded,  though 
it  were  only  by  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  three  standard  feet 
in  length. 

Royal  Proclamations  usually  take  their  course,  let  the 
public  wonder  never  so  much.  On  the  appointed  day  two 
citizens  of  high  repute  took  up  their  stations  at  each  of  the 
gates,  attended  by  a  party  of  the  city  guard,  the  main  body 
to  enforce  the  Queen's  will,  and  take  custody  of  all  such 
rebels  (if  any)  as  might  have  the  temerity  to  dispute  it : 
and  a  few  to  bear  the  standard  measures  and  instruments 
for  reducing  all  unlawful  sword-blades  to  the  prescribed 
dimensions.  In  pursuance  of  these  arrangements,  Master 
Graham  and  another  were  posted  at  Lud  Gate,  on  the  hill 
before  St.  Paul's. 

A  pretty  numerous  company  were  gathered  together  at 
this  spot;  for,  besides  the  officers  in  attendance  to  enforce 
the  proclamation,  there  was  a  motley  crowd  of  lookers-on 
of  various  degrees,  who  raised  from  time  to  time  such 
shouts  and  cries  as  the  circumstances  called  forth.  A 
spruce  young  courtier  was  the  first  who  approached :  he  un- 
sheathed a  weapon  of  burnished  steel  that  shone  and  glis- 
tened in  the  sun,  and  handed  it  with  the  newest  air  to  the 
officer,  who,  finding  it  exactly  three  feet  long,  returned  it 
with  a  bow.  Thereupon  the  gallant  raised  his  hat  and  cry- 
ing, "  God  save  the  Queen ! "  passed  on  amidst  the  plaudits 
of  the  mob.  Then  came  another — a  better  courtier  still — 
who  wore  a  blade  but  two  feet  long,  whereat  the  people 
laughed,  much  to  the  disparagement  of  his  honour's  dig- 
nity. Then  came  a  third,  a  sturdy  old  officer  of  the  army, 
girded  with  a  rapier  at  least  a  foot  and  a  half  beyond  her 
Majesty's  pleasure;  at  him  they  raised  a  great  shout,  and 
most  of  the  spectators  (but  especially  those  who  were  ar- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  23 

mourers  or  cutlers)  laughed  very  heartily  at  the  breakage 
which  would  ensue.  But  they  were  disappointed;  for  the 
old  campaigner,  coolly  unbuckling  his  sword  and  bidding 
his  servant  carry  it  home  again,  passed  through  unarmed, 
to  the  great  indignation  of  all  the  beholders.  They  relieved 
themselves  in  some  degree  by  hooting  a  tall  blustering  fel- 
low with  a  prodigious  weapon,  who  stopped  short  on  coming 
in  sight  of  the  preparations,  and  after  a  little  consideration 
turned  back  again :  but  all  this  time  no  rapier  had  been 
broken,  although  it  was  high  noon,  and  all  cavaliers  of  any 
quality  or  appearance  were  taking  their  way  towards  Saint 
Paul's  churchyard. 

During  these  proceedings  Master  Graham  had  stood 
apart,  strictly  confining  himself  to  the  duty  imposed  upon 
him,  and  taking  little  heed  of  anything  beyond.  He 
stepped  forward  now  as  a  richly-dressed  gentleman  on  foot, 
followed  by  a  single  attendant,  was  seen  advancing  up  the 
hill. 

As  this  person  drew  nearer,  the  crowd  stopped  their 
clamour  and  bent  forward  with  eager  looks.  Master 
Graham  standing  alone  in  the  gateway,  and  the  stranger 
coining  slowly  towards  him,  they  seemed,  as  it  were,  set  face 
to  face.  The  nobleman  (for  he  looked  one)  had  a  haughty 
and  disdainful  air,  which  bespoke  the  slight  estimation  in 
which  he  held  the  citizen.  The  citizen  on  the  other  hand 
preserved  the  resolute  bearing  of  one  who  was  not  to  be 
frowned  down  or  daunted,  and  who  cared  very  little  for 
any  nobility  but  that  of  worth  and  manhood.  It  was  per- 
haps some  consciousness  on  the  part  of  each,  of  these  feel- 
ings in  the  other,  that  infused  a  more  stern  expression  into 
their  regards  as  they  came  closer  together. 

"  Your  rapier,  worthy  Sir !  " 

At  the  instant  that  he  pronounced  these  words  Graham 
started,  and  falling  back  some  paces,  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  dagger  in  his  belt. 

"  You  are  the  man  whose  horse  I  used  to  hold  before,  the 
Bowyer's  door?  You  are  that  man?  Speak ! " 

"  Out,  you  'prentice  hound !  "  said  the  other. 

"  You  are  he !  I  know  you  well  now !  "  cried  Graham. 
"  Let  no  man  step  between  us  two,  or  I  shall  be  his  mur- 
derer." With  that  he  drew  his  dagger  and  rushed  in  upon 
him. 

The  stranger  had  drawn  his  weapon  from  the  scabbard 


24  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

ready  for  the  scrutiny,  before  a  word  was  spoken.  He 
made  a  thrust  at  his  assailant,  but  the  dagger  which 
Graham  clutched  in  his  left  hand  being  the  dirk  in  use  at 
that  time  for  parrying  such  blows  promptly  turned  the 
point  aside.  They  closed.  The  dagger  fell  rattling  upon 
the  ground,  and  Graham,  wresting  his  adversary's  sword 
from  his  grasp,  plunged  it  through  his  heart.  As  he  drew 
it  out  it  snapped  in  two,  leaving  a  fragment  in  the  dead 
man's  body. 

All  this  passed  so  swiftly  that  the  bystanders  looked  on 
without  an  effort  to  interfere;  but  the  man  was  no  sooner 
down  than  an  uproar  broke  forth  which  rent  the  air.  The 
attendant  rushing  through  the  gate  proclaimed  that  his 
master,  a  nobleman,  had  been  set  upon  and  slain  by  a  citi- 
zen; the  word  quickly  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth;  Saint 
Paul's  Cathedral,  and  every  book-shop,  ordinary,  and 
smoking-house  in  the  churchyard  poured  out  its  stream  of 
cavaliers  and  their  followers,  who,  mingling  together  in  a 
dense  tumultuous  body,  struggled,  sword  in  hand,  towards 
the  spot. 

With  equal  impetuosity,  and  stimulating  each  other  by 
loud  cries  and  shouts,  the  citizens  and  common  people  took 
up  the  quarrel  on  their  side,  and  encircling  Master  Graham 
a  hundred  deep,  forced  him  from  the  gate.  In  vain  he 
waved  the  broken  sword  above  his  head,  crying  that  he 
would  die  on  London's  threshold  for  their  sacred  homes. 
They  bore  him  on,  and  ever  keeping  him  in  the  midst,  so 
that  no  man  could  attack  him,  fought  their  way  into  the  city. 

The  clash  of  swords  and  roar  of  voices,  the  dust  and  heat 
and  pressure,  the  trampling  under  foot  of  men,  the  dis- 
tracted looks  and  shrieks  of  women  at  the  windows  above 
as  they  recognised  their  relatives  or  lovers  in  the  crowd, 
the  rapid  tolling  of  alarm-bells,  the  furious  rage  and  pas- 
sion of  the  scene,  were  fearful.  Those  who,  being  on  the 
outskirts  of  each  crowd,  could  use  their  weapons  with  effect 
fought  desperately,  while  those  behind,  maddened  with 
baffled  rage,  struck  at  each  other  over  the  heads  of  those 
before  them,  and  crushed  their  own  fellows.  Wherever  the 
broken  sword  was  seen  above  the  people's  heads,  towards 
that  spot  the  cavaliers  made  a  new  rush.  Every  one  of 
these  charges  was  marked  by  sudden  gaps  in  the  throng 
where  men  were  trodden  down,  but  as  fast  as  they  were 
made,  the  tide  swept  over  them  and  still  the  multitude 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  25 

pressed  on  again,  a  confused  mass  of  swords,  clubs,  staves, 
broken  plumes,  fragments  of  rich  cloaks  and  doublets,  and 
angry  bleeding  faces,  all  mixed  up  together  in  inextricable 
disorder. 

The  design  of  the  people  was  to  force  Master  Graham  to 
take  refuge  in  his  dwelling,  and  to  defend  it  until  the  au- 
thorities could  interfere,  or  they  could  gain  time  for  parley. 
But  either  from  ignorance  or  in  the  confusion  of  the  mo- 
ment they  stopped  at  his  old  house,  which  was  closely 
shut.  Some  time  was  lost  in  beating  the  doors  open  and 
passing  him  to  the  front.  About  a  score  of  the  boldest  of 
the  other  party  threw  themselves  into  the  torrent  while 
this  was  being  done,  and  reaching  the  door  at  the  same  mo- 
ment with  himself  cut  him  off  from  his  defenders. 

"  I  never  will  turn  in  such  a  righteous  cause,  so  help  me 
Heaven ! "  cried  Graham  in  a  voice  that  at  last  made  itself 
heard,  and  confronting  them  as  he  spoke.  "  Least  of  all 
will  I  turn  upon  this  threshold  which  owes  its  desolation 
to  such  men  as  ye.  I  give  no  quarter,  and  I  will  have 
none !  Strike ! " 

For  a  moment  they  stood  at  bay.  At  that  moment  a 
shot  from  an  unseen  hand,  apparently  fired  by  some  person 
who  had  gained  access  to  one  of  the  opposite  houses,  struck 
Graham  in  the  brain  and  he  fell  dead.  A  low  wail  was 
heard  in  the  air — many  people  in  the  concourse  cried  that 
they  had  seen  a  spirit  glide  across  the  little  casement- win- 
dow of  the  Bowyer's  house 

A  dead  silence  succeeded.  After  a  short  time  some  of 
the  flushed  and  heated  throng  laid  down  their  arms  and 
softly  carried  the  body  within  doors.  Others  fell  off  or 
slunk  away  in  knots  of  two  or  three,  others  whispered  to- 
gether in  groups,  and  before  a  numerous  guard  which  then 
rode  up  could  muster  in  the  street,  it  was  nearly  empty. 

Those  who  carried  Master  Graham  to  the  bed  up-stairs 
were  shocked  to  see  a  woman  lying  beneath  the  window 
with  her  hands  clasped  together.  After  trying  to  recover 
her  in  vain,  they  laid  her  near  the  citizen,  who  still  re- 
tained, tightly  grasped  in  his  right  hand,  the  first  and  last 
sword  that  was  broken  that  day  at  Lud  Gate. 

The  Giant  uttered  these  concluding  words  with  sudden 
precipitation,  and  on  the  instant  the  strange  light  which 
had  filled  the  hall  faded  away.  Joe  Toddyhigh  glanced 


26  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

involuntarily  at  the  eastern  window  and  saw  the  first  pale 
gleam  of  morning.  He  turned  his  head  again  towards  the 
other  window  in  which  the  Giants  had  been  seated.  It  was 
empty.  The  cask  of  wine  was  gone,  and  he  could  dimly 
make  out  that  the  two  great  figures  stood  mute  and  motion- 
less upon  their  pedestals. 

After  rubbing  his  eyes  and  wondering  for  full  half  an 
hour,  during  which  time  he  observed  morning  come  creep- 
ing on  apace,  he  yielded  to  the  drowsiness  which  overpow- 
ered him  and  fell  into  a  refreshing  slumber.  When  he 
awoke  it  was  broad  day;  the  building  was  open,  and  work- 
men were  busily  engaged  in  removing  the  vestiges  of  last 
night's  feast. 

Stealing  gently  down  the  little  stairs  and  assuming  the 
air  of  some  early  lounger  who  had  dropped  in  from  the 
street,  he  walked  up  to  the  foot  of  each  pedestal  in  turn, 
and  attentively  examined  the  figure  it  supported.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  about  the  features  of  either;  he  recol- 
lected the  exact  expression  they  had  worn  at  different  pas- 
sages of  their  conversation,  and  recognized  in  every  line 
and  lineament  the  Giants  of  the  night.  Assured  that  it 
was  no  vision,  but  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  with  his  own 
proper  senses,  he  walked  forth,, determining  at  all  hazards 
to  conceal  himself  in  the  Guildhall  again  that  evening.  He 
further  resolved  to  sleep  all  day,  so  that  he  might  be  very 
wakeful  and  vigilant,  and  above  all  that  he  might  take  no- 
tice of  the  figures  at  the  precise  moment  of  their  becoming 
animated  and  subsiding  into  their  old  state,  which  he 
greatly  reproached  himself  for  not  having  done  already. 

CORRESPONDENCE. 

TO  MASTER  HUMPHREY. 
"SlE, 

"  Before  you  proceed  any  further  in  your  account 
of  your  friends  and  what  you  say  and  do  when  you  meet 
together,  excuse  me  if  I  proffer  my  claim  to  be  elected  to 
one  of  the  vacant  chairs  in  that  old  room  of  yours.  Don't 
reject  me  without  full  consideration;  for  if  you  do  you'll 
be  sorry  for  it  afterwards — you  will,  upon  my  life. 

"I  inclose  my  card,  Sir,  in  this  letter.  I  never  was 
ashamed  of  my  name,  and  I  never  shall  be.  I  am  consid- 
ered a  devilish  gentlemanly  fellow,  and  I  act  up  to  the 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  27 

character.  If  you  want  a  reference,  ask  any  of  the  men  at 
our  club.  Ask  any  fellow  who  goes  there  to  write  his  let- 
ters, what  sort  of  conversation  mine  is.  Ask  him  if  he 
thinks  I  have  the  sort  of  voice  that  will  suit  your  deaf 
friend  and  make  him  hear,  if  he  can  hear  anything  at  all. 
Ask  the  servants  what  they  think  of  me.  There's  not  a 
rascal  among  'em,  Sir,  but  will  tremble  to  hear  my  name. 
That  reminds  me — don't  you  say  too  much  about  that 
housekeeper  of  yours;  it's  a  low  subject,  damned  low. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Sir.  If  you  vote  me  into  one  of 
those  empty  chairs,  you'll  have  among  you  a  man  with  a 
fund  of  gentlemanly  information  that'll  rather  astonish 
you.  I  can  let  you  into  a  few  anecdotes  about  some  fine 
women  of  title,  that  are  quite  high  life,  Sir — the  tiptop 
sort  of  thing.  I  know  the  name  of  every  man  who  has 
been  out  on  an  affair  of  honour  within  the  last  five-and- 
twenty  years ;  I  know  the  private  particulars  of  every  cross 
and  squabble  that  has  taken  place  upon  the  turf,  at  the 
gaming-table,  or  elsewhere,  during  the  whole  of  that  time. 
I  have  been  called  the  gentlemanly  chronicle.  You  may 
consider  yourself  a  lucky  dog;  upon  my  soul,  you  may  con- 
gratulate yourself,  though  I  say  so. 

"  It's  an  uncommon  good  notion  that  of  yours,  not  letting 
anybody  know  where  you  live.  I  have  tried  it,  but  there 
has  always  been  an  anxiety  respecting  me,  which  has  found 
me  out.  Your  deaf  friend  is  a  cunning  fellow  to  keep  his 
name  so  close.  I  have  tried  that  too,  but  have  always 
failed.  I  shall  be  proud  to  make  his  acquaintance — tell 
him  so,  with  my  compliments. 

"  You  must  have  been  a  queer  fellow  when  you  were  a 
child,  confounded  queer.  It's  odd,  all  that  about  the  pict- 
ure in  your  first  paper — prosy,  but  told  in  a  devilish  gen- 
tlemanly sort  of  way.  In  places  like  that  I  could  come  in 
with  great  effect  with  a  touch  of  life — don't  you  feel  that? 

"  I  am  anxiously  waiting  for  your  next  paper  to  know 
whether  your  friends  live  upon  the  premises,  and  at  your 
expense,  which  I  take  it  for  granted  is  the  case.  If  I  am 
right  in  this  impression,  I  know  a  charming  fellow  (an  ex- 
cellent companion  and  most  delightful  company)  who  will 
be  proud  to  join  you.  Some  years  ago  he  seconded  a  great 
many  prize-fighters,  and  once  fought  an  amateur  match 
himself;  since  then  he  has  driven  several  mails,  broken  at 
different  periods  all  the  lamps  on  the  right-hand  side  of  Ox- 


28  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

ford  Street,  and  six  times  carried  away  every  bell-handle 
in  Bloomsbury  Square,  besides  turning  off  the  gas  in  vari- 
ous thoroughfares.  In  point  of  gentlemanliness  he  is  un- 
rivalled, and  I  should  say  that  next  to  myself  he  is  of  all 
men  the  best  suited  to  your  purpose. 
"  Expecting  your  reply, 

"  I  am, 

"&c.  &c." 

Master  Humphrey  informs  this  gentleman  that  his  ap- 
plication, both  as  it  concerns  himself  and  his  friend,  is  re- 
jected. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM   HIS   CLOCK-SIDE 
IN   THE   CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

MY  old  companion  tells  me  it  is  midnight.  The  fire 
glows  brightly,  crackling  with  a  sharp  and  cheerful  sound 
as  if  it  loved  to  burn.  The  merry  cricket  on  the  hearth 
(my  constant  visitor),  this  ruddy  blaze,  my  clock,  and  I, 
seem  to  share  the  world  among  us,  and  to  be  the  only 
things  awake.  The  wind,  high  and  boisterous  but  now,  has 
died  away  and  hoarsely  mutters  in  its  sleep.  I  love  all 
times  and  seasons  each  in  its  turn,  and  am  apt  perhaps  to 
think  the  present  one  the  best;  but  past  or  coming  I  always 
love  this  peaceful  time  of  night,  when  long-buried  thoughts 
favoured  by  the  gloom  and  silence  steal  from  their  graves 
and  haunt  the  scenes  of  faded  happiness  and  hope. 

The  popular  faith  in  ghosts  has  a  remarkable  affinity 
with  the  whole  current  of  our  thoughts  at  such  an  hour  as 
this,  and  seems  to  be  their  necessary  and  natural  conse- 
quence. For  who  can  wonder  that  man  should  feel  a  vague 
belief  in  tales  of  disembodied  spirits  wandering  through 
those  places  which  they  once  dearly  affected,  when  he  him- 
self, scarcely  less  separated  from  his  old  world  than  they, 
is  for  ever  lingering  upon  past  emotions  and  bygone  times, 
and  hovering,  the  ghost  of  his  former  self,  about  the  places 
and  people  that  warmed  his  heart  of  old?  It  is  thus  that 
at  this  quiet  hour  I  haunt  the  house  where  I  was  born,  the 
rooms  I  used  to  tread,  the  scenes  of  my  infancy,  my  boy- 
hood, and  my  youth;  it  is  thus  that  I  prowl  around  my 
buried  treasure  (though  not  of  gold  or  silver)  and  mourn 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK  2£ 

my  loss;  it  is  thus  that  I  revisit  the  ashes  of  extinguished 
fires,  and  take  my  silent  stand  at  old  bedsides.  If  my 
spirit  should  ever  glide  back  to  this  chamber  when  my  body 
is  mingled  with  the  dust,  it  will  but  follow  the  course  it 
often  took  in  the  old  man's  lifetime  and  add  but  one  more 
change  to  the  subjects  of  its  contemplation. 

In  all  my  idle  speculations  I  am  greatly  assisted  by  vari- 
ous legends  connected  with  my  venerable  house,  which  are 
current  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  are  so  numerous  that 
there  is  scarce  a  cupboard  or  corner  that  has  not  some  dis- 
mal story  of  its  own.  When  I  first  entertained  thoughts 
of  becoming  its  tenant  I  was  assured  that  it  was  haunted 
from  roof  to  cellar,  and  I  believe  that  the  bad  opinion  in 
which  my  neighbours  once  held  me  had  its  rise  in  my  not 
being  torn  to  pieces  or  at  least  distracted  with  terror  on  the 
night  I  took  possession;  in  either  of  which  cases  I  should 
doubtless  have  arrived  by  a  short  cut  at  the  very  summit  of 
popularity. 

But  traditions  and  rumours  all  taken  into  account,  who 
so  abets  me  in  every  fancy  and  chimes  with  my  every 
thought,  as  my  dear  deaf  friend;  and  how  often  have  I 
cause  to  bless  the  day  that  brought  us  two  together!  Of 
all  days  in  the  year  I  rejoice  to  think  that  it  should  have 
been  Christmas  Day,  with  which  from  childhood  we  asso- 
ciate something  friendly,  hearty,  and  sincere. 

I  had  walked  out  to  cheer  myself  with  the  happiness  of 
others,  and  in  the  little  tokens  of  festivity  and  rejoicing  of 
which  the  streets  and  houses  present  so  many  upon  that 
day  had  lost  some  hours.  Now  I  stopped  to  look  at  a 
merry  party  Imrrying  through  the  snow  on  foot  to  their 
place  of  meeting,  and  now  turned  back  to  see  a  whole  coach- 
ful  of  children  safely  deposited  at  the  welcome  house.  At 
one  time,  I  admired  how  carefully  the  working-man  carried 
the  baby  in  its  gaudy  hat  and  feathers,  and  how  his  wife, 
trudging  patiently  on  behind,  forgot  even  her  care  of  her 
gay  clothes,  in  exchanging  greetings  with  the  child  as  it 
crowed  and  laughed  over  the  father's  shoulder;  at  another, 
I  pleased  myself  with  some  passing  scene  of  gallantry  or 
courtship,  and  was  glad  to  believe  that  for  a  season  half 
the  world  of  poverty  was  gay. 

As  the  day  closed  in,  I  still  rambled  through  the  streets, 
feeling  a  companionship  in  the  bright  fires  that  cast  their 
warm  reflection  on  the  windows  as  I  passed,  and  losing  all 


30  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

sense  of  my  own  loneliness  in  imagining  the  sociality  and 
kind-fellowship  that  everywhere  prevailed.  At  length  I 
happened  to  stop  before  a  Tavern  and  encountering  a  Bill 
of  Fare  in  the  window,  it  all  at  once  brought  it  into  my 
head  to  wonder  what  kind  of  people  dined  alone  in  Taverns 
upon  Christmas  Day. 

Solitary  men  are  accustomed,  I  suppose,  unconsciously  to 
look  upon  solitude  as  their  own  peculiar  property.  I  had 
sat  alone  in  my  room  on  many,  many  anniversaries  of  this 
great  holiday,  and  had  never  regarded  it  but  as  one  of  uni- 
versal assemblage  and  rejoicing.  I  had  excepted,  and  with 
an  aching  heart,  a  crowd  of  prisoners  and  beggars;  but 
these  were  not  the  men  for  whom  the  Tavern  doors  were 
open.  Had  they  any  customers,  or  was  it  a  mere  form? — 
a  form,  no  doubt. 

,  Trying  to  feel  quite  sure  of  this  I  walked  away;  but  be- 
fore I  had  gone  many  paces,  I  stopped  and  looked  back. 
There  was  a  provoking  air  of  business  in  the  lamp  above 
the  door  which  I  could  not  overcome.  I  began  to  be  afraid 
there  might  be  many  customers — young  men  perhaps  strug- 
gling with  the  world,  utter  strangers  in  this  great  place, 
whose  friends  lived  at  a  long  distance  off,  and  whose  means 
were  too  slender  to  enable  them  to  make  the  journey.  The 
supposition  gave  rise  to  so  many  distressing  little  pictures 
that  in  preference  to  carrying  them  home  with  me,  I  deter- 
mined to  encounter  the  realities.  So  I  turned  and  walked 
in. 

I  was  at  once  glad  and  sorry  to  find  that  there  was  only 
one  person  in  the  dining-room;  glad  to  know  that  there 
were  not  more,  and  sorry  to  think  that  he  should  be  there 
by  himself.  He  did  not  look  so  old  as  I,  but  like  me  he 
was  advanced  in  life,  and  his  hair  was  nearly  white. 
Though  I  made  more  noise  in  entering  and  seating  myself 
than  was  quite  necessary,  with  the  view  of  attracting  his 
attention  and  saluting  him  in  the  good  old  form  of  that 
time  of  year,  he  did  not  raise  his  head  but  sat  with  it  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  musing  over  his  half-finished  meal. 

I  called  for  something  which  would  give  me  an  excuse 
for  remaining  in  the  room  (I  had  dined  early,  as  my  house- 
keeper was  engaged  at  night  to  partake  of  some  friend's 
good  cheer)  and  sat  where  I  could  observe  without  intrud- 
ing on  him.  After  a  time  he  looked  up.  He  was  aware 
that  somebody  had  entered,  but  could  see  very  little  of  me 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  31 

as  I  sat  in  the  shade  and  he  in  the  light.  He  was  sad 
and  thoughtful,  and  I  forbore  to  trouble  him  by  speak- 
ing. 

Let  me  believe  that  it  was  something  better  than  curiosity 
which  riveted  my  attention  and  impelled  me  strongly 
towards  this  gentleman.  I  never  saw  so  patient  and  kind 
a  face.  He  should  have  been  surrounded  by  friends,  and 
yet  here  he  sat  dejected  and  alone  when  all  men  had  their 
friends  about  them.  As  often  as  he  roused  himself  from 
his  reverie  he  would  fall  into  it  again,  and  it  was  plain  that 
whatever  were  the  subject  of  his  thoughts  they  were  of  a 
melancholy  kind,  and  would  not  be  controlled. 

He  was  not  used  to  solitude.  I  was  sure  of  that;  for  I 
know  by  myself  that  if  he  had  been,  his  manner  would 
have  been  different,  and  he  would  have  taken  some  slight 
interest  in  the  arrival  of  another.  I  could  not  fail  to  mark 
that  he  had  no  appetite — that  he  tried  to  eat  in  vain — that 
time  after  time  the  plate  was  pushed  away,  and  he  relapsed 
into  his  former  posture. 

His  mind  was  wandering  among  old  Christmas  Days,  I 
thought.  Many  of  them  sprang  up  together,  not  with  a 
long  gap  between  each,  but  in  unbroken  succession  like 
days  of  the  week.  It  was  a  great  change  to  find  himself 
for  the  first  time  (I  quite  settled  that  it  was  the  first)  in  an 
empty  silent  room  with  no  soul  to  care  for.  I  could  not 
help  following  him  in  imagination  through  crowds  of  pleas- 
ant faces,  and  then  coming  back  to  that  dull  place  with 
its  bough  of  mistletoe  sickening  in  the  gas,  and  sprigs  of 
holly  parched  up  already  by  a  simoom  of  roast  and  boiled. 
The  very  waiter  had  gone  home;  and  his  representative, 
a  poor  lean  hungry  man,  was  keeping  Christmas  in  his 
jacket. 

I  grew  still  more  interested  in  my  friend.  His  dinner 
done,  a  decanter  of  wine  was  placed  before  him.  It  re- 
mained untouched  for  a  long  time,  but  at  length  with  a 
quivering  hand  he  filled  a  glass  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 
Some  tender  wish  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to  give 
utterance  on  that  day,  or  some  beloved  name  that  he  had 
been  used  to  pledge,  trembled  upon  them  at  the  moment. 
He  put  it  down  very  hastily — took  it  up  once  more — again 
put  it  down — pressed  his  hand  upon  his  face — yes — and 
tears  stole  down  his  cheeks,  I  am  certain. 

Without  pausing   to  consider  whether  I  did   right  or 


32  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

wrong,  I  stepped  across  the  room,  and  sitting  down  beside 
him  laid  my  hand  gently  on  his  arm. 

"My  friend,"  I  said,  "forgive  me  if  I  beseech  you  to 
take  comfort  and  consolation  from  the  lips  of  an  old  man. 
I  will  not  preach  to  you  what  I  have  not  practised,  indeed. 
Whatever  be  your  grief,  be  of  a  good  heart — be  of  a  good 
heart,  pray ! " 

"  I  see  that  you  speak  earnestly,"  he  replied,  "  and  kindly 
I  am  very  sure,  but " 

I  nodded  my  head  to  show  that  I  understood  what  he 
would  say;  for  I  had  already  gathered,  from  a  certain  fixed 
expression  in  his  face  and  from  the  attention  with  which  he 
watched  me  while  I  spoke,  that  his  sense  of  hearing  was 
destroyed.  "There  should  be  a  freemasonry  between  us," 
said  I,  pointing  from  himself  to  me  to  explain  my  meaning 
— "if  not  in  our  grey  hairs,  at  least  in  our  misfortunes. 
You  see  that  I  am  but  a  poor  cripple." 

I  never  felt  so  happy  under  my  affliction  since  the  trying 
moment  of  my  first  becoming  conscious  of  it,  as  when  he 
took  my  hand  in  his  with  a  smile  that  has  lighted  my  path 
in  life  from  that  day,  and  we  sat  down  side  by  side. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  my  friendship  with  the  deaf 
gentleman;  and  when  was  ever  the  slight  and  easy  service 
of  a  kind  word  in  season  repaid  by  such  attachment  and 
devotion  as  he  has  shown  to  me ! 

He  produced  a  little  set  of  tablets  and  a  pencil  to  facili- 
tate our  conversation,  on  that  our  first  acquaintance;  and  I 
well  remember  how  awkward  and  constrained  I  was  in 
writing  down  my  share  of  the  dialogue,  and  how  easily  he 
guessed  my  meaning  before  I  had  written  half  of  what  I 
had  to  say.  He  told  me  in  a  faltering  voice  that  he  had 
not  been  accustomed  to  be  alone  on  that  day — that  it  had 
always  been  a  little  festival  with»him — and  seeing  that  I 
glanced  at  his  dress  in  the  expectation  that  he  wore  mourn- 
ing, he  added  hastily  that  it  was  not  that;  if  it  had  been  he 
thought  he  could  have  borne  it  better.  From  that  time  to 
the  present  we  have  never  touched  upon  this  theme.  Upon 
every  return  of  the  same  day  we  have  been  together;  and 
although  we  make  it  our  annual  custom  to  drink  to  each 
other  hand  in  hand  after  dinner,  and  to  recall  with  affec- 
tionate garrulity  every  circumstance  of  our  first  meeting, 
we  always  avoid  this  one  as  if  by  mutual  consent. 

Meantime  we  have  gone  on  strengthening  in  our  friend- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  33 

ship  and  regard  and  forming  an  attachment  which,  I  trust 
and  believe,  will  only  be  interrupted  by  death,  to  be  re- 
newed in  another  existence.  I  scarcely  know  how  we  com- 
municate as  we  do,  but  he  has  long  since  ceased  to  be  deaf 
to  me.  He  is  frequently  the  companion  of  my  walks,  and 
even  in  crowded  streets  replies  to  my  slightest  look  or  ges- 
ture as  though  he  could  read  my  thoughts.  From  the  vast 
number  of  objects  which  pass  in  rapid  succession  before  our 
eyes,  we  frequently  select  the  same  for  some  particular  no- 
tice or  remark;  and  when  one  of  these  little  coincidences 
occurs  I  cannot  describe  the  pleasure  that  animates  my 
friend,  or  the  beaming  countenance  he  will  preserve  for  half 
an  hour  afterwards  at  least. 

He  is  a  great  thinker  from  living  so  much  within  him- 
self, and  having  a  lively  imagination  has  a  facility  of  con- 
ceiving and  enlarging  upon  odd  ideas,  which  renders  him 
invaluable  to  our  little  body,  and  greatly  astonishes  our  two 
friends.  His  powers  in  this  respect  are  much  assisted  by 
a  large  pipe,  which  he  assures  us  once  belonged  to  a  Ger- 
man Student.  Be  this  as  it  may,  it  has  undoubtedly  a  very 
ancient  and  mysterious  appearance,  and  is  of  such  capacity 
that  it  takes  three  hours  and  a  half  to  smoke  it  out.  I 
have  reason  to  believe  that  my  barber  who  is  the  chief  au- 
thority of  a  knot  of  gossips,  who  congregate  every  evening 
at  a  small  tobacconist's  hard  by,  has  related  anecdotes  of 
this  pipe  and  the  grim  figures  that  are  carved  upon  its  bowl 
at  which  all  the  smokers  in  the  neighbourhood  have  stood 
aghast;  and  I  know  that  my  housekeeper,  while  she  holds 
it  in  high  veneration,  has  a  superstitious  feeling  connected 
with  it  which  would  render  her  exceedingly  unwilling  to 
be  left  alone  in  its  company  after  dark. 

