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_{Charles Dickens – www.frenglish.ru}

^{Great Expectations}

_{Chapter One}

^{The Man in the Churchyard}

It was, I think, the most frightening thing that ever to happened to me. . .

I am a grown man now, but I was a small boy at the time, and I can feel, even yet, the thrill of horror that ran through me on that Christmas Eve, all those years ago.

I had, for some reason, wandered into the churchyard and found the my parent’s grave. It was a raw afternoon towards evening, I remember; the wind was rushing in from the sea and beyond the churchyard wall there stretched the dark flat wilderness of the marsh country, with the river winding across it. I was already a bundle of shivers, feeling lost and afraid, when a figure started up from among the gravestones and scared me half-way out of my skin.

“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice. “And keep still, you little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”

He seized me by the chin; a fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head. A man who was wet to the skin and covered in mud; who shook and shivered, and whose teeth chattered in his head as he glared into my eyes.

“Oh, don’t cut my throat, sir,” I begged, in terror. “Pray don’t do it, sir.”

“Tell us your name!” said the man, giving me a little shake. “Quick!”

“Pip, sir.”

“What?” said the man, staring at me.

“It’s really Philip, but everyone calls me Pip.”

“Show us where you live,” he ordered. “Point to the place.”

I pointed to where our village lay, among the trees, a mile or more from the church.

The man looked at me for a moment, then turned me upside-down and emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. When the church came to itself again—for he was so sudden and strong that he made it go head over heels before me—I was seated on a tall gravestone, trembling, while he ate the bread like a hungry beast.

“You young dog!” he said suddenly, with a threatening shake of his head. “What fat cheeks you’ve got! I’ve half a mind to eat you!”

I hurriedly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the stone to keep myself from crying.

“Now look here,” said the man, “where’s your mother?”

“There, sir,” said I.

He jumped, started to run away, then stopped and glared at me over his shoulder. I pointed.

“There, sir,” I explained, timidly. “She’s dead—and my father, too.”

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He considered that for a moment.

“Who d’you live with?” he asked. “Supposing I let you live, that is.”

“My sister, sir—Mrs. Joe Gargery—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir.”

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he, and looked down at his leg.

He stepped forward, seized me by both arms and tilted me back as far as he could hold me, so that his eyes looked most powerfully into mine.

“You know what a file is?” he demanded.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what food is?”

“Yes, sir.”

After each question he tilted me back a little more.

“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me some food.” He tilted me again. “You bring them both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or I’ll cut your heart out.” He tilted me again.

I held on to him with both hands, and said: “Please let me up, sir—and perhaps I shan’t be sick and shall be able to listen better.”

He swung me back, so that the church seemed to turn right over again, then held me by the arms in an upright position on the stone.

“You bring me, tomorrow morning early, that file and some food. You bring the lot to me at that old Battery over there. You do it, and never say a word about having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You fail—or open your mouth to anyone and your heart shall be tore out, roasted, and ate. I’m not alone, as you may think I am. There’s a young man hiding with me; a cruel, awful kind of young man, who has a secret way of getting at a boy to cut his heart out. I’m keeping that young man from harming you at the moment—but only with the greatest of difficulty. I find it very hard to hold that young man off your inside. Now, what do you say?”

I told him that I would get him the file, and what broken bits of food I could, and bring them to the Battery early in the morning.

“Say, Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.

I did so, and he took me down.

“Now,” he said, “remember what you’ve got to do—and you remember that young man —and you get off home!”

“Goo—good night, sir,” I said timidly, backing away.

“No chance of that for me!” he answered, looking about him over the cold wet flat. “Brrh ! I wish I was a frog!”

At the same time, he held his shivering body in both his arms and limped towards the low church wall. When he reached it he got over it like a man with stiff legs, and then turned to look for me. I waited no longer, but made the best use of my legs and ran all the way home without stopping.

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_{Chapter Two}

^{Morning on the Marsh}

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I. She was not a good-looking woman. She was too tall and thin, and her skin was very red, and I had an idea that she must have forced Joe to marry her, in much the same way that she forced me to do a good many things I had no wish to do. Joe was a big, strong fellow, fairhaired and blue-eyed, always good-natured and sweet-tempered.

They were in the kitchen when I reached home. Mrs. Joe looked at the clock.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” she demanded.

“To the churchyard,” I answered in a little, timid voice.

“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, looking angrily from her husband to me. “The pair of you will drive me to the churchyard one of these days!”

Joe was sitting in the chimney-corner, and I crept over and sat opposite him while my sister set the tea things. We all jumped and started as there came the sound of a distant explosion.

“Joe,” I said, “was that great guns?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “There’s another convict off.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Escaped! Escaped!” explained my sister impatiently.

“What’s a convict?” I asked Joe.

“There was one off last night,” said Joe, “after the sunset gun. And they fired warning of him. Now, it seems, they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister. “It’s from the Hulks!”

“And please—what’s Hulks?” I asked.

“Hulks are prison-ships, right across the marshes,” said Joe.

“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” I said, hopefully.

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It was too much for my sister.

“That’s the way with this boy!” she said. “Answer him one question, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and rob, and do all sorts of bad things; and they always begin by asking questions. Now, you get along to bed!”

As I went upstairs in the dark I felt sure that I was on my way to the Hulks. I had begun by asking qucstions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe. If I slept at all that night, it was only to dream that I was floating down the river on a strong tide, to a place where a terrible young man was waiting to cut out my heart.

At the first faint dawn of morning, I got up and went downstairs. Every board upon the way seemed to call after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” I stole some bread, a piece of cheese, about half a jar of pickles, some brandy from a stone bottle (which I poured into a glass bottle that had once contained medicine), and a beautiful round meat pie, which I took in the hope that it would not be missed for some time.

There was a door in the kitchen which gave on to Joe’s forge; I unlocked that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I opened the house door, and ran for the misty marshes.

I knew my way to the Battery, for I had been down there on a Sunday with Joe. I had just crossed a ditch which I knew to be close to the Battery, when I saw the man sitting on the ground. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded and was leaning forward, heavy with sleep.

I moved up quietly and touched him on the shoulder. He instantly jumped up. It was not the same man, but another!

Yet this man was dressed in coarse grey, too, and had a great iron on his leg, and was everything that the other man was. All this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in; he swore, made a hit at me, and then he ran off into the mist and I lost him.

I was in a great fright.

“It’s the young man!” I thought, and made for the Battery at full speed.

There was the right man, still holding his trembling body with both arms, limping up and down while he waited for me. He was terribly cold, to be sure, and his eyes looked so hungry that when I handed him the file, I thought he might have tried to eat it if he hadn’t seen my bundle.

“What’s in the bottle, boy?” he asked.

“Brandy,” I told him.

He was already pushing food down his throat in a most curious manner—more like a man who was putting it away somewhere in a violent hurry than a man who was eating it—but he left off to drink some of the spirit. All the time he kept staring into the mist, often stopping to listen.

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“You brought no one with you?” he said suddenly. “Or got anyone to follow you?”

“No, sir! No!”

“Well” he said. “ I believe you. You’d be a fierce young wretch at your age, if you’d help to trap a poor convict, hunted as near death as I am!”

I pitied his misery, and watched him settle down with the pie.

“I’m glad you enjoy it,” I said.

“Thank you, my boy. I do.”

I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food, and I now noticed a decided likeness between the dog’s way of eating and the man’s. The man took sharp, sudden bites just like the dog; and he looked sideways here and there as he ate, as if he thought there was danger of somebody’s coming to take the pie away.

“I’m afraid you won’t leave any of it for him,” I said, after a pause.

“Who’s him?” said my friend, looking at me sharply.