Whatever  sorrow  my  deaf  friend  has  known,  and  what- 
ever grief  may  linger  in  some  secret  corner  of  his  heart,  he 
is  now  a  cheerful,  placid,  happy  creature.  Misfortune  can 
never  have  fallen  upon  such  a  man  but  for  some  good  pur- 
pose; and  when  I  see  its  traces  in  his  gentle  nature  and  his 
earnest  feeling,  I  am  the  less  disposed  to  murmur  at  such 
trials  as  I  may  have  undergone  myself.  With  regard  to 
the  pipe,  I  have  a  theory  of  my  own;  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing that  it  is  in  some  manner  connected  with  the  event  that 
brought  us  together;  for  I  remember  that  it  was  a  long 
time  before  he  even  talked  about  it;  that  when  he  did,  he 
grew  reserved  and  melancholy;  and  that  it  was  a  long  time 
3 


34  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

i 

yet  before  he  brought  it  forth.  I  have  no  curiosity,  how- 
ever, upon  this  subject;  for  I  know  that  it  promotes  his 
tranquillity  and  comfort,  and  I  need  no  other  inducement 
to  regard  it  with  my  utmost  favour. 

Such  is  the  deaf  gentleman.  I  can  call  up  his  figure 
now,  clad  in  sober  grey,  and  seated  in  the  chimney-corner. 
As  he  puffs  out  the  smoke  from  his  favourite  pipe,  he  casts 
a  look  on  me  brimful  of  cordiality  and  friendship,  and  . 
says  all  manner  of  kind  and  genial  things  in  a  cheerful 
smile;  then  he  raises  his  eyes  to  my  clock,  which  is  just 
about  to  strike,  and,  glancing  from  it  to  me  and  back  again, 
seems  to  divide  his  heart  between  us.  For  myself,  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  I  would  gladly  part  with  one  of 
my  poor  limbs,  could  he  but  hear  the  old  clock's  voice. 

Of  our  two  friends,  the  first  has  been  all  his  life  one  of 
that  easy  wayward  truant  class  whom  the  world  is  accus- 
tomed to  designate  as  nobody's  enemies  but  their  own. 
Bred  to  a  profession  for  which  he  never  qualified  himself, 
and  reared  in  the  expectation  of  a  fortune  he  has  never  in- 
herited, he  has  undergone  every  vicissitude  of  which  such 
an  existence  is  capable.  He  and  his  younger  brother,  both 
orphans  from  their  childhood,  were  educated  by  a  wealthy 
relative  who  taught  them  to  expect  an  equal  division  of  his 
property;  but  too  indolent  to  court,  and  too  honest  to  flat- 
ter, the  elder  gradually  lost  ground  in  the  affections  of  a 
capricious  old  man,  and  the  younger,  who  did  not  fail  to 
improve  his  opportunity,  now  triumphs  in  the  possession  of 
enormous  wealth.  His  triumph  is  to  hoard  it  in  solitary 
wretchedness,  and  probably  to  feel  with  the  expenditure  of 
every  shilling  a  greater  pang  than  the  loss  of  his  whole  in- 
heritance ever  cost'his  brother. 

Jack  Redburn — he  was  Jack  Redburn  at  the  first  little 
school  he  went  to,  where  every  other  child  was  mastered 
and  surnamed,  and  he  has  been  Jack  Redburn  all  his  life 
or  he  would  perhaps  have  been  a  richer  man  by  this  time — 
has  been  an  inmate  of  my  house  these  eight  years  past. 
He  is  my  librarian,  secretary,  steward,  and  first  minister; 
director  of  all  my  affairs  and  inspector-general  of  my 
household.  He  is  something  of  a  musician,  something  of 
an  author,  something  of  an  actor,  something  of  a  painter, 
very  much  of  a  carpenter,  and  an  extraordinary  gardener,  • 
having  had  all  his  life  a  wonderful  aptitude  for  learning 
everything  that  was  of  no  use  to  him.  He  is  remarkably 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  35 

fond  of  children,  and  is  the  best  and  kindest  nurse  in  sick- 
ness that  ever  drew  the  breath  of  life.  He  has  mixed  with 
every  grade  of  society,  and  known  the  utmost  distress;  but 
there  never  was  a  less  selfish,  a  more  tender-hearted,  a 
more  enthusiastic,  or  a  more  guileless  man;  and  I  dare  say, 
if  few  have  done  less  good,  fewer  still  have  done  less  harm 
in  the  world  than  he.  By  what  chance  Nature  forms  such 
whimsical  jumbles  I  don't  know;  but  I  do  know  that  she 
sends  them  among  us  very  often,  and  that  the  king  of  the 
whole  race  is  Jack  Redbarn. 

I  should  be  puzzled  to  say  how  old  he  is.  His  health  is 
none  of  the  best,  and  he  wears  a  quantity  of  iron-grey  hair, 
which  shades  his  face  and  gives  it  rather  a  worn  appear- 
ance; but  we  consider  him  quite  a  young  fellow  notwith- 
standing; and  if  a  youthful  spirit,  surviving  the  roughest 
contact  with  the  world,  confers  upon  its  possessor  any  title 
to  be  considered  young,  then  he  is  a  mere  child.  The  only 
interruptions  to  his  careless  cheerfulness  are  on  a  wet  Sun- 
day, when  he  is  apt  to  be  unusually  religious  and  solemn, 
and  sometimes  of  an  evening,  when  he  has  been  blowing  a 
very  slow  tune  on  the  flute.  On  these  last-named  occa- 
sions he  -is  apt  to  incline  towards  the  mysterious  or  the  ter- 
rible. As  a  specimen  of  his  powers  in  this  mood,  I  refer 
my  readers  to  the  extract  from  the  Clock-case  which  fol- 
lows this  paper :  he  brought  it  to  me  not  long  ago  at  mid- 
night, and  informed  me  that  the  main  incident  had  been 
suggested  by  a  dream  of  the  night  before. 

His  apartments  are  two  cheerful  rooms  looking  towards 
the  garden,  and  one  of  his  great  delights  is  to  arrange  and 
re-arrange  the  furniture  in  these  chambers,  and  put  it  in 
every  possible  variety  of  position.  During  the  whole  time 
he  has  been  here,  I  do  not  think  he  has  slept  for  two  nights 
running  with  the  head  of  his  bed  in  the  same  place;  and 
every  time  he  moves  it,  is  to  be  the  last.  My  housekeeper 
was  at  first  well  nigh  distracted  by  these  frequent  changes; 
but  she  has  become  quite  reconciled  to  them  by  degrees  and 
has  so  fallen  in  with  his  humour,  that  they  often  consult 
together  with  great  gravity  upon  the  .next  final  alteration. 
Whatever  his  arrangements  are,  however,  they  are  always 
a  pattern  of  neatness;  and  every  one  of  the  manifold  arti- 
cles connected  with  his  manifold  occupations  is  to  be  found 
in  its  own  particular  place.  Until  within  the  last  two  or 
three  years  he  was  subject  to  an  occasional  fit  (which 


36  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

usually  came  upon  him  in  very  fine  weather)  under  the  in- 
fluence  of  which  he  would  dress  himself  with  peculiar  care, 
and  going  out  under  pretence  of  taking  a  walk,  disappear 
for  several  days  together.  At  length,  after  the  interval 
between  each  outbreak  of  this  disorder  had  gradually  grown 
longer  and  longer,  it  wholly  disappeared;  and  now  he  sel- 
dom stirs  abroad,  except  to  stroll  out  a  little  way  ou  a  sum- 
mer's evening.  Whether  he  yet  mistrasts  his  own  con- 
stancy in  this  respect,  and  is  therefore  afraid  to  wear  a 
coat,  I  know  not;  but  we  seldom  see  him  in  any  other  up- 
per garment  than  an  old  spectral-looking  dressing-gown, 
with  very  disproportionate  pockets,  full  of  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  odd  matters  which  he  picks  up  wherever  he 
can  lay  his  hands  upon  them. 

Everything  that  is  a  favourite  with  our  friend  is  a  fa- 
vourite with  us ;  and  thus  it  happens  that  the  fourth  among 
us  is  Mr.  Owen  Miles,  a  most  worthy  gentleman,  who  had 
treated  Jack  with  great  kindness  before  my  deaf  friend 
and  I  encountered  him  by  an  accident,  to  which  I  may  re- 
fer on  some  future  occasion.  Mr.  Miles  was  once  a  very 
rich  merchant;  but  receiving  a  severe  shock  in  the  death  of 
his  wife,  he  retired  from  business  and  devoted  himself  to  a 
quiet  unostentatious  life.  He  is  an  excellent  man,  of  thor- 
oughly sterling  character :  not  of  quick  apprehension,  and 
not  without  some  amusing  prejudices,  which  I  shall  leave 
to  their  own  development.  He  holds  us  all  in  profound 
veneration;  but  Jack  Redburn  he  esteems  as  a  kind  of 
pleasant  wonder,  that  he  may  venture  to  approach  famil- 
iarly. He  believes,  not  only  that  no  man  ever  lived  who 
could  do  so  many  things  as  Jack,  but  that  no  man  ever 
lived  who  could  do  anything  so  well;  and  he  never  calls 
my  attention  to  any  of  his  ingenious  proceedings  but  he 
whispers  in  my  ear,  nudging  me  at  the  same  time  with  his 
elbow — "  If  he  had  only  made  it  his  trade,  Sir — if  he  had 
only  made  it  his  trade !  " 

They  are  inseparable  companions;  one  would  almost  sup- 
pose that,  although  Mr.  Miles  never  by  any  chance  does 
anything  in  the  way  of  assistance,  Jack  could  do  nothing 
without  him.  Whether  he  is  reading,  writing,  painting, 
carpentering,  gardening,  flute-playing,  or  what  not,  there 
is  Mr.  Miles  beside  him,  buttoned  up  to  the  chin  in  his  blue 
coat,  and  looking  on  with  a  face  of  incredulous  delight  as 
though  he  could  not  credit  the  testimony  of  his  own  senses 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  37 

and  had  a  misgiving  that  no  man  could  be  so  clever  but  in 
a  dream. 

These  are  my  friends;  I  have  now  introduced  myself  and 
them. 

THE  CLOCK-CASE. 

A  CONFESSION  FOUND  IN  A  PRISON  IN  THE  TIME  OF  CHARLES  THE 

SECOND. 

I  held  a  lieutenant's  commission  in  his  Majesty's  army 
and  served  abroad  in  the  campaigns  of  1677  and  1678.  The 
Treaty  of  Nimeguen  being  concluded,  I  returned  home,  and 
retiring  from  the  service  withdrew  to  a  small  estate  lying  a 
few  miles  east  of  London,  which  I  had  recently  acquired  in 
right  of  my  wife. 

This  is  the  last  night  I  have  to  live,  and  I  will  set  down 
the  naked  truth  without  disguise.  I  was  never  a  brave 
man,  and  had  always  been  from  my  childhood  of  a  secret, 
sullen,  distrustful  nature.  I  speak  of  myself  as  if  I  had 
passed  from  the  world;  for  while  I  write  this,  my  grave  is 
digging,  and  my  name  is  written  in  the  black  book  of  death. 

Soon  after  my  return  to  England,  my  only  brother  was 
seized  with  mortal  illness.  This  circumstance  gave  me 
slight  or  no  pain,  for  since  we  had  been  men  we  had  asso- 
ciated but  very  little  together.  He  was  open-hearted  and 
generous,  handsomer  than  I,  more  accomplished,  and  gen- 
erally beloved.  Those  who  sought  my  acquaintance  abroad 
or  at  home  because  they  were  friends  of  his,  seldom  at- 
tached themselves  to  me  long,  and  would  usually  say  in 
our  first  conversation  that  they  were  surprised  to  find  two 
brothers  so  unlike  in  their  manners  and  appearance.  It 
was  my  habit  to  lead  them  on  to  this  avowal;  for  I  knew 
what  comparisons  they  must  draw  between  us;  and  having 
a  rankling  envy  in  my  heart,  I  sought  to  justify  it  to 
myself. 

We  had  married  two  sisters.  This  additional  tie  between 
us,  as  it  may  appear  to  some,  only  estranged  us  the  more. 
His  wife  knew  me  well.  I  never  struggled  with  any  secret 
jealousy  or  gall  when  she  was  present  but  that  woman  knew 
it  as  well  as  I  did.  I  never  raised  my  eyes  at  such  times 
but  I  found  hers  fixed  upori  me;  I  never  bent  them  on  the 
ground  or  looked  another  way  but  I  felt  that  she  overlooked 
me  always.  It  was  an  inexpressible  relief  to  me  when  we 


38  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

quarrelled,  and  a  greater  relief  still  when  I  heard  abroad 
that  she  was  dead.  It  seems  to  me  now  as  if  some  strange 
and  terrible  foreshadowing  of  what  has  happened  since 
must  have  hung  over  us  then.  I  was  afraid  of  her;  she 
haunted  me;  her  fixed  and  steady  look  comes  back  upon 
me  now  like  the  memory  of  a  dark  dream,  and  makes  my 
blood  run  cold. 

She  died  shortly  after  giving  birth  to  a  child — a  boy. 
When  my  brother  knew  that  all  hope  of  his  own  recovery 
was  past,  he  called  my  wife  to  his  bedside  and  confided 
this  orphan,  a  child  of  four  years  old,  to  her  protection. 
He  bequeathed  to  him  all  the  property  he  had,  and  willed 
that  in  case  of  his  child's  death  it  should  pass  to  my  wife, 
as  the  only  acknowledgment  he  could  make  her  for  her  care 
and  love.  He  exchanged  a  few  brotherly  words  with  me, 
deploring  our  long  separation;  and  being  exhausted,  fell 
into  a  slumber  from  which  he  never  awoke. 

We  had  no  children;  and  as  there  had  been  a  strong  af- 
fection between  the  sisters,  and  my  wife  had  almost  sup- 
plied the  place  of  a  mother  to  this  boy,  she  loved  him  as  if 
he  had  been  her  own.  The  child  was  ardently  attached  to 
her;  but  he  was  his  mother's  image  in  face  and  spirit  and 
always  mistrusted  me. 

I  can  scarcely  fix  the  date  when  the  feeling  first  came 
upon  me,  but  I  soon  began  to  be  uneasy  when  this  child 
was  by.  I  never  roused  myself  from  some  moody  train  of 
thought  but  I  marked  him  looking  at  me :  not  with  mere 
childish  wonder,  but  with  something  of  the  purpose  and 
meaning  that  I  had  so  often  noted  in  his  mother.  It  was 
no  effort  of  my  fancy,  founded  on  close  resemblance  of 
feature  and  expression.  I  never  could  look  the  boy  down. 
He  feared  me,  but  seemed  by  some  instinct  to  despise  me 
while  he  did  so;  and  even  when  he  drew  back  beneath  my 
gaze — as  he  would  when  we  were  alone,  to  get  nearer  to 
the  door — he  would  keep  his  bright  eyes  upon  me  still. 

Perhaps  I  hide  the  truth  from  myself,  but  I  do  not  think 
that  when  this  began,  I  meditated  to  do  him  any  wrong.  I 
may  have  thought  how  serviceable  his  inheritance  would  be 
to  us,  and  may  have  wished  him  dead;  but  I  believe  I  had 
no  thought  of  compassing  his  death.  Neither  did  the  idea 
come  upon  me  at  once,  but  by  very  slow  degrees,  present- 
ing itself  at  first  in  dim  shapes  at  a  very  great  distance,  as 
men  may  think  of  an  earthquake  or  the  Last  Day;  then 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  39 

drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  and  losing  something  of  its  hor- 
ror and  improbability;  then  coming  to  be  part  and  parcel 
— nay,  nearly  the  whole  sum  and  substance — of  my  daily 
thoughts,  and  resolving  itself  into  a  question  of  means  and 
safety;  not  of  doing  or  abstaining  from  the  deed. 

While  this  was  going  on  within  me,  I  never  could  beai 
that  the  child  should  see  me  looking  at  him,  and  yet  I  was 
under  a  fascination  which  made  it  a  kind  of  business  with 
me  to  contemplate  his  slight  and  fragile  figure  and  think 
how  easily  it  might  be  done.  Sometimes  I  would  steal  up- 
stairs and  watch  him  as  he  slept;  but  usually  I  hovered  in 
the  garden  near  the  window  of  the  room  in  which  he  learnt 
his  little  tasks;  and  there,  as  he  sat  upon  a  low  seat  beside 
my  wife,  I  would  peer  at  him  for  hours  together  from  be- 
hind a  tree;  starting  like  the  guilty  wretch  I  was  at  every 
rustling  of  a  leaf,  and  still  gliding  back  to  look  and  start 
again. 

Hard  by  our  cottage,  but  quite  out  of  sight,  and  (if  there 
were  any  wind  astir)  of  hearing  too,  was  a  deep  sheet  of 
water.  I  spent  days  in  shaping  with  my  pocket-knife  a 
rough  model  of  a  boat,  which  I  finished  at  last  and  dropped 
in  the  child's  way.  Then  I  withdrew  to  a  secret  place 
which  he  must  pass  if  he  stole  away  alone  to  swim  this 
bauble,  and  lurked  there  for  his  coming.  He  came  neither 
that  day  nor  the  next,  though  I  waited  from  noon  till  night- 
fall. I  was  sure  that  I  had  him  in  my  net,  for  I  had  heard 
him  prattling  of  the  toy,  and  knew  that  in  his  infant 
pleasure  he  kept  it  by  his  side  in  bed.  I  felt  no  weariness 
or  fatigue,  but  waited  patiently,  and  on  the  third  day  he 
passed  me,  running  joyously  along,  with  his  silken  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  and  he  singing — God  have  mercy 
upon  me ! — singing  a  merry  ballad — who  could  hardly  lisp 
the  words. 

I  stole  down  after  him,  creeping  under  certain  shrubs 
which  grow  in  that  place,  and  none  but  devils  know  with 
what  terror  I,  a  strong  full-grown  man,  tracked  the  foot- 
steps of  that  baby  as  he  approached  the  water's  brink.  I 
was  close  upon  him,  had  sunk  upon  my  knee  and  raised  my 
hand  to  thrust  him  in,  when  he  saw  my  shadow  in  the 
stream  and  turned  him  round. 

His  mother's  ghost  was  looking  from  his  eyes.  The  sun 
burst  forth  from  behind  a  cloud;  it  shone  in  the  bright  sky, 
the  glistening  earth,  the  clear  water,  the  sparkling  drops  of 


40  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

rain  upon  the  leaves.  There  were  eyes  in  everything.  The 
whole  great  universe  of  light  was  there  to  see  the  murder 
done.  I  know  not  what  he  said;  he  came  of  bold  and 
manly  blood,  and,  child  as  he  was,  he  did  not  crouch  or 
fawn  upon  me.  I  heard  him  cry  that  he  would  try  to  love 
me — not  that  he  did — and  then  I  saw  him  running  back 
towards  the  house.  The  next  I  saw  was  my  own  sword 
naked  in  my  hand,  and  he  lying  at  my  feet  stark  dead — 
dabbled  here  and  there  with  blood,  but  otherwise  no  differ- 
ent from  what  I  had  seen  him  in  his  sleep — in  the  same  at- 
titude too,  with  his  cheek  resting  upon  his  little  hand. 

I  took  him  in  my  arms  and  laid  him — very  gently  now 
that  he  was  dead — in  a  thicket.  My  wife  was  from  home 
that  day,  and  would  not  return  until  the  next.  Our  bed- 
room window,  the  only  sleeping-room  on  that  side  of  the 
house,  was  but  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  and  I  resolved 
to  descend  from  it  at  night  and  bury  him  in  the  garden.  I 
had  no  thought  that  I  had  failed  in  my  design,  no  thought 
that  the  water  would  be  dragged  and  nothing  found,  that 
the  money  must  now  lie  waste  since  I  must  encourage  the 
idea  that  the  child  was  lost  or  stolen.  All  my  thoughts 
were  bound  up  and  knotted  together  in  the  one  absorbing 
necessity  of  hiding  what  I  had  done. 

How  I  felt  when  they  came  to  tell  me  that  the  child  was 
missing,  when  I  ordered  scouts  in  all  directions,  when  I 
gasped  and  trembled  at  every  one's  approach,  no  tongue 
can  tell  or  mind  of  man  conceive.  I  buried  him  that  night. 
When  I  parted  the  boughs  and  looked  into  the  dark  thicket, 
there  was  a  glow-worm  shining  like  the  visible  spirit  of 
God  upon  the  murdered  child.  I  glanced  down  into  his 
grave  when  I  had  placed  him  there  and  still  it  gleamed 
upon  his  breast:  an  eye  of  fire  looking  up  to  Heaven  in 
supplication  to  the  stars  that  watched  me  at  my  work. 

I  had  to  meet  my  wife,  and  break  the  news,  and  give  her 
hope  that  the  child  would  soon  be  found.  All  this  I  did — 
with  some  appearance,  I  suppose,  of  being  sincere,  for  I 
was  the  object  of  no  suspicion.  This  done,  I  sat  at  the 
bedroom  window  all  day  long  and  watched  the  spot  where 
the  dreadful  secret  lay. 

It  was  in  a  piece  of  ground  which  had  been  dug  up  to  be 
newly  turfed,  and  which  I  had  chosen  on  that  account  as 
the  traces  of  my  spade  were  less  likely  to  attract  attention. 
The  men  who  laid  down  the  grass  must  have  thought  me 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  41 

mad.  I  called  to  them  continually  to  expedite  their  work, 
ran  out  and  worked  beside  them,  trod  down  the  turf  with 
my  feet,  and  hurried  them  with  frantic  eagerness.  They 
had  finished  their  task  before  night,  and  then  I  thought 
myself  comparatively  safe. 

I  slept — not  as  men  do  who  wake  refreshed  and  cheer- 
ful, but  I  did  sleep,  passing  from  vague  and  shadowy 
dreams  of  being -hunted  down,  to  visions  of  the  plot  of 
grass,  through  which  now  a  hand,  and  now  a  foot,  and  now 
the  head  itself  was  starting  out.  At  this  point  I  always 
woke  and  stole  to  the  window  to  make  sure  that  it  was  not 
really  so.  That  done,  I  crept  to  bed  again;  and  thus  I 
spent  the  night  in  fits  and  starts,  getting  up  and  lying 
down  full  twenty  times,  and  dreaming  the  same  dream  over 
and  over  again — which  was  far  worse  than  lying  awake,  for 
every  dream  had  a  whole  night's  suffering  of  its  own.  Once 
I  thought  the  child  was  alive  and  that  I  had  never  tried  to 
kill  him.  To  wake  from  that  dream  was  the  most  dread- 
ful agony  of  all. 

The  next  day  I  sat  at  the  window  again,  never  once  tak- 
ing my  eyes  from  the  place,  which,  although  it  was  cov- 
ered by  the  grass,  was  as  plain  to  me — its  shape,  its  size, 
its  depth,  its  jagged  sides,  and  all — as  if  it  had  been  open 
to  the  light  of  day.  When  a  servant  walked  across  it,  I 
felt  as  if  he  must  sink  in;  when  he  had  passed,  I  looked 
to  see  that  his  feet  had  not  worn  the  edges.  If  a  bird 
lighted  there,  I  was  in  terror  lest  by  some  tremendous 
interposition  it  should  be  instrumental  in  the  discovery; 
if  a  breath  of  air  sighed  across  it,  to  me  it  whispered 
murder.  There  was  not  a  sight  or  a  sound — how  ordi- 
nary, mean,  or  unimportant  soever — but  was  fraught  with 
fear.  And  in  this  state  of  ceaseless  watching  I  spent  three 
days. 

On  the  fourth  there  came  to  the  gate  one  who  had  served 
with  me  abroad,  accompanied  by  a  brother  officer  of  his 
whom  I  had  never  seen.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  bear  to  be 
out  of  sight  of  the  place.  It  was  a  summer  evening,  and  I 
bade  my  people  take  a  table  and  a  flask  of  wine  into  the 
garden.  Then  I  sat  down  with  my  chair  upon  the  grave, 
and  being  assured  that  nobody  could  disturb  it  now  without 
my  knowledge,  tried  to  drink  and  talk. 

They  hoped  that  my  wife  was  well — that  she  was  not 
obliged  to  keep  her  chamber — that  they  had  not  frightened 


42  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

her  away.  What  could  I  do  but  tell  them  with  a  faltering 
tongue  about  the  child?  The  officer  whom  I  did  not  know 
was  a  down-looking  man,  and  kept  his  eyes  upon  the 
ground  while  I  was  speaking.  Even  that  terrified  me !  I 
could  not  divest  myself  of  the  idea  that  he  saw  something 
there  which  caused  him  to  suspect  the  truth.  I  asked  him 
hurriedly  if  he  supposed  that — and  stopped.  "  That  the 
child  has  been  murdered?  "  said  he,  looking  mildly  at  me : 
"Oh  no!  what  could  a  man  gain  by  murdering  a  poor 
child?  "  1  could  have  told  him  what  a  man  gained  by  such 
a  deed,  no  one  better:  but  I  held  my  peace  and  shivered  as 
with  an  ague. 

Mistaking  my  emotion,  they  were  endeavouring  to  cheer 
me  with  the  hope  that  the  boy  would  certainly  be  found — 
great  cheer  that  was  for  me ! — when  we  heard  a  low  deep 
howl,  and  presently  there  sprang  over  the  wall  two  great 
dogs,  who  bounding  into  the  garden  repeated  the  baying 
sound  we  had  heard  before. 

"  Bloodhounds !  "  cried  my  visitors. 

What  need  to  tell  me  that !  I  had  never  seen  one  of  that 
kind  in  all  my  life,  but  I  knew  what  they  were  and  for 
what  purpose  they  had  come.  I  grasped  the  elbows  of  my 
chair,  and  neither  spoke  nor  moved. 

"They  are  of  the  genuine  breed,"  said  the  man  whom  I 
had  known  abroad,  "and  being  out  for  exercise  have  no 
doubt  escaped  from  their  keeper." 

Both  he  and  his  friend  turned  to  look  at  the  dogs,  who 
with  their  noses  to  the  ground  moved  restlessly  about,  run- 
ning to  and  fro,  and  up  and  down,  and  across,  and  round 
in  circles,  careering  about  like  wild  things,  and  all  this 
time  taking  no  notice  of  us,  but  ever  and  again  lifting  their 
heads  and  repeating  the  yell  we  had  heard  already,  then 
dropping  their  noses  to  the  ground  again  and  tracking  ear- 
nestly here  and  there.  They  now  began  to  snuff  the  earth 
more  eagerly  than  they  had  done  yet,  and  although  they 
were  still  very  restless,  no  longer  beat  about  in  such  wide 
circuits,  but  kept  near  to  one  spot,  and  constantly  dimin- 
ished the  distance  between  themselves  and  me. 

At  last  they  came  up  close  to  the  great  chair  on  which  I 
sat,  and  raising  their  frightful  howl  once  more,  tried  to 
tear  away  the  wooden  rails  that  kept  them  from  the  ground 
beneath.  I  saw  how  I  looked,  in  the  faces  of  the  two  who 
were  with  me. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  43 

"They  scent  some  prey,"  said  they,  both  together. 

"  They  scent  no  prey !  "  cried  I. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  move ! "  said  the  one  I  knew,  very 
earnestly,  "or  you  will  be  torn  to  pieces." 

"  Let  them  tear  me  limb  from  limb,  I'll  never  leave  this 
place ! "  cried  I.  "  Are  dogs  to  hurry  men  to  shameful 
deaths?  Hew  them  down,  cut  them  in  pieces." 

"  There  is  some  foul  mystery  here ! "  said  the  officer 
whom  I  did  not  know,  drawing  his  sword.  "In  King 
Charles's  name,  assist  me  to  secure  this  man." 

They  both  set  upon  me  and  forced  me  away,  though  I 
fought  and  bit  and  caught  at  them  like  a  madman.  After 
a  struggle,  they  got  me  quietly  between  them;  and  then, 
my  God !  I  saw  the  angry  dogs  tearing  at  the  earth  and 
throwing  it  up  into  the  air  like  water. 

What  more  have  I  to  tell?  That  I  fell  upon  my  knees, 
and  with  chattering  teeth  confessed  the  truth,  and  prayed 
to  be  forgiven.  That  I  have  since  denied,  and  now  confess  to 
it  again.  That  I  have  been  tried  for  the  crime,  found  guilty, 
and  sentenced.  That  I  have  not  the  courage  to  anticipate 
my  doom  or  to  bear  up  manfully  against  it.  That  I  have 
no  compassion,  no  consolation,  no  hope,  no  friend.  That 
my  wife  has  happily  lost  for  the  time  those  faculties  which 
would  enable  her  to  know  my  misery  or  hers.  That  I  am 
alone  in  this  stone  dungeon  with  my  evil  spirit,  and  that  I  die 
to-morrow ! 

CORRESPONDENCE. 

Master  Humphrey  has  been  favoured  with  the  following 
letter  written  on  strongly-scented  paper,  and  sealed  in 
light-blue  wax  with  the  representation  of  two  very  plump 
doves  interchanging  beaks.  It  does  not  commence  with 
any  of  the  usual  forms  of  address,  but  begins  as  is  here  set 
forth. 

Bath,  Wednesday  night. 

Heavens !  into  what  an  indiscretion  do  I  suffer  myself  to 
be  betrayed !  To  address  these  faltering  lines  to  a  total 
stranger,  and  that  stranger  one  of  a  conflicting  sex ! — and 
yet  I  am  precipitated  into  the  abyss,  and  have  no  power  of 
self-snatchation  (forgive  me  if  I  coin  that  phrase)  from  the 
yawning  gulf  before  me. 

Yes,  I  am  writing  to  a  man;  but  let  me  not  think  of 
that,  for  madness  is  in  the  thought.  You  will  understand 


44  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

my  feelings?  Oh  yes !  I  am  sure  you  will !  and  you  will 
respect  them  too,  and  not  despise  them — will  you? 

Let  me  be  calm.  That  portrait — smiling  as  once  he 
smiled  on  me;  that  cane — dangling  as  I  have  seen  it  dangle 
from  his  hand  I  know  not  how  oft;  those  legs  that  have 
glided  through  my  nightly  dreams  and  never  stopped  to 
speak;  the  perfectly  gentlemanly,  though  false  original — 
can  I  be  mistaken?  Oh  no,  no. 

Let  me  be  calmer  yet;  I  would  be  calm  as  coffins.  You 
have  published  a  letter  from  one  whose  likeness  is  en- 
graved, but  whose  name  (and  wherefore?)  is  suppressed. 
Shall  1  breathe  that  name !  Is  it — but  why  ask  when  my 
heart  tells  me  too  truly  that  it  is ! 

I  would  not  upbraid  him  with  his  treachery;  I  would  not 
remind  him  of  those  times  when  he  plighted  the  most  elo- 
quent of  vows,  and  procured  from  me  a  small  pecuniary  ac- 
commodation; and  yet  I  would  see  him — see  him  did  I  say 
— him — alas!  such  is  woman's  nature.  For  as  the  poet 
beautifully  says — but  you  will  already  have  anticipated  the 
sentiment.  Is  it  not  sweet?  Oh  yes ! 

It  was  in  this  city  (hallowed  by  the  recollection)  that  I 
met  him  first;  and  assuredly  if  mortal  happiness  be  recorded 
anywhere,  then  those  rubbers  with  their  three-and-six- 
penny  points  are  scored  on  tablets  of  celestial  brass.  He 
always  held  an  honour — generally  two.  On  that  eventful 
night  we  stood  at  eight.  He  raised  his  eyes  (luminous  in 
their  seductive  sweetness)  to  my  agitated  face.  "  Can 
you?  "  said  he,  with  peculiar  meaning.  I  felt  the  gentle 
pressure  of  his  foot  on  mine;  our  corns  throbbed  in  unison. 
"  Can  you?  "  he  said  again;  and  every  lineament  of  his  ex- 
pressive countenance  added  the  words  "resist  me?"  I 
murmured  "No,"  and  fainted. 