“The young man that you spoke of. The one that was hiding with you.”

He gave a little laugh.

“Oh, him!” he said. “He don’t want food.”

“I thought he looked as if he did,” said I.

The man stopped eating and regarded me in surprise.

“Looked? When?”

“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Over there,” said I, pointing. “I found him half-asleep, and thought it was you.”

He took me by the chin and stared at me so fiercely that I thought his first idea of cutting my throat had returned.

“He was dressed like you,” I explained, “and had an iron on his leg. Didn’t you hear the big gun last night?”

“So there was firing,” he said to himself, then gave me a little shake. “Did you notice anything special about this man?” he demanded.

“Yes—he had a badly bruised face,” said I, remembering something that I hardly knew I knew.

“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek with the flat of his hand.

“Yes, there.”

“Where is he?” he cried. He began putting what little food was left inside his grey jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll have him yet! Curse this iron on my sore leg! Give us the file, boy.”

He went down on the wet grass and began to file at his iron like a mad thing, not minding me or minding his leg, which was sore and red with blood. I was very much afraid of him again, now that he had worked himself into this fierce hurry, and I was also afraid of keeping away from home any longer. I told him I must go, but he took no notice of me, so I thought the best thing I could do was to slip away.

The last I saw of him, his head was bent over his knee, and he was working hard at his iron; the last I heard of him, when I stopped in the mist to listen, was the sound of the file still going.

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_{Chapter Three}

^{The Hunt}

We had company to dinner that day. Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, came to dine; and Uncle Pumblechook, Joe’s uncle, who was a well-to-do corn-merchant in the nearest town.

When Joe and I got back from church, we found the table laid, Mrs. Joe dressed in her best, the dinner cooking, and everything most splendid. And still not a word of the morning’s robbery!

I had suffered a great deal in church, where I had prayed that I might be forgiven for my sins.

The moment came when we all sat down at table. I ate what was given me as if in a dream. The meal was almost over, and I had begun to think that I was safe, when my sister said to her guests: “You must taste a slice of my pie.”

I held on tight to the table-leg.

Must they! They had little hope of tasting that pie!

Uncle Pumblechook, who was a large-breathing, middle-aged, slow man, with a mouth like a fish, dull staring eyes, and sandy hair that stood upright on his head, said: “Well, now, Mrs. Joe, we’ll do our best to deal with it.”

My sister went out to get it. I saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I heard Joe say, “You shall have some, Pip.” I felt that I could bear no more. I let go of the leg of the table and ran for my life.

But I got no farther than the house door, for, as I threw it open, I ran headfirst into a party of soldiers with their muskets; one of whom held out a pair of handcuffs to me, saying: “Here you are—these are for you, my boy!”

The sight of the soldiers on our door-step caused the dinner party to rise in some confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe, coming back into the kitchen with empty hands, to stop short and stare, as she said, wonderingly: “The pie’s gone!”

It was a sergeant who had spoken to me. He was now looking round at the company with the handcuffs held out in his right hand, and his left on my shoulder.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I am on a chase after escaped convicts, and I need a blacksmith.” His eyes settled on Joe. “The lock of these handcuffs is broken,” he said, “and they may be wanted for immediate service. Will you have a look at them?”

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Joe looked at them and announced that the job would take a little while; in the meantime, perhaps the soldiers would like to step inside and take a little to eat and drink; which, of course, they were only too glad to do.

“D’you think you’ll catch these convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle, when the men had been supplied with food and drink.

“Yes,” replied the sergeant. “They’re pretty well known to be out on the marshes still. Anybody here seen anything of them?”

Everybody, except me, said no, with confidence. Nobody thought of me.

At last, Joe’s job was done. As he put on his coat again, he proposed that some of us should go with the soldiers and see what came of the hunt. Mr. Pumblechook had no such desire, but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he would take me too, if my sister approved. My sister said: “If you bring the boy back with his head blown to bits by a musket, don’t expect me to put it together again.”

The sergeant gave us strict orders to keep behind the soldiers, and to speak no word after we reached the marshes. When we were out in the raw air, I whispered to Joe, “I hope we shan’t find them.” And Joe whispered back, “I’d give a shilling to know they were off the marshes, Pip.”

We struck out on to the marsh through the gate at the side of the churchyard. A bitter rain came beating against us, and Joe took me on his back. I considered for the first time whether my convict, if we came upon him, would suppose that it was I who had brought the soldiers there? But it was no use asking myself this question now. There I was on Joe’s back, and there were the soldiers in a line in front, moving towards the Battery.

We had been walking some time when, of a sudden, we all came to a stop. There had reached us, on the wings of the wind and the rain, a long shout. It was repeated. No—there seemed to be two or more shouts raised together.

The sergeant and his men started running off to the right, and Joe ran after them so fast that I had to hold on tight to keep my seat.

As we came nearer to the shouting it became more and more certain that it was made by more than one voice. When we had run the noise close, the sergeant went in first, with two of his men close behind. The others stopped and levelled their guns.

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“Here they are!” cried the sergeant, struggling at the bottom of a ditch. “Surrender, you two! And curse you for a pair of wild beasts! Come out of it!”

Water and mud were flying, curses were being shouted, and blows were being struck, when some more men went down into the ditch to help their sergeant, and dragged out, separatley, my convict and the other one.

“Mind!” said my convict, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve, “I took him! I gave him up to you! Mind that!”

“It’ll do you small good, my man,” replied the sergeant. “Handcuffs there!”

“I don’t want it to do me any good,” said my convict, with a greedy laugh. “As long as he knows it, that’s enough for me.”

The other convict seemed to be bruised and torn all over. He could not so much as get his breath to speak until they were both separately handcuffed.

“Take notice, guard—he tried to murder me,” were the first words he said.

“Tried to murder him!” replied my convict. “Me—try and not do it! I took him and gave him up—that’s what I did. I dragged him back—”

“He tried to kill me,” interrupted the other. “I should have been a dead man if you had not come up.”

“Shut up, the pair of you!” the sergeant said shortly. “Light those torches, you.”

As one of the soldiers, who carried a basket instead of a gun, went down on his knees to open it, my convict looked round him for the first time—and saw me. I had got down from Joe’s back, and stood on the edge of the ditch. I looked at him and slightly moved my hands and shook my head, to let him know that I was innocent. He gave me a look that I did not understand, and it all passed in a moment.

The soldier with the basket soon got a light, and torches were handed round. It had been almost dark before, but now it seemed quite dark. Before we moved, four of the soldiers fired twice into the air. Soon we saw other torches burning at some distance behind us, and more on the marshes on the opposite bank of the river.

“All right,” said the sergeant. “March!”

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We had not gone far when three cannons were fired ahead of us, with a noise that seemed to burst something inside my ear. “You are expected on board,” said the sergeant to my convict. “They know you’re coming. Close up there.”

We followed the soldiers and their prisoners to a rough wooden hut and a landing-place beside the river. There was a guard outside the hut and three or four soldiers resting inside. The sergeant made some kind of report, and entered something in a book.

My convict never even looked at me. While we stood in the hut, he looked thoughtfully at the fire that burned there, but suddenly he turned to the sergeant and said:

“I took some food, up at the village—”

“Stole it, you mean,” interrupted the sergeant.

“Well, I couldn’t starve, could I? And I’ll tell you where I took them from. From the blacksmith’s. It was a bit of bread and cheese and some brandy and a pie.”

“Have you happened to miss such a thing as a pie, blacksmith?” the sergeant asked Joe.

“My wife did—at the very moment when you came in. Didn’t you know, Pip?”

“So,” said my convict, looking at Joe, “I’m sorry to say I ate your pie.”