They  said,  when  I  recovered,  it  was  the  weather,  /said 
it  was  the  nutmeg  in  the  negus.  How  little  did  they  sus- 
pect the  truth !  How  little  did  they  guess  the  deep  mys- 
terious meaning  of  that  inquiry !  He  called  next  morning 
on  his  knees;  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  actually  came 
in  that  position  to  the  house-door,  but  that  he  went  down 
upon  those  joints  directly  the  servant  had  retired.  He 
brought  some  verses  in  his  hat,  which  he  said  were  origi- 
nal, but  which  I  have  since  found  were  Milton's.  Like- 
wise a  little  bottle  labelled  laudanum;  also  a  pistol  and 
a  sword-stick.  He  drew  the  latter,  uncorked  the  former, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  45 

and  clicked  the  trigger  of  the  pocket  fire-arm.  He  had 
come,  he  said,  to  conquer  or  to  die.  He  did  not  die.  He 
wrested  from  me  an  avowal  of  my  love,  and  let  off  the 
pistol  out  of  a  back  window  previous  to  partaking  of  a 
slight  repast. 

Faithless,  inconstant  man !  How  many  ages  seem  to  have 
elapsed  since  his  unaccountable  and  perfidious  disappear- 
ance! Could  I  still  forgive  him  both  that  and  the  bor- 
rowed lucre  that  he  promised  to  pay  next  week !  Could  I 
spurn  him  from  my  feet  if  he  approached  in  penitence,  and 
with  a  matrimonial  object!  Would  the  blandishing  en- 
chanter still  weave  his  spells  around  me,  or  should  I  burst 
them  all  and  turn  away  in  coldness !  I  dare  not  trust  my 
weakness  with  the  thought. 

My  brain  is  in  a  whirl  again.  You  know  his  address, 
his  occupations,  his  mode  of  life, — are  acquainted  perhaps 
with  his  inmost  thoughts.  You  are  a  humane  and  philan- 
thropic character;  reveal  all  you  know — all;  but  especially 
the  street  and  number  of  his  lodgings.  The  post  is  depart- 
ing, the  bellman  rings — pray  Heaven  it  be  not  the  knell  of 
love  and  hope  to  BELINDA. 

P.  S.  Pardon  the  wanderings  of  a  bad  pen  and  a  distracted 
mind.  Address  to  the  Post-office.  The  bellman  rendered 
impatient  by  delay  is  ringing  dreadfully  in  the  passage. 

P.P.S.  I  open  this  to  say  that  the  bellman  is  gone  and 
that  you  must  not  expect  it  till  the  next  post,  so  don't  be 
surprised  when  you  don't  get  it. 

Master  Humphrey  does  not  feel  himself  at  liberty  to  fur- 
nish his  fair  correspondent  with  the  address  of  the  gentle- 
man in  question,  but  he  publishes  her  letter  as  a  public 
appeal  to  his  faith  and  gallantry. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  VISITOR. 

WHEN  I  am  in  a  thoughtful  mood,  I  often  succeed  in  di- 
verting the  current  of  some  mournful  reflections,  by  conjur- 
ing up  a  number  of  fanciful  associations  with  the  objects 
that  surround  me,  and  dwelling  upon  the  scenes  and  char- 
acters they  suggest. 


46  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

I  have  been  led  by  this  habit  to  assign  to  every  room  in 
my  house  and  every  old  staring  portrait  on  its  walls  a  sep- 
arate interest  of  its  own.  Thus,  I  am  persuaded  that  a  stately 
dame,  terrible  to  behold  in  her  rigid  modesty,  who  hangs 
above  the  chimney-piece  of  my  bedroom,  is  the  former  lady 
of  the  mansion.  In  the  courtyard  below  is  a  stone  face  of 
surpassing  ugliness,  which  I  have  somehow — in  a  kind  of 
jealousy,  I  am  afraid — associated  with  her  husband.  Above 
my  study  is  a  little  room  with  ivy  peeping  through  the  lat- 
tice, from  which  I  bring  their  daughter,  a  lovely  girl  of 
eighteen  or  nineteen  years  of  age,  and  dutiful  in  all  re- 
spects save  one,  that  one  being  her  devoted  attachment  to 
a  young  gentleman  on  the  stairs,  whose  grandmother  (de- 
graded to  a  disused  laundry  in  the  garden)  piques  herself 
upon  an  old  family  quarrel  and  is  the  implacable  enemy  of 
their  love.  With  such  materials  as  these  I  work  out  many 
a  little  drama,  whose  chief  merit  is  that  I  can  bring  it  to  a 
happy  end  at  will;  I  have  so  many  of  them  on  hand,  that 
if  on  my  return  home  one  of  these  evenings  I  were  to  find 
some  bluff  old  wight  of  two  centuries  ago  comfortably  seated 
in  my  easy-chair,  and  a  love-lorn  damsel  vainly  appealing 
to  his  obdurate  heart  and  leaning  her  white  arm  upon  my 
clock  itself,  I  verily  believe  I  should  only  express  my  sur- 
prise that  they  had  kept  me  waiting  so  long,  and  never 
honoured  me  with  a  call  before. 

I  was,  in  such  a  mood  as  this,  sitting  in  my  garden  yes- 
terday morning  under  the  shade  of  a  favourite  tree,  revel- 
ling in  all  the  bloom  and  brightness  about  me,  and  feeling 
every  sense  of  hope  and  enjoyment  quickened  by  this  most 
beautiful  season  of  Spring,  when  my  meditations  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  unexpected  appearance  of  my  barber  at 
the  end  of  the  walk,  who  I  immediately  saw  was  coming 
towards  me  with  a  hasty  step  that  betokened  something 
remarkable. 

My  barber  is  at  all  times  a  very  brisk,  bustling,  active 
little  man — for  he  is,  as  it  were,  chubby  all  over,  without 
being  stout  or  unwieldy — but  yesterday  his  alacrity  was  so 
very  uncommon  that  it  quite  took  me  by  surprise.  Nor 
could  I  fail  to  observe  when  he  came  up  to  me  that  his  grey 
eyes  were  twinkling  in  a  most  extraordinary  manner,  that 
his  little  red  nose  was  in  an  unusual  glow,  that  every  line 
in  his  round  bright  face  was  twisted  and  curved  into  an  ex- 
pression of  pleased  surprise,  and  that  his  whole  counte- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  47 

nance  was  radiant  with  glee.  I  was  still  more  surprised 
to  see  my  housekeeper,  who  usually  preserves  a  very  staid 
air  and  stands  somewhat  upon  her  dignity,  peeping  round 
the  hedge  at  the  bottom  of  the  walk,  and  exchanging  nods 
and  smiles  with  the  barber,  who  twice  or  thrice  looked  over 
his  shoulder  for  that  purpose.  I  could  conceive  no  an- 
nouncement to  which  these  appearances  could  be  the  pre- 
lude, unless  it  were  that  they  had  married  each  other  that 
morning. 

I  was,  consequently,  a  little  disappointed  when  it  only 
came  out  that  there  was  a  gentleman  in  the  house  who 
wished  to  speak  with  me. 

"  And  who  is  it?  "  said  I. 

The  barber,  with  his  face  screwed  up  still  tighter  than 
before,  replied  that  the  gentleman  would  not  send  his 
name,  but  wished  to  .see  me.  I  pondered  for  a  moment, 
wondering  who  this  visitor  might  be,  and  I  remarked  that 
he  embraced  the  opportunity  of  exchanging  another  nod 
with  the  housekeeper,  who  still  lingered  in  the  distance. 

"Well!  "  said  I,  "bid  the  gentleman  come  here." 

This  seemed  to  be  the  consummation  of  the  barber's 
hopes,  for  he  turned  sharp  round,  and  actually  ran  away. 

Now,  my  sight  is  not  very  good  at  a  distance,  and  there- 
fore when  the  gentleman  first  appeared  in  the  walk,  I  was 
not  quite  clear  whether  he  was  a  stranger  to  me  or  other- 
wise. He  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  but  came  tripping 
along  in  the  pleasantest  manner  conceivable,  avoiding  the 
garden-roller  and  the  borders  of  the  beds  with  inimitable 
dexterity,  picking  his  way  among  the  flower-pots,  and  smil- 
ing with  unspeakable  good-humour.  Before  he  was  half 
way  up  the  walk  he  began  to  salute  me;  then  I  thought  I 
knew  him;  but  when  he  came  towards  me  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  the  sun  shining  on  his  bald  head,  his  bland  face, 
his  bright  spectacles,  his  fawn-coloured  tights,  and  his 
black  gaiters — then  my  heart  warmed  towards  him,  and  I 
felt  quite  certain  that  it  was  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"My  dear  Sir,"  said  that  gentleman  as  I  rose  to  receive 
him,  "pray  be  seated.  Pray  sit  down.  Now,  do  not  stand 
on  my  account.  I  must  insist  upon  it,  really."  With  these 
words  Mr.  Pickwick  gently  pressed  me  down  into  my  seat, 
and  taking  my  hand  in  his,  shook  it  again  and  again  with 
a  warmth  of  manner  perfectly  irresistible.  I  endeavoured 
to  express-  in  my  welcome  something  of  that  heartine;!., 


48  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

and  pleasure  which  the  sight  of  him  awakened  and  made 
him  sit  down  beside  me.  All  this  time  he  kept  alternately 
releasing  my  hand  and  grasping  it  again,  and  surveying  me 
through  his  spectacles  with  such  a  beaming  countenance  as 
I  never  beheld. 

"  You  knew  me  directly ! "  said  Mr.  Pickwick.  "  What 
a  pleasure  it  is  to  think  that  you  knew  me  directly ! " 

I  remarked  that  I  had  read  his  adventures  very  often, 
and  that  his  features  were  quite  familiar  to  me  from  the 
published  portraits.  As  I  thought  it  a  good  opportunity  of 
adverting  to  the  circumstance,  I  condoled  with  him  upon 
the  various  libels  on  his  character  which  had  found  their 
way  into  print.  Mr.  Pickwick  shook  his  head  and  for  a 
moment  looked  very  indignant,  but  smiling  again  directly, 
added  that  no  doubt  I  was  acquainted  with  Cervantes'  in- 
troduction to  the  second  part  of  Don  Quixote,  and  that  it 
fully  expressed  his  sentiments  on  the  subject. 

"But  now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "don't  you  wonder  how 
I  found  you  out?  " 

"  I  will  never  wonder,  and  with  your  good  leave,  never 
know,"  said  I,  smiling  in  my  turn.  "It  is  enough  for  me 
that  you  give  me  this  gratification.  I  have  not  the  least 
desire  that  you  should  tell  me  by  what  means  I  have  ob- 
tained it." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  shaking 
me  by  the  hand  again,  "  you  are  so  exactly  what  I  expected ! 
But  for  what  particular  purpose  do  you  think  I  have  sought 
you  out,  my  dear  Sir?  Now,  what  do  you  think  I  have 
come  for?  " 

Mr.  Pickwick  put]  this  question  as  though  he  were  per- 
suaded that  it  was  morally  impossible  that  I  could  by  any 
means  divine  the  deep  purpose  of  his  visit,  and  that  it  must 
be  hidden  from  all  human  ken.  Therefore,  although  I  was 
rejoiced  to  think  that  I  anticipated  his  drift,  I  feigned  to 
be  quite  ignorant  of  it,  and  after  a  brief  consideration  shook 
my  head  despairingly. 

"What  should  you  say,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  laying  the 
forefinger  of  his  left  hand  upon  my  coat-sleeve,  and  looking 
at  me  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and  a  little  on  one  side, 
"  what  should  you  say  if  I  confessed  that  after  reading  your 
account  of  yourself  and  your  little  society,  I  had  come  here, 
a  humble  candidate  for  one  of  those  empty  chairs?  " 

"I  should  say,"  I  returned,  "that  I  know  of  only  one 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  49 

circumstance  which  could  still  further  endear  that  little 
society  to  me,  and  that  would  be  the  associating  with  it 
my  old  friend — for  you  must  let  me  call  you  so— my  old 
friend,  Mr.  Pickwick." 

As  I  made  him  this  answer,  every  feature  of  Mr.  Pick- 
wick's face  fused  itself  into  one  all-pervading  expression  of 
delight.  After  shaking  me  heartily  by  both  hands  at  once, 
he  patted  me  gently  on  the  back,  and  then — I  well  un- 
derstood why — coloured  up  to  the  eyes,  and  hoped  with 
great  earnestness  of  manner  that  he  had  not  hurt  me. 

If  he  had,  I  would  have  been  content  that  he  should 
have  repeated  the  offence  a  hundred  times  rather  than  sup- 
pose so;  but  as  he  had  not,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  changing 
the  subject  by  making  an  inquiry  which  had  been  upon  my 
lips  twenty  times  already. 

"You  have  not  told  me,"  said  I,  "anything  about  Sam 
Weller." 

"Oh!  Sam,"  replied  Mr.  Pickwick,  "is  the  same  as  ever. 
The  same  true,  faithful  fellow  that  he  ever  was.  What 
should  I  tell  you  about  Sam,  my  dear  Sir,  except  that  he 
is  more  indispensable  to  my  happiness  and  comfort  every 
day  of  my  life?" 

"  And  Mr.  Weller  senior?  "  said  I. 

"Old  Mr.  Weller,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  "is  in  no  re- 
spect more  altered  than  Sam,  unless  it  be  that  he  is  a  little 
more  opinionated  than  he  was  formerly,  and  perhaps  at 
times  more  talkative.  He  spends  a  good  deal  of  his  time 
now  in  our  neighbourhood,  and  has  so  constituted  himself 
a  part  of  my  body-guard,  that  when  I  ask  permission  for 
Sam  to  have  a  seat  in  your  kitchen  on  Clock  nights  (sup- 
posing your  three  friends  think  me  worthy  to  fill  one  of  the 
chairs)  I  am  afraid  I  must  often  include  Mr.  Weller  too." 

I  very  readily  pledged  myself  to  give  both  Sam  and  his 
father  a  free  admission  to  my  house  at  all  hours  and  sea- 
sons, and  this  point  settled,  we  fell  into  a  lengthy  conversa- 
tion which  was  carried  on  with  as  little  reserve,  on  both 
sides  as  if  we  had  been  intimate  friends  from  our  youth, 
and  which  conveyed  to  me  the  comfortable  assurance  that 
Mr.  Pickwick's  buoyancy  of  spirit,  and  indeed  all  his  old 
cheerful  characteristics,  were  Avholly  unimpaired.  As  he 
had  spoken  of  the  consent  of  my  friends  as  being  yet  in 
abeyance,  I  repeatedly  assured  him  that  his  proposal  was 
certain  to  receive  their  most  joyful  sanction,  and  several 
4 


50  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

times  entreated  that  he  would  give  me  leave  to  introduce 
him  to  Jack  Redburn  and  Mr.  Miles  (who  were  near  at 
hand)  without  further  ceremony. 

To  this  proposal,  however,  Mr.  Pick  wick's  delicacy  would 
by  no  means  allow  him  to  accede,  for  he  urged  that  his 
eligibility  must  be  formally  discussed,  and  that,  until  this 
had  been  done,  he  could  not  think  of  obtruding  himself 
further.  The  utmost  I  could  obtain  from  him  was  a  promise 
that  he  would  attend  upon  our  next  night  of  meeting,  that 
I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  him  immediately 
on  his  election. 

Mr.  Pickwick,  having  with  many  blushes  placed  in  my 
hands  a  small  roll  of  paper,  which  he  termed  his  "  qualifica- 
tion," put  a  great  many  questions  to  me  touching  rny  friends 
and  particularly  Jack  Redburn,  whom  he  repeatedly  termed 
"a  fine  fellow,"  and  in  whose  favour  I  could  see  he  was 
strongly  predisposed.  When  I  had  satisfied  him  on  these 
points,  I  took  him  up  into  my  room  that  he  might  make 
acquaintance  with  the  old  chamber  which  is  our  place  of 
meeting. 

"  And  this,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  stopping  short,  "  is  the 
Clock !  Dear  me !  And  this  is  really  the  old  clock !  " 

I  thought  he  would  never  have  come  away  from  it. 
After  advancing  towards  it  softly,  and  laying  his  hand 
upon  it  with  as  much  respect  and  as  many  smiling  looks  as 
if  it  were  alive,  he  set  himself  to  consider  it  in  every  pos- 
sible direction,  now  mounting  on  a  chair  to  look  at  the  top, 
now  going  down  upon  his  knees  to  examine  the  bottom,  now 
surveying  the  sides  with  his  spectacles  almost  touching  the 
case,  and  now  trying  to  peep  between  it  and  the  wall  to  get 
a  slight  view  of  the  back.  Then  he  would  retire  a  pace  or 
two  and  look  up  at  the  dial  to  see  it  go,  and  then  draw 
near  again  and  stand  with  his  head  on  one  side  to  hear  it 
tick :  never  failing  to  glance  towards  me  at  intervals  of  a 
few  seconds  each,  and  nod  his  head  with  such  complacent 
gratification  as  I  am  quite  unable  to  describe.  His  admi- 
ration was  not  confined  to  the  clock  either,  but  extended  it- 
self to  every  article  in  the  room;  and  really,  when  he  had 
gone  through  them  every  one,  and  at  last  sat  himself  down 
in  all  the  six  chairs,  one  after  another,  to  try  how  they 
felt,  I  never  saw  such  a  picture  of  good-humour  and  hap- 
piness as  he  presented,  from  the  top  of  his  shining  head 
down  to  the  very  last  button  of  his  gaiters. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  51 

I  should  have  been  well  pleased,  and  should  have  had 
the  utmost  enjoyment  of  his  company,  if  he  had  remained 
with  me  all  day,  but  my  favourite,  striking  the  hour,  re- 
minded him  that  he  must  take  his  leave.  I  could  not  for- 
bear telling  him  once  more  how  glad  he  had  made  me,  and 
we  shook  hands  all  the  way  down  stairs. 

We  had  no  sooner  arrived  in  the  hall  than  my  house- 
keeper, gliding  out  of  her  little  room  (she  had  changed  her 
gown  and  cap,  I  observed)  greeted  Mr.  Pickwick  with  her 
best  smile  and  curtsey;  and  the  barber,  feigning  to  be  acci- 
dentally passing  on  his  way  out,  made  him  a  vast  number 
of  bows.  When  the  housekeeper  curtseyed,  Mr.  Pickwick 
bowed  with  the  utmost  politeness,  and  when  he  bowed,  the 
housekeeper  curtseyed  again ;  between  the  housekeeper  and 
the  barber,  I  should  say  that  Mr.  Pickwick  faced  about  and 
bowed  with  undiminished  affability  fifty  times  at  least. 

I  saw  him  to  the  door;  an  omnibus  was  at  the  moment 
passing  the  corner  of  the  lane,  which  Mr.  Pickwick  hailed 
and  ran  after  with  extraordinary  nimbleness.  When  he 
had  got  about  half  way  he  turned  his  head,  and  seeing  that 
I  was  still  looking  after  him  and  that  I  waved  my  hand, 
stopped,  evidently  irresolute  whether  to  come  back  and 
shake  hands  again,  or  to  go  on.  The  man  behind  the  om- 
nibus shouted,  and  Mr.  Pickwick  ran  a  little  way  towards 
him :  then  he  looked  round  at  me,  and  ran  a  little  way  back 
again.  Then  there  was  another  shout,  and  he  turned  round 
once  more  and  ran  the  other  way.  After  several  of  these 
vibrations,  the  man  settled  the  question  by  taking  Mr. 
Pickwick  by  the  arm  and  putting  him  into  the  carriage; 
but  his  last  action  was  to  let  down  the  window  and  wave 
his  hat  to  me  as  it  drove  off. 

I  lost  no  time  in  opening  the  parcel  he  had  left  with  me. 
The  following  were  its  contents : — 

MR.  PICKWICK'S  TALE. 

A  good  many  years  have  passed  away  since  old  John 
Podgers  lived  in  the  town  of  Windsor,  where  he  was  born, 
and  where  in  course  of  time  he  came  to  be  comfortably  and 
snugly  buried.  You  may  be  sure  that  in  the  time  of  King 
James  the  First,  Windsor  was  a  very  quaint  queer  old  town, 
and  you  may  take  it  upon  my  authority  that  John  Podgers 
was  a  very  quaint  queer  old  fellow;  consequently  he  and 


52  MASTER   HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

Windsor  fitted  each  other  to  a  nicety,  and  seldom  parted 
company  even  for  half  a  day. 

John  Podgers  was  broad,  sturdy,  Dutch-built,  short,  and 
a  very  hard  eater,  as  men  of  his  figure  often  are.  Being  a 
hard  sleeper  likewise,  he  divided  his  time  pretty  equally 
between  these  two  recreations,  always  falling  asleep  when 
he  had  done  eating,  and  always  taking  another  turn  at  the 
trencher  when  he  had  done  sleeping,  by  which  means  he 
grew  more  corpulent  and  more  drowsy  every  day  of  his  life. 
Indeed  it  used  to  be  currently  reported  that  when  he  saun- 
tered up  and  down  the  sunny  side  of  the  street  before  din- 
ner (as  he  never  failed  to  do  in  fair  weather)  he  enjoyed 
his  soundest  nap;  but  many  people  held  this  to  be  a  fiction, 
as  he  had  several  times  been  seen  to  look  after  fat  oxen  on 
market-days,  and  had  even  been  heard  by  persons  of  good 
credit  and  reputation  to  chuckle  at  the  sight,  and  say  to 
himself  with  great  glee,  "  Live  beef,  live  beef !  "  It  was 
upon  this  evidence  that  the  wisest  people  in  Windsor  (be- 
ginning with  the  local  authorities  of  course)  held  that  John 
Podgers  was  a  man  of  strong  sound  sense — not  what  is 
called  smart,  perhaps,  and  it  might  be  of  a  rather  lazy  and 
apoplectic  turn,  but  still  a  man  of  solid  parts,  and  one  who 
meant  much  more  than  he  cared  to  show.  This  impression 
was  confirmed  by  a  very  dignified  way  he  had  of  shaking 
his  head  and  ^imparting  at  the  same  time  a  pendulous  mo- 
tion to  his  double  chin ;  in  short  he  passed  for  one  of  those 
people  who  being  plunged  into  the  Thames  would  make  no 
vain  efforts  to  set  it  afire,  but  would  straightway  flop  down 
to  the  bottom  with  a  deal  of  gravity  and  be  highly  respected 
in  consequence  by  all  good  men. 

Being  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and  a  peaceful  widower — 
having  a  great  appetite,  which,  as  he  could  afford  to  gratify 
it,  was  a  luxury  and  no  inconvenience,  and  a  power  of  go- 
ing to  sleep,  which,  as  he  had  no  occasion  to  keep  awake, 
was  a  most  enviable  faculty — you  will  readily  suppose  that 
John  Podgers  was  a  happy  man.  But  appearances  are  of- 
ten deceptive  when  they  least  seem  so,  and  the  truth  is  that, 
notwithstanding  his  extreme  sleekness,  he  was  rendered  un- 
easy in  his  mind  and  exceedingly  uncomfortable  by  a  con- 
stant apprehension  that  beset  him  night  and  day. 

You  know  very  well  that  in  those  times  there  flourished 
divers  evil  old  women  who  under  the  name  of  Witches 
spread  great  disorder  through  the  land,  and  inflicted  various 


MASTER   HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  53 

dismal  tortures  upon  Christian  men :  sticking  pins  and  nee- 
dles into  them  when  they  least  expected  it,  and  causing 
them  to  walk  in  the  air  with  their  feet  upwards,  to  the 
great  terror  of  their  wives  and  families,  who  were  naturally 
very  much  disconcerted  when  the  master  of  the  house  un- 
expectedly came  home,  knocking  at  the  door  with  his  heels 
and  combing  his  hair  on  the  scraper.  These  were  their 
commonest  pranks,  but  they  every  day  played  others,  of 
which  none  were  less  objectionable  and  many  were  much 
more  so,  being  improper  besides;  the  result  was  that  ven- 
geance was  denounced  against  all  old  women,  with  whom 
even  the  King  himself  had  no  sympathy  (as  he  certainly 
ought  to  have  had),  for  with  his  own  most  Gracious  hand  he 
penned  a  most  Gracious  consignment  of  them  to  everlasting 
wrath,  and  devised  most  Gracious  means  for  their  confu- 
sion and  slaughter,  in  virtue  whereof  scarcely  a  day  passed 
but  one  witch  at  the  least  was  most  graciously  hanged, 
drowned,  or  roasted  in  some  part  of  his  dominions.  Still 
the  press  teemed  with  strange  and  terrible  news  from  the 
North  or  the  South  or  the  East  or  the  West,  relative  to 
witches  and  their  unhappy  victims  in  some  corner  of  the 
country,  and  the  Public's  hair  stood  on  end  to  that  degree 
that  it  lifted  its  hat  off  its  head,  and  made  its  face  pale 
with  terror. 

You  may  believe  that  the  little'town  of  Windsor  did  not 
escape  the  general  contagion.  The  inhabitants  boiled  a 
witch  on  the  King's  birthday  and  sent  a  bottle  of  the  broth 
to  court,  with  a  dutiful  address  expressive  of  their  loyalty. 
The  King,  being  rather  frightened  by  the  present,  piously 
bestowed  it  upon  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  re- 
turned an  answer  to  the  address,  wherein  he  gave  them 
golden  rules  for  discovering  witches  and  laid  great  stress 
upon  certain  protecting  charms,  and  especially  horseshoes. 
Immediately  the  townspeople  went  to  work  nailing  up  horse- 
shoes over  every  door,  and  so  many  anxious  parents  ap- 
prenticed their  children  to  farriers,  to  keep  them  out  of 
harm's  way,  that  it  became  quite  a  genteel  trade  and  flour- 
ished exceedingly. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  bustle  John  Podgers  ate  and 
slept  as  usual,  but  shook  his  head  a  great  deal  oftener  than 
was  his  custom,  and  was  observed  to  look  at  the  oxen  less, 
and  at  the  old  women  more.  He  had  a  little  shelf  put  up  in 
his  sitting-room,  whereon  was  displayed  in  a  row  which 


54  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

grew  longer  every  week  all  the  witchcraft  literature  of  the 
time;  he  grew  learned  in  charms  and  exorcisms,  hinted  at 
certain  questionable  females  on  broomsticks  whom  he  had 
seen  from  his  chamber  window,  riding  in  the  air  at  night, 
and  was  in  constant  terror  of  being  bewitched.  At  length, 
from  perpetually  dwelling  upon  this  one  idea  which  being 
alone  in  his  head  had  it  all  its  own  way,  the  fear  of  witches 
became  the  single  passion  of  his  life.  He,  who  up  to  that 
time  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  dream,  began  to  have 
visions  of  witches  whenever  he  fell  asleep;  waking,  they 
were  incessantly  present  to  his  imagination  likewise;  and, 
sleeping  or  waking,  he  had  not  a  moment's  peace.  He  be- 
gan to  set  witch-traps  in  the  highway,  aud  was  often  seen 
lying  in  wait  round  the  corner  for  hours  together,  to  watch 
their  effect.  These  engines  were  of  simple  construction, 
usually  consisting  of  two  straws  disposed  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  or  a  piece  of  a  Bible-cover  with  a  pinch  of  salt  upon 
it;  but  they  were  infallible,  and  if  an  old  woman  chanced 
to  stumble  over  them  (as  not  unfrequently  happened,  the 
chosen  spot  being  a  broken  and  stony  place),  John  started 
from  a  doze,  pounced  out  upon  her,  and  hung  round  her 
neck  till  assistance  arrived,  when  she  was  immediately  car- 
ried away  and  drowned.  By  dint  of  constantly  inveigling 
old  ladies  and  disposing  of  them  in  this  summary  manner, 
he  acquired  the  reputation  of  a  great  public  character;  and 
as  he  received  no  harm  in  these  pursuits  beyond  a  scratched 
face  or  so,  he  came  in  the  course  of  time  to  be  considered 
witch-proof. 

There  was  but  one  person  who  entertained  the  least  doubt 
of  John  Podgers's  gifts,  and  that  person  was  his  own 
nephew,  a  wild  roving  young  fellow  of  twenty  who  had 
been  brought  up  in  his  uncle's  house  and  lived  there  still — 
that  is  to  say,  when  he  was  at  home,  which  was  not  as  of- 
ten as  it  might  have  been.  As  he  was  an  apt  scholar,  it 
was  he  who  read  aloud  every  fresh  piece  of  strange  and  ter- 
rible intelligence  that  John  Podgers  bought;  and  this  he 
always  did  of  an  evening  in  the  little  porch  in  front  of  the 
house,  round  which  the  neighbours  would  flock  in  crowds 
to  hear  the  direful  news— for  people  like  to  be  frightened, 
and  when  they  can  be  frightened  for  nothing  and  at  an- 
other man's  expense,  they  like  it  all  the  better. 

One  fine  midsummer  evening,  a  group  of  persons  were 
gathered  in  this  place  listening  intently  to  Will  Marks 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  55 

(that  was  the  nephew's  name),  as  with  his  cap  very  much 
on  one  side,  his  arm  coiled  slyly  round  the  waist  of  a  pretty 
girl  who  sat  beside  him,  and  his  face  screwed  into  a  com- 
ical expression  intended  to  represent  extreme  gravity,  he 
read — with  Heaven  knows  how  many  embellishments  of  his 
own — a  dismal  account  of  a  gentleman  down  in  Northamp- 
tonshire under  the  influence  of  witchcraft  and  taken  forcible 
possession  of  by  the  Devil,  who  was  playing  his  very  self 
with  him.  John  Podgers,  in  a  high  sugar-loaf  hat  and 
short  cloak,  filled  the  opposite  seat,  and  surveyed  the  audi- 
tory with  a  look  of  mingled  pride  and  horror  very  edifying 
to  see;  while  the  hearers,  with  their  heads  thrust  forward 
and  their  mouths  open,  listened  and  trembled,  and  hoped 
there  was  a  great  deal  more  to  come.  Sometimes  Will 
stopped  for  an  instant  to  look  round  upon  his  eager  audi- 
ence, and  then,  with  a  more  comical  expession  of  face  than 
before  and  a  settling  of  himself  comfortably,  which  in- 
cluded a  squeeze  of  the  young  lady  before  mentioned,  he 
launched  into  some  new  wonder  surpassing  all  the  others. 

The  setting  sun  shed  his  last  golden  rays  upon  this  little 
party,  who,  absorbed  in  their  present  occupation,  took  no 
heed  of  the  approach  of  night  or  the  glory  in  which  the  day 
went  down,  when  the  sound  of  a  horse  approaching  at  a 
good  round  trot,  invading  the  silence  of  the  hour,  caused 
the  reader  to  make  a  sudden  stop  and  the  listeners  to  raise 
their  heads  in  wonder.  Nor  was  their  wonder  diminished 
when  a  horseman  dashed  up  to  the  porch,  and  abruptly 
checking  his  steed,  inquired  where  one  John  Podgers  dwelt. 

"  Here ! "  cried  a  dozen  voices,  while  a  dozen  hands 
pointed  out  sturdy  John,  still  basking  in  the  terrors  of  the 
pamphlet. 

The  rider,  giving  his  bridle  to  one  of  those  who  sur- 
rounded him,  dismounted  and  approached  John,  hat  in 
hand,  but  with  great  haste. 

"Whence  come  ye? "  said  John. 

"From  Kingston,  Master." 

"  And  wherefore?  " 

"On  most  pressing  business." 

"  Of  what  nature?  " 

"Witchcraft." 

Witchcraft !  Everybody  looked  aghast  at  the  breathless 
messenger,  and  the  breathless  messenger  looked  equally 
aghast  at  everybody — except  Will  Marks  who,  finding  him- 


56  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

self  unobserved,  not  only  squeezed  the  young  lady  again, 
but  kissed  her  tAvice.  Surely  he  must  have  been  bewitched 
himself,  or  he  never  could  have  done  it — and  the  young 
lady  too,  or  she  never  would  have  let  him. 

"  Witchcraft?  "  cried  Will,  drowning  the  sound  of  his 
last  kiss,  which  was  rather  a  loud  one. 

The  messenger  turned  towards  him,  and  with  a  frown  re- 
peated the  word  more  solemnly  than  before;  then  told  his 
errand,  which  was,  in  brief,  that,  the  people  of  Kingston 
had  been  greatly  terrified  for  some  nights  past  by  hideous 
revels,  held  by  witches  beneath  the  gibbet  within  a  mile  of 
the  town,  and  related  and  deposed  to  by  chance  wayfarers 
who  had  passed  within  ear-shot  of  the  spot — that  the  sound 
of  their  voices  in  their  wild  orgies  had  been  plainly  heard 
by  many  persons — that  three  old  women  laboured  under 
strong  suspicion,  and  that  precedents  had  been  consulted 
and  solemn  council  had,  and  it  was  found  that  to  identify 
the  hags  some  single  person  must  watch  upon  the  spot 
alone — that  no  single  person  had  the  courage  to  perform 
the  task — and  that  he  had  been  despatched  express  to  so- 
licit John  Podgers  to  undertake  it  that  very  night,  as  being 
a  man  of  great  renown,  who  bore  a  charmed  life,  and  was 
proof  against  unholy  spells. 