“You were welcome to it,” returned Joe. “We wouldn’t have you starve to death, would we, Pip?”

The convict’s mouth moved as if he wanted to say something more, but he suddenly turned his back on us. A minute or two later, there came a shout that the boat was waiting for him. We followed him to the landing-place and saw him put into the boat, which was rowed by a crew of convicts like himself. By the light of the torches, we saw the black Hulk lying out a little way from the shore, held by great iron chains. We saw the boat go alongside, and we saw him taken up the side and disappear. Then the torches were thrown into the water and went out, as if it were all over with him.

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_{Chapter Four}

^{Miss Havisham}

Time went by, and I thought less and less of my friend, the convict, as the months passed and we heard no more of him. Then there happened something which drove him quite out of my mind for a long time to come....

It was on a market-day it happened. My sister, as was sometimes her habit, had driven into town with Uncle Pumblechook to assist him in buying such stuffs and goods as required a woman’s judgment. They were late coming back to the forge. It was dark before we heard the sound of iron shoes upon the road, and the two of them drove up, wrapped to the eyes. We were soon all in the kitchen, and my sister began unwrapping herself in great haste and excitement.

“Now,” she said, fixing her eyes on me, “if this boy isn’t grateful this night, he never will be!”

“Why?” asked Joe, a puzzled look on his face.

“Because,” said my sister, “Miss Havisham up town wants this boy to go to her house and play there. And of course he’s going. And he had better play there,” she added, “or I’ll give him something to remember!”

I had heard of Miss Havisham up town— everybody for miles around had heard of Miss Havisham up town—as a wonderfully rich old lady who lived in a large and dismal house that was barred like a prison, and in which she had shut herself away from the world.

“Well, to be sure!” cried Joe, astonished. “I wonder how she comes to know Pip?”

“Stupid!” answered my sister. “Who said she knew him? Uncle Pumblechook has to go there sometimes to pay his rent, and she asked him if he knew of a boy to go and play there. He, being a sensible man, unlike some, mentioned this boy here—whose fortune may be made by his going to Miss Havisham’s. Uncle has offered to take him into town tonight and then to Miss Havisham’s in the morning. And here I stand talking, with Uncle waiting, and this boy thick with dirt from head to foot!”

With that, she sprang upon me, and my face was put under the tap, and I was soaped and scrubbed and rubbed with towels until I was quite beside myself. When that was done, I was put into my best and tightest suit, delivered over to Uncle Pumblechook, and driven off to town without any idea why on earth I was going to play at Miss Havisham’s, and what on earth I was expected to play at.

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_{* * * * * *}

At ten o’clock next morning, Uncle Pumblechook and I stood before the gate of Miss Havisham’s house. The gate was locked, so we had to wait, after ringing the bell, until someone should come and open it. While we waited, I looked through the bars of the gate and saw that the house was of old brick, and dismal, and all the windows had bars to them. There was a big yard in front, and I saw a young lady coming across it, with keys in her hand.

“This,” Mr. Pumblechook told her, when she had opened the gate, “is Pip.”

“This is Pip, is it?” returned the young lady, who was very pretty, and seemed very proud. “Come in, Pip.”

Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, but she stopped him with the gate.

“It’s only the boy Miss Havisham wishes to see,” she told him coolly, and shut and locked the gate in his face. “Hurry, boy,” she said then, and we left him standing there with his mouth hanging open.

Though she called me “boy”, she was only about my age. She seemed much older than I, of course, being a girl, and very beautiful and confident; and she was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.

We went into the house by a side door and the first thing I noticed was that the passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning. She took it up, and we went up a staircase and along more passages, 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: “After you, Miss.”

“Don’t be stupid, boy,” she answered me. “I am not going in.” And she scornfully walked away and, what was worse, took the candle with her.

I was more than half afraid at being left there. However, I knocked at the door, and a voice called to me to enter. I went in, therefore, and found myself in a pretty large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was to be seen in it. In an arm-chair, with her head leaning on one hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.

She was dressed in rich materials, all of white. Her shoes were white, and she had a long white veil hanging from her hair, and she had a bride’s flower in her hair, and her hair was white also. Bright jewels sparkled from her neck and on her hands, and some other jewels lay sparkling on the table. Dresses and halfpacked travelling-boxes lay all about the floor.

Then I saw that everything within my view which ought to be white, had been white long ago, and was now faded and yellow. I saw that the bride within the fine dress had no brightness left but the brightness of her eyes. I saw that the dress had been made for the figure of a young woman, and that the figure upon which it now hung loose was little more than skin and bone. She was like a skeleton that had dark eyes that were alive and looked at me. I almost cried out aloud, but I think I was too frightened to do so.

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“Who is it?” she asked.

“Pip, ma’am,” I answered. “Mr. Pumblechook’s boy, ma’am. Come—to play.”

“Let me look at you. Come close.”

It was when I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, that I saw that the only clock in the room had stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that her watch also had stopped at the same time.

“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham suddenly, and laid her hands, one upon the other, on her left side. “Do you know what I touch here?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am: your heart.”

“Broken!” she cried, with a strange smile that had a kind of boast in it. Then the smile faded. “I am tired,” she said heavily, “and I have done with men and women. I have a sick fancy that I want to see someone play. Play, boy! Play!” She moved her fingers impatiently. “Play, play, play!”

I had no idea what to do. I just stood there looking at her.

“What’s the matter?” she asked sharply.

“Ma’am,” I said, in a kind of despair, “I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can’t play just now. It’s so new here, and so strange—”

I broke off and we took another long look at each other.

“So new to him,” she said softly, “and so old to me! Call Estella. You can do that. Call Estella—at the door.”

To stand in the dark in a mysterious passage like a strange house calling “Estella” to the scornful young lady, was
almost as bad as playing to order. But she answered at last, and her light came flickering along the dark passage like a star.

Miss Havisham called her close. She took up a jewel from the table, and tried its effect against the girl’s pretty brown hair. “Let me see you play cards with this boy,” she said.

“With this common boy?” asked Estella, turning up her nose.

I thought I heard Miss Havisham answer—only it seemed so unlikely—“Well, you can break his heart.”

Estella laughed, and we sat down to cards.

“What coarse hands this boy has!” said Estella before our first game was done. “And what thick boots!”

I had never been ashamed of my hands or boots before, but I was from that moment on. She won the game, and I dealt the cards again. I made mistakes, as was only natural when I knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong. She called me a stupid, common boy.

“You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham, as she looked on. “What do you think of her?”

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“I don’t like to say,” I replied, going red in the face.

“Tell me in my ear,” said Miss Havisham, leaning close.

“I think she is very proud,” I said in a whisper.

“Anything else?”

“I think she is very pretty.”

“Anything else?”

“I think she is most insulting.”

Estella gave a laugh at this.

“Anything else?”

“Yes—I should like to go home now.”

“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 want to go home now.”

“You shall go soon,” Miss Havisham told me. “Finish the game first.”

I played the game to an end and Estella beat me once more. She threw the cards down on the table as if she despised them for having been won of me.

“When shall I have you here again?” Miss Havisham said. “Let me think. I know nothing of the days of the week. Come again after six days. You hear, boy?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Estella, take him down. Go, Pip.”

I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up. The rush of the daylight quite confused me, and made me feel as if I had been in the candlelight of the strange room for many hours. Estella unlocked the gate and stood aside to let me through. She smiled at me then, as if she was glad that my hands were so coarse and my boots so thick. I was going out without looking at her, when she touched me with her hand.

“Why don’t you cry?” she said.

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You do,” said she. “You’re crying now.” It was true.

She laughed again, pushed me out, and kicked the gate upon me. I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook’s, and was much relieved to find him not at home. I set off on the four-mile walk to our village, thinking of all I had seen and filled with a deep regret that I was such a common, stupid boy, with coarse hands and thick boots. It seemed to me that I was in a thoroughly bad way!

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_{Chapter Five}

^{A Fight and a Kiss}

I went to Miss Havisham’s often after that; and always Estella treated me as if I were no more than a dog in disgrace; and always, for some reason, I longed to win her favour.

Then there came a day, when, as she and I were on our way upstairs, we met a gentleman coming down.

“What have we here?” asked the gentleman, stopping and looking down at me.

“A boy,” replied Estella.

He was a big man, with an exceedingly large head that was bald on the top. He took my chin in his hand and turned up my face to have a look at me in the candlelight. His eyes were set very deep in his head, and were sharp and suspicious, and he had thick black eyebrows that wouldn’t lie down.

“Boy of the neighbourhood, eh?” he said. “How do you come here?”

“Miss Havisham sent for me, sir,” I answered.

“Well, behave yourself!” he said. “Do you mind me? Behave yourself!”

With these words, he went on down the stairs. There was not much time to consider what the man had been doing there, for we were soon in Miss Havisham’s room.

“Are you ready to play?” she asked me. “Or would you rather work?”

I said I was quite willing to work, and she took up a stick and came and laid her hand on my shoulder. “Take me into the room opposite,” she said.

I entered the room she had pointed out. The windows were bricked up so that the daylight could not enter, but there were candles here and there faintly lighting the room. It was a big room and in the centre was a long table with a cloth spread on it, as if a feast had been in preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together. A great centre-piece of some kind was in the middle of this cloth, so overhung with cobwebs that I could not make out what it was, but I could see spiders running home to it, and others running out from it.

“This,” said Miss Havisham, pointing at the table with her stick, “is where I shall be laid when I am dead. What do you think that is?” Again pointing with her stick, “ that—where the cobwebs are?”

“I can’t guess what it is, ma’am.”

“It’s a great cake. A bride-cake. Mine.”

She glared all round the room, and then said, leaning upon my shoulder: “Come, come, come! Walk me, walk me!”

I made out from this that the work I had to do was to walk Miss Havisham round and round the room. Accordingly, I started at once, and away we went, round and round and round. After a while she said, “Call Estella.” When Estella came, she said: “Take Pip down to the garden, Estella. Give him something to eat and let him wander and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”

_{ТРЕК 05_02}

Estella took me down to the yard, left me waiting, and returned with some bread and meat, which she handed to me without looking at me, and left me. I wandered round the corner of the yard, and into a neglected garden, like a wilderness. Then, never doubting that the house was empty, I stared in at a window and found myself, to my great surprise, looking into the face of a boy with light hair.

This pale young gentleman quickly disappeared, and came out of a door close by.

“Who let you in?” he asked.

“Miss Estella.”

“Who gave you leave to wander about?”

“Miss Estella.”

“Come and fight,” said the pale young gentleman.

I was so astonished that I followed him to a quiet corner of the garden. There he pulled off not only his jacket, but his shirt too, in a most businesslike and bloodthirsty manner. I judged him to be about my own age, but he was much taller, and my heart failed me when he came dancing at me with his hands up. I have never been so surprised in my life as I was when I hit out at him and saw him lying on his back, looking up at me with the blood pouring from his nose.

But he was on his feet at once and came at me again. The second greatest surprise I have ever had was seeing him on his back again, looking up at me out of a black eye.

So it went on. He seemed to have no strength, and he never once hit me hard, and he was always knocked down. He got heavily bruised, for I am sorry to say that the more I hit him the harder I hit him; but he came up again and again and again, until at last he got a bad fall with the back of his head against the wall.

“All right,” he said, when he had got his breath back. “You’ve won!”

“Are you all right? Can I help you?” I asked anxiously.

“No, thank you,” he replied.

“Good afternoon, then,” I said, turning away.

“The same to you,” he answered as I walked off.

When I got back to the yard I found Estella waiting with the keys. She looked very pleased about something. Instead of going straight to the gate, she stepped back into the passage and pulled me in after her.

“Come here! You may kiss me if you like.”

I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. I think I would have gone through a great deal to kiss her cheek; but I felt that the kiss was given to the stupid, common boy as a piece of money might have been, and that it was worth nothing at all.

_{ТРЕК 05_03}

_{* * * * * *}

My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman. The more I thought about the fight and the damage I had done to him, the more certain it appeared that something would be done to me as a punishment. When the day arrived for me to go back to Miss Havisham’s, my terrors reached their height. However, go to Miss Havisham’s I must, and go I did. Not a word was said of the late struggle. It was not mentioned in any way, and I saw nothing more of the pale young gentleman.

As we grew more used to each other, Miss Havisham asked me questions about what I had learnt, and what I was going to be. I told her that I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, which was something that had been arranged for as long as I could remember.

Estella always let me in and out, but never told me that I might kiss her again. Sometimes, indeed, she told me openly that she hated the sight of me. Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, “Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?” And when I said that she did, would seem to enjoy it greedily, and would whisper in the girl’s ear, “Break their hearts, my dear, break their hearts and have no mercy!”

We went on in this way for a long time, and then, one day, Miss Havisham said, as if she had noticed it for the first time:

“You are growing tall, Pip!”

She said no more that day, but the next time I came I found her standing in her room with a purse in her hand.

“You had better be apprenticed to that blacksmith of yours at once,” she said, and handed me the purse. “There are twenty-five guineas in there,” she went on. “You have been a good boy, and that is your reward. Good-bye, Pip. Let him out, Estella.”

“Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?” I asked.

“No. Estella is going abroad, to be educated as a lady. You’ve lost her, Pip. Let him out, Estella.”

I was surprised, and, for some reason that I could not determine, I felt sick at heart. In a minute or two I was outside the gate and it was locked behind me.

“Good-bye, Pip,” said Estella with a laugh, and then she was gone.

I turned away and walked slowly home, feeling more sad and lost than I had ever done before.

_{ТРЕК 06_01}

_{Chapter Six}

^Violence

It was a long time before I went to Miss Havisham’s again, and, when I did, I was not invited there....

In the meantime, I worked with Joe in the forge. Once it had seemed to me that I could ask nothing more than to become Joe’s apprentice; but now I found that I was unhappy and never content, and always wanting something better.

What I wanted, who can say? What I dreaded was that I should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the windows of the forge. I had the fear that sooner or later she would find me out, with a black face and hands, and would laugh at me and despise me. I thought about Estella a great deal. After dark, I would see her face in the flames of the fire, with her pretty hair blowing in the wind and her eyes scorning me; and she was always in my dreams . . . .

At last I made up my mind that I would call upon Miss Havisham in the hope of seeing Estella. I asked Joe, one Sunday, if he would give me a half-holiday during the week, and told him why I wanted it. I could see that he thought little of the idea, but he agreed that I should have the holiday.

It was a strange feeling to go again to Miss Havisham’s and ring the bell at the gate. It was answered by a little, dry, old woman. No Estella.

After some persuasion she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to “come up”. Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham alone in her room. “Well ?” said she. “I hope you want nothing. You’ll get nothing!”

“No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing well in my apprenticeship, and am always very grateful to you.”

“There, there!” she said. “Come and see me now and then; come on your birthday. —Ah!” she cried suddenly. “You are looking round for Estella? Hey?”

I had been looking round—in fact, for Estella—and I said that I hoped she was well.

“Abroad still,” answered Miss Havisham. “Far out of reach; prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?”

I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of answering by dismissing me. When the gate had closed behind me, I felt more than ever ashamed of my home and my trade and with everything in my life. I hung about the town for some hours before I set out for the village.