John  received  this  communication  with  much  composure, 
and  said  in  a  few  words,  that  it  would  have  afforded  him 
inexpressible  pleasure  to  do  the  Kingston  people  so  slight 
a  service,  if  it  were  not  for  his  unfortunate  propensity  to 
fall  asleep,  which  no  man  regretted  more  than  himself  upon 
the  present  occasion,  but  which  quite  settled  the  question. 
Nevertheless,  he  said,  there  was  a  gentleman  present  (and 
here  he  looked  very  hard  at  a  tall  farrier)  who,  having  been 
engaged  all  his  life  in  the  manufacture  of  horseshoes,  must 
be  quite  invulnerable  to  the  power  of  witches,  and  who,  he 
had  no  doubt,  from  his  known  reputation  for  bravery  and 
good-nature,  would  readily  accept  the  commission.  The 
farrier  politely  thanked  him  for  his  good  opinion,  which  it 
would  always  be  his  study  to  deserve,  but  added  that  with 
regard  to  the  present  little  matter  he  couldn't  think  of  it 
on  any  account,  as  his  departing  on  such  an  errand  would 
certainly  occasion  the  instant  death  of  his  wife,  to  whom, 
as  they  all  knew,  he  was  tenderly  attached.  Now,  so  far 
from  this  circumstance  being  notorious,  everybody  had  sus- 
pected the  reverse,  as  the  farrier  was  in  the  habit  of  beat- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  57 

ing  his  lady  rather  more  than  tender  husbands  usually  do; 
all  the  married  men  present,  however,  applauded  his  reso- 
lution with  great  vehemence,  and  one  and  all  declared  that 
they  would  stop  at  home  and  die  if  needful  (which  happily 
it  was  not)  in  defence  of  their  lawful  partners. 

This  burst  of  enthusiasm  over,  they  began  to  look  as  by 
one  consent  toward  Will  Marks,  who  with  his  cap  more  on 
one  side  than  ever,  sat  watching  the  proceedings  with  ex- 
traordinary unconcern.  He  had  never  been  heard  openly 
to  express  his  disbelief  in  witches,  but  had  often  cut  such 
jokes  at  their  expense  as  left  it  to  be  inferred;  publicly 
stating  on  several  occasions  that  he  considered  a  broomstick 
an  inconvenient  charger  and  one  especially  unsuited  to  the 
dignity  of  the  female  character,  and  indulging  in  other  free 
remarks  of  the  same  tendency,  to  the  great  amusement  of 
his  wild  companions. 

As  they  looked  at  Will  they  began  to  whisper  and  mur- 
mur among  themselves,  and  at  length  one  man  cried,  "  Why 
don't  you  ask  Will  Marks?  " 

As  this  was  what  everybody  had  been  thinking  of,  they 
all  took  up  the  word,  and  cried  in  concert,  "  Ah !  why  don't 
you  ask  Will?  " 

"He  don't  care,"  said  the  farrier. 

"Not  he,"  added  another  voice  in  the  crowd. 

"He  don't  believe  in  it,  you  know,"  sneered  a  little  man 
with  a  yellow  face  and  a  taunting  nose  and  chin,  which  he 
thrust  out  from  under  the  arm  of  a  long  man  before  him. 

"  Besides,"  said  a  red-faced  gentleman  with  a  gruff  voice, 
"he's  a  single  man." 

"That's  the  point!"  said  the  farrier;  and  all  the  mar- 
ried men  murmured,  ah !  that  was  it,  and  they  only  wished 
they  were  single  themselves;  they  would  show  him  what 
spirit  was,  very  soon. 

The  messenger  looked  towards  Will  Marks  beseechingly. 

"  It  will  be  a  wet  night,  friend,  and  my  grey  nag  is  tired 
after  yesterday's  work ; 

Here  there  was  a  general  titter. 

"But,"  resumed  Will,  looking  about  him  with  a  smile, 
"  if  nobody  else  puts  in  a  better  claim  to  go  for  the  credit 
of  the  town,  I  am  your  man,  and  I  would  be  if  I  had  to  go 
afoot.  In  five  minutes  I  shall  be  in  the  saddle,  unless  I 
am  depriving  any  worthy  gentleman  here  of  the  honour  of 
the  adventure,  which  I  wouldn't  do  for  the  world." 


58  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

But  here  arose  a  double  difficulty,  for  not  only  did  John 
Podgers  combat  the  resolution  with  all  the  words  he  had, 
which  were  not  many,  but  the  young  lady  combated  it  too 
with  all  the  tears  she  had,  which  were  very  many  indeed. 
Will,  however,  being  inflexible,  parried  his  uncle's  objec- 
tions with  a  joke,  and  coaxed  the  young  lady  into  a  smile 
in  three  short  whispers.  As  it  was  plain  that  he  would  go 
and  set  his  mind  upon  it,  John  Podgers  offered  him  a  few 
first-rate  charms  out  of  his  own  pocket,  which  he  dutifully 
declined  to  accept;  and  the  young  lady  gave  him  a  kiss, 
which  he  also  returned. 

"  You  see  what  a  rare  thing  it  is  to  be  married,"  said 
Will,  "and  how  careful  and  considerate  all  these  husbands 
are.  There's  not  a  man  among  them  but  his  heart  is  leap- 
ing to  forestall  me  in  this  adventure,  and  yet  a  strong  sense 
of  duty  keeps  him  back.  The  husbands  in  this  one  little 
town  are  a  pattern  to  the  world,  and  so  must  the  wives  be 
too,  for  that  matter,  or  they  could  never  boast  half  the  in- 
fluence they  have ! " 

WTaittng  for  no  reply  to  this  sarcasm,  he  snapped  his 
fingers  and  withdrew  into  the  house,  and  thence  into  the 
stable,  while  some  busied  themselves  in  refreshing  the 
messenger,  and  others  in  baiting  his  steed.  In  less  than 
the  specified  time  he  returned  by  another  way,  with  a  good 
cloak  hanging  over  his  arm,  a  good  sword  girded  by  his 
side,  and  leading  his  good  horse  caparisoned  for  the  journey. 

"Now,"  said  Will,  leaping  into  the  saddle  at  a  bound, 
"  up  and  away.  Upon  your  mettle,  friend,  and  push  on. 
Good  night !  " 

He  kissed  his  hand  to  the  girl,  nodded  to  his  drowsy 
uncle,  waved  his  cap  to  the  rest — and  off  they  flew  pell- 
mell,  as  if  all  the  witches  in  England  were  in  their  horses' 
legs.  They  were  out  of  sight  in  a  minute. 

The  men  who  were  left  behind  shook  their  heads  doubt- 
fully, stroked  their  chins,  and  shook,  their  heads  again. 
The  farrier  said  that  certainly  Will  Marks  was  a  good 
horseman,  nobody  should  ever  say  he  denied  that :  but  he 
was  rash,  very  rash,  and  there  was  no  telling  what  the  end 
of  it  might  be;  what  did  he  go  for,  that  was  what  he 
wanted  to  know?  He  wished  the  young  fellow  no  harm, 
but  why  did  he  go?  Everybody  echoed  these  words,  and 
shook  their  heads  again,  having  done  which  they  wished 
John  Podgers  good  night,  and  straggled  home  to  bed. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  59 

The  Kingston  people  were  in  their  first  sleep  when  Will 
Marks  and  his  conductor  rode  through  the  town  and  up  to 
the  door  of  a  house  where  sundry  grave  functionaries  were 
assembled,  anxiously  expecting  the  arrival  of  the  renowned 
Podgers.  They  were  a  little  disappointed  to  find  a  gay 
young  man  in  his  place;  but  they  put  the  best  face  upon 
the  matter,  and  gave  him  full  instructions  how  he  was  to 
conceal  himself  behind  the  gibbet,  and  watch  and  listen  to 
the  witches,  and  how  at  a  certain  time  he  was  to  burst  forth 
and  cut  and  slash  among  them  vigorousl}*,  so  that  the  sus- 
pected parties  might  be  found  bleeding  in  their  beds  next 
day,  and  thoroughly  confounded.  They  gave  him  a  great 
quantity  of  wholesome  advice  besides,  and — which  was 
more  to  the  purpose  with  Will — a  good  supper.  All  these 
things  being  done,  and  midnight  nearly  come,  they  sallied 
forth  to  show  him  the  spot  where  he  was  to  keep  his  dreary 
vigil. 

The  night  was  by  this  time  dark  and  threatening.  There 
was  a  rumbling  of  distant  thunder,  and  a  low  sighing  of 
wind  among  the  trees,  which  was  very  dismal.  The  poten- 
tates of  the  town  kept  so  uncommonly  close  to  Will  that 
they  trod  upon  his  toes,  or  stumbled  against  his  ankles, 
or  nearly  tripped  up  his  heels  at  every  step  he  took,  and 
besides  these  annoyances  their  teeth  chattered  so  with 
fear,  that  he  seemed  to  be  accompanied  by  a  dirge  of  cas- 
tanets. 

At  last  they  made  a  halt  at  the  opening  of  a  lonely  deso- 
late space,  and,  pointing  to  a  black  object  at  some  distance, 
asked  Will  if  he  saw  that,  yonder. 

"  Yes, "  he  replied .     "  What  then  ?  " 

Informing  him  abruptly  that  it  was  the  gibbet  where  he 
was  to  watch,  they  wished  him  good  night  in  an  extremely 
friendly  manner,  and  ran  back  as  fast  as  their  feet  would 
carry  them. 

Will  walked  boldly  to  the  gibbet  and,  glancing  upward 
when  he  came  under  it,  saw — certainly  with  satisfaction — 
that  it  was  empty,  and  that  nothing  dangled  from  the  top 
but  some  iron  chains,  which  swung  mournfully  to  and  fro 
as  they  were  moved  by  the  breeze.  After  a  careful  survey 
of  every  quarter,  he  determined  to  take  his  station  with  his 
face  towards  the  town;  both  because  that  would  place  him 
with  his  back  to  the  wind,  and  because,  if  any  trick  or  sur- 
prise were  attempted,  it  would  probably  come  from  that  di- 


60  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

rection  in  the  first  instance.  Having  taken  these  precau- 
tions, he  wrapped  his  cloak  about  him  so  that  it  left  the 
handle  of  his  sword  free,  and  ready  to  his  hand,  and  lean- 
ing against  the  gallows-tree  with  his  cap  not  quite  so  much 
on  one  side  as  it  had  been  before,  took  up  his  position  for 
the  night. 

SECOND    CHAPTER    OF    MR.    PICKWICK'S    TALE. 

We  left  Will  Marks  leaning  under  the  gibbet  with  his 
face  towards  the  tOAvn,  scanning  the  distance  with  a  keen 
eye  which  sought  to  pierce  the  darkness  and  catch  the 
earliest  glimpse  of  any  person  or  persons  that  might  ap- 
proach towards  him.  But  all  was  quiet,  and,  save  the 
howling  of  the  wind  as  it  swept  across  the  heath  in  gusts, 
and  the  creaking  of  the  chains  that  dangled  above  his  head, 
there  was  no  sound  to  break  the  sullen  stillness  of  the 
night.  After  half  an  hour  or  so  this  monotony  became 
more  disconcerting  to  Will  than  the  most  furious  uproar 
would  have  been,  and  he  heartily  wished  for  some  one  an- 
tagonist with  whom  he  might  have  a  fair  stand-up  fight,  if 
it  were  only  to  warm  himself. 

Truth  to  tell,  it  was  a  bitter  wind  and  seemed  to  blow  to 
the  very  heart  of  a  man  whose  blood,  heated  but  now  with 
rapid  riding,  was  the  more  sensitive  to  the  chilling  blast. 
Will  was  a  daring  fellow  and  cared  not  a  jot  for  hard 
knocks  or  sharp  blades;  but  he  could  not  persuade  himself 
to  move  or  walk  about,  having  just  that  vague  expectation 
of  a  sudden  assault  which  made  it  a  comfortable  thing  to 
have  something  at  his  back,  even  though  that  something 
were  a  gallows-tree.  He  had  no  great  faith  in  the  super- 
stitions of  the  age;  still  such  of  them  as  occurred  to  him 
did  not  serve  to  lighten  the  time  or  to  render  his  situation 
the  more  endurable.  He  remembered  how  witches  were 
said  to  repair  at  that  ghostly  hour  to  churchyards  and  gib- 
bets and  such-like  dismal  spots,  to  pluck  the  bleeding  man- 
drake or  scrape  the  flesh  from  dead  men's  bones  as  choice 
ingredients  for  their  spells;  how,  stealing  by  night  to  lonely 
places,  they  .dug  graves  with  their  finger-nails  or  anointed 
themselves  before  riding  in  the  air,  with  a  delicate  pomatum 
made  of  the  fat  of  infants  newly  boiled.  These,  and  many 
other  fabled  practices  of  a  no  less  agreeable  nature,  and  all 
having  some  reference  to  the  circumstances  in  which  he 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  61 

was  placed,  passed  and  repassed  in  quick  succession  through 
the  mind  of  Will  Marks,  and  adding  a  shadowy  dread  to 
that  distrust  and  watchfulness  which  his  situation  inspired, 
rendered  it  upon  the  whole  sufficiently  uncomfortable.  As 
he  had  foreseen  too,  the  rain  began  to  descend  heavily,  and 
driving  before  the  wind  in  a  thick  mist  .obscured  even  those 
few  objects  which  the  darkness  of  the  night  had  before  im- 
perfectly revealed. 

"  Look ! "  shrieked  a  voice.  "  Great  Heaven,  it  has  fallen 
down  and  stands  erect  as  if  it  lived ! " 

The  speaker  was  close  behind  him — the  voice  was  almost 
at  his  ear.  Will  threw  off  his  cloak,  drew  his  sword,  and 
darting  swiftly  round,  seized  a  woman  by  the  wrist,  who, 
recoiling  from  him  with  a  dreadful  shriek,  fell  struggling 
upon  her  knees.  Another  woman  clad  like  her  whom  he 
had  grasped,  iu  mourning  garments,  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot  on  which  they  were,  gazing  upon  his  face  with  wild 
and  glaring  eyes  that  quite  appalled  him. 

"  Say,"  cried  Will,  when  they  had  confronted  each  other 
thus  for  some  time,  "  what  are  ye?  " 

"  Say  what  are  you,"  returned  the  woman,  "who  trouble 
even  this  obscene  resting-place  of  the  dead,  and  strip  the 
gibbet  of  its  honoured  burden?  Where  is  the  body?  " 

He  looked  in  wonder  and  affright  from  the  woman  who 
questioned  him  to  the  other  whose  arm  he  clutched. 

"  Where  is  the  body? "  repeated  his  questioner  more 
firmly  than  before.  "  You  wear  no  livery  which  marks  you 
for  the  hireling  of  the  Government.  You  are  no  friend  to 
us,  or  I  should  recognise  you,  for  the  friends  of  such  as  we 
are  few  in  number.  What  are  you  then,  and  wherefore  are 
you  here?  " 

"I  am  no  foe  to  the  distressed  and  helpless,"  said  Will. 
"Are  ye  among  that  number?  ye  should  be  by  your  looks." 

"  We  are ! "  was  the  answer. 

"  It  is  ye  who  have  been  wailing  and  weeping  here  under 
cover  of  the  night?  "  said  Will. 

"It  is,"  replied  the  woman  sternly;  and  pointing,  as  she 
spoke,  towards  her  companion,  "  she  mourns  a  husband, 
and  I  a  brother.  Even  the  bloody  law  that  wreaks  its  ven- 
geance on  the  dead  does  not  make  that  a  crime,  and  if  it 
did  'twould  be  alike  to  us  who  are  past  its  fear  or  favour." 

Will  glanced  at  the  two  females,  and  could  barely  dis- 
cern that  the  one  whom  he  addressed  was  much  the  elder, 


62  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

and  that  the  other  was  young  and  of  a  slight  figure.  Both 
were  deadly  pale,  their  garments  wet  and  worn,  their  hair 
dishevelled  and  streaming  in  the  wind,  themselves  bowed 
down  with  grief  and  misery;  their  whole  appearance  most 
dejected,  wretched,  and  forlorn.  A  sight  so  different  from 
any  he  had  expected  to  encounter  touched  him  to  the  quick, 
and  all  idea  of  anything  but  their  pitiable  condition  van- 
ished before  it. 

"I  am  a  rough,  blunt  yeoman,"  said  Will.  "Why  I 
came  here  is  told  in  a  word;  you  have  been  overheard  at  a 
distance  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  and  I  have  undertaken 
a  watch  for  hags  or  spirits.  I  came  here  expecting  an  ad- 
venture and  prepared  to  go  through  with  any.  If  there  be 
aught  that  I  can  do  to  help  or  aid  you,  name  it,  and  on  the 
faith  of  a  man  who  can  be  secret  and  trusty  I  will  stand 
by  you  to  the  death." 

"  How  comes  this  gibbet  to  be  empty?  "  asked  the  elder 
female. 

".I  swear  to  you,"  replied  Will,  "that  I  know  as  little  as 
yourself.  But  this  I  know,  that  when  I  came  here  an  hour 
ago  or  so,  it  was  as  it  is  now;  and  if,  as  I  gather  from 
your  question,  it  was  not  so  last  night,  sure  I  am  that  it 
has  been  secretly  disturbed  without  the  knowledge  of  the 
folks  in  yonder  town.  Bethink  you,  therefore,  whether  you 
have  no  friends  in  league  with  you  or  with  him  on  whom 
the  law  has  done  its  worst,  by  whom  these  sad  remains 
have  been  removed  for  burial." 

The  women  spoke  together,  and  Will  retired  a  pace  or 
two  while  they  conversed  apart.  He  could  hear  them  sob 
and  moan,  and  saw  that  they  wrung  their  hands  in  fruit- 
less agony.  He  could  make  out  little  that  they  said,  but 
between  whiles  he  gathered  enough  to  assure  him  that  his 
suggestion  was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark,  and  that  they  not 
only  suspected  by  whom  the  body  had  been  removed,  but 
also  whither  it  had  been  conveyed.  When  they  had  been 
in  conversation  a  long  time,  they  turned  towards  him  once 
more.  This  time  the  younger  female  spoke. 

"  You  have  offered  us  your  help?  " 

"I  have." 

"  And  given  a  pledge  that  you  are  still  willing  to  redeem?" 

"  Yes.  So  far  as  I  may,  keeping  all  plots  and  conspira- 
cies at  arm's  length." 

"  Follow  us,  friend." 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK.  63 

Will,  whose  self-possession  was  now  quite  restored, 
needed  no  second  bidding,  but  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand,  and  his  cloak  so  muffled  over  his  left  arm  as  to  serve 
for  a  kind  of  shield  without  offering  any  impediment  to  its 
free  action,  suffered  them  to  lead  the  way.  Through  mud 
and  mire  and  wind  and  rain,  they  walked  in  silence  a  full 
mile.  At  length  they  turned  into  a  dark  lane,  where,  sud- 
denly starting  out  from  beneath  some  trees  where  he  had 
taken  shelter,  a  man  appeared,  having  in  his  charge  three 
saddled  horses.  One  of  these  (his  own  apparently),  in 
obedience  to  a  whisper  from  the  women,  he  consigned  to 
Will,  who  seeing  that  they  mounted,  mounted  also.  Then 
without  a  word  spoken  they  rode  on  together,  leaving  the 
attendant  behind . 

They  made  no  halt  nor  slackened  their  pace  until  they 
arrived  near  Putney.  At  a  large  wooden  house  which  stood 
apart  from  any  other  they  alighted,  and  giving  their  horses 
to  one  who  was  already  waiting,  passed  in  by  a  side  door, 
and  so  up  some  narrow  creaking  stairs  into  a  small  panelled 
chamber,  where  Will  was  left  alone.  He  had  not  been  here 
very  long,  when  the  door  was  softly  opened,  and  there  en- 
tered to  him  a  cavalier  whose  face  was  concealed  beneath  a 
black  mask. 

Will  stood  upon  his  guard,  and  scrutinised  this  figure 
from  head  to  foot.  The  form  was  that  of  a  man  pretty  far 
advanced  in  life,  but  of  a  firm  and  stately  carriage.  His 
dress  was  of  a  rich  and  costly  kind,  but  so  soiled  and  dis- 
ordered that  it  was  scarcely  to  be  recognised  for  one  of 
those  gorgeous  suits  which  the  expensive  taste  and  fashion 
of  the  time  prescribed  for  men  of  any  rank  or  station.  He 
was  booted  and  spurred,  and  bore  about  him  even  as  many 
tokens  of  the  state  of  the  roads  as  Will  himself.  All  this 
he  noted,  while  the  eyes  behind  the  mask  regarded  him 
with  equal  attention.  The  survey  over,  the  cavalier  broke 
silence. 

"  Thou'rt  young  and  bold,  and  wouldst  be  richer  than 
thou  art?  " 

"  The  two  first  I  am,"  returned  Will.  "  The  last  I  have 
scarcely  thought  of.  But  be  it  so.  Say  that  I  would  be 
richer  than  I  am;  what  then?  " 

"The  way  lies  before  thee  now,"  replied  the  Mask. 

"  Show  it  me." 

"  First  let  me  inform  thee,  that  thou  wert  brought  here 


64  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

to-night  lest  thou  shouldst  too  soon  have  told  thy  tale  to 
those  who  placed  thee  on  the  watch." 

"  I  thought  as  much  when  I  followed,"  said  Will.  "  But 
I  ain  no  blab,  not  I." 

"Good,"  returned  the  Mask.  "Now  listen.  He  who 
was  to  have  executed  the  enterprise  of  burying  that  body 
which  as  thou  hast  suspected  was  taken  down  to-night,  has 
left  us  in  our  need." 

Will  nodded,  and  thought  within  himself  that  if  the 
Mask  were  to  attempt  to  play  any  tricks,  the  first  eyelet- 
hole  on  the  left-hand  side  of  his  doublet,  counting  from  the 
buttons  up  the  front,  would  be  a  very  good  place  in  which 
to  pink  him  neatly. 

"  Thou  art  here,  and  the  emergency  is  desperate.  I  pro- 
pose his  task  to  thee.  Convey  the  body  (now  coffined  in 
this  house)  by  means  that  I  shall  show,  to  the  church  of 
St.  Dunstan  in  London  to-morrow  night,  and  thy  service 
shall  be  richly  paid.  Thou'rt  about  to  ask  whose  corpse  it 
is.  Seek  not  to  know.  I  warn  thee,  seek  not  to  know. 
Felons  hang  in  chains  on  every  moor  and  heath.  Believe, 
as  others  do,  that  this  was  one,  and  ask  no  further.  The 
murders  of  state  policy,  its  victims  or  avengers,  had  best 
remain  unknown  to  such  as  thee." 

"The  mystery  of  this  service,"  said  Will,  "bespeaks  its 
danger.  What  is  the  reward?  " 

"One  Irandred  golden  unities,"  replied  the  cavalier. 
"  The  danger  to  one  who  cannot  be  recognised  as  the  friend 
of  a  fallen  cause  is  not  great,  but  there  is  some  hazard  to 
be  run.  Decide  between  that  and  the  reward." 

"  What  if  I  refuse?  "  said  Will. 

"Depart  in  peace,  in  God's  name,"  returned  the  Mask  in 
a  melancholy  tone,  "  and  keep  our  secret,  remembering  that 
those  who  brought  thee  here  were  crushed  and  stricken 
women,  and  that  those  who  bade  thee  go  free  could  have 
had  thy  life  with  one  word,  and  no  man  the  wiser." 

Men  were  readier  to  undertake  desperate  adventures  in 
those  times  than  they  are  now.  In  this  case  the  tempta- 
tion was  great  and  the  punishment  even  in  case  of  detec- 
tion was  not  likely  to  be  very  severe,  as  Will  came  of  a 
loyal  stock,  and  his  uncle  was  in  good  repute,  and  a  pass- 
able tale  to  account  for  his  possession  of  the  body  and  his 
ignorance  of  the  identity  might  be  easily  devised.  The 
cavalier  explained  that  a  covered  cart  had  been  prepared 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  65 

for  the  purpose;  that  the  time  of  departure  could  be  ar- 
ranged so  that  he  should  reach  London  Bridge  at  dusk  and 
proceed  through  the  City  after  the  day  had  closed  in;  that 
people  should  be  ready  at  his  journey's  end  to  place  the  coffin 
in  a  vault  without  a  minute's  delay;  that  officious  inquirers 
in  the  streets  would  be  easily  repelled  by  the  tale  that  he 
was  carrying  for  interment  the  corpse  of  one  who  had  died 
of  the  plague;  and  in  short  showed  him  every  reason  why 
he  should  succeed  and  none  why  he  should  fail.  After  a 
time  they  were  joined  by  another  gentleman,  masked  like 
the  first,  who  added  new  arguments  to  those  which  had 
been  already  urged;  the  wretched  wife  too  added  her  tears 
and  prayers  to  their  calmer  representations;  and  in  the  end 
Will,  moved  by  compassion  and  good-nature,  by  a  love  of 
the  marvellous,  by  a  mischievous  anticipation  of  the  terrors 
of  the  Kingston  people  when  he  should  be  missing  next 
day,  and  finally  by  the  prospect  of  gain,  took  upon  him- 
self the  task,  and  devoted  all  his  energies  to  its  successful 
execution. 

The  following  night  when  it  was  quite  dark,  the  hollow 
echoes  of  old  London  Bridge  responded  to  the  rumbling  of 
the  cart  which  contained  the  ghastly  load,  the  object  of 
Will  Marks 's  care.  Sufficiently  disguised  to  attract  no  at- 
tention by  his  garb,  Will  walked  at  the  horse's  head,  as 
unconcerned  as  a  man  could  be  who  was  sensible  that  he 
had  now  arrived  at  the  most  dangerous  part  of  his  under- 
taking, but  full  of  boldness  and  confidence. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock.  After  nine,  none  could  walk 
the  streets  without  danger  of  their  lives,  and  even  at  this 
hour,  robberies  and  murder  were  of  no  uncommon  occur- 
rence. The  shops  upon  the  bridge  were  all  closed;  the  low 
wooden  arches  thrown  across  the  way  were  like  so  many 
black  pits,  in  every  one  of  which  ill-favoured  fellows  lurked 
in  knots  of  three  or  four;  some  standing  upright  against 
the  wall,  lying  in  wait;  others  skulking  in  gateways,  and 
thrusting  out  their  uncombed  heads  and  scowling  eyes; 
others  crossing  and  re-crossing,  and  constantly  jostling  both 
horse  and  man  to  provoke  a  quarrel;  others  stealing  away 
and  summoning  their  companions  in  a  low  whistle.  Once, 
even  in  that  short  passage,  there  was  the  noise  of  scuffling 
and  the  clash  of  swords  behind  him,  but  Will,  who  knew 
the  City  and  its  ways,  kept  straight  on  and  scarcely  turned 
his  head. 
5 


66  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

The  streets  being  unpaved,  the  rain  of  the  night  before 
had  converted  them  into  a  perfect  quagmire,  which  the 
splashing  water-spouts  from  the  gables,  and  the  filth  and 
offal  cast  from  the  different  houses,  swelled  in  no  small 
degree.  These  odious  matters  being  left  to  putrefy  in  the 
close  and  heavy  air,  emitted  an  insupportable  stench,  to 
which  every  court  and  passage  poured  forth  a  contribution 
of  its  own.  Many  parts,  even  of  the  main  streets,  with 
their  projecting  stories  tottering  overhead  and  nearly  shut- 
ting out  the  sky,  were  more  like  huge  chimneys  than  open 
ways.  At  the  corners  of  some  of  these,  great  bonfires  were 
burning  to  prevent  infection  from  the  plague,  of  which  it 
was  rumoured  that  some  citizens  had  lately  died;  and  few, 
who  availing  themselves  of  the  light  thus  afforded  paused 
for  a  moment  to  look  around  them,  would  have  been  dis- 
posed to  doubt  the  existence  of  the  disease  or  wonder  at  its 
dreadful  visitations. 

But  it  was  not  in  such  scenes  as  these,  or  even  in  the 
deep  and  miry  road,  that  Will  Marks  found  the  chief  ob- 
stacles to  his  progress.  There  were  kites  and  ravens  feed- 
ing in  the  streets  (the  only  scavengers  the  City  kept)  who 
scenting  what  he  carried,  followed  the  cart  or  fluttered  on 
its  top  and  croaked  their  knowledge  of  its  burden  and  their 
ravenous  appetite  for  prey.  There  were  distant  fires  where 
the  poor  wood  and  plaster  tenements  wasted  fiercely,  and 
whither  crowds  made  their  way  clamouring  eagerly  for 
plunder,  beating  down  all  who  came  within  their  reach,  and 
yelling  like  devils  let  loose.  There  were  single-handed 
men  flying  from  bands  of  ruffians,  who  pursued  them  with 
naked  weapons,  and  hunted  them  savagely;  there  were 
drunken  desperate  robbers  issuing  from  their  dens  and  stag- 
gering through  the  open  streets  where  no  man  dare  molest 
them;  there  were  vagabond  servitors  returning  from  the 
Bear  Garden,  where  had  been  good  sport  that  day,  drag- 
ging after  them  their  torn  and  bleeding  dogs  or  leaving 
them  to  die  and  rot  upon  the  road.  Nothing  was  abroad 
but  cruelty,  violence,  and  disorder. 

Many  were  the  interruptions  which  Will  Marks  encoun- 
tered from  these  stragglers,  and  many  the  narrow  escapes 
he  made.  Now  some  stout  bully  would  take  his  seat  upon 
the  cart  insisting  to  be  driven  to  his  own  home,  and  now 
two  or  three  men  would  come  down  upon  him  together  and 
demand  that  on  peril  of  his  life  he  showed  them  what  he 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  67 

had  inside.  Then  a  party  of  the  City  Watch  upon  their 
rounds  would  draw  across  the  road,  and  not  satisfied  with 
his  tale,  question  him  closely  and  revenge  themselves  by  a 
little  cuffing  and  hustling  for  maltreatment  sustained  at 
other  hands  that  night.  All  these  assailants  had  to  be  re- 
butted, some  by  fair  words,  some  by  foul,  and  some  by 
blows.  But  Will  Marks  was  not  the  man  to  be  stopped  or 
turned  back  now  he  had  penetrated  so  far,  and  though  he 
got  on  slowly,  still  he  made  his  way  down  Fleet  Street  and 
reached  the  church  at  last. 

As  he  had  been  forewarned,  all  was  in  readiness.  Di- 
rectly he  stopped,  the  coffin  was  removed  by  four  men  who 
appeared  so  suddenly  that  they  seemed  to  have  started  from 
the  earth.  A  fifth  mounted  the  cart,  and  scarcely  allowing 
Will  time  to  snatch  from  it  a  little  bundle  containing  such  of 
his  own  clothes  as  he  had  thrown  off  on  assuming  his  dis- 
guise, drove  briskly  away.  Will  never  saw  cart  or  man  again. 

He  followed  the  body  into  the  church,  and  it  was  well  he 
lost  no  time  in  doing  so,  for  the  door  was  immediately 
closed.  There  was  no  light  in  the  building  save  that  which 
came  from  a  couple  of  torches  borne  by  two  men  in  cloaks 
who  stood  upon  the  brink  of  a  vault.  Each  supported  a 
female  figure,  and  all  observed  a  profound  silence. 

By  this  dim  and  solemn  glare,  which  made  Will  feel  as 
though  light  itself  were  dead,  and  its  tomb  the  dreary 
arches  that  frowned  above,  they  placed  the  coffin  in  the 
vault,  with  uncovered  heads,  and  closed  it  up.  One  of  the 
torch-bearers  then  turned  to  Will  and  stretched  forth  his 
hand,  in  which  was  a  purse  of  gold.  Something  told  him 
directly  that  those  were  the  same  eyes  which  he  had  seen 
beneath  the  mask. 