_{ТРЕК 06_02}

It was a very dark night, and while I was crossing the marsh I heard the well-remembered sound of a big gun from one of the Hulks downriver, announcing the escape of a convict. I came to the village and was passing its one inn, when the door was thrown open and a man came running out in a great hurry, a bottle in his hand.

“There’s something wrong up at your place,” he said, without stopping. “Run, Pip, run!”

“What is it?” I asked, keeping up with him.

“I can’t quite understand. The house seems to have been broken into when Joe was out. By convicts, I suppose. Somebody has been attacked and hurt. They sent me to fetch brandy.”

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 doctor, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all gathered round something on the floor. They drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister. She lay without sense or movement on the bare boards where she had been knocked down by a violent blow on the back of the head, dealt by some unknown hand.

_{* * * * * *}

The attacker remained unknown. My sister, meanwhile, lay very ill in bed, and was of no help in the inquiries that followed. Her sight was disturbed; her memory gone; and she had lost all power of speech. When, at last, she recovered enough to be helped downstairs, she sat in the kitchen as helpless as a child. We were at a loss to find someone to nurse her, until a circumstance happened conveniently to relieve us. Mr. Wopsle’s sister died, and her orphaned daughter, Biddy, came to live with us.

Biddy was the same age as me, and I had known her all my days. She was not beautiful—she could not be like Estella—but she was pleasant and sweet-tempered.

My sister was never left alone now. Joe always took care of her on Sunday afternoons, when Biddy and I went out together.

One summer’s afternoon, when she and I sat on the river bank, I decided that it was a good time to take Biddy into my confidence.

“Biddy,” I said, “I want to become a gentleman. I am not at all happy as I am. I don’t want to be coarse and common, as somebody once told me I am.”

“That was neither true nor polite,” answered Biddy, watching a ship move upriver. “Who said it?”

“The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s. I want to be a gentleman on her account.”

“Do you want to be a gentleman to spite her, or to win her over?” asked Biddy, after a pause.

“I don’t know,” I answered sadly.

“Because, if it is to spite her,” Biddy went on, “I should think it might be better 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 winning.”

Exactly what I thought myself, but it made no difference. Deep in my heart, I knew that I loved Estella, and could love no other, ever. And the only way I could win her, it seemed, was to become a gentleman. I had no idea how I should do that—and then, suddenly, fate took a hand in the game....

_{ТРЕК 07_01}

_{Chapter Seven}

^{Great Expectations}

It was in the fourth year of my apprenticeship, and it was a Saturday night. We were gathered by the fire in the kitchen when there came a knock at the street door. Biddy went to see who it was, came back with a wondering look on her face, and said that a strange gentleman had called and wished to speak with Joe and me. She had lighted a candle and shown him into the parlour.

I recognized the gentleman as soon as I saw him. He was the man I had met on the stairs on the occasion of my struggle with the pale young gentleman in the garden. He did not know me, but I knew him the moment I set eyes on his large head, his deep-set eyes, and his thick black eyebrows. We invited him to sit down.

“My name,” he said, “is Jaggers, and I am a lawyer in London. I am the bearer of an offer to relieve you of this young fellow, your apprentice, for his own good. Would you want anything for thus losing him?”

Joe was staring at the man, wide-eyed.

“I shouldn’t want anything for not standing in Pip’s way,” he said, after a pause.

Mr. Jaggers nodded, and turned his attention to me.

“Now I come to this young fellow,” he said, “who, I must tell you, has Great Expectations.”

Joe looked at me, and I looked at Joe, both of us too surprised to say a word.

“I am instructed to tell him,” said Mr. Jaggers, pointing a finger at me, “that he will come into a handsome property. Further, that it is the desire of the present owner of that property, that he be immediately removed from this place and brought up as a gentleman—in a word, as a young fellow of great expectations.”

My dream was out; my wild fancy had become a reality; Miss Havisham was going to make my fortune on a grand scale.

“Now, Mr. Pip,” went on the lawyer, “you are to understand, first, that it is the request of the person by whom I am instructed, that you always bear the name of Pip. If you have any objection, this is the time to mention it.”

My heart was beating so fast, and there was such a singing in my ears, that I could scarcely say that I had no objection.

“I should think not! Now you are to understand, secondly, that the name of the person from whom you benefit must remain a secret, until that person chooses to reveal it. If you have any suspicion as to who it might be, you must keep that suspicion to yourself. If you have any objection, say so now.”

Once more I said that I had no objection.

_{ТРЕК 07_02}

“I should think not! We come now to mere details of arrangement. There is already lodged in my hands, on your behalf, a large sum of money for your education and support. You will please consider me your guardian. It is thought that you should be better educated. Are you ready to be placed at once under some proper tutor?”

I said I had always longed for it.

“There is a tutor whom I think might serve the purpose,” said Mr. Jaggers. “He is a relation, a poor relation, of the rich Miss Havisham. His name is Pocket—Mr. Matthew Pocket.”

I said 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, looking at Joe, that I thought I could come at once.

“First,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you should have some new clothes to come in. Say this day week. You’ll want some money. Shall I leave you twenty guineas?”

He produced a long purse, counted the money out on the table, pushed the coins over to me, then rose and went to the door.

“Well, Mr. Pip,” he said, “I think the sooner you leave here the better. Let it stand for this day week. When you arrive in London, come straight to me. Good night to you both!”

I saw him to the door and then went back to the kitchen. My sister sat in her corner, and Joe sat next to Biddy, and I sat next to Joe in the corner opposite my sister. The longer I looked into the fire, the less I wanted to look 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. “I left it to you, Pip.”

“I would rather you told her, Joe.”

“Pip’s a gentleman of fortune 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 congratulated me; but there was a certain touch of sadness in their congratulations that annoyed me, for my heart was bursting with joy, and my mind was full of Estella.

_{ТРЕК 07_03}

_{* * * * * *}

I was due to leave for London on the Saturday morning. On the Friday afternoon, I put on my new clothes and went to visit Miss Havisham. The same little old woman answered my ring—and looked astonished when she saw me so changed.

“You!” she said. “Good heavens! What do you want?”

“I am going to London,” I answered stiffly, “and I want to say good-bye to Miss Havisham.”

She left me 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 in the room with the long spread table, leaning on her stick.

“Well, Pip?” she said.

“I start for London, Miss Havisham, tomorrow,”—I was extremely careful of what I said—“and thought you would not mind my coming to say good-bye.”

“This is a fine figure, Pip,” she said, making her stick play round me.

“I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last,” I replied, “and I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham.”

“Yes!” she said. “I have seen Mr. Jaggers. I have heard about it, Pip. So you go tomorrow? And you are adopted by a rich person?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Not named?”

“No, Miss Havisham.”

“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Well,” she said, “be good—and be guided by Mr. Jaggers. Good-bye, Pip. You will always keep the name of Pip, you know.”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Good-bye, Pip.”

She stretched out her hand, and I went down on one knee and put it to my lips. She looked at me with an odd light in her eyes, and I left her there with both her hands on her stick, standing in the middle of the dimly lighted room beside the rotted bride-cake that was hidden in cobwebs.

And this time, when I left her house and walked through the streets in my fine new clothes, I felt as if all the world lay spread out at my feet.

_{ТРЕК 08_01}

_{Chapter Eight}

^{Miss Havisham’s Story}

Mr Jaggers had sent his address, and, when I arrived in London, I had no difficulty in finding a coach to take me there. I went into the front office with my little bag in my hand, and asked if Mr. Jaggers was there.

“Am I addressing Mr. Pip?” said the clerk. “Mr. Jaggers is expecting you, sir.”

My guardian greeted me and told me what arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to the Temple, where I would share rooms with young Mr. Pocket; on Monday young Mr. Pocket would take me to his father’s house on a visit, that I might try how I liked it. Also, I was told how much money I should be allowed to spend each month—it was a generous sum—and told with what tradesmen I should deal.

“Of course,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you’ll go wrong somehow, but that’s no fault of mine.”

After I had thought over that remark, I asked if I could send for a coach. Mr. Jaggers said that it was not worth my while, since I had no great distance to go; Wemmick should walk round with me, if I pleased.

Wemmick, I discovered, was the clerk in the next room. He was a short man, with a square wooden face, and bright black eyes. He talked pleasantly of this and that as we walked along.

Our rooms, I found, were in Garden Court, a part of the Temple down by the river. Wemmick led me up a narrow stair to a set of rooms 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.

“Since I shall be the one who hands out the cash,” Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet pretty often. Good day.”

When he had gone, I opened the staircase window and stood there looking out for half an hour before I heard footsteps on the stairs. Gradually there rose before me the hat, head, coat, trousers, shoes, of a young man of about my own age. He had a paper bag under each arm and a basket of fruit in one hand—and he was out of breath.

“Mr. Pip?” said he.

“Mr. Pocket?” said I.

“I’m very sorry,” he said; “but I knew there was a coach from your part of the country at midday, and I thought you would come by that one. I also thought you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I’ve been out to get some.”

_{ТРЕК 08_02}

I was staring at him as if my eyes would start out of my head. I was beginning to think that this was all a dream.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Pocket, Junior. “This door sticks so!”

I begged him to allow me to hold his paper bags while he struggled with the door, which opened so suddenly that he almost fell, and we both laughed.

“Pray come in,” said Mr. Pocket, Junior, “and let me take those bags from you.”

As I handed over the bags, and he looked me full in the face, I saw the surprise come into his own eyes that I knew to be in mine, and he said, falling back:

“Lord bless me, you’re the boy I fought in the garden!”

“And you,” said I, “are the pale young gentleman!”

We stood and looked at each other until we both burst out laughing.

“The idea of its being you!” said the pale young gentleman, holding out his hand. “Well, it’s all over now, and I hope that we shall be friends. My name is Herbert.”

“And mine’s Pip,” said I, as we shook hands warmly.

“You hadn’t come into your fortune at that time?” he asked.

“No.”

“I was on the look-out for a fortune then. Miss Havisham had sent for me—I’m a relation, you know—to see if she could take a fancy to me. But she couldn’t—”

I thought it polite to remark that I was surprised to hear that.

“Yes, bad taste on her part!” said Herbert, laughing. “If she’d liked me, I should have been well provided for; I might even have become engaged to Estella.”

“How did you bear your disappointment?” I asked.

“Pooh!” said he. “I wasn’t worried. That girl’s hard, and has been brought up by Miss Havisham to take her revenge on men.”

“What relation is she to Miss Havisham?”

“None. She’s only adopted.”

“And why should she take revenge on men? What revenge?”

“Dear me!” said he. “Don’t you know?”

“No,” I replied.

_{ТРЕК 08_03}

“Well, it’s quite a story—and it had better wait till after dinner.”

I was in a fever of impatience to hear more, but waited until we had eaten an excellent dinner, then reminded him of his promise to tell me more about Miss Havisham.

“Her father,” he said, “was a very rich man—and she was a very spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her father denied her nothing.”

“Was she an only child?” I asked.

“No. Her father married again and she had a half-brother. As the son grew into a young man, he turned out altogether bad. When the father died, he left him well-off—though not nearly so well-off as Miss Havisham. Her brother wasted what money he did have, and turned against his sister when she would give him no more.

“Now I come to the cruel part of the story. There appeared upon the scene a certain man who made love to Miss Havisham. She returned his affection. Their marriage was arranged, and he got large sums of money out of her, telling her that when he was her husband he must hold and manage it all. The marriage day was fixed, the wedding-dresses were bought, the wedding-guests were invited. The day came—but not the bridegroom. He wrote a letter—”

“Which she received,” I put in, “when she was dressing for her marriage? At twenty minutes to nine?”

“At the hour and minute,” replied Herbert, nodding, “and at which time she afterwards stopped all the clocks. When she recovered from a serious illness that she had, she laid the whole place waste, and has never since looked upon the light of day.”

“Is that all the story?” I asked.

“No. I’ve forgotten one thing. It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her confidence acted in understanding with her brother; that the whole business was planned between them, and that they shared the profits.”

“What became of the two men?” I asked.

“They fell into deeper shame—and ruin.”

“Are they alive now?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did Miss Havisham adopt Estella?”

“There has always been an Estella,” answered Herbert, “since I have heard of a Miss Havisham. I know no more.”

So, for the first time, in far-away London, I heard the strange story of Miss Havisham, who had played so large a part in my life; who had shown me Estella; and who now, I was convinced, was placing in my hands the means to help me win Estella for my own....

_{ТРЕК 09_01}

_{Chapter Nine}

^{A Wild Beast Tamed}

I did not find it difficult to live the easy, pleasant life of a gentleman about town. I had money to spend, fine clothes to wear, amusements in plenty, and the society of Herbert and his circle of acquaintances.

He took me to visit his father—a grey-haired gentleman of natural charm—and it was arranged that I should go to his house each day to study under his direction. I was supplied with a pleasant room in the house; and I was introduced to the occupants of two other similar rooms, by name Drummle and Startop.

Bentley Drummle came of a rich family and was heavy in figure, movement, and understanding; he was also idle, proud, and suspicious by nature. Startop was an easy-going fellow, as delicate as a woman in face and figure.

Herbert was my closest friend and companion. In the evenings we four young men were often out, rowing on the river. I was pretty good at this exercise and, as Drummle and Startop had each a boat, I bought one too, and presented Herbert with a half-share in it.

These were the surroundings among which I settled down and applied myself to my education. I soon developed expensive habits, and began to spend an amount of money that, a month or two earlier, would have taken my breath away.

As Mr. Wemmick had told me, it was he who “handed out the cash”—when instructed to do so by my guardian—and so I saw a great deal of him, and quickly grew to like him. He had a great respect for my guardian, who practised largely as a criminal lawyer, and who was something of a power in the Courts of the city.

On one occasion, when I had gone to him for money, Wemmick was a little mysterious in his remarks and stirred up my curiosity regarding Mr. Jaggers.

“Have you dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“Well,” said Wemmick, “when you do, take a good look at his housekeeper.”

“Shall I see something very unusual?”

“Yes,” replied Wemmick, “you’ll see a wild beast tamed. I expect he’ll invite you tomorrow—in fact, he told me so this afternoon when he heard you were coming. He’s going to ask your friends, too. Three of them, aren’t there?”

Although I was not in the habit of counting Drummle as one of my close friends, I answered, “Yes.”

“Well, just you look out for his housekeeper,” Wemmick repeated. “It’ll give you some idea of Mr. Jaggers’ powers.”

It fell out as he had said it would. I was invited to go with my three friends and dine with my guardian at his house in Soho.

_{ТРЕК 09_02}

Dinner was laid in a finely furnished room. My guardian, to my surprise, seemed greatly interested in Drummle, and began to talk to him as soon as we sat down to table. 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. Rather tall, graceful of figure and in movement, very pale, with large eyes and a quantity of wild dark hair.

I watched her all through the meal. I was puzzled by the fact that I was sure I had seen that same hair and those same eyes on someone I knew well, but I could not remember who it was. She kept her eyes on my guardian all the time she was in the room, like a dog waiting for its master’s command.