"Take  it,"  said  the  cavalier  in  a  low  voice,  "and  be 
happy.  Though  these  have  been  hasty  obsequies,  and  no 
priest  has  blessed  the  work,  there  will  not  be  the  less  peace 
with  thee  hereafter,  for  having  laid  his  bones  beside  those 
of  his  little  children.  Keep  thy  own  counsel,  for  thy  sake 
no  less  than  ours,  and  God  be  with  thee ! " 

"  The  blessing  of  a  widowed  mother  on  thy  head,  good 
friend!"  cried  the  younger  lady  through  her  tears;  "the 
blessing  of  one  who  has  now  no  hope  or  rest  but  in  this 
grave ! " 

Will  stood  with  the  purse  in  his  hand,  and  involuntarily 
made  a  gesture  as  though  he  would  return  it,  for  though  a 


68  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

thoughtless  fellow  he  was  of  a  frank  and  generous  nature. 
But  the  two  gentlemen  extinguishing  their  torches  cau- 
tioned him  to  be  gone,  as  their  common  safety  would  be 
endangered  by  a  longer  delay;  and  at  the  same  time  their 
retreating  footsteps  sounded  through  the  church.  He 
turned,  therefore,  towards  the  point  at  which  he  had  en- 
tered, and  seeing  by  a  faint  gleam  in  the  distance  that  the 
door  was  again  partially  open,  groped  his  way  towards  it 
and  so  passed  into  the  street. 

Meantime  the  local  authorities  of  Kingston  had  kept 
watch  and  ward  all  the  previous  night,  fancying  every  now 
and  then  that  dismal  shrieks  were  borne  towards  them  on 
the  wind,  and  frequently  winking  to  each  other  and  draw- 
ing closer  to  the  fire  as  they  drank  the  health  of  the  lonely 
sentinel,  upon  whom  a  clerical  gentleman  present  was  espe- 
cially severe  by  reason  of  his  levity  and  youthful  folly. 
Two  or  three  of  the  gravest  in  company,  who  were  of  a 
theological  turn,  propounded  to  him  the  question  whether 
such  a  character  was  not  but  poorly  armed  for  single  com- 
bat with  the  Devil,  and  whether  he  himself  would  not  have 
been  a  stronger  opponent;  but  the  clerical  gentleman, 
sharply  reproving  them  for  their  presumption  in  discussing 
such  questions,  clearly  showed  that  a  fitter  champion  than 
Will  could  scarcely  have  been  selected,  not  only  for  that 
being  a  child  of  Satan  he  was  the  less  likely  to  be  alarmed 
by  the  appearance  of  his  own  father,  but  because  Satan  him- 
self would  be  at  his  ease  in  such  company,  and  would  not 
scruple  to  kick  up  his  heels  to  an  extent  which  it  was  quite 
certain  he  would  never  venture  before  clerical  eyes,  under 
whose  influence  (as  was  notorious)  he  became  quite  a  tame 
and  milk-and-water  character. 

But  when  next  morning  arrived  and  with  it  no  Will 
Marks,  and  when  a  strong  party  repairing  to  the  spot,  as  a 
strong  party  ventured  to  do  in  broad  day,  found  Will  gone 
and  the  gibbet  empty,  matters  grew  serious  indeed.  The 
day  passing  away  and  no  news  arriving,  and  the  night  go- 
ing on  also  without  any  intelligence,  the  thing  grew  more 
tremendous  still;  in  short  the  neighbourhood  worked  itself 
up  to  such  a  comfortable  pitch  of  mystery  and  horror,  that 
it  is  a  great  question  whether  the  general  feeling  was  not 
one  of  excessive  disappointment  when,  on  the  second  morn- 
ing, Will  Marks  returned. 

However  this  may  be,  back  Will  came  in  a  very  cool  and 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  69 

collected  state,  and  appearing  not  to  trouble  himself  much 
about  anybody  except  old  John  Podgers,  who,  having  been 
sent  for,  was  sitting  in  the  Town  Hall  crying  slowly  and 
dozing  between  whiles.  Having  embraced  his  uncle  and 
assured  him  of  his  safety,  Will  mounted  on  a  table  and  told 
his  story  to  the  crowd. 

And  surely  they  would  have  been  the  most  unreasonable 
crowd  that  ever  assembled  together,  if  they  had  been  in 
the  least  respect  disappointed  with  the  tale  he  told  them; 
for  besides  describing  the  Witches'  Dance  to  the  minutest 
motion  of  their  legs,  and  performing  it  in  character  on  the 
table,  with  the  assistance  of  a  broomstick,  he  related  how 
they  had  carried  off  the  body  in  a  copper  cauldron,  and  so 
bewitched  him  that  he  lost  his  senses  until  he  found  him- 
self lying  under  a  hedge  at  least  ten  miles  off  whence  he 
had  straightway  returned  as  they  then  beheld.  The  story 
gained  such  universal  applause  that  it  soon  afterwards 
brought  down  express  from  London  the  great  witch-finder 
of  the  age,  the  Heaven-born  Hopkins,  who  having  exam- 
ined Will  closely  on  several  points,  pronounced  it  the  most 
extraordinary  and  the  best  accredited  witch  story  ever 
known,  under  which  title  it  was  published  at  the  Three 
Bibles  on  London  Bridge,  in  small  quarto,  with  a  view  of 
the  cauldron  from  an  original  drawing,  and  a  portrait 
of  the  clerical  gentleman  as  he  sat  by  the  fire. 

On  one  point  Will  was  particularly  careful:  and  that 
was  to  describe  for  the  witches  he  had  seen,  three  impos- 
sible old  females  whose  likenesses  never  were  or  will  be. 
Thus  he  saved  the  lives  of  the  suspected  parties,  and  of 
all  other  old  women  who  were  dragged  before  him  to  be 
identified. 

This  circumstance  occasioned  John  Podgers  much  grief 
and  eorrow,  until  happening  one  day  to  cast  his  eyes  upon 
his  housekeeper,  and  observing  her  to  be  plainly  afflicted 
with  rheumatism,  he  procured  her  to  be  burnt  as  an  un- 
doubted witch.  For  this  service  to  the  state  he  was  imme- 
diately knighted,  and  became  from  that  time  Sir  John 
Podgers. 

Will  Marks  never  gained  any  clue  to  the  mystery  in 
wjiich  he  had  been  an  actor,  nor  did  any  inscription  in  the 
church  which  he  often  visited  afterwards,  nor  any  of  the 
limited  inquiries  that  he  dared  to  make,  yield  him  the  least 
assistance.  As  he  kept  his  own  secret,  he  was  compelled 


70  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

to  spend  the  gold  discreetly  and  sparingly.  In  course  of 
time  he  married  the  young  lady  of  whom  I  have  already 
told  you,  whose  maiden  name  is  not  recorded,  with  whom 
he  led  a  prosperous  and  happy  life.  Years  and  years  after 
this  adventure,  it  was  his  wont  to  tell  her  upon  a  stormy 
night  that  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  him  to  think  that  those 
bones,  to  whomsoever  they  might  have  once  belonged,  were 
not  bleaching  in  the  troubled  air,  but  were  mouldering 
away  with  the  dust  of  their  own  kith  and  kindred  in  a  quiet 
grave. 

FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S 
VISITOR. 

Being  very  full  of  Mr.  Pickwick's  application  and  highly 
pleased  with  the  compliment  he  had  paid  me,  it  will  be 
readily  supposed  that  long  before  our  next  night  of  meeting 
I  communicated  it  to  my  three  friends,  who  unanimously 
voted  his  admission  into  our  body.  We  all  looked  forward 
with  some  impatience  to  the  occasion  which  would  enroll 
him  among  us,  but  I  am  greatly  mistaken  if  Jack  Kedburn 
and  myself  were  not  by  many  degrees  the  most  impatient 
of  the  party. 

At  length  the  night  came,  and  a  few  minutes  after  ten 
Mr.  Pickwick's  knock  was  heard  at  the  street-door.  He 
was  shown  into  a  lower  room,  and  I  directly  took  my 
crooked  stick  and  went  to  accompany  him  up-stairs,  in 
order  that  he  might  be  presented  with  all  honour  and 
formality. 

"  Mr.  Pickwick,"  said  I,  on  entering  the  room,  "I  am  re- 
joiced to  see  you — rejoiced  to  believe  that  this  is  but  the 
opening  of  a  long  series  of  visits  to  this  house,  and  but  the 
beginning  of  a  close  and  lasting  friendship." 

That  gentleman  made  a  suitable  reply  with  a  cordiality 
and  frankness  peculiarly  his  own,  and  glanced  with  a  smile 
towards  two  persons  behind  the  door,  whom  I  had  not  at 
first  observed,  and  whom  I  immediately  recognised  as  Mr. 
Samuel  Weller  and  his  father. 

It  was  a  warm  evening,  but  the  elder  Mr.  Weller  was 
attired  notwithstanding  in  a  most  capacious  great  coat,  and 
had  his  chin  enveloped  in  a  large  speckled  shawl,  such  as 
is  usually  worn  by  stage  coachmen  on  active  service.  He 
looked  very  rosy  and  very  stout,  especially  about  the  legs, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  71 

which  appeared  to  have  been  compressed  into  his  top-boots 
with  some  difficulty.  His  broad-brimmed  hat  he  held  un- 
der his  left  arm,  and  with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand 
he  touched  his  forehead  a  great  many  times,  in  acknowledg- 
ment of  my  presence. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  in  such  good  health,  Mr. 
Weller,"  said  I. 

"Why,  thankee  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Weller,  "the  axle 
an't  broke  yet.  We  keeps  up  a  steady  pace — not  too  se- 
were,  but  vith  a  moderate  degree  o'  friction — and  the  con- 
sekens  is  that  ve're  still  a  runnin'  and  comes  in  to  the 
time,  reg'lar. — My  son  Samivel,  Sir,  as  you  may  have  read 
on  in  history,"  added  Mr.  Weller,  introducing  his  first- 
born. 

I  received  Sam  very  graciously,  but  before  he  could  say 
a  word  his  father  struck  in  again. 

"Samivel  Veller,  Sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "has 
con-ferred  upon  me  the  ancient  title  o'  grandfather  vich 
had  long  laid  dormouse,  and  wos  s' posed  to  be  nearly  hex- 
tinct  in  our  family.  Sammy,  relate  a  anecdote  o'  vun  o' 
them  boys — that  'ere  little  anecdote  about  young  Tony  say- 
in'  as  he  vould  smoke  a  pipe  unbeknown  to  his  mother." 

"  Be  quiet,  can't  you?  "  said  Sam,  "  I  never  see  such  a 
old  magpie — never ! " 

"That  'ere  Tony  is  the  blessedest  boy — "  said  Mr. 
Weller,  heedless  of  this  rebuff,  "  the  blessedest  boy  as  ever 
/  see  in  my  days !  of  all  the  charmin'est  infants  as  ever  I 
heerd  tell  on,  includin'  them  as  was  kivered  over  by  the 
robin- redbreasts  arter  they'd  committed  sooicide  with  black- 
berries, there  never  wos  any  like  that  'ere  little  Tony. 
He's  alvays  a  playin'  vith  a  quart  pot,  that  boy  is!  To 
see  him  a  settin'  down  on  the  doorstep  pretending  to  drink 
out  of  it,  and  fetching  a  long  breath  artervards,  and  smok- 
ing a  bit  of  fire-vood  and  sayin',  '  Now  I'm  grandfather ' — to 
see  him  a  doiu'  that  at  two  year  old  is  better  than  any  play 
as  wos  ever  wrote.  f  Now  I'm  grandfather ! '  He  wouldn't 
take  a  pint  pot  if  you  wos  to  make  him  a  present  on  it,  but 
he  gets  his  quart  and  then  he  says,  'Now  I'm  grandfather !'  " 

Mr.  Weller  was  so  overpowered  by  this  picture  that  he 
straightway  fell  into  a  most  alarming  fit  of  coughing,  which 
must  certainly  have  been  attended  with  some  fatal  result 
but  for  the  dexterity  and  promptitude  of  Sam,  who  taking 
a  firm  grasp  of  the  shawl  just  under  his  father's  chin  shook 


72  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK. 

him  to  and  fro  with  great  violence,  at  the  same  time  admin- 
istering some  smart  blows  between  his  shoulders.  By  this 
curious  mode  of  treatment  Mr.  Weller  was  finally  recov- 
ered, but  with  a  very  crimson  face  and  in  a  state  of  great 
exhaustion. 

"He'll  do  now,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  who  had  been 
in  some  alarm  himself. 

"  He'll  do,  Sir !  "  cried  Sam,  looking  reproachfully  at  his 
parent.  "  Yes,  he  will  do  one  o'  these  days — he'll  do  for 
his-self  and  then  he'll  wish  he  hadn't.  Did  anybody  ever 
see  sich  a  inconsiderate  old  file, — laughing  into  conwulsions 
afore  company,  and  stamping  on  the  floor  as  if  he'd  brought 
his  own  carpet  vith  him  and  wos  under  a  wager  to  punch 
the  pattern  out  in  a  given  time?  He'll  begin  again  in  a 
minute.  There — he's  a-goin'  off — I  said  he  would ! " 

In  fact,  Mr.  Weller,  whose  mind  was  still  running  upon 
his  precocious  grandson,  was  seen  to  shake  his  head  from 
side  to  side,  while  a  laugh,  working  like  an  earthquake, 
below  the  surface,  produced  various  extraordinary  appear- 
ances in  his  face,  chest,  and  shoulders, — the  more  alarming 
because  unaccompanied  by  any  noise  whatever.  These 
emotions,  however,  gradually  subsided,  and  after  three  or 
four  short  relapses  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  cuff  of  his 
coat,  and  looked  about  him  with  tolerable  composure. 

"  Afore  the  governor  vith-draws,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  there 
is  a  pint,  respecting  vich  Sammy  has  a  qvestion  to  ask. 
Vile  that  qvestion  is  a  perwadin  this  here  conwersation, 
p'raps  the  genl'men  vill  permit  me  to  re-tire." 

"  Wot  are  you  goin'  away  for?  "  demanded  Sam,  seizing 
his  father  by  the  coat-tail. 

"I  never  see  such  a  undootiful  boy  as  you,  Samivel,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Weller.  "Didn't  you  make  a  solemn  promise, 
amountin'  almost  to  a  speeches  o'  wow,  that  you'd  put  that 
'ere  qvestion  on  my  account?  " 

"Well,  I'm  agreeable  to  do  it,"  said  Sam,  "but  not  if 
you  go  cuttin'  away  like  that,  as  the  bull  turned  round  and 
mildly  observed  to  the  drover  ven  they  wos  a  goadin'  him 
into  the  butcher's  door.  The  fact  is,  Sir,"  said  Sam,  ad- 
dressing me,  "  that  he  wants  to  know  somethin'  respectin' 
that  'ere  lady  as  is  housekeeper  here." 

"  Ay.     What  is  that?  " 

"Vy,  Sir,"  said  Sam,  grinning  still  more,  "he  wishes  to 
know  vether  she " 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  73 

"In  short,"  interposed  old  Mr.  Weller  decisively,  a  per- 
spiration breaking  out  upon  his  forehead,  "  vether  that  'ere 
old  creetur  is  or  is  not  a  widder." 

Mr.  Pickwick  laughed  heartily  and  so  did  I,  as  I  replied 
decisively  that  "my  housekeeper  was  a  spinster." 

"There!"  cried  Sam,  "now  you're  satisfied.  You  hear 
she's  a  spinster." 

"  A  wot?  "  said  his  father,  with  deep  scorn. 

"A  spinster,"  replied  Sam. 

Mr.  Weller  looked  very  hard  at  his  son  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  then  said, 

"  Never  mind  vether  she  makes  jokes  or  not,  that's  no 
matter.  Wot  I  say  is,  is  that  'ere  female  a  widder,  or  is 
she  not?  " 

"  Wot  do  you  mean  by  her  making  jokes?  "  demanded 
Sam,  quite  aghast  at  the  obscurity  of  his  parent's  speech. 

"Never  you  mind,  Sarnivel,"  returned  Mr.  Weller 
gravely;  "puns  may  be  wery  good  things  or  they  may  be 
wery  bad  'uns,  and  a  female  may  be  none  the  better  or  she 
may  be  none  the  vurse  for  making  of  'em;  that's  got 
nothing  to  do  vith  widders." 

"Wy  now,"  said  Sam,  looking  round,  "would  anybody 
believe  as  a  man  at  his  time  o'  life  could  be  running  his 
head  agin  spinsters  and  punsters  being  the  same  thing?  " 

"There  an't  a  straw's  difference  between  'em,"  said  Mr. 
Weller.  "  Your  father  didn't  drive  a  coach  for  so  many 
years,  not  to  be  ekal  to  his  own  langvidge  as  far  as  that 
goes,  Sammy." 

Avoiding  the  question  of  etymology,  upon  which  the  old 
gentleman's  mind  was  quite  made  up,  he  was  several  times 
assured  that  the  housekeeper  had  never  been  married.  He 
expressed  great  satisfaction  on  hearing  this,  and  apologised 
for  the  question,  remarking  that  he  had  been  greatly  terri- 
fied by  a  widow  not  long  before  and  that  his  natural  tim- 
idity was  increased  in  consequence. 

"It  wos  on  the  rail,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  with  strong  em- 
phasis; "I  wos  a  goiii'  down  to  Birmingham  by  the  rail, 
and  I  wos  locked  up  in  a  close  carriage  vith  a  living  wid- 
der. Alone  we  wos;  the  widder  and  me  wos  alone;  and  I 
believe  it  wos  only  because  we  wos  alone  and  there  wos  no 
clergyman  in  the  conwayance,  that  that  'ere  widder  didn't 
marry  me  afore  ve  reached  the  half-way  station.  Ven  I 
think  how  she  began  a  screaming  as  we  wos  a  goin?  under 


74  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

them  tunnels  in  the  dark — how  she  kept  on  a  faintiu'  and 
ketehin'  hold  o'  me — and  how  I  tried  to  bust  open  the  door 
as  was  tight-locked  and  perwented  all  escape — Ah !  It  was 
a  awful  thing,  most  awful ! " 

Mr.  Weller  was  so  very  much  overcome  by  this  retrospect 
that  he  was  unable,  until  he  had  wiped  his  brow  several 
times,  to  return  any  reply  to  the  question  whether  he  ap- 
proved of  railway  communication,  notwithstanding  that  it 
would  appear  from  the  answer  which  he  ultimately  gave, 
that  he  entertained  strong  opinions  on  the  subject. 

"I  con-sider,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "that  the  rail  is  uncon- 
stitootional  and  an  inwaser  o'  priwileges,  and  I  should  wery 
much  like  to  know  what  that  'ere  old  Carter  as  once  stood 
up  for  our  liberties  and  wun  'em  too — I  should  like  to  know 
wot  he  vould  say  if  he  wos  alive  now,  to  Englishmen  being 
locked  up  with  widders,  or  with  anybody,  again  their  wills. 
Wot  a  old  Carter  would  have  said,  a  old  Coachman  may 
say,  and  I  as-sert  that  in  that  pint  o'  view  alone,  the  rail 
is  an  inwaser.  As  to  the  comfort,  vere's  the  comfort  o' 
sittin'  in  a  harm-cheer  lookin'  at  brick  walls  or  heaps  o' 
mud,  never  comin'  to  a  public-house,  never  seein'  a  glass 
o'  ale,  never  goin'  through  a  pike,  never  meetin'  a  change 
o'  no  kind  (horses  or  othervise),  but  alvays  comin'  to  a 
place,  ven  you  come  to  one  at  all,  the  wery  picter  o'  the 
last,  vith  the  same  p'leesemen  standing  about,  the  same 
blessed  old  bell  a  ringin',  the  same  unfort'nate  people 
standing  behind  the  bars,  a  waitin'  to  be  let  in;  and  every- 
thin'  the  same  except  the  name,  vich  is  wrote  up  in  the 
same  sized  letters  as  the  last  name  and  vith  the  same  col- 
ours. As  to  the  Aonoiir  and  dignity  o'  travelling  vere  can 
that  be  vithout  a  coachman;  and  wot's  the  rail  to  sich 
coachmen  and  guards  as  is  sometimes  forced  to  go  by  it, 
but  a  outrage  and  a  insult?  As  to  the  pace,  wot  sort  o' 
pace  do  you  think  I,  Tony  Veller,  could  have  kept  a  coach 
goin'  at,  for  five  hundred  thousand  pound  a  mile,  paid  in 
adwance  afore  the  coach  was  on  the  road?  And  as  to  the 
ingein — a  nasty,  wheezin',  creakin',  gaspin',  puffin',  bustin' 
monster,  alvays  out  o'  breath,  vith  a  shiny  green-and-gold 
back,  like  a  unpleasant  beetle  in  that  'ere  gas  magnifier — 
as  to  the  ingein  as  is  alvays  a  pourin'  out  red-hot  coals  at 
night,  and  black  smoke  in  the  day,  the  sensiblest  thing  it 
does  in  my  opinion,  is,  ven  there's  some  thin'  in  the  vay 
and  it  sets  up  that  'ere  frightful  scream  vich  seems  to  say, 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  75 

'Now  here's  two  hundred  and  forty  passengers  in  the  wery 
greatest  extremity  o'  danger,  and  here's  their  two  hundred 
and  forty  screams  in  vun ! ' ' 

By  this  time  I  began  to  fear  that  my  friends  would  be 
rendered  impatient  by  my  protracted  absence.  I  therefore 
begged  Mr.  Pickwick  to  accompany  me  up  stairs,  and  left 
the  two  Mr.  Wellers  in  the  care  of  the  housekeeper,  lay- 
ing strict  injunctions  upon  her  to  treat  them  with  all  possi- 
ble hospitality. 

THE  CLOCK. 

As  we  were  going  up  stairs,  Mr.  Pickwick  put  on  his 
spectacles  which  he  had  held  in  his  hand  hitherto;  arranged 
his  neckerchief,  smoothed  down  his  waistcoat,  and  made 
many  other  little  preparations  of  that  kind  which  men  are 
accustomed  to  be  mindful  of,  when  they  are  going  among 
strangers  for  the  first  time  and  are  anxious  to  impress  them 
pleasantly.  Seeing  that  I  smiled,  he  smiled  too,  and  said 
that  if  it  had  occurred  to  him  before  he  left  home,  he 
would  certainly  have  presented  himself  in  pumps  and  silk 
stockings. 

"I  would  indeed,  my  dear  Sir,"  he  said  very  seriously; 
"  I  would  have  shown  my  respect  for  the  society,  by  laying 
aside  my  gaiters." 

"  You  may  rest  assured,"  said  I,  "that  they  would  have 
regretted  your  doing  so,  very  much,  for  they  are  quite  at- 
tached to  them." 

"  No,  really !  "  cried  Mr.  Pickwick,  with  manifest  pleas- 
ure. "Do  you  think  they  care  about  my  gaiters?  Do 
you  seriously  think  that  they  identify  me  at  all  with  my 
gaiters?  " 

"  I  am  sure  they  do,"  I  replied. 

"Well  now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "that  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  and  agreeable  circumstances  that  could  pos- 
sibly have  occurred  to  me ! " 

I  should  not  have  written  down  this  short  conversation, 
but  that  it  developed  a  slight  point  in  Mr.  Pickwick's  char- 
acter, with  which  I  was  not  previously  acquainted.  He 
has  a  secret  pride  in  his  legs.  The  manner  in  which  he 
spoke,  and  the  accompanying  glance  he  bestowed  upon  his 
tights,  convince  me  that  Mr.  Pickwick  regards  his  legs  with 
much  innocent  vanity. 


76  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"  But  here  are  our  friends,"  said  I,  opening  the  door  and 
taking  his  arm  in  mine;  "let  them  speak  for  themselves. 
— Gentlemen,  I  present  to  you  Mr.  Pickwick." 

Mr.  Pickwick  and  I  must  have  been  a  good  contrast  just 
then.  I,  leaning  quietly  on  my  crutch-stick  with  some- 
thing of  a  careworn,  patient  air;  he,  having  hold  of  my 
arm,  and  bowing  in  every  direction  with  the  most  elastic 
politeness,  and  an  expression  of  face  whose  sprightly  cheer- 
fulness and  good-humour  knew  no  bounds.  The  difference 
between  us  must  have  been  more  striking  yet  as  we  ad- 
vanced towards  the  table,  and  the  amiable  gentleman, 
adapting  his  jocund  step  to  my  poor  tread,  had  his  atten- 
tion divided  between  treating  my  infirmities  with  the  ut- 
most consideration,  and  affecting  to  be  wholly  unconscious 
that  I  required  any. 

I  made  him  personally  known  to  each  of  my  friends  in 
turn.  First,  to  the  deaf  gentleman,  whom  he  regarded 
with  much  interest,  and  accosted  with  great  frankness  and 
cordiality.  He  had  evidently  some  vague  idea,  at  the  mo- 
ment, that  my  friend  being  deaf  must  be  dumb  also;  for 
when  the  latter  opened  his  lips  to  express  the  pleasure  it 
afforded  him  to  know  a  gentleman  of  whom  he  had  heard 
so  much,  Mr.  Pickwick  was  so  extremely  disconcerted,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  step  in  to  his  relief. 

His  meeting  with  Jack  Redburn  was  quite  a  treat  to  see. 
Mr.  Pickwick  smiled,  and  shook  hands,  and  looked  at  him 
through  his  spectacles,  and  under  them,  and  over  them,  and 
nodded  his  head  approvingly,  and  then  nodded  to  me,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  This  is  just  the  man ;  you  were  quite 
right,"  and  then  turned  to  Jack  and  said  a  few  hearty 
words,  and  then  did  and  said  everything  over  again  with 
unimpaired  vivacity.  As  to  Jack  himself,  he  was  quite  as 
much  delighted  with  Mr.  Pickwick  as  Mr.  Pickwick  could 
possibly  be  with  him.  Two  people  never  can  have  met  to- 
gether since  the  world  began,  who  exchanged  a  warmer  or 
more  enthusiastic  greeting. 

It  was  amusing  to  observe  the  difference  between  this  en- 
counter and  that  which  succeeded,  between  Mr.  Pickwick 
and  Mr.  Miles.  It  was  clear  that  the  latter  gentleman 
viewed  our  new  member  as  a  kind  of  rival  in  the  affections 
of  Jack  Redburn,  and  besides  this,  he  had  more  than  once 
hinted  to  me,  in  secret,  that  although  he  had  no  doubt  Mr. 
Pickwick  was  a  very  worthy  man,  still  he  did  consider  that 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  77 

some  of  his  exploits  were  unbecoming  a  gentleman  of  his 
years  and  gravity.  Over  and  above  these  grounds  of  dis- 
trust, it  is  one  of  his  fixed  opinions  that  the  law  never  can 
by  possibility  do  anything  wrong;  he  therefore  looks  upon 
Mr.  Pickwick  as  one  who  has  justly  suffered  in  purse  and 
peace  for  a  breach  of  his  plighted  faith  to  an  unprotected 
female,  and  holds  that  he*  is  called  upon  to  regard  him  with 
some  suspicion  on  that  account.  These  causes  led  to  a 
rather  cold  and  formal  reception;  which  Mr.  Pickwick  ac- 
knowledged with  the  same  stateliness  and  intense  politeness 
as  was  displayed  on  the  other  side.  Indeed  he  assumed  an 
air  of  such  majestic  defiance  that  I  was  fearful  he  might 
break  out  into  some  solemn  protest  or  declaration,  and  there- 
fore inducted  him  into  his  chair  without  a  moment's  delay. 

This  piece  of  generalship  was  perfectly  successful.  The 
instant  he  took  his  seat,  Mr.  Pickwick  surveyed  us  all  with 
a  most  benevolent  aspect,  and  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  smil- 
ing full  five  minutes  long.  His  interest  in  our  ceremonies 
was  immense.  They  are  not  very  numerous  or  complicated, 
and  a  description  of  them  may  be  comprised  in  very  few 
words.  As  our  transactions  have  already  been,  and  must 
necessarily  continue  to  be,  more  or  less  anticipated  by  being 
presented  in  these  pages  at  different  times,  and  under  vari- 
ous forms,  they  do  not  require  a  detailed  account. 

Our  first  proceeding  when  Ave  are  assembled  is  to  shake 
hands  all  round,  and  greet  each  other  with  cheerful  and 
pleasant  looks.  Remembering  that  we  assemble,  not  only 
for  the  promotion  of  our  own  happiness,  but  with  the  view 
of  adding  something  to  the  common  stock,  an  air  of  lan- 
guor or  indifference  in  any  member  of  our  body  would  be 
regarded  by  the  others  as  a  kind  of  treason.  We  have 
never  had  an  offender  in  this  respect;  but  if  we  had,  there 
is  no  doubt  that  he  would  be  taken  to  task  pretty  severely. 

Our  salutation  over,  the  venerable  piece  of  antiquity 
from  which  we  take  our  name  is  wound  up  in  silence.  This 
ceremony  is  always  performed  by  Master  Humphrey  him- 
self (in  treating  of  the  club,  I  may  be  permitted  to  assume 
the  historical  style,  and  speak  of  myself  in  the  third  per- 
son), who  mounts  upon  a  chair  for  the  purpose,  armed  with 
a  large  key.  While  it  is  in  progress,  Jack  Redburn  is  re- 
quired to  keep  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  under  the 
guardianship  of  Mr.  Miles,  for  he  is  known  to  entertain 
certain  aspiring  and  unhallowed  thoughts  connected  with 


78  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

the  Clock,  and  has  even  gone  so  far  as  to  state  that  if  he 
might  take  the  works  out  for  a  day  or  two,  he  thinks  he 
could  improve  them.  We  pardon  him  his  presumption  in 
consideration  of  his  good  intentions,  and  his  keeping  this 
respectful  distance,  which  last  penalty  is  insisted  on,  lest 
V>y  secretly  wounding  the  object  of  our  regard  in  some  ten- 
der part,  in  the  ardour  of  his  zeal  for  its  improvement,  he 
should  fill  us  all  with  dismay  and  consternation. 

This  regulation  afforded  Mr.  Pickwick  the  highest  de- 
light, and  seemed,  if  possible,  to  exalt  Jack  in  his  good 
opinion. 

The  next  ceremony  is  the  opening  of  the  clock-case  (of 
which  Master  Humphrey  has  likewise  the  key),  the  taking 
from  it  as  many  papers  as  will  furnish  forth  our  evening' <? 
entertainment,  and  arranging  in  the  recess  such  new  con- 
tributions as  have  been  provided  since  our  last  meeting. 
This  is  always  done  with  peculiar  solemnity.  The  deaf 
gentleman  then  fills  and  lights  his  pipe,  and  we  once  more 
take  our  seats  round  the  table  before  mentioned,  Master 
Humphrey  acting  as  president — if  we  can  be  said  to  have 
any  president,  where  all  are  on  the  same  social  footing — and 
our  friend  Jack  as  secretary.  Our  preliminaries  being  now 
concluded,  we  fall  into  any  train  of  conversation  that  hap- 
pens to  suggest  itself,  or  proceed  immediately  to  one  of  our 
readings.  In  the  latter  case,  the  paper  selected  is  con- 
signed to  Master  Humphrey,  who  flattens  it  carefully  on 
the  table  and  makes  dog's  ears  in  the  corner  of  every  page, 
ready  for  turning  over  easily;  Jack  Redburn  trims  the  lamp 
with  a  small  machine  of  his  own  invention,  which  usually 
puts  it  out;  Mr.  Miles  looks  on  with  great  approval  not- 
withstanding; the  deaf  gentleman  draws  in  his  chair,  so 
that  he  can  follow  the  words  on  the  paper  or  on  Master 
Humphrey's  lips,  as  he  pleases;  and  Master  Humphrey 
himself,  looking  round  with  mighty  gratification  and  glan- 
cing up  at  his  old  clock,  begins  to  read  aloud. 

Mr.  Pickwick's  face  while  his  tale  was  being  read  would 
have  attracted  the  attention  of  the  dullest  man  alive.  The 
complacent  motion  of  his  head  and  forefinger  as  he  gently 
beat  time  and  corrected  the  air  with  imaginary  punctua- 
tion, the  smile  that  mantled  on  his  features  at  every  jocose 
passage  and  the  sly  look  he  stole  around  to  observe  its 
effect,  the  calm  manner  in  which  he  shut  his  eyes  and  lis- 
tened when  there  was  some  little  piece  of  description,  the 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  79 

changing  expression  with  which  he  acted  the  dialogue  to  him- 
self, his  agony  that  the  deaf  gentleman  should  know  what 
it  was  all  about,  and  his  extraordinary  anxiety  to  correct 
the  reader  when  he  hesitated  at  a  word  in  the  manuscript 
or  substituted  a  wrong  one,  were  alike  worthy  of  remark. 
And  when  at  last,  after  endeavouring  to  communicate 
with  the  deaf  gentleman  by  means  of  the  finger  alphabet, 
with  which  he  constructed  such  words  as  are  unknown  in 
any  civilised  or  savage  language,  he  took  up  a  slate  and 
wrote  in  large  text,  one  word  in  a  line,  the  question,  "  How 
— do — you — like — it?  " — when  he  did  this,  and  handing  it 
over  the  table  awaited  the  reply,  with  a  countenance  only 
brightened  and  improved  by  his  great  excitement,  even  Mr. 
Miles  relaxed,  and  could  not  forbear  looking  at  him  for  the 
moment  with  interest  and  favour. 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  the  deaf  gentleman,  who 
had  watched  Mr.  Pickwick  and  everybody  else  with  silent 
satisfaction,  "it  has  occurred  to  me,"  said  the  deaf  gentle- 
man, taking  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  "  that  now  is  our  time 
for  filling  our  only  empty  chair." 

As  our  conversation  had  naturally  turned  upon  the  vacant 
seat,  we  lent  a  willing  ear  to  this  remark,  and  looked  at 
our  friend  inquiringly. 

"  I  feel  sure,"  said  he,  "  that  Mr.  Pickwick  must  be  ac- 
quainted with  somebody  who  would  be  an  acquisition  to 
us;  that  he  must  know  the  man  we  want.  Pray  let  us  not 
lose  any  time,  but  set  this  question  at  rest.  Is  it  so,  Mr. 
Pickwick?  " 

The  gentleman  addressed  was  about  to  return  a  verbal 
reply,  but  remembering  our  friend's  infirmity  he  substituted 
for  this  kind  of  answer  some  fifty  nods.  Then  taking  up 
the  slate  and  printing  on  it  a  gigantic  "  Yes,"  he  handed  it 
across  the  table,  and  rubbing  his  hands  as  he  looked  round 
upon  our  faces,  protested  that  he  and  the  deaf  gentleman 
quite  understood  each  other,  already. 

"The  person  I  have  in  my  mind,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick, 
"  and  whom  I  should  not  have  presumed  to  mention  to  you 
until  some  time  hence,  but  for  the  opportunity  you  have 
given  me,  is  a  very  strange  old  man.  His  name  is  Bam- 
ber." 

"  Bamber ! "  said  Jack,  "  I  have  certainly  heard  the  name 
before." 

"I  have  no  doubt  then,"  returned  Mr.  Pickwick,  "that 


80  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

you  remember  him  in  those  adventures  of  mine  (the  Post- 
humous Papers  of  our  old  club,  I  mean)  although  he  is 
only  incidentally  mentioned;  and,  if  I  remember  right,  ap- 
pears but  once." 

"That's  it,"  said  Jack.  "Let  me  see.  He  is  the  person 
who  has  a  grave  interest  in  old  mouldy  chambers  and  the 
Inns  of  Court,  and  who  relates  some  anecdotes  having  ref- 
erence to  his  favourite  theme — and  an  odd  ghost  story — is 
that  the  man?  " 

"The  very  same.  Now,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  lowering 
his  voice  to  a  mysterious  and  confidential  tone,  "  he  is  a 
very  extraordinary  and  remarkable  person;  living,  and 
talking,  and  looking,  like  some  strange  spirit,  whose  de- 
light is  to  haunt  old  buildings;  and  absorbed  in  that  one 
subject  which  you  have  just  mentioned,  to  an  extent  which 
is  quite  wonderful.  When  I  retired  into  private  life,  I 
sought  him  out,  and  I  do  assure  you  that  the  more  I  see  of 
him,  the  more  strongly  I  am  impressed  with  the  strange 
and  dreamy  character  of  his  mind." 

"Where  does  he  live?"  I  inquired. 

"He  lives,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  "in  one  of  those  dull, 
lonely  old  places  with  which  his  thoughts  and  stories  are 
all  connected;  quite  alone,  and  often  shut  up  close  for  sev- 
eral weeks  together.  In  this  dusty  solitude  he  broods  upon 
the  fancies  he  has  so  long  indulged,  and  when  he  goes  into 
the  world,  or  anybody  from  the  world  without  goes  to  see 
him,  they  are  still  present  to  his  mind  and  still  his  favour- 
ite topic.  I  may  say,  I  believe,  that  he  has  brought  him- 
self to  entertain  a  regard  for  me,  and  an  interest  in  my 
visit;  feelings  which  I  am  certain  he  would  extend  to  Mas- 
ter Humphrey's  Clock  if  he  were  once  tempted  to  join  us. 
All  I  wish  you  to  understand  is,  that  he  is  a  strange  se- 
cluded visionary,  in  the  world  but  not  of  it;  and  as  unlike 
anybody  here  as  he  is  unlike  anybody  elsewhere  that  ever 
I  have  met  or  known." 

Mr.  Miles  received  this  account  of  our  proposed  compan- 
ion with  rather  a  wry  face,  and  after  murmuring  that  per- 
haps he  was  a  little  mad,  inquired  if  he  were  rich. 

"I  never  asked  him,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"  You  might  know,  Sir,  for  all  that,"  retorted  Mr.  Miles, 
sharply. 

"Perhaps  so,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  no  less  sharply 
than  the  other,  "but  I  do  not.  Indeed,"  he  added,  relnps- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  & 

ing  into  his  usual  mildness,  "  I  have  no  means  of  judging. 
He  lives  poorly,  but  that  would  seem  to  be  in  keeping  with 
his  character.  I  never  heard  him  allude  to  his  circum- 
stances, and  never  fell  into  the  society  of  any  man  who  had 
the  slightest  acquaintance  with  them.  I  really  have  told 
you  all  I  know  about  him,  and  it  rests  with  you  to  say 
whether  you  wish  to  know  more,  or  know  quite  enough 
already." 

We  were  unanimously  of  opinion  that  we  would  seek  to 
know  more;  and  as  a  sort  of  compromise  with  Mr.  Miles 
(who,  although  he  said  "  Yes — Oh  certainly — he  should 
like  to  know  more  about  the  gentleman — he  had  no  right 
to  put  himself  in  opposition  to  the  general  wish — "  and  so 
forth,  shook  his  head  doubtfully  and  hemmed  several  times 
with  peculiar  gravity),  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Pickwick 
should  carry  me  with  him  on  an  evening  visit  to  the  sub- 
ject of  our  discussion,  for  which  purpose  an  early  appoint- 
ment between  that  gentleman  and  myself  was  immediately 
agreed  upon ;  it  being  understood  that  I  was  to  act  upon  my 
own  responsibility,  and  invite  him  to  join  us,  or  not,  as  I 
might  think  proper.  This  solemn  question  determined,  we 
returned  to  the  clock-case  (where  we  have  been  forestalled 
by  the  reader),  and  between  its  contents,  and  the  conversa- 
tion they  occasioned,  the  remainder  of  our  time  passed  very 
quickly. 

When  we  broke  up,  Mr.  Pickwick  took  me  aside  to  tell 
me  that  he  had  spent  a  most  charming  and  delightful  even- 
ing. Having  made  this  communication  with  an  air  of  the 
strictest  secrecy,  he  took  Jack  Eedburn  into  another  corner 
to  tell  him  the  same,  and  then  retired  into  another  corner 
with  the  deaf  gentleman  and  the  slate,  to  repeat  the  assur- 
ance. It  was  amusing  to  observe  the  contest  in  his  mind 
whether  he  should  extend  his  confidence  to  Mr.  Miles,  or 
treat  him  with  dignified  reserve.  Half-a-dozen  times  he 
stepped  up  behind  him  with  a  friendly  air,  and  as  often 
stepped  back  again  without  saying  a  word;  at  last,  when 
he  was  close  at  that  gentleman's  ear  and  upon  the  very 
point  of  whispering  something  conciliating  and  agreeable, 
Mr.  Miles  happened  suddenly  to  turn  his  head,  upon  which 
Mr.  Pickwick  skipped  away,  and  said  with  some  fierceness, 
"  Good  night,  Sir — I  was  about  to  say  good  night,  Sir — 
nothing  more;"  and  so  made  a  bow  and  left  him. 

"  Now,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick,  when  he  got  down  stairs. 
6 


82  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"All  right,  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Weller.  "Hold  hard,  Sir. 
Eight  arm  fust — now  the  left — now  one  strong  couwulsion, 
and  the  greatcoat's  on,  Sir." 

Mr.  Pickwick  acted  upon  these  directions,  and  being 
further  assisted  by  Sam  who  pulled  at  one  side  of  the  col- 
lar, and  the  elder'Mr.  Weller  who  pulled  hard  at  the  other, 
was  speedily  enrobed.  Mr.  Weller  senior  then  produced  a 
full-sized  stable  lantern,  which  he  had  carefully  deposited 
in  a  remote  corner,  on  his  arrival,  and  inquired  whether  Mr. 
Pickwick  would  have  "  the  lamps  alight. " 

"I  think  not  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Pickwick. 

"Then  if  this  here  lady  vill  per-mit,"  rejoined  Mrt  Wel- 
ler, "  we'll  leave  it  here,  ready  for  next  journey.  This  here 
lantern,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  handing  it  to  the  house- 
keeper, "  vunce  belonged  to  the  celebrated  Bill  Blinder  as 
is  now  at  grass,  as  all  on  us  vill  be  in  our  turns.  Bill, 
mum,  wos  the  hostler  as  had  charge  o'  them  two  veil- 
known  piebald  leaders  that  run  in  the  Bristol  fast  coach, 
and  vould  never  go  to  no  other  tune  but  a  sutherly  vind 
and  a  cloudy  sky,  which  wos  consekvently  played  incessant, 
by  the  guard,  wenever  they  wos  on  duty.  He  wos  took 
wery  bad  one  arternoon,  arter  having  been  off  his  feed,  and 
wery  shaky  on  his  legs  for  some  veeks;  and  he  says  to 
his  mate,  '  Matey,'  he  says,  '  I  think  I'm  a-goin'  the  wrong 
side  o'  the  post,  and  that  my  foot's  wery  near  the  bucket. 
Don't  say  I  an't,'  he  says,  '  for  I  know  I  am,  and  don't  let 
me  be  interrupted,'  he  says,  '  for  I've  saved  a  little  money, 
and  I'm  a-goin'  into  the  stable  to  make  my  last  vill  and 
testymint.'  '  I'll  take  care  as  nobody  interrupts,'  says  this 
mate,  '  but  you  on'y  hold  up  your  head,  and  shake  your 
ears  a  bit,  and  you're  good  for  twenty  year  to  come.'  Bill 
Blinder  makes  him  no  answer,  but  he  goes  avay  into  the 
stable,  and  there  he  soon  arter vards  lays  himself  down 
a'tween  the  two  piebalds,  and  dies, — previously  a-writin' 
outside  the  corn-chest,  '  This  is  the  last  vill  and  testymint 
of  Villiam  Blinder.'  They  wos  nat' rally  wery  much 
amazed  at  this,  and  arter  looking  among  the  litter,  and  up 
in  the  loft,  and  vere  not,  they  opens  the  corn-chest,  and 
finds  that  he'd  been  and  chalked  his  vill  inside  the  lid;  so 
the  lid  wos  obligated  to  be  took  off  the  hinges,  and  sent  up 
to  Doctor  Commons  to  be  proved,  and  under  that  'ere  wery 
instrument  this  here  lantern  was  passed  to  Tony  Veller; 
vich  circumstarnce,  mum,  gives  it  a  wally  in  my  eyes,  and 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  83 

makes  me  rek-vest,  if  you  vill  be  so  kind,  as  to  take  par- 
tickler  care  oft  it." 

The  housekeeper  graciously  promised  to  keep  the  object 
of  Mr.  Weller's  regard  in  the  safest  possible  custody,  and 
Mr.  Pickwick,  with  a  laughing  face,  took  his  leave.  The 
body-guard  followed,  side  by  side:  old  Mr.  Weller  but- 
toned and  wrapped  up  from  his  boots  to  his  chin;  and  Sam 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  hat  half  off  his  head, 
remonstrating  with  his  father  as  he  went,  on  his  extreme 
loquacity. 

I  was  not  a  little  surprised,  on  turning  to  go  up  stairs,  to 
encounter  the  barber  in  the  passage  at  that  late  hour;  for 
his  attendance  is  usually  confined  to  some  half-hour  in  the 
morning.  But  Jack  Eedburn,  who  finds  out  (by  instinct,  I 
think)  everything  that  happens  in  the  house,  informed  me 
with  great  glee,  that  a  society  in  imitation  of  our  own  had 
been  that  night  formed  in  the  kitchen,  under  the  title  of 
"Mr.  Weller's  Watch,"  of  which  the  barber  was  a  member; 
and  that  he  could  pledge  himself  to  find  means  of  making 
me  acquainted  with  the  whole  of  its  future  proceedings, 
which  I  begged  him,  both  on  my  own  account  and  that  of 
my  readers,  by  no  means  to  neglect  doing. 


ME.   WELLEE'S   WATCH. 

IT  seems  that  the  housekeeper  and  the  two  Mr.  Wellers 
were  no  sooner  left  together  on  the  occasion  of  their  first 
becoming  acquainted,  than  the  housekeeper  called  to  her 
assistance  Mr.  Slithers  the  barber,  who  had  been  lurking 
in  the  kitchen  in  expectation  of  her  summons;  and  with 
many  smiles  and  much  sweetness  introduced  him  as  one 
who  would  assist  her  in  the  responsible  office  of  entertain- 
ing her  distinguished  visitors. 

"  Indeed,"  said  she,  "  without  Mr.  Slithers  I  should  have 
been  placed  in  quite  an  awkward  situation." 

"There  is  no  call  for  any  hock-erdness,  mum,"  said  Mr. 
Weller  with  the  utmost  politeness;  "no  call  wotsumever. 
A  lady,"  added  the  old  gentleman,  looking  about  him  with 
the  air  of  one  who  establishes  an  incontrovertible  position, 
"a  lady  can't  be  hock'erd.  Natur  has  otherwise  pur- 
wided." 

The  housekeeper  inclined  her  head  and  smiled  yet  more 


84  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

sweetly.  The  barber,  who  had  been  fluttering  about  Mr. 
Weller  and  Sam  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety  to, improve  their 
acquaintance,  rubbed  his  hands  and  cried,  "Hear!  hear! 
Very  true,  Sir;  "  whereupon  Sam  turned  about  and  steadily 
regarded  him  for  some  seconds  in  silence. 

"  I  never  knew,"  said  Sam,  fixing  his  eyes  in  a  rumina- 
tive manner  upon  the  blushing  barber,  "  I  never  knew  but 
vun  o'  your  trade,  but  he  wos  worth  a  dozen  and  wos  in- 
deed dewoted  to  his  callin' ! " 

"  Was  he  in  the  easy  shaving  way,  Sir,"  inquired  Mr. 
Slithers;  "or  in  the  cutting  and  curling  line?  " 

"Both,"  replied  Sam;  "easy  shavin'  was  his  natur;  and 
cuttin'  and  curlin'  was  his  pride  and  glory.  His  whole 
delight  wos  in  his  trade.  He  spent  all  his  money  in  bears 
and  run  in  debt  for  'em  besides,  and  there  they  wos  a 
growling  avay  down  in  the  front  cellar  all  day  long,  and 
ineffectooally  gnashing  their  teeth,  vile  the  grease  o'  their 
relations  and  friends  wos  being  retailed  in  gallipots  in  the 
shop  above,  and  the  first-floor  winder  wos  ornamented  vith 
their  heads;  not  to  speak  o'  the  dreadful  aggrawation  it 
must  have  been  to  'em  to  see  a  man  alvays  a  walkin'  up 
and  down  the  pavement  outside,  vith  the  portrait  of  a  bear 
in  his  last  agonies,  and  underneath  in  large  letters,  'An- 
other fine  animal  wos  slaughtered  yesterday  at  Jinkin- 
son's!'  Hows'ever,  there  they  wos,  and  there  Jinkinson 
wos,  till  he  wos  took  wery  ill  with  some  inn'ard  disorder, 
lost  the  use  of  his  legs,  and  wos  confined  to  his  bed  vere 
he  laid  a  wery  long  time,  but  sich  wos  his  pride  in  his  pro- 
fession even  then,  that  wenever  he  wos  worse  than  usual 
the  doctor  used  to  go  down  stairs  and  say,  '  Jinkinson's 
wery  low  this  mornin';  we  must  give  the  bears  a  stir;' 
and  as  sure  as  ever  they  stirred  'em  up  a  bit  and  made  'em 
roar,  Jinkinson  opens  his  eyes  if  he  wos  ever  so  bad,  calls 
out,  'There's  the  bears!'  and  rewives  agin." 

"  Astonishing !  "  cried  the  barber. 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Sam,  "human  natur'  neat  as  imported. 
Vun  day  the  doctor  happenin'  to  say,  '  I  shall  look  in  as 
usual  to-morrow  mornin','  Jinkinson  catches  hold  of  his 
hand  and  says,  'Doctor,'  he  says,  '  will  you  grant  me  one 
favour?  '  '  I  will,  Jinkinson,'  says  the  doctor;  '  Then,  doc- 
tor,' says  Jinkinson,  '  vill  you  come  unshaved,  and  let  me 
shave  you?  '  '  I  will,'  says  the  doctor.  '  God  bless  you,' 
says  Jinkinson.  Next  day  the  doctor  came,  and  arter  he'd 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK  85 

been  shaved  all  skilful  and  reg'lar,  he  says,  *  Jinkinson,' 
he  says,  '  it's  wery  plain  this  does  you  good.  Now,'  he  says, 
'  I've  got  a  coachman  as  has  got  a  beard  that  it  'ud  warm 
your  heart  to  work  on,  and  though  the  footman,'  he  says, 
'  hasn't  got  much  of  a  beard,  still  he's  a  trying  it  on  vith 
a  pair  o'  viskers  to  that  extent  that  razors  is  Christian  char- 
ity. If  they  take  it  in  turns  to  mind  the  carriage  when  it's 
a  waitin'  below,'  he  says,  '  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  oper- 
atin'  on  both  of  'em  ev'ry  day  as  well  as  upon  me?  you've 
got  six  children,'  he  says,  '  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  shav- 
in'  all  their  heads  and  keepin'  'em  shaved?  you've  got  two 
assistants  in  the  shop  down  stairs,  wot's  to  hinder  you 
from  cuttin'  and  curlin'  them  as  often  as  you  like?  Do 
this,'  he  says,  'and  you're  a  man  agin.'  Jinkinsou 
squeedged  the  doctor's  hand  and  begun  that  wery  day;  he 
kept  his  tools  upon  the  bed,  and  wenever  he  felt  his-self 
gettin'  worse,  he  turned  to  at  vun  o'  the  children  who  wos 
a  runnin'  about  the  house  vith  heads  like  clean  Dutch 
cheeses,  and  shaved  him  agin.  Vun  day  the  lawyer  come 
to  make  his  vill;  all  the  time  he  wos  a  takin'  it  down, 
Jinkinson  was  secretly  a  clippin'  avay  at  his  hair  vith  a 
large  pair  of  scissors.  '  Wot's  that  'ere  snippin'  noise?  ' 
says  the  lawyer  every  now  and  then,  'it's  like  a  man  havin' 
his  hair  cut.'  It  is  wery  like  a  man  havin'  his  hair  cut,' 
says  poor  Jinkinson,  hidin'  the  scissors  and  lookin'  quite 
innocent.  By  the  time  the  lawyer  found  it  out,  he  was 
wery  nearly  bald.  Jinkinson  wos  kept  alive  in  this  vay 
for  a  long  tinle,  but  at  last  vun  day  he  has  in  all  the  chil- 
dren vun  arter  another,  shaves  each  on  'em  wery  clean,  and 
gives  him  vun  kiss  on  the  crown  o'  his  head;  then  he  has 
in  the  two  assistants,  and  arter  cuttin'  and  curlin'  of  'em 
in  the  first  style  of  elegance,  says  he  should  like  to  hear 
the  woice  o'  the  greasiest  bear,  vich  rekvest  is  immedetly 
complied  with;  then  he  says  that  he  feels  wery  happy  in 
his  mind  and  vishes  to  be  left  alone;  and  then  he  dies, 
prevously  cuttin'  his  own  hair  and  makin'  one  flat  curl  in 
the  wery  middle  of  his  forehead." 

This  anecdote  produced  an  extraordinary  effect,  not  only 
upon  Mr.  Slithers,  but  upon  the  housekeeper  also,  who 
evinced  so  much  anxiety  to  please  and  to  be  pleased,  that 
Mr.  Weller,  with  a  manner  betokening  some  alarm,  con- 
veyed a  whispered  inquiry  to  his  son  whether  he  had  gone 
"too  fur." 


86  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"  Wot  do  you  mean  by  too  fur?  "  demanded  Sam. 

"  In  that  'ere  little  compliment  respectin'  the  want  of 
hock'erdness  in  ladies,  Sammy,"  replied  his  father. 

"  You  don't  think  she's  fallen  in  love  with  you  in  conse- 
kens  o'  that,  do  you?  "  said  Sam. 

"More  unlikelier  things  have  come  to  pass,  my  boy,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Weller  in  a  hoarse  whisper;  "I'm  always  afeerd 
of  inadwertent  captiwation,  Sammy.  If  I  know'd  how  to 
make  myself  ugly  or  unpleasant,  I'd  do  it,  Samivel,  ray- 
ther  than  live  in  this  here  state  of  perpetival  terror !  " 

Mr.  Weller  had,  at  that  time,  no  further  opportunity  of 
dwelling  upon  the  apprehensions  which  beset  his  mind,  for 
the  immediate  occasion  of  his  fears  proceeded  to  lead  the 
way  down  stairs,  apologising  as  they  went  for  conducting 
him  into  the  kitchen,  which  apartment,  however,  she  was 
induced  to  proffer  for  his  accommodation  in  preference  to 
her  own  little  room,  the  rather  as  it  afforded  greater  facili- 
ties for  smoking,  and  was  immediately  adjoining  the  ale- 
cellar.  The  preparations  which  were  already  made  suffi- 
ciently proved  that  these  were  not  mere  words  of  course,  for 
on  the  deal  table  were  a  sturdy  ale-jug  and  glasses,  flanked 
with  clean  pipes  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  tobacco  for  the 
old  gentleman  and  his  son,  while  on  a  dresser  hard  by  was 
goodly  store  of  cold  meat  and  other  eatables.  At  sight  of 
these  arrangements  Mr.  Weller  was  at  first  distracted  be- 
tween his  love  of  joviality  and  his  doubts  whether  they  were 
not  to  be  considered  as  so  many  evidences  of  captivation 
having  already  taken  place;  but  he  soon  yielded  to  his  nat- 
ural impulse,  and  took  his  seat  at  the  table  with  a  very  jolly 
countenance. 

"As  to  imbibin'  any  o'  this  here  flagrant  veed,  mum, 
in  the  presence  of  a  lady,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  taking  up  a 
pipe  and  laying  it  down  again,  "  it  couldn't  be.  Samivel, 
total  abstinence,  if  you  please." 

"But  I  like  it  of  all  things,"  said  the  housekeeper. 

"No,"  rejoined  Mr.  Weller,  shaking  his  head.     "No." 

"Upon  my  word  I  do,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "Mr. 
Slithers  knows  I  do." 

Mr.  Weller  coughed,  and  notwithstanding  the  barber's 
confirmation  of  the  statement,  said  "  No"  again,  but  more 
feebly  than  before.  The  housekeeper  lighted  a  piece  of 
paper  and  insisted  on  applying  it  to  the  bowl  of  the  pipe 
with  her  own  fair  hands;  Mr.  Weller  resisted;  the  house- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  87 

keeper  cried  that  her  fingers  would  be  burnt;  Mr.  Weller 
gave  way.  The  pipe  was  ignited,  Mr.  Weller  drew  a  long 
puff  of  smoke,  and  detecting  himself  in  the  very  act  of 
smiling  on  the  housekeeper,  put  a  sudden  constraint  upon 
his  countenance  and  looked  sternly  at  the  candle,  with  a 
determination  not  to  captivate,  himself,  or  encourage 
thoughts  of  captivation  in  others.  From  this  iron  frame  of 
mind  he  was  roused  by  the  voice  of  his  son. 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Sam,  who  was  smoking  with  great 
composure  and  enjoyment,  "  that  if  the  lady  wos  agreeable, 
it  'ud  be  wery  far  out  o'  the  vay  for  us  four  to  make  up  a 
club  of  our  own  like  the  governors  does  up  stairs,  and  let 
him,"  Sam  pointed  with  the  stem  of  his  pipe  towards  his 
parent,  "  be  the  president. " 

The  housekeeper  affably  declared  that  it  was  the  very 
thing  she  had  been  thinking  of.  The  barber  said  the  same. 
Mr.  Weller  said  nothing,  but  he  laid  down  his  pipe  as  if  in 
a  fit  of  inspiration,  and  performed  the  following  manoeuvres. 

Unbuttoning  the  three  lower  buttons  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  pausing  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  easy  flow  of  breath 
consequent  upon  this  process,  he  laid  violent  hands  upon 
his  watch-chain,  and  slowly  and  with  extreme  difficulty 
drew  from  his  fob  an  immense  double-cased  silver  watch, 
which  brought  the  lining  of  the  pocket  with  it  and  was  no 
to  be  disentangled  but  by  great  exertions  and  an  amazing 
redness  of  face.  Having  fairly  got  it  out  at  last,  he  de- 
tached the  outer  case  and  wound  it  up  with  a  key  of  corre- 
sponding magnitude;  then  put  the  case  on  again,  and  hav- 
ing applied  the  watch  to  his  ear  to  ascertain  that  it  was 
still  going,  gave  it  some  half-dozen  hard  knocks  on  the 
table  to  improve  its  performance. 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  laying  it  on  the  table  with  its 
face  upwards,  "  is  the  title  and  emblem  o'  this  here  society. 
Sammy,  reach  them  two  stools  this  vay  for  the  wacant 
cheers.  Ladies  and  gen'lmen,  Mr.  Weller's  Watch  is 
vound  up  and  now  a  goin'.  Order! " 

By  way  of  enforcing  this  proclamation,  Mr.  Weller, 
using  the  watch  after  the  manner  of  a  president's  hammer, 
and  remarking  with  great  pride  that  nothing  hurt  it,  and 
that  falls  and  concussions  of  all  kinds  materially  enhanced 
the  excellence  of  the  works  and  assisted  the  regulator, 
knocked  the  table  a  great  many  times  and  declared  the  as- 
sociation formally  constituted. 


88  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"  And  don't  let's  have  no  grinnin'  at  the  cheer,  Samivel," 
said  Mr.  Weller  to  his  son,  "  or  I  shall  be  committin'  you 
to  the  cellar,  and  then  p'r'aps  we  may  get  into  what  the 
'Merrikins  call  a  fix,  and  the  English  a  qvestion  o'  privi- 
leges." 

Having  uttered  this  friendly  caution,  the  president  set- 
tled himself  in  his  chair  with  great  dignity,  and  requested 
that  Mr.  Samuel  would  relate  an  anecdote. 

"I've  told  one,"  said  Sam. 

"  Wery  good,  Sir;  tell  another,"  returned  the  chair. 

"We  wos  a  talking  jist  now,  Sir,"  said  Sam,  turning  to 
Slithers,  "  about  barbers.  Pursuing  that  'ere  fruitful  theme, 
Sir,  I'll  tell  you  in  a  wery  few  words  a  romantic  little  story 
about  another  barber,  as  p'r'aps  you  may  never  have  heerd." 

"  Samivel ! "  said  Mr.  Weller,  again  bringing  his  watch 
and  the  table  into  smart  collision,  "  address  your  obserwa- 
tions  to  the  cheer,  Sir,  and  not  to  priwate  indiwiduals !  " 

"And  if  I  might  rise  to  order,"  said  the  barber  in  a  soft 
voice,  and  looking  round  him  with  a  conciliatory  smile  as 
he  leant  over  the  table  with  the  knuckles  of  his  left  hand 
resting  upon  it,  "  if  I  might  rise  to  order,  I  would  suggest 
that  '  barbers  '  is  not  exactly  the  kind  of  language  which  is 
agreeable  and  soothing  to  our  feelings.  You,  Sir,  will  cor- 
rect me  if  I'm  wrong,  but  I  believe  there  is  such  a  word  in 
the  dictionary  as  hairdressers." 

"  Well,  but  suppose  he  wasn't  a  hairdresser,"  suggested 
Sam. 

"  Wy  then,  Sir,  be  parliamentary,  and  call  him  vun  all 
the  more,"  returned  his  father.  "  In  the  same  vay  as  ev'ry 
gen'lman  in  another  place  is  a  Aonourable,  ev'ry  barber  in 
this  place  is  a  hairdresser.  Ven  you  read  the  speeches  in 
the  papers,  and  see  as  vun  gen'lman  says  of  another,  '  the 
honourable  member,  if  he  vill  allow  me  to  call  him  so, '  you 
vill  understand,  Sir,  that  that  means,  '  if  he  vill  allow  me 
to  keep  up  that  'ere  pleasant  and  uniwersal  fiction.' ' 

It  is  a  common  remark,  ronfirmed  by  history  and  experi- 
ence, that' great  men  rise  with  the  circumstances  in  which 
they  are  placed.  Mr.  Weller  came  out  so  strong  in  his 
capacity  of  chairman,  that  Sam  was  for  some  time  prevented 
from  speaking  by  a  grin  of  surprise,  which  held  his  facul- 
ties enchained,  and  at  last  subsided  in  a  long  whistle  of  a 
single  note.  Nay,  the  old  gentleman  appeared  even  to 
have  astonished  himself,  and  that  to  no  small  extent,  as 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  39 

was  demonstrated  by  the  vast  amount  of  chuckling  in  which 
he  indulged  after  the  utterance  of  these  lucid  remarks. 

"Here's  the  story,"  said  Sam.  "Vunce  upon  a  time 
there  wos  a  young  hairdresser  as  opened  a  wery  smart  little 
shop  vith  four  wax  dummies  in  the  winder,  two  gen'lmen 
and  two  ladies — the  gen'lmen  vith  blue  dots  for  their 
beards,  wery  large  viskers,  oudacious  heads  of  hair,  uncom- 
mon clear  eyes,  and  nostrils  of  amazin'  pinkness — the  la- 
dies vith  their  heads  o'  one  side,  their  right  forefingers  on 
their  lips,  and  their  forms  deweloped  beautiful,  in  vich 
last  respect  they  had  the  adwantage  over  the  gen'lmen,  as 
wasn't  allowed  but  wery  little  shoulder  and  terminated 
rayther  abrupt  in  fancy  drapery.  He  had  also  a  many 
hair-brushes  and  tooth-brushes  bottled  up  in  the  winder, 
neat  glass-cases  on  the  counter,  a  floor-clothed  cuttin'-room 
up-stairs,  and  a  weighin'-macheen  in  the  shop,  right  op- 
posite the  door;  but  the  great  attraction  and  ornament  wos 
the  dummies,  which  this  here  young  hairdresser  wos  con- 
stantly a  runnin'  out  in  the  road  to  look  at,  and  constantly 
a  runnin'  in  agin  to  touch  up  and  polish;  in  short  he  wos 
so  proud  on  'em  that  ven  Sunday  come,  he  wos  always 
wretched  and  mis'rable  to  think  they  wos  behind  the  shut- 
ters, and  looked  anxiously  for  Monday  on  that  account. 
Vun  o'  these  dummies  wos  a  fav'rite  vith  him  beyond  the 
others;  and  ven  any  of  his  acquaintance  asked  him  wy  he 
didn't  get  married — as  the  young  ladies  he  know'd,  in  par- 
tickler,  often  did — he  used  to  say,  '  Never !  I  never^vill 
enter  into  the  bonds  of  vedlock,'  he  says,  'until  I  meet  vith 
a  young  'ooman  as  realizes  my  idea  o'  that  'ere  fairest 
dummy  vith  the  light  hair.  Then  and  not  till  then,'  he 
says,  '  I  vill  approach  the  altar ! '  All  the  young  ladies  he 
know'd  as  had  got  dark  hair  told  him  this  was  wery  sinful, 
and  that  he  wos  wurshippin'  a  idle;  but  them  as  wos  at  all 
near  the  same  shade  as  the  dummy  coloured  up  wery  much, 
and  wos  observed  to  think  him  a  wery  nice  young  man." 