Dinner went off gaily enough. The talk then turned upon rowing, and Drummle began to boast of the strength of his arms and wrists. The housekeeper was clearing the table, when suddenly Mr. Jaggers clapped his large flat hand on the woman’s, like a trap, as she stretched it across the table.

“If you talk of strength,” he said, “I’ll show you a wrist. Molly, let them see your wrist.”

She tried to draw back.

“No—please!” she begged.

“ Molly,” said Mr. Jaggers, in a determined way, “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. One wrist was much disfigured— deeply scarred across and across.

“There’s power here,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I have never seen stronger wrists than these. That’ll do, Molly,” he added calmly. “You have been admired, and you may go.”

Before we left that night, my guardian found an opportunity to speak with me alone.

“Don’t have much to do with that fellow Drummle, Pip,” he advised me.

“I thought you liked him,” I replied, surprised.

“Shall we say that he interests me,” was the answer. “But I think you would do well to keep clear of him. If I was a fortune-teller—”

He stopped, and smiled.

“But I am not a fortune-teller,” he went on. “You know what I am, don’t you? Good night, Pip.”

“Good night, sir.”

About a month after that, Drummle’s time with Mr. Pocket was up for good, and he went home to his family. I thought I had seen the last of him, but in the days ahead I was to grow to hate the name of Bentley Drummle.

_{ТРЕК 10_01}

_{Chapter Ten}

^{A Welcome Message}

Two days later, Wemmick called round with a message— a message that set my heart racing and my blood on fire. Mr. Jaggers, said Wemmick, had received a letter from Miss Havisham. In it she had told him that Estella had come home and would be glad to see me.

It was clear that I must go down to our town next day, and equally clear that I would have to stay at Joe’s. But when I had secured my place on the coach, I began to invent reasons and excuses for not going to Joe’s; it seemed better to stay at the Blue Boar, leading hotel of the town. I should be an inconvenience at Joe’s, I told myself; I was not expected and my bed would not be ready; I should also be too far from Miss Havisham’s.

So, to the Blue Boar I went, having decided that I would call upon Joe if time allowed.

I was admitted to Miss Havisham’s by the same little old woman I had seen before. She left me at the bottom of the stairs. I went up and tapped in my old way at the door of Miss Havisham’s room. “Pip’s knock,” I heard her say immediately; “come in, Pip.”

She was in her chair, in the same old dress, with her two hands crossed on her stick and her eyes on the fire. At the window, with her back to the room, was an elegant lady whom I had never seen before.

“How do you do, Pip?” said Miss Havisham. “So you kiss my hand as if I were a queen, eh? Well?”

“I heard that you were so kind as to wish me to come and see you,” I said.

“Well?” said the lady at the window, and turned so that I could see her face. It was Estella! But she was so much changed, so much more beautiful, that I felt like the coarse and common boy all over again.

“Has she changed, Pip?” asked Miss Havisham, with a greedy look. “She was proud and insulting, remember? And you wanted to go away from her!”

I said, in some confusion, that it was a long time ago and I knew no better then. Estella laughed, and we sat down and talked. I learned that she had just come home from France, and that she was going to London. It was settled that I should stay there all the rest of the day, return to the hotel that night, and go back to London on the morrow.

_{ТРЕК 10_02}

After we had talked for a while, Miss Havisham sent us out to walk in the garden. As we drew near the corner where Herbert and I had fought, Estella stopped and said:

“I must have been a strange little creature to hide and see the fight that day; but I did, you know, and I enjoyed it very much.”

“You rewarded me very much,” I answered.

“Did I?” she replied, without looking at me. “I remember that I thought very little of Herbert.”

“He and I are great friends now,” I told her. “Do you remember how you made me cry?”

“Yes—and that’s because I have no heart. However, I shall not be cruel today. Give me your arm, and let us be kind to each other....”

We walked round and round the ruined garden, and in my eyes the place had suddenly grown beautiful, because of the lovely girl at my side. I was sure, at that moment, that Miss Havisham had chosen us for one another, and I was filled with a great happiness.

When we went back into the house, I heard with surprise that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business, and would be coming back to dinner. The time so melted away that our early dinner-hour drew close.

My guardian arrived, and Estella went off to change her dress. Mr. Jaggers and I left Miss Havisham in her room and went down the dark stairs together. He asked me how often I had seen Miss Havisham eat and drink.

I considered, and said, “Never.”

“And you never will, Pip,” he replied. “She has never allowed herself to be seen doing either since she lived this strange life of hers. She wanders about in the night, and then lays hand on such food as she wants.”

This brought us to the dinner-table, where we were soon joined by Estella. Miss Havisham had put some of her most beautiful jewels in Estella’s hair, and I saw even my guardian look at her from under his thick eyebrows, and raise them a little from time to time.

After dinner we went back to Miss Havisham’s room and the four of us played cards. At nine o’clock, when I left, it was arranged that when Estella came to London I should meet her at the coach; and then I said goodbye, and touched her hand, and left her.

_{ТРЕК 10_03}

Far into the night I lay awake and said into my pillow: “I love her, I love her, I love her!” over and over and over. Then a burst of gratitude came upon me that she should be meant for me, who had once been the blacksmith’s boy.

I did not even remember until I was back in London that I had neglected to pay a call on Joe and my sister; but I never thought that there was anything low and small in my keeping away from Joe, because I knew that Estella would look down upon him as one who was beneath her.

As it happened, however, circumstances compelled me to visit the forge sooner than I had expected. I had been back in London only five days when, one evening, an envelope with a black border was dropped through our letterbox.

It was addressed to me. The letter in it was from Biddy, who regretted to tell me that my sister had departed this life on Monday last at twenty minutes past six in the evening, and that the funeral would take place on Monday next at three o’clock in the afternoon.

It was the first time that a grave had opened in my road of life. I could scarcely have remembered my sister with much tenderness, but I suppose there is a shock of regret that may exist without great love.

I missed her more than I should have thought possible when I went down to the forge, and all the time I was there I had the strangest idea that she would walk into the kitchen and take me by the ear, as she had done so often when I was a boy. I saw her laid to rest in the churchyard, close by the grave of the parents I had never known; then spent a quiet evening with Joe and Biddy. I kept thinking how little I had seen of them of late, and promising myself that I must do so much more often.

Early in the morning, I was to go; and early in the morning I was out, looking in, unseen, at one of the windows of the forge. There I stood for some minutes, watching Joe at his work, with a glow of health and strength upon his face.

“Good-bye, dear Joe. I shall be down soon —and often,” I told him, and meant it at that moment.

“Never too soon,” Joe replied, “and never too often, Pip.”

Then I turned my back on our village and went off to London again, to continue my life as a gentleman with great expectations.

_{ТРЕК 11_01}

_{Chapter Eleven}

^{The Stranger on the Stairs}

One day when I was busy with my books, I received a note by the post, the mere outside of which set my fingers trembling and my heart racing. It was from Estella, and had this to say:

“I am coming to London the day after tomorrow by the midday coach. I believe it was settled that you should meet me—Miss Havisham sends you her regard.—Yours, Estella.”

That was all, but you may imagine what a fever it threw me into. If there had been time, I should probably have ordered several suits of clothes for the occasion. My appetite vanished instantly, and I knew no peace or rest till the day arrived; and yet, when I saw her face at the coach window, I suddenly felt that a shadow hung over us, and that neither good nor happiness would follow her coming to London.

In her furred travelling-dress, she seemed more beautiful than she had ever seemed yet, even in my eyes. Her manner was more winning than she had cared to let it be to me before, and I thought I saw Miss Havisham’s influence in the change.

“I’m going to Richmond,” she told me. “The distance is ten miles. I am to have a carriage, and you are to take me. This is my purse, and you are to pay my expenses out of it. Oh, yes, you must take the purse! We have no choice, you and I, but to do as we are told by Miss Havisham. We are not free to do as we please, you and I.”