"Samivel,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  gravely;  "a. member  of 
this  associashun  bein  one  o'  that  ere  tender  sex  which  is 
now  immedetly  referred  to,  I  have  to  rekvest  that  you 
vill  make  no  reflexions." 

"  I  ain't  a  makin'  any,  am  I?  "  inquired  Sam. 

"Order,  Sir!"  rejoined  Mr.  Weller,  with  severe  dignity; 
then  sinking  the  chairman  in  the  father,  he  added  in  his 
usual  tone  of  voice,  "  Samivel,  drive  on!  " 


90.  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

Sam  interchanged  a  smile  with  the  housekeeper,  and 
proceeded : 

"The  young  hairdresser  hadn't  been  in  the  habit  o' 
makin'  this  avowal  above  six  months,  ven  he  en-countered 
a  young  lady  as  wos  the  wery  picter  o'  the  fairest  dummy. 
'  Now,'  he  says,  '  it's  all  up.  I  am  a  slave! '  The  young 
lady  wos  not  only  the  picter  o'  the  fairest  dummy,  but  she 
was  very  romantic,  as  the  young  hairdresser  wos  too,  and 
he  says,  'Oh!'  he  says,  'here's  a  community  o'  feelin', 
here's  a  flow  o'  soul ! '  he  says,  '  here's  a  interchange  o' 
sentiment!'  The  young  lady  didn't  say  much,  o'  course, 
but  she  expressed  herself  agreeable,  and  shortly  artervards 
vent  to  see  him  vith  a  mutual  friend.  The  hairdresser 
rushes  out  to  meet  her,  but  d'rectly  she  sees  the  dummies 
she  changes  colour  and  falls  a  tremblin'  wiolently.  '  Look 
up,  my  love,'  says  the  hairdresser,  'behold  your  imige  in 
my  winder,  but  not  correcter  than  in  my  art ! '  '  My 
imige ! '  she  says.  '  Yourn ! '  replies  the  hairdresser.  '  But 
whose  imige  is  that?'  she  says,  a  pinting  at  vun  o'  the 
gen'lmen.  '  No  vun's,  my  love,'  he  says,  '  it  is  but  a  idea.' 
'  A  idea! '  she  cries,  '  it  is  a  portrait,  I  feel  it  is  a  portrait, 
and  that  'ere  noble  face  must  be  in  the  milingtary ! '  '  Wot 
do  I  hear ! '  says  he,  a  crumplin'  his  curls.  '  Villiam 
Gibbs,'  she  says,  quite  firm,  '  never  renoo  the  subject.  I 
respect  you  as  a  friend,'  she  says,  '  but  my  affections  is  set 
upon  that  manly  brow.'  'This,'  says  the  hairdresser,  'is 
a  reg'lar  blight,  and  in  it  I  perceive  the  hand  of  Fate. 
Fartfvell ! '  Vith  these  vords  he  rushes  into  the  shop,  breaks 
the  dummy's  nose  vith  a  blow  of  his  curlin'-irons,  melts 
him  down  at  the  parlour  fire,  and  never  smiles  artervards." 

"The  young  lady,  Mr.  Weller?  "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"Why,  ma'am,"  said  Sam,  "finding  that  Fate  had  a 
spite  agin  her  and  everybody  she  come  into  contact  vith, 
she  never  smiled  neither,  but  read  a  deal  o'  poetry  and 
pined  avay — by  rayther  slow  degrees,  for  she  an't  dead 
yet.  It  took  a  deal  o'  poetry  to  kill  the  hairdresser,  and 
some  people  say  arter  all  that  it  was  more  the  gin  and  wa- 
ter as  caused  him  to  be  run  over;  p'r'aps  it  was  a  little  o' 
both,  and  came  o'  mixing  the  two." 

The  barber  declared  that  Mr.  Weller  had  related  one  of 
the  most  interesting  stories  that  had  ever  come  within  his 
knowledge,  in  which  opinion  the  housekeeper  entirely  con- 
curred. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  91 

"  Are  you  a  married  man,  Sir?  "  inquired  Sam.  ' 

The  barber  replied  that  lie  had  not  that  honor. 

"I  s'pose  you  mean  to  be?  "  said  Sam. 

"  Well,"  replied  the  barber,  rubbing  his  hands  smirk- 
ingly,  "I  don't  know,  I  don't  think  it's  very  likely." 

"That's  a  bad  sign,"  said  Sam;  "if  you'd  said  you 
meant  to  be  vun  o'  these  days,  I  should  ha'  looked  upon 
you  as  bein'  safe.  You're  in  a  wery  precarious  state." 

"  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  danger,  at  all  events,"  re- 
turned the  barber. 

"No  more  wos  I,  Sir,"  said  the  elder  Mr.  Weller,  inter- 
posing, "those  vere  my  symptoms  exactly.  I've  been  took 
that  vay  twice.  Keep  your  vether  eye  open,  my  friend, 
or  you're  gone." 

There  was  something  so  very  solemn  about  this  admoni- 
tion, both  in  its  matter  and  manner,  and  also  in  the  way  in 
which  Mr.  Weller  still  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  unsus- 
pecting victim,  that  nobody  cared  to  speak  for  some  little 
time,  and  might  not  have  cared  to  do  so  for  some  time 
longer,  if  the  housekeeper  had  not  happened  to  sigh,  which 
called  off  the  old  gentleman's  attention  and  gave  rise  to  a 
gallant  inquiry  whether  "  there  wos  anythin'  wery  piercin' 
in  that  'ere  little  heart?  " 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Weller !  "  said  the  housekeeper,  laughing. 

"  No,  but  is  there  anythin'  as  agitates  it?  "  pursued  the 
old  gentleman.  "  Has  it  always  been  obderrate,  always  op- 
posed to  the  happiness  o'  human  creeturs?  Eh?  Has  it?  " 

At  this  critical  juncture  for  her  blushes  and  confusion, 
the  housekeeper  discovered  that  more  ale  was  wanted,  and 
hastily  withdrew  into  the  cellar  to  draw  the  same,  followed 
by  the  barber,  who  insisted  on  carrying  the  candle.  Hav- 
ing looked  after  her  with  a  very  complacent  expression  of 
face,  and  after  him  with  some  disdain,  Mr.  Weller  caused 
his  glance  to  travel  slowly  round  the  kitchen  until  at  length 
it  rested  on  his  son. 

"Sammy,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "I  mistrust  that  barber." 

"Wot  for?"  returned  Sam;  "wot's  he  got  to  do  with 
you?  You're  a  nice  man,  you  are,  arter  pretendin'  all 
kinds  o'  terror,  to  go  a  payin'  compliments  and  talkin' 
about  hearts  and  piercers." 

The  imputation  of  gallantry  appeared  to  afford  Mr.  Wel- 
ler the  utmost  delight,  for  he  replied  in  a  voice  choked  by 
suppressed  laughter  and  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes, 


92  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

1'Wos  I  a  talkin'  about  hearts  and  piercers — wos  I 
though,  Sammy,  eh?" 

"Wos  you?  of  course  you  wos." 

"  She  don't  know  no  better,  Sammy,  there  an't  no  harm 
in  it, — no  danger,  Sammy;  she's  only  a  punster.  She 
seemed  pleased  though,  didn't  she?  0'  course  she  wos 
pleased,  it's  nat'ral  she  should  be,  wery  nat'ral." 

"He's  wain  of  it!"  exclaimed  Sam,  joining  in  his  fa- 
ther's mirth.  "  He's  actually  wain ! " 

"  Hush ! "  replied  Mr.  Weller,  composing  his  features, 
"  they're  a  comin'  back,  the  little  heart's  a  comin'  back. 
But  mark  these  wurds  o'  mine  once  more,  and  remember 
'em  ven  your  father  says  he  said  'em.  Samivel,  I  mistrust 
that  'ere  deceitful  barber." 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCK-SIDE 
IN  THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

Two  or  three  evenings  after  the  institution  of  Mr.  Wel- 
ler's  Watch,  I  thought  I  heard  as  I  walked  in  the  garden 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Weller  himself  at  no  great  distance;  and 
stopping  once  or  twice  to  listen  more  attentively,  I  found 
that  the  sounds  proceeded  from  my  housekeeper's  little  sit- 
ting-room, which  is  at  the  back  of  the  house.  I  took  no 
further  notice  of  the  circumstance  at  that  time,  but  it 
formed  the  subject  of  a  conversation  between  me  and  my 
friend  Jack  Redburn  next  morning,  when  I  found  that  I 
had  not  been  deceived  in  my  impression.  Jack  furnished 
me  with  the  following  particulars;  and  as  he  appeared  to 
take  extraordinary  pleasure  in  relating  them,  I  have  begged 
him  in  future  to  jot  down  any  such  domestic  scenes  or  oc- 
currences that  may  please  his  humour,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  told  in  his  own  way.  I  must  confess  that,  as  Mr. 
Pickwick  and  he  are  constantly  together,  I  have  been  in- 
fluenced, in  making  this  request,  by  a  secret  desire  to  know 
something  of  their  proceedings. 

On  the  evening  in  question,  the  housekeeper's  room  was 
arranged  with  particular  care,  and  the  housekeeper  herself 
was  very  smartly  dressed.  The  preparations,  however, 
were  not  confined  to  mere  showy  demonstrations,  as  tea 
was  prepared  for  three  persons,  with  a  small  display  of 
preserves  and  jams  and  sweet  cakes,  which  heralded  some 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  93 

uncommon  occasion.  Miss  Benton  (my  housekeeper  bears 
that  name)  was  in  a  state  of  great  expectation  too,  fre- 
quently going  to  the  front  door  and  looking  anxiously  down 
the  lane,  and  more  than  once  observing  to  the  servant-girl 
that  she  expected  company  and  hoped  no  accident  had  hap- 
pened to  delay  them. 

A  modest  ring  at  the  bell  at  length  allayed  her  fears,  and 
Miss  Benton,  hurrying  into  her  own  room  and  shutting  her- 
self up,  in  order  that  she  might  preserve  that  appearance 
of  being  taken  by  surprise  which  is  so  essential  to  the  polite 
reception  of  visitors,  awaited  their  coming  with  a  smiling 
countenance. 

"  Good  ev'nin',  mum,"  said  the  older  Mr.  Weller,  look- 
ing in  at  the  door  after  a  prefatory  tap,  "I'm  afeerd  we've 
come  in  rayther  arter  the  time,  mum,  but  the  young  colt 
being  full  o'  wice  has  been  a  boltin'  and  shyin'  and  gettin' 
his  leg  over  the  traces  to  sich  a  ex- tent  that  if  he  an't  wery 
soon  broke  in,  he'll  wex  me  into  a  broken  heart,  and  then 
he'll  never  be  brought  out  no  more  except  to  learn  his  let- 
ters from  the  writin'  on  his  grandfather's  tombstone." 

With  these  pathetic  words,  which  were  addressed  to 
something  outside  the  door  about  two  feet  six  from  the 
ground,  Mr.  Weller  introduced  a  very  small  boy  firmly  set 
upon  a  couple  of  very  sturdy  legs,  who  looked  as  if  nothing 
could  ever  knock  him  down.  Besides  having  a  very  round 
face  strongly  resembling  Mr.  Weller 's,  and  a  stout  little 
body  of  exactly  his  build,  this  young  gentleman,  standing 
with  his  little  legs  very  wide  apart  as  if  the  top-boots  were 
familiar  to  them,  actually  winked  upon  the  housekeeper 
with  his  infant  eye,  in  imitation  of  his  grandfather. 

"There's  a  naughty  boy,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  burst- 
ing with  delight,  "there's  a  immoral  Tony.  Wos  there 
ever  a  little  chap  o'  four  year  and  eight  months  old  as 
vinked  his  eye  at  a  strange  lady  afore?  " 

As  little  affected  by  this  observation  as  by  the  former 
appeal  to  his  feelings,  Master  Weller  elevated  in  the  air  a 
small  model  of  a  coach  whip  which  he  carried  in  his  hand, 
and  addressing  the  housekeeper  with  a  shrill  "  ya — hip ! " 
inquired  if  she  was  "going  down  the  road;"  at  which 
happy  adaptation  of  a  lesson  he  had  been  taught  from  in- 
fancy, Mr.  Weller  could  restrain  his  feelings  no  longer,  but 
gave  him  twopence  on  the  spot. 

"It's  in  wain  to  deny  it,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "this 


94  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

here  is  a  boy  arter  his  grandfather's  own  heart,  and  beats 
out  all  the  boys  as  ever  wos  or  will  be.  Though  at  the 
same  time,  mum,"  added  Mr.  Weller,  trying  to  look  gravely 
down  upon  his  favourite,  "  it  was  wery  wrong  on  him  to 
want  to  over  all  the  posts  as  we  come  along,  and  wevy 
cruel  on  him  to  force  poor  grandfather  to  lift  him  cross- 
legged  over  every  vun  of  'em.  He  wouldn't  pass  vun 
single  blessed  post,  mum,  and  at  the  top  o'  the  lane  there's 
seven-and-forty  on  'em  all  in  a  row  and  wery  close  to- 
gether." 

Here  Mr.  Weller,  whose  feelings  were  in  a  perpetual 
conflict  between  pride  in  his  grandson's  achievements  and 
a  sense  of  his  own  responsibility,  and  the  importance  of 
impressing  him  with  moral  truths, burst  into  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, and  suddenly  checking  himself,  remarked  in  a  severe 
tone  that  little  boys  as  made  their  grandfathers  put  'em 
over  posts  never  went  to  heaven  at  any  price. 

By  this  time  the  housekeeper  had  made  tea,  and  little 
Tony  placed  on  a  chair  beside  her,  with  his  eyes  nearly  on 
a  level  with  the  top  of  the  table,  was  provided  with  various 
delicacies  which  yielded  him  extreme  contentment.  The 
housekeeper  (who  seemed  rather  afraid  of  the  child,  not- 
withstanding her  caresses)  then  patted  him  on  the  head 
and  declared  that  he  was  the  finest  boy  she  had  ever 
seen. 

"Wy,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "I  don't  think  you'll  see 
a  many  sich,  and  that's  the  truth.  But  if  my  son  Samivel 
vould  give  me  my  vay,  mum,  and  only  dis-pense  vith  his 
— might  I  wenter  to  say  the  vurd?  " 

"  What  word,  Mr.  Weller?  "  said  the  housekeeper,  blush- 
ing slightly. 

"Petticuts,  mum,"  returned  that  gentleman,  laying  his 
hand  upon -the  garments  of  his  grandson.  "If  my  son 
Samivel,  mum,  vould  9nly  dis-pense  vith  these  here,  you'd 
see  such  a  alteration  in  his  appearance,  as  the  imagination 
can't  depicter." 

"  But  what  would  you  have  the  child  wear  instead,  Mr. 
Weller?  "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"  I've  offered  my  son  Samivel,  mum,  agen  and  agen,"  re- 
turned the  old  gentleman,  "  to  pxirwide  him  at  my  own  cost 
vith  a  suit  o'  clothes  as  'ud  be  the  makin'  on  him,  and 
form  his  mind  in  infancy  for  those  pursuits  as  I  hope  the 
family  o'  the  Vellers  vill  alvays  dewote  themselves  to 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  95 

Tony,  my  boy,  tell  the  lady  wot  them  clothes  are,  as 
grandfather  says  father  ought  to  let  you  vear. " 

"  A  little  white  hat  and  a  little  sprig  weskut  and  little 
knee  cords  and  little  top-boots  and  a  little  green  coat  with 
little  bright  buttons  and  a  little  welwet  collar,"  replied 
Tony,  with  great  readiness  and  no  stops. 

"That's  the  cos-toom,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  looking 
proudly  at  the  housekeeper.  "  Once  make  sich  a  model  on 
him  as  that,  and  you'd  say  he  wos  a  aiigel! " 

Perhaps  the  housekeeper  thought  that  in  such  a  guise 
young  Tony  would  look  more  like  the  angel  at  Islington 
than  anything  else  of  that  name,  or  perhaps  she  was 
disconcerted  to  find  her  previously-conceived  ideas  dis- 
turbed, as  angels  are  not  commonly  represented  in  top- 
boots  and  sprig  waistcoats.  She  coughed  doubtfully,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  How  many  brothers  and  sisters  have  you,  my  dear?  " 
she  asked,  after  a  short  silence. 

"  One  brother  and  no  sister  at  all,"  replied  Tony.  "  Sam 
his  name  is,  and  so's  my  father's.  x)o  you  know  my  fa- 
ther? " 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  him,"  said  the  housekeeper,  graciously. 

"Is  my  father  fond  of  you?  "  pursued  Tony. 

"  I  hope  so,"  rejoined  the  smiling  housekeeper. 

Tony  considered  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Is  my  grand- 
father fond  of  you?  " 

This  would  seem  a  very  easy  question  to  answer,  but  in- 
stead of  replying  to  it,  the  housekeeper  smiled  in  great 
confusion,  and  said  that  really  children  did  ask  such  ex- 
traordinary questions  that  it  was  the  most  difficult  thing  in 
the  world  to  talk  to  them.  Mr.  Weller  took  upon  himself 
to  reply  that  he  was  very  fond  of  the  lady ;  but  the  house- 
keeper entreating  that  he  would  not  put  such  things  into 
the  child's  head,  Mr.  Weller  shook  his  own  while  she 
looked  another  way,  and  seemed  to  be  troubled  with  a  mis- 
giving that  captivation  was  in  progress.  It  was  perhaps  on 
this  account  that  he  changed  the  subject  precipitately. 

"  It's  wery  wrong  in  little  boys  to  make  game  o'  their 
grandfathers,  an't  it,  mum?  "  said  Mr.  Weller,  shaking  his 
head  waggishly,  until  Tony  looked  at  him,  when  he  coun- 
terfeited the  deepest  dejection  and  sorrow. 

"Oh  very  sad!"  assented  the  housekeeper.  "But  I 
hope  no  little  boys  do  that?  " 


96  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

"There  is  vun  young  Turk,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "as 
havin'  seen  his  grandfather  a  little  overcome  vith  drink  on 
the  occasion  of  a  friend's  birthday,  goes  a  reeliu'  and  stag- 
gerin'  about  the  house,  and  makin'  believe  that  he's  the  old 
gen'lm'n." 

"  Oh  quite  shocking ! "  cried  the  housekeeper. 

"Yes,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller;  "and  prevously  to  so 
doin',  this  here  young  traitor  that  I'm  a  speakin'  of, 
pinches  his  little  nose  to  make  it  red,  and  then  he  gives  a 
hiccup  and  says,  '  I'm  all  right,'  he  says,  '  give  us  another 
song! '  Ha  ha!  '  Give  us  another  song,'  he  says.  Ha  ha 
ha!" 

In  his  excessive  delight,  Mr.  Weller  was  quite  unmind- 
ful of  his  moral  responsibility,  until  Jittle  Tony  kicked  up 
his  legs,  and  laughing  immoderately  cried,  "  That  was  me, 
that  was;  "  whereupon  the  grandfather  by  a  great  effort 
became  extremely  solemn. 

"No,  Tony,  not  you,"  said  Mr.  Weller.  "I  hope  it 
warn't  you,  Tony.  It  must  ha'  been  that  'ere  naughty  lit- 
tle chap  as  comes  sometimes  out  o'  the  empty  watch-box 
round  the  corner — that  same  little  chap  as  wos  found  stand- 
ing on  the  table  afore  the  looking-glass,  pretending  to  shave 
himself  vith  a  oyster-knife." 

"  He  didn't  hurt  himself,  I  hope?  "  observed  the  house- 
keeper. 

"Not  he,  mum,"  said  Mr.  Weller  proudly;  "bless  your 
heart,  you  might  trust  that  'ere  boy  vith  a  steam-engine 
a'most,  he's  such  a  knowiii'  young" — but  suddenly  recol- 
lecting himself  and  observing  that  Tony  perfectly  under- 
stood and  appreciated  the  compliment,  the  old  gentleman 
groaned  and  observed  that  "it  wos  all  wery  shockin' — 
wery." 

"Oh  he's  a  bad  'un,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "is  that  'ere 
watch-box  boy,  makin'  such  a  noise  and  litter  in  the  back 
yard,  he  does,  waterin'  wooden  horses  and  feedin'  of  'em 
vith  grass,  and  perpetivally  spillin'  his  little  brother  out  of 
a  veelbarrow  and  frightenin'  his  mother  out  of  her  wits,  at 
the  wery  moment  wen  she's  expectm'  to  increase  his  stock 
of  happiness  vith  another  play- feller — oh  he's  a  bad  'un! 
He's  even  gone  so  far  as  to  put  on  a  pair  o'  paper  spectacles 
as  he  got  his  father  to  make  for  him,  and  walk  up  and 
down  the  garden  vith  his  hands  behind  him  in  imitation  of 
Mr.  Pickwick — but  Tony  don't  do  sich  things,  Oh  no! " 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  97 

"Oh  no!"  echoed  Tony. 

"  He  knows  better,  he  does,"  said  Mr.  Weller,  "  he  knows 
that  if  he  wos  to  come  sich  games  as  these  nobody  wouldn't 
love  him,  and  that  his  grandfather  in  partickler  couldn't 
abear  the  sight  on  him;  for  vich  reasons  Tony's  always 
good." 

"Always  good,"  echoed  Tony;  and  his  grandfather  im- 
mediately took  him  on  his  knee  and  kissed  him,  at  the 
same  time  with  many  nods  and  winks  slyly  pointing  at  the 
child's  head  with  his  thumb,  in  order  that  the  housekeeper, 
otherwise  deceived  by  the  admirable  manner  in  which  he 
(Mr.  Weller)  had  sustained  his  character,  might  not  sup- 
pose that  any  other  young  gentleman  was  referred  to,  and 
might  clearly  understand  that  the  boy  of  the  watch-box 
was  but  an  imaginary  creation,  and  a  fetch  of  Tony  him- 
self, invented  for  his  improvement  and  reformation. 

Not  confining  himself  to  a  mere  verbal  description  of  his 
grandson' s.abilities,  Mr.  Weller,  when  tea  was  finished,  in- 
cited him  by  various  gifts  of  pence  and  halfpence  to  smoke 
imaginary  pipes,  drink  visionary  beer  from  real  pots,  imi- 
tate his  grandfather  without  reserve,  and  in  particular  to  go 
through  the  drunken  scene,  which  threw  the  old  gentle- 
man into  ecstasies  and  filled  the  housekeeper  with  wonder. 
Nor  was  Mr.  Weller' s  pride  satisfied  with  even  this  display, 
for  when  he  took  his  leave  he  carried  the  child,  like  some 
rare  and  astonishing  curiosity,  first  to  the  barber's  house 
and  afterwards  to  the  tobacconist's,  at  each  of  which  places 
he  repeated  his  performances  with  the  utmost  effect  to  ap- 
plauding and  delighted  audiences.  It  was  half-past  nine 
o'clock  when  Mr.  Weller  was  last  seen  carrying  him  home 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  it  has  been  whispered  abroad  that 
at  that  time  the  infant  Tony  was  rather  intoxicated. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCK-SIDE 
IN  THE  CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

I  WAS  musing  the  other  evening  upon  the  characters  and 
incidents  with  which  I  had  been  so  long  engaged;  wonder- 
ing how  I  could  ever  have  looked  forward  with  pleasure  to 
the  completion  of  my  tale,  and  reproaching  myself  for  hav- 
ing done  so,  as  if  it  were  a  kind  of  cruelty  to  those  com- 
panions of  my  solitude  whom  I  had  now  dismissed,  and 
7 


98  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

could  never  again  recall;  when  my  clock  struck  ten.  Punc- 
tual to  the  hour,  my  friends  appeared. 

On  our  last  night  of  meeting,  we  had  finished  the  story 
which  the  reader  has  just  concluded.  Our  conversation 
took  the  same  current  as  the  meditations  which  the  en- 
trance of  my  friends  had  interrupted,  and  the  Old  Curi- 
osity Shop  was  the  staple  of  our  discourse. 

I  may  confide  to  the  reader  now,  that  in  connexion  with 
this  little  history  I  had  something  upon  my  mind — some- 
thing to  communicate  which  I  had  all  along  with  difficulty 
repressed — something  I  had  deemed  it,  during  the  progress 
of  the  story,  necessary  to  its  interest  to  disguise,  and 
which,  now  that  it  was  over,  I  wished,  and  was  yet  reluct- 
ant to  disclose. 

To  conceal  anything  from  those  to  whom  I  am  attached, 
is  not  in  my  nature.  I  can  never  close  my  lips  where  I 
have  opened  my  heart.  This  temper  and  the  consciousness 
of  having  done  some  violence  to  it  in  my  narrative,  laid 
me  under  a  restraint  which  I  should  have  had  great  diffi- 
culty in  overcoming,  but  for  a  timely  remark  from  Mr. 
Miles,  who,  as  I  hinted  in  a  former  paper,  is  a  gentleman 
of  business  habits,  and  of  great  exactness  and  propriety  in 
all  his  transactions. 

"I  could  have  wished,"  my  friend  objected,  "that  we 
had  been  made  acquainted  with  the  single  gentleman's 
name.  I  don't  like  his  withholding  his  name.  It  made 
me  look  upon  him  at  first  with  suspicion,  and  caused  me  to 
doubt  his  moral  character,  I  assure  you.  I  am  fully  satis- 
fied by  this  time  of  his  being  a  worthy  creature,  but  in  this 
respect  he  certainly  would  not  appear  to  have  acted  at  all 
like  a  man  of  business." 

"  My  friends,"  said  I,  drawing  to  the  table  at  which  they 
were  by  this  time  seated  in  their  usual  chairs,  "  do  you  re- 
member that  this  story  bore  another  title  besides  that  one 
we  have  so  often  heard  of  late?  " 

Mr.  Miles  had  his  pocket-book  out  in  an  instant,  and  re- 
ferring to  an  entry  therein,  rejoined,  "  Certainly.  Personal 
Adventures  of  Master  Humphrey.  Here  it  is.  I  made  a 
note  of  it  at  the  time." 

I  was  about  to  resume  what  I  had  to  tell  them,  when  the 
same  Mr.  Miles  again  interrupted  me,  observing  that  the 
narrative  originated  in  a  personal  adventure  of  my  own,  and 
that  was  no  doubt  the  reason  for  its  being  thus  designated. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  99 

This  led  me  to  the  point  at  once. 

"You  will  one  and  all  forgive  me,"  I  returned,  "if,  for 
the  greater  convenience  of  the  story,  and  for  its  better  in- 
troduction, that  adventure  was  fictitious.  I  had -my  share 
indeed — no  light  or  trivial  one — in  the  pages  we  have  read 
but  it  was  not  the  share  I  feigned  to  have  at  first.  The 
younger  brother,  the  single  gentleman,  the  nameless  actor 
in  this  little  drama,  stands  before  you  now." 

It  was  easy  to  see  they  had  not  expected  this  disclosure. 

"Yes,"  I  pursued.  "I  can  look  back  upon  my  part  in  it 
with  a  calm,  half-smiling  pity  for  myself  as  for  some  other 
man.  But  I  am  he  indeed;  and  now  the  chief  sorrows  of 
my  life  are  yours." 

I  need  not  say  what  true  gratification  I  derived  from  the 
sympathy  and  kindness  with  which  this  acknowledgment 
was  received;  nor  how  often  it  had  risen  to  my  lips  before; 
nor  how  difficult  I  had  found  it — how  impossible,  when  I 
came  to  those  passages  which  touched  me  most,  and  most 
nearly  concerned  me — to  sustain  the  character  I  had  as- 
sumed. It  is  enough  to  say  that  I  replaced  in  the  clock- 
case  the  record  of  so  many  trials — sorrowfully,  it  is  true, 
but  with  a  softened  sorrow  which  was  almost  pleasure;  and 
felt  that  in  living  through  the  past  again,  and  communicat- 
ing to  others  the  lesson  it  had  helped  to  teach  me,  I  had 
been  a  happier  man. 

We  lingered  so  long  over  the  leaves  from  which  I  had 
read,  that  as  I  consigned  them  to  their  former  resting-place, 
the  hand  of  my  trusty  clock  pointed  to  twelve,  and  there 
came  towards  us  upon  the  wind  the  voice  of  the  deep  and 
distant  bell  of  St.  Paul's  as  it  struck  the  hour  of  mid- 
night. 

"This,"  said  I,  returning  with  a  manuscript  I  had  taken 
at  the  moment,  from  the  same  repository,  "  to  be  opened  to 
such  music,  should  be  a  tale  where  London's  face  by  night 
is  darkly  seen,  and  where  some  deed  of  such  a  time  as  this 
is  dimly  shadowed  out.  Which  of  us  here  has  seen  the 
working  of  that  great  machine  whose  voice  has  just  now 
ceased?  " 

Mr.  Pickwick  had,  of  course,  and  so  had  Mr.  Miles. 
Jack  and  my  deaf  friend  were  in  the  minority. 

I  had  seen  it  but  a  few  days  before,  and  could  not  help 
telling  them  of  the  fancy  I  had  had  about  it. 

I  paid  my  fee  of  twopence  upon  entering,  to  one  of  the 


100  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

• 

money-changers  who  sit  within  the  Temple;  and  falling, 
after  a  few  turns  up  and  down,  into  the  quiet  train  of 
thought  which  such  a  place  awakens,  paced  the  echoing 
stones  like  some  old  monk  whose  present  world  lay  all 
within  its  walls.  As  I  looked  afar  up  into  the  lofty  dome, 
I  could  not  help  wondering  what  were  his  reflections  whose 
genius  reared  that  mighty  pile,  when,  the  last  small  wedge 
of  timber  fixed,  the  last  nail  driven  into  its  home  for  many 
centuries,  the  clang  of  hammers,  and  the  hum  of  busy 
voices  gone,  and  the  Great  Silence  whole  years  of  noise 
had  helped  to  make,  reigning  undisturbed  around,  he  mused 
as  I  did  now,  upon  his  work,  and  lost  himself  amid  its  vast 
extent.  I  could  not  quite  determine  whether  the  contem- 
plation of  it  would  impress  him  with  a  sense  of  greatness 
or  of  insignificance;  but  when  I  remembered  how  long  a 
time  it  had  taken  to  erect,  in  how  short  a  space  it  might  be 
traversed  even  to  its  remotest  parts,  for  how  brief  a  term 
he,  or  any  of  those  who  cared  to  bear  his  name,  would  live 
to  see  it,  or  know  of  its  existence,  I  imagined  him  far  more 
melancholy  than  proud,  and  looking  with  regret  upon  his 
labour  done.  With  these  thoughts  in  my  mind,  I  began  to 
ascend,  almost  unconsciously,  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to 
the  several  wonders  of  the  building,  and  found  myself 
before  a  barrier  where  another  money-taker  sat,  who  de- 
manded which  among  them  I  would  choose  to  see.  There 
were  the  stone  gallery,  he  said,  and  the  whispering  gallery, 
the  geometrical  staircase,  the  room  of  models,  the  clock — 
the  clock  being  quite  in  my  way,  I  stopped  him  there,  and 
chose  that  sight  from  all  the  rest. 

I  groped  my  way  into  the  Turret  which  it  occupies,  and 
saw  before  me,  in  a  kind  of  loft,  what  seemed  to  be  a  great, 
old  oaken  press  with  folding  doors.  These  being  thrown 
back  by  the  attendant  (who  was  sleeping  when  I  came 
upon  him,  and  looked  a  drowsy  fellow,  as  though  his  close 
companionship  with  Time  had  made  him  quite  indifferent 
to  it)  disclosed  a  complicated  crowd  of  wheels  and  chains 
in  iron  and  brass — great,  sturdy,  rattling  engines — sugges- 
tive of  breaking  a  ringer  put  in  here  or  there,  and  grinding 
the  bone  to  powder — and  these  were  the  Clock !  Its  very 
pulse,  if  I  may  use  the  word,  was  like  no  other  clock.  It 
did  not  mark  the  flight  of  every  moment  with  a  gentle  sec- 
ond stroke  as  though  it  would  check  old  Time,  and  have 
him  stay  his  pace  in  pity,  but  measured  it  with  one  sledge- 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK.  101 

hammer  beat,  as  if  its  business  were  to  crush  the  seconds 
as  they  came  trooping  on,  and  remorselessly  to  clear  a  path 
before  the  Day  of  Judgment. 

I  sat  down  opposite  to  it,  and  hearing  its  regular  and 
never-changing  voice,  that  one  deep  constant  note,  upper- 
most amongst  all  the  noise  and  clatter  in  the  streets  below 
—marking  that,  let  that  tumult  rise  or  fall,  go  on  or  stop — 
let  it  be  night  or  noon,  to-morrow  or  to-day,  this  year  or 
next — it  still  performed  its  functions  with  the  same  dull 
constancy,  and  regulated  the  progress  of  the  life  around, 
the  fancy  came  upon  me  that  this  was  London's  Heart,  and 
that  when  it  should  cease  to  beat,  the  City  would  be  no 
more. 

It  is  night.  Calm  and  unmoved  amidst  the  scenes  that 
darkness  favours,  the  great  heart  of  London  throbs  in  its 
Giant  breast.  Wealth  and  beggary,  vice  and  virtue,  guilt 
and  innocence,  repletion  and  the  direst  hunger,  all  treading 
on  each  other  and  crowding  together,  are  gathered  round 
it.  Draw  but  a  little  circle  above  the  clustering  housetops, 
and  you  shall  have  within  its  space  everything,  with  its 
opposite  extreme  and  contradiction,  close  beside.  Where 
yonder  feeble  light  is  shining,  a  man  is  but  this  moment 
dead.  The  taper  at  a  few  yards'  distance  is  seen  by  eyes 
that  have  this  instant  opened  on  the  world.  There  are  two 
houses  separated  by  but  an  inch  or  two  of  wall.  In  one, 
there  are  quiet  minds  at  rest;  in  the  other,  a  waking  con- 
science that  one  might  think  would  trouble  the  very  air. 
In  that  close  corner  where  the  roofs  shrink  down  and  cower 
together  as  if  to  hide  their  secrets  from  the  handsome  street 
hard  by,  there  are  such  dark  crimes,  such  miseries  and  hor- 
rors, as  could  be  hardly  told  in  whispers.  In  the  handsome 
street,  there  are  folks  asleep  who  have  dwelt  there  all  their 
lives,  and  have  no  more  knowledge  of  these  things  than  if 
they  had  never  been,  or  were  transacted  at  the  remotest 
limits  of  the  world — who,  if  they  were  hinted  at,  would 
shake  their  heads,  look  wise,  and  frown,  and  say  they  were 
impossible,  and  out  of  Nature — as  if  all  great  towns  were 
not.  Does  not  this  Heart  of  London,  that  nothing  moves, 
nor  stops,  nor  quickens, — that  goes  on  the  same,  let  what 
will  be  done, — does  it  not  express  the  City's  character  well? 

The  day  begins  to  break,  and  soon  there  is  the  hum  and 
noise  of  life.  Those  who  have  spent  the  night  on  doorsteps 
and  cold  stones  crawl  off  to  begj  they  who  have  slept  in 


102  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

beds  come  forth  to  their  occupation  too,  and  business  is 
astir.  The  fog  of  sleep  rolls  slowly  off,  and  London  shines 
awake.  The  streets  are  filled  with  carriages,  and  people 
gaily  clad.  The  jails  are  full,  too,  to  the  throat,  nor  have 
the  workhouses  or  hospitals  much  room  to  spare.  The 
courts  of  law  are  crowded.  Taverns  have  their  regular 
frequenters  by  this  time,  and  every  mart  of  traffic  has  its 
throng.  Each  of  these  places  is  a  world,  and  has  its  own 
inhabitants;  each  is  distinct  from,  and  almost  unconscious 
of  the  existence  of  any  other.  There  are  some  few  people 
well  to  do,  who  remember  to  have  heard  it  said,  that  num- 
bers of  men  and  women — thousands,  they  think  it  was — 
get  up  in  London  every  day,  unknowing  where  to  lay  their 
heads  at  night;  and  that  there  are  quarters  of  the  town 
where  misery  and  famine  always  are.  They  don't  believe 
it  quite — there  may  be  some  truth  in  it,  but  it  is  exagger- 
ated of  course.  So,  each  of  these  thousand  worlds  goes  on 
intent  upon  itself,  until  night  comes  again — first  with  its 
lights  and  pleasures,  and  its  cheerful  streets;  then  with 
its  guilt  and  darkness. 

Heart  of  London,  there  is  a  moral  in  thy  every  stroke ! 
as  I  look  on  at  thy  indomitable  working,  which  neither 
death,  nor  press  of  life,  nor  grief,  nor  gladness  out  of  doors 
will  influence  one  jot,  I  seem  to  hear  a  voice  within  thee 
which  sinks  into  my  heart,  bidding  me,  as  I  elbow  my  way 
among  the  crowd,  have  some  thought  for  the  meanest 
wretch  that  passes,  and,  being  a  man,  to  turn  away  with 
scorn  and  pride  from  none  that  bear  the  human  shape. 

I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  I  might  not  have  been 
tempted  to  enlarge  upon  this  subject,  had  not  the  papers 
that  lay  before  me  on  the  table  been  a  silent  reproach  for 
even  this  digression.  I  took  them  up  again  when  I  had  got 
thus  far,  and  seriously  prepared  to  read. 

The  handwriting  was  strange  to  me,  for  the  manuscript 
had  been  fairly  copied.  As  it  is  against  our  rules  in  such 
a  case  to  inquire  into  the  authorship  until  the  reading  is 
concluded,  I  could  only  glance  at  the  different  faces  round 
me,  in  search  of  some  expression  which  should  bela-ay  the 
writer.  Whoever  he  might  be,  he  was  prepared  for  this, 
and  gave  no  sign  for  my  enlightenment. 

I  had  the  papers  in  my  hand,  when  my  deaf  friend  inter- 
posed with  a  suggestion. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  103 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,"  he  said,  "bearing  in  mind  your 
sequel  to  the  tale  we  have  finished,  that  if  such  of  us  as 
have  anything  to  relate  of  our  own  lives  could  interweave 
it  with  our  contribution  to  the  Clock,  it  would  be  well  to 
do  so.  This  need  be  no  restraint  upon  us,  either  as  to  time, 
or  place,  or  incident,  since  any  real  passage  of  this  kind 
may  be  surrounded  by  fictitious  circumstances,  and  repre- 
sented by  fictitious  characters.  What  if  we  made  this  an 
article  of  agreement  among  ourselves?  " 

The  proposition  was  cordially  received,  but  the  difficulty 
appeared  to  be  that  here  was  a  long  story  written  before 
we  had  thought  of  it. 

"Unless,"  said  I,  "it  should  have  happened  that  the 
writer  of  this  tale — which  is  not  impossible,  for  men  are 
apt  to  do  so  when  they  write — has  actually  mingled  with 
it  something  of  his  own  endurance  and  experience." 

Nobody  spoke,  but  I  thought  I  detected  in  one  quarter 
that  this  was  really  the  case. 

"  If  I  have  no  assurance  to  the  contrary,"  I  added  there- 
fore, "  I  shall  take  it  for  granted  that  he  has  done  so,  and 
that  even  these  papers  come  within  our  new  agreement. 
Everybody  being  mute,  we  hold  that  understanding  if  you 
please." 

And  here  I  was  about  to  begin  again,  when  Jack  in- 
formed us  softly,  that  during  the  progress  of  our  last  nar- 
rative, Mr.  Weller's  Watch  had  adjourned  its  sittings  from 
the  kitchen,  and  regularly  met  outside  our  door,  where  he 
had  no  doubt  that  august  body  would  be  found  at  the  pres- 
ent moment.  As  this  was  for  the  convenience  of  listening 
to  our  stories,  he  submitted  that  they  might  be  suffered  to 
come  in,  and  hear  them  more  pleasantly. 

To  this  we  one  and  all  yielded  a  ready  assent,  and  the 
party  being  discovered  as  Jack  had  supposed,  and  invited 
to  walk  in,  entered  (though  not  without  great  confusion  at 
having  been  detected)  and  were  accommodated  with  chairs 
at  a  little  distance. 

Then,  the  lamp  being  trimmed,  the  fire  well  stirred  and 
burning  brightly,  the  hearth  clean  swept,  the  curtains 
closely  drawn,  the  clock  wound  up,  we  entered  on  our  new 
story — BABNABY  RUDGE. 


104  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK 


MASTER   HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCK-SIDE 
IN   THE   CHIMNEY-CORNER. 

IT  is  again  midnight.  My  fire  burns  cheerfully;  the 
room  is  filled  with  my  old  friend's  sober  voice;  and  I  am 
left  to  muse  upon  the  story  we  have  just  now  finished. 

It  makes  me  smile,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  to  think  if 
there  were  any  one  to  see  me  sitting  in  my  easy-chair,  my 
grey  head  hanging  down,  my  eyes  bent  thoughtfully  upon 
the  glowing  embers,  and  my  crutch — emblem  of  my  help- 
lessness— lying  upon  the  hearth  at  my  feet,  how  solitary  I 
should  seem.  Yet  though  I  am  the  sole  tenant  of  this 
chimney-corner,  though  I  am  childless  and  old,  I  have  no 
sense  of  loneliness  at  this  hour;  but  am  the  centre  of  a 
silent  group  whose  company  I  love. 

Thus,  even  age  and  weakness  have  their  consolations. 
If  I  were  a  younger  man;  if  I  were  more  active,  more 
strongly  bound  and  tied  to  life;  these  visionary  friends 
would  shun  me,  or  I  should  desire  to  fly  from  them.  Being 
what  I  am,  I  can  court  their  society,  and  delight  in  it;  and 
pass  whole  hours  in  picturing  to  myself  the  shadows  that 
perchance  flock  every  night  into  this  chamber,  and  in  im- 
agining with  pleasure  what  kind  of  interest  they  have  in 
the  frail,  feeble  mortal  who  is  its  sole  inhabitant. 

All  the  friends  I  have  ever  lost  I  find  again  among  these 
visitors.  I  love  to  fancy  their  spirits  hovering  about  me, 
feeling  still  some  earthly  kindness  for  their  old  companion, 
and  watching  his  decay.  "  He  is  weaker,  he  declines  apace, 
he  draws  nearer  and  nearer  to  us,  and  will  soon  be  con- 
scious of  our  existence."  What  is  there  to  alarm  me  in 
this?  It  is  encouragement  and  hope. 

These  thoughts  have  never  crowded  on  me  half  so  fast  as 
they  have  done  to-night.  Faces  I  had  long  forgotten  have 
become  familiar  to  me  once  again ;  traits  I  had  endeavoured 
to  recall  for  years  have  come  before  me  in  an  instant; 
nothing  is  changed  but  me :  and  even  I  can  be  my  former 
self  at  will. 

Raising  my  eyes  but  now  to  the  face  of  my  old  clock,  I 
remember,  «uite  involuntarily,  the  veneration,  not  unmixed 
with  a  sort  of  childish  awe,  with  which  I  used  to  sit  and 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  105 

watch  it,  as  it  ticked  unheeded  in  a  dark  staircase  corner. 
I  recollect  looking  more  grave  and  steady  when  I  met  its 
dusty  face,  as  if,  having  that  strange  kind  of  life  within  it, 
and  being  free  from  all  excess  of  vulgar  appetite,  and 
warning  all  the  house  by  night  and  day,  it  were  a  sage. 
How  often  have  I  listened  to  it  as  it  told  the  beads  of  time, 
and  wondered  at  its  constancy!  How  often  watched  it 
slowly  pointing  round  the  dial,  and,  while  I  panted  for  the 
eagerly-expected  hour  to  come,  admired,  despite  myself, 
its  steadiness  of  purpose  and  lofty  freedom  from  all  human 
strife,  impatience,  and  desire ! 

I  thought  it  cruel  once.  It  was  very  hard  of  heart,  to 
my  mind,  I  remember.  It  was  an  old  servant,  even  then; 
and  I  felt  as  though  it  ought  to  show  some  sorrow;  as 
though  it  wanted  sympathy  with  us  in  our  distress,  and 
were  a  dull,  heartless,  mercenary  creature.  Ah !  how  soon 
I  learnt  to  know  that  in  its  ceaseless  going  on,  and  in  its 
being  checked  or  stayed  by  nothing,  lay  its  greatest  kind- 
ness, and  the  only  balm  for  grief  and  wounded  peace  of 
mind! 

To-night,  to-night,  when  this  tranquillity  and  calm  are 
on  my  spirits,  and  memory  presents  so  many  shifting  scenes 
before  me,  I  take  my  quiet  stand,  at  will,  by  many  a  fire 
that  has  been  long  extinguished,  and  mingle  with  the 
cheerful  group  that  cluster  round  it.  If  I  could  be  sorrow- 
ful in  such  a  mood,  I  should  grow  sad  to  think  what  a  poor 
blot  I  was  upon  their  youth  and  beauty  once,  and  now  how 
few  remain  to  put  me  to  the  blush;  I  should  grow  sad  to 
think  that  such  among  them  as  I  sometimes  meet  with  in 
my  daily  walks  are  scarcely  less  infirm  than  I;  that  time 
has  brought  us  to  a  level;  and  that  all  distinctions  fade 
and  vanish  as  we  take  our  trembling  steps  towards  the 
grave. 

But  memory  was  given  us  for  better  purposes  than  this : 
and  mine  is  not  a  torment,  but  a  source  of  pleasure.  To 
muse  upon  the  gaiety  and  youth  I  have  known  suggests  to 
me  glad  scenes  of  harmless  mirth  that  may  be  passing  now. 
From  contemplating  them  apart,  I  soon  become  an  actor  in 
these  little  dramas,  and  humouring  my  fancy,  lose  myself 
among  the  beings  it  invokes. 

When  my  fire  is  bright  and  high,  and  a  warm  blush 
mantles  in  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  this  ancient  room;  when 
my  clock  makes  cheerful  music,  like  one  of  those  chirping 


106  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

insects  who  delight  in  the  warm  hearth,  and  are  sometimes, 
by  a  good  superstition,  looked  upon  as  the  harbingers  of 
fortune  and  plenty  to  that  household  in  whose  mercies  they 
put  their  humble  trust;  when  everything  is  in  a  ruddy 
genial  glow,  and  there  are  voices  in  the  crackling  flame, 
and  smiles  in  its  flashing  light;  other  smiles  and  other 
voices  congregate  around  me,  invading  with  their  pleasant 
harmony  the  silence  of  the  time. 

For  then  a  knot  of  youthful  creatures  gather  round  my 
fireside,  and  the  room  re-echoes  to  their  merry  voices.  My 
solitary  chair  no  longer  holds  its  ample  place  before  the 
fire,  but  is  wheeled  into  a  smaller  corner,  to  leave  more 
room  for  the  broad  circle  formed  about  the  cheerful  hearth. 
I  have  sons  and  daughters,  and  grandchildren;  and  we  are 
assembled  on  some  occasion  of  rejoicing  common  to  us  all. 
It  is  a  birthday,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  it  may  be  Christmas 
time;  but  be  it  what  it  may,  there  is  rare  holiday  among 
us :  we  are  full  of  glee. 

In  the  chimney-corner,  opposite  myself,  sits  one  who  has 
grown  old  beside  me.  She  is  changed,  of  course;  much 
changed;  and  yet  I  recognise  the  girl,  even  in  that  grey 
hair  and  wrinkled  brow.  Glancing  from  the  laughing  child 
who  half  hides  in  her  ample  skirts,  and  half  peeps  out — 
and  from  her  to  the  little  matron  of  twelve  years  old,  who 
sits  so  womanly  and  so  demure  at  no  great  distance  from 
me — and  from  her  again  to  a  fair  girl  in  the  full  bloom  of 
early  womanhood,  the  centre  of  the  group,  who  has  glanced 
more  than  once  towards  the  opening  door,  and  by  whom 
the  children,  whispering  and  tittering  among  themselves, 
will  leave  a  vacant  chair,  although  she  bids  them  not — I 
see  her  image  thrice  repeated,  and  feel  how  long  it  is  be- 
fore one  form  and  set  of  features  wholly  pass  away,  if  ever, 
from  among  the  living.  While  I  am  dwelling  upon  this, 
and  tracing  out  the  gradual  change  from  infancy  to  youth; 
from  youth  to  perfect  growth;  from  that  to  age;  and  think- 
ing, with  an  old  man's  pride,  that  she  is  comely  yet;  I  feel 
a  slight  thin  hand  upon  my  arm,  and,  looking  down,  see 
seated  at  my  feet  a  crippled  boy — a  gentle,  patient  child — 
whose  aspect  I  know  well.  He  rests  upon  a  little  crutch — 
I  know  it,  too — and  leaning  on  it  as  he  climbs  my  foot- 
stool, whispers  in  my  ear,  "  I  am  hardly  one  of  these,  dear 
grandfather,  although  I  love  them  dearly.  They  are  very 
kind  to  me,  but  you  will  be  kinder  still,  I  know." 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK  107 

I  have  my  hand  upon  his  neck,  and  stoop  to  kiss  him, 
when  my  clock  strikes,  my  chair  is  in  its  old  spot,  and  I 
am  alone. 

What  if  I  be?  What  if  this  fireside  be  tenantless,  save 
for  the  presence  of  one  weak  old  man?  From  my  house- 
top I  can  look  upon  a  hundred  homes,  in  every  one  of 
which  these  social  companies  are  matters  of  reality.  In  my 
daily  walks  I  pass  a  thousand  men  whose  cares  are  all  for- 
gotten, whose  labours  are  made  light,  whose  dull  routine 
of  work  from  day  to  day  is  cheered  and  brightened  by 
their  glimpses  of  domestic  joy  at  home.  Amid  the  strug- 
gles of  this  struggling  town  what  cheerful  sacrifices  are 
made;  what  toil  endured  with  readiness;  what  patience 
shown  and  fortitude  displayed  for  the  mere  sake  of  home 
and  its  affections !  Let  me  thank  Heaven  that  I  can  people 
my  fireside  with  shadows  such  as  these :  with  shadows  of 
bright  objects  that  exist  in  crowds  about  me :  and  let  me 
say,  "I  am  alone  no  more." 

I  never  was  less  so — I  write  it  with  a  grateful  heart — 
than  I  am  to-night.  Recollections  of  the  past  and  visions 
of  the  present  come  to  bear  me  company;  the  meanest  man 
to  whom  I  have  ever  given  alms  appears,  to  add  his  mite 
of  peace  and  comfort  to  my  stock;  and  whenever  the  fire 
within  me  shall  grow  cold,  to  light  my  path  upon  this  earth 
no  more,  I  pray  that  it  may  be  at  such  an  hour  as  this,  and 
when  I  love  the  world  as  well  as  I  do  now. 


THE  DEAF  GENTLEMAN  FEOM  HIS  OWN 
APARTMENT. 

OUR  dear  friend  laid  down  his  pen  at  the  end  of  the  fore- 
going paragraph,  to  take  it  up  no  more.  I  little  thought 
ever  to  employ  mine  upon  so  sorrowful  a  task  as  that  which 
he  has  left  me,  and  to  which  I  now  devote  it. 

As  he  did  not  appear  among  us  at  his  usual  hour  next 
morning,  we  knocked  gently  at  his  door.  No  answer  being 
given,  it  was  softly  opened;  and  then,  to  our  surprise,  we 
saw  him  seated  before  the  ashes  of  his  fire,  with  a  little 
table  I  was  accustomed  to  set  at  his  elbow  when  I  left  him 
for  the  night,  at  a  short  distance  from  him,  as  though  he 
had  pushed  it  away  with  the  idea  of  rising  and  retiring  to 
his  bed.  His  crutch  and  footstool  lay  at  his  feet  as  usual, 


108  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

and  he  was  dressed  in  his  chamber-gown,  which  he  had  put 
on  before  I  left  him.  He  was  reclining  in  his  chair,  in  his 
accustomed  posture,  with  his  face  towards  the  fire,  and 
seemed  absorbed  in  meditation — indeed,  at  first,  we  almost 
hoped  he  was. 

Going  up  to  him,  we  found  him  dead.  I  have  often, 
very  often,  seen  him  sleeping,  and  always  peacefully;  but 
I  never  saw  him  look  so  calm  and  tranquil.  His  face  wore 
a  serene,  benign  expression,  which  had  impressed  me  very 
strongly  when  we  last  shook  hands :  not  that  he  had  ever 
any  other  look,  God  knows :  but  there  was  something  in 
this  so  very  spiritual,  so  strangely  and  indefinably  allied 
to  youth,  although  his  head  was  grey  and  venerable,  that  it 
was  new  even  in  him.  It  came  upon  me  all  at  once,  when 
on  some  slight  pretence  he  called  me  back  upon  the  pre- 
vious night  to  take  me  by  the  hand  again,  and  once  more 
say,  "  God  bless  you." 

A  bell-rope  hung  within  his  reach,  but  he  had  not  moved 
towards  it;  nor  had  he  stirred,  we  all  agreed,  except,  as  I 
have  said,  to  push  away  his  table,  which  he  could  have 
done,  and  no  doubt  did,  with  a  very  slight  motion  of  his 
hand.  He  had  relapsed  for  a  moment  into  his  late  train  of 
meditation,  and,  with  a  thoughtful  smile  upon  his  face, 
had  died. 

I  had  long  known  it  to  be  his  wish  that,  whenever  this 
event  should  come  to  pass,  we  might  be  all  assembled  in 
the  house.  I  therefore  lost  no  time  in  sending  for  Mr. 
Pickwick  and  for  Mr.  Miles,  both  of  whom  arrived  before 
the  messenger's  return. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dilate  upon  the  sorrow  and  affec- 
tionate emotions  of  which  I  was  at  once  the  witness  and  the 
sharer.  But  I  may  say,  of  the  humbler  mourners,  that  his 
faithful  housekeeper  was  fairly  heart-broken ;  that  the  poor 
barber  would  not  be  comforted ;  and  that  I  shall  respect  the 
homely  truth  and  warmth  of  heart  of  Mr.  Weller  and  his 
son  to  the  last  moment  of  my  life. 

"And  the  sweet  old  creetur,  Sir,"  said  the  elder  Mr. 
Weller  to  me  in  the  afternoon,  "has  bolted.  Him  as  had 
no  wice,  and  was  so  free  from  temper  that  a  infant  might 
ha'  drove  him,  has  been  took  at  last  with  that  'ere  unawoid- 
able  fit  o'  staggers  as  we  all  must  come  to,  and  gone  off  his 
feed  for  ever!  I  see  him,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
moisture  in  his  eye  which  could  not  be  mistaken,  "  I  see 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  109 

him  gettin',  every  journey,  more  and  more  groggy;  I  says 
to  Samivel,  'My  boy!  the  Grey's  a  goin'  at  the  knees;  ' 
and  now  my  predilictions  is  fatally  werified,  and  him  as  I 
could  never  do  enough  to  serve  or  show  my  likin'  for,  is  up 
the  great  uniwersal  spout  o'  natur." 

I  was  not  the  less  sensible  of  the  old  man's  attachment 
because  he  expressed  it  in  his  peculiar  manner.  Indeed,  I 
can  truly  assert  of  both  him  and  his  son,  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  extraordinary  dialogues  they  held  together,  and  the 
strange  commentaries  and  corrections  with  which  each  of 
them  illustrated  the  other's  speech,  I  do  not  think  it  pos- 
sible to  exceed  the  sincerity  of  their  regret;  and  that  I  am 
sure  their  thoughtfulness  and  anxiety,  in  anticipating  the 
discharge  of  many  little  offices  of  sympathy,  would  have 
done  honour  to  the  most  delicate-minded  persons. 

Our  friend  had  frequently  told  us  that  his  will  would  be 
found  in  a  box  in  the  Clock-case,  the  key  of  which  was  in 
his  writing-desk.  As  he  had  told  us  also  that  he  desired 
it  to  be  opened  immediately  after  his  death,  whenever  that 
should  happen,  we  met  together  that  night  for  the  fulfil- 
ment of  his  request. 

We  found  it  where  he  had  told  us,  wrapped  in  a  sealed 
paper,  and  with  it  a  codicil  of  recent  date,  in  which  he 
named  Mr.  Miles  and  Mr.  Pickwick  his  executors — as  hav- 
ing no  need  of  any  greater  benefit  from  his  estate  than  a 
generous  token  (which  he  bequeathed  to  them)  of  his  friend- 
ship and  remembrance. 

After  pointing  out  the  spot  in  which  he  wished  his  ashes- 
to  repose,  he  gave  to  "  his  dear  old  friends,"  Jack  Eedburn 
and  myself,  his  house,  his  books,  his  furniture — in  short, 
all  that  his  house  contained;  and  with  this  legacy  more 
ample  means  of  maintaining  it  in  its  present  state  than  we, 
with  our  habits  and  at  our  terms  of  life,  can  ever  exhaust. 
Besides  these  gifts,  he  left  to  us,  in  trust,  an  annual  sum 
of  no  insignificant  amount,  to  be  distributed  in  charity 
among  his  accustomed  pensioners — they  are  a  long  list—- 
and such  other  claimants  on  his  bounty  as  might,  from  time 
to  time,  present  themselves.  And  as  true  charity  not  only 
Covers  a  multitude  of  sins,  but  includes  a  multitude  of  vir- 
tues, such  as  forgiveness,  liberal  construction,  gentleness 
and  mercy  to  the  faults  of  others,  and  the  remembrance  of 
our  own  imperfections  and  advantages,  he  bade  us  not  in- 
quire too  closely  into  the  venial  errors  of  the  poor,  but  find- 


110  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

ing  that  they  were  poor,  first  to  relieve  and  then  endeavour 
— at  an  advantage — to  reclaim  them. 

To  the  housekeeper  he  left  an  annuity,  sufficient  for  her 
comfortable  maintenance  and  support  through  life.  For 
the  barber,  who  had  attended  him  many  years,  he  made  a 
similar  provision.  And  I  may  make  two  remarks  in  this 
place :  first,  that  I  think  this  pair  are  very  likely  to  club 
their  means  together  and  make  a  match  of  it;  and  secondly, 
that  I  think  my  friend  had  this  result  in  his  mind;  for  I 
have  heard  him  say,  more  than  once,  that  he  could  not  con- 
cur with  the  generality  of  mankind  in  censuring  equal  mar- 
riages made  in  later  life,  since  there  were  many  cases  in 
which  such  unions  could  not  fail  to  be  a  wise  and  rational 
source  of  happiness  to  both  parties. 

The  elder  Mr.  Weller  is  so  far  from  viewing  this  pros- 
pect with  any  feelings  of  jealousy,  that  he  appears  to  be 
very  much  relieved  by  its  contemplation;  and  his  son,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken,  participates  in  this  feeling.  We  are  all 
of  opinion,  however,  that  the  old  gentleman's  danger,  even 
at  its  crisis,  was  very  slight;  and  that  he  merely  laboured 
under  one  of  those  transitory  weaknesses  to  which  persons 
of  his  temperament  are  now  and  then  liable,  and  which  be- 
come less  and  less  alarming  at  every  return,  until  they 
wholly  subside.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  remain  a  jolly  old 
widower  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  as  he  has  already  inquired 
of  me,  with  much  gravity,  whether  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus 
would-  enable  him  to  settle  his  property  upon  Tony  beyond 
the  possibility  of  recall;  and  has,  in  my  presence,  conjured 
his  son,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  in  the  event  of  his  ever 
becoming  amorous  again,  he  will  put  him  in  a  strait-waist- 
coat until  the  fit  is  past,  and  distinctly  inform  the  lady 
that  his  property  is  "made  over." 

Although  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  Sam  would  duti- 
fully comply  with  these  injunctions  in  a  case  of  extreme 
necessity,  and  that  he  would  do  so  with  perfect  composure 
and  coolness,  I  do  not  apprehend  things  will  ever  come  to 
that  pass :  as  the  old  gentleman  seems  perfectly  happy  in 
the  society  of  his  son,  his  pretty  daughter-in-law,  and  his 
grandchildren,  and  has  solemnly  announced  his  determina- 
tion to  "  take  arter  the  old  'un  in  all  respects;  "  from  which 
I  infer  that  it  is  his  intention  to  regulate  his  conduct  by 
the  model  of  Mr.  Pickwick,  who  will  certainly  set  him  the 
example  of  a  single  life. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK.  Ill 

I  have  diverged  for  a  moment  from  the  subject  with 
which  I  set  out,  for  I  know  that  my  friend  was  interested 
in  these  little  matters,  and  I  have  a  natural  tendency  to 
linger  upon  any  topic  that  occupied  his  thoughts  or  gave 
him  pleasure  and  amusement.  His  remaining  wishes  are 
very  briefly  told.  He  desired  that  we  would  make  him  the 
frequent  subject  of  our  conversation;  at  the  same  time, 
that  we  would  never  speak  of  him  with  an  air  of  gloom  or 
restraint,  but  frankly,  and  as  one  whom  we  still  loved  and 
hoped  to  meet  again.  He  trusted  that  the  old  house  would 
wear  no  aspect  of  mourning,  but  that  it  would  be  lively  and 
cheerful;  and  that  we  would  not  remove  or  cover  up  his 
picture,  which  hangs  in  our  dining-room,  but  make  it  our 
companion  as  he  had  been.  His  own  room,  our  place  of 
meeting,  remains,  at  his  desire,  in  its  accustomed  state: 
our  seats  are  placed  about  the  table,  as  of  old;  his  easy- 
chair,  his  desk,  his  crutch,  his  footstool,  hold  their  accus- 
tomed places;  and  the  clock  stands  in  its  familiar  corner. 
We  go  into  the  chamber  at  stated  times  to  see  that  all  is  as 
it  should  be,  and  to  take  care  that  the  light  and  air  are  not 
shut  out,  for  on  that  point  he  expressed  a  strong  solicitude. 
But  it  was  his  fancy  that  the  apartment  should  not  be  in- 
habited; that  it  should  be  religiously  preserved  in  this  con- 
dition; and  that  the  voice  of  his  old  companion  should  be 
heard  no  more. 

My  own  history  may  be  summed  up  in  very  few  words; 
and  even  those  I  should  have  spared  the  reader  but  for  my 
friend's  allusion  to  me  some  time  since.  I  have  no  deeper 
sorrow  than  the  loss  of  a  child — an  only  daughter,  who  is 
living,  and  who  fled  from  her  father's  house  but  a  few 
weeks  before  our  friend  and  I  first  met.  I  had  never 
spoken  of  this,  even  to  him;  because  I  have  always  loved 
her,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  tell  him  of  her  error,  until  I 
could  tell  him  also  of  her  sorrow  and  regret.  Happily  I 
was  enabled  to  do  so  some  time  ago.  And  it  will  not  be 
long,  with  Heaven's  leave,  before  she  is  restored  to  me — 
before  I  find  in  her  and  her  husband  the  support  of  my  de- 
clining years. 

For  my  pipe — it  is  an  old  relic  of  home,  a  thing  of  no 
great  worth,  a  poor  trifle,  but  sacred  to  me  for  her  sake. 

Thus,  since  the  death  of  our  venerable  friend,  Jack  Red- 
burn  and  I  have  been  the  sole  tenants  of  the  old  home;  and 
day  by  day,  have  lounged  together  in  his  favourite  walks. 


112  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 

Mindful  of  his  injunctions,  we  have  long  been  able  to  speak 
of  him  with  ease  and  cheerfulness,  and  to  remember  him  as 
he  would  be  remembered.  From  certain  allusions  which 
Jack  has  dropped,  to  his  having  been  deserted  and  cast  off 
in  early  life,  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  some  passages 
of  his  youth  may  possibly  be  shadowed  out  in  the  history 
of  Mr.  Chester  and  his  son :  but  seeing  that  he  avoids  the 
subject,  I  have  not  pursued  it. 

My  task  is  done.  The  chamber  in  which  we  have  whiled 
away  so  many  happy  hours,  not  I  hope  without  some  pleas- 
ure and  some  profit,  is  deserted;  our  happy  hour  of  meet- 
ing strikes  no  more;  the  chimney-corner  has  grown  cold; 
and  MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK  has  stopped  for  ever. 


THE   EHB, 


f      £f        I 
**          \ 

O 


MAY  4     199J