There was an odd look in her eyes as she handed me the purse, and I hoped there was a hidden meaning in her words.

“Where are you going to, at Richmond?” I asked.

“I am going to live with a lady there, who will take me about, and introduce me to the right people.”

“I wonder Miss Havisham could part with you again so soon,” I told her.

“It is all a part of Miss Havisham’s plan for me,” said Estella. “I am to write to her often, and report how I go on—I and the jewels—for they are nearly all mine now.”

_{ТРЕК 11_02}

We came to Richmond all too soon. The doorway soon absorbed her boxes, and she gave me her hand and a smile, and said good night, and was absorbed too. And still I stood looking at the house, thinking how happy I should be if I lived there with her—and knowing that I was never happy with her, but always miserable.

If that house at Richmond should ever be haunted when I am dead, it will be haunted, surely, by my ghost. Let my body be where it would, my spirit was always wandering, wandering, wandering about that house.

I saw Estella often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used often to take her out on the river. There were all sorts of occasions and pleasures through which I pursued her—and they were all miseries to me.

She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer out of every man who went near her, but there were more than enough of them without that. Then Bentley Drummle returned to London, and began to appear often upon the scene. In a little while he and I were meeting each other nearly every day.

I knew that Drummle had begun to follow Estella closely, and that she allowed him to do it. And I, thinking of his riches and family greatness, grew sick at heart when I saw how she smiled at him—in a way that she never smiled at me....

Then, in this time of misery and heartache, there occurred an event that changed the whole pattern of my life. In an instant the blow was struck; and the roof of my Castle of Expectations dropped in upon me and all my dreams were broken and destroyed....

_{* * * * * *}

I was twenty-three years of age. Not another word had I heard concerning my expectations, and my twenty-third birthday was a week gone by.

Business had taken Herbert on a journey to Marseilles. He had, some time before, become the partner of a young merchant in the city, and was doing rather well for himself. I found that I sadly missed the cheerful face and ready smile of my friend.

It was wretched weather, and had been for days; stormy and wet, stormy and wet; mud, mud, mud, deep in all the streets. A furious wind blew among the houses, and violent bursts of rain accompanied the rages of the wind. The day which had just closed, as I sat down to read, had been the worst of all.

The wind, rushing up the river, shook the house like breakings of the sea; 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 door open and looked down the staircase, the staircase lamps were blown out.

_{ТРЕК 11_03}

At eleven o’clock, as I shut my book, I heard a footstep on the stairs.

What made me connect it with the footstep of my dead sister I do not know, but the hair rose on the back of my neck, and a cold shiver ran all the way down my back. I heard the footsteps coming on, and I rose and took up my reading-lamp and went out to the top of the stairs. Whoever was below had stopped on seeing my lamp, for all was suddenly quiet.

“Who’s there?” I called. “What floor do you want?”

“The top,” answered a coarse, broken voice. “Mr. Pip.”

“That is my name. Is something the matter?”

“Nothing the matter,” returned the voice, and the man came on.

I stood with my lamp held out over the stair-rail, and he came slowly within its circle of light. He was roughly dressed, like a voyager by sea. His face was strange to me. He had long iron-grey hair, and his age was about sixty. He was a strong-looking man, browned and hardened by sun and wind. As he came up the last stair or two, I saw with astonishment that he was holding out both his hands to me.

“What do you want?” I asked him. “Do you wish to come in?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I wish to come in.”

I took him in, set the lamp on the table, and asked him to explain himself.

He looked about him with a strange air— almost an air of pleasure, as if he had some part in the things he admired—and pulled off a rough outer coat, and his hat. He had a large coloured handkerchief wrapped round his neck. I saw that his head was bald, and that the long grey hair grew only on its sides.

“There’s no one here, is there?” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“Why do you, a stranger, coming into my rooms at this time of night, ask that question?” said I, regarding him with suspicion.

He looked me straight in the eyes, then took the handkerchief from his neck and twisted it round his head; then, holding his body in both his arms, he took a shivering turn across the room, looking back at me for recognition.

In that moment I knew him, as if the wind and the rain had driven away all the time between, and had swept us back to the churchyard where we first stood face to face. The man was my convict, whom I had fed and helped in the marsh country all those years before!

_{ТРЕК 12_01}

_{Chapter Twelve}

^{The Truth}

As I stood there, staring, he moved back towards me, holding out his arms. In my astonishment, I let him take my hands. He raised them to his lips, kissed them, and still held them tight.

“You were a noble boy!” he said. “Noble Pip! And I’ve never forgot it!”

I thought, for one awful moment, that he was going to put his arms around me. Hastily I raised a hand to hold him back.

“If you are grateful to me for what I did—if you’ve come here to thank me—it was not necessary, you know. Surely you must understand—I—”

He was looking at me in such an odd way that the words died on my tongue. There was a little silence, and he sank down into a chair beside the fire.

“What must I understand?” he asked.

“Well,” I said, with some difficulty, “our ways are different.” I paused. “You are wet and weary,” I said then. “Will you drink something before you go?”

“I thank you,” he answered. “I think I will drink something before I go.”

There was a tray ready on a side-table. I made him some hot rum-and-water. When I handed him the glass, I saw with astonishment that his eyes were full of tears.

“I hope,” I said, hurriedly, “that you are well and happy. How are you living?”

“I’ve been a sheep-farmer, on the other side of the world,” he told me in his coarse, broken voice.

“I hope that you’ve done well.”

“I’ve done wonderfully well,” he replied, with a look of satisfaction. “I’m famous for it on the other side of the world.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so, my dear boy,” he answered, watching my face. “And may I ask how you have done since you and I were out on these shivering marshes?”

I told him that I had been chosen to succeed to some property.

“Might I ask what property—and whose?” said he.

“I don’t know,” I replied, and felt stupid as I said it.

“Could I make a guess,” said my convict, “at the sum of money you are paid each year? Would it be five hundred pounds, perhaps?”

_{ТРЕК 12_02}

I stared at him, my heart beating like a heavy hammer.

“You ought to have a guardian too,” he said. “Some lawyer, perhaps. Would that lawyer’s name begin with a J?”

All the truth of my position suddenly came to me; and its disappointments, dangers, disgraces, consequences of all kinds, rushed in in such number that I felt weighed down by them and had to struggle for every breath.

“Suppose,” he went on, “that the employer of that lawyer had come over sea to Portsmouth, and had landed there, and had wanted to find you. How did I find you? Why, I wrote from Portsmouth to a person in London, for particulars of your address. That person’s name? Why, it was Wemmick.”

I could not have spoken one word though it had been to save my life.

“Yes, Pip, dear boy, I’ve made a gentleman of you. I swore that time, as sure as I earned a guinea, that guinea should go to you. I swore that if I ever got rich, you should get rich. I lived rough, that you should live smooth; I worked hard, that you should be above work. I’m your second father, Pip. You’re my son—more to me than any son could be. I’ve put away money only for you to spend. Again and again I’ve said to myself, ‘If I get liberty and money, I’ll make that boy a gentleman.’ And I’ve done it. Why, look at you, dear boy! Look at these lodgings, fit for a lord! And your books, too,” turning his eyes round the room, “hundreds and hundreds of them! And you read them, don’t you? You shall read them to me, dear boy!”

Again he took both my hands and put them to his lips, while my blood ran cold.

“Did you never think it might be me?” he asked then, with a smile.

“No,” I returned. “Never!”

“Well, you see, it was me. Never a soul in it but my own self and Mr. Jaggers.”

“Was there no one else?” I asked.

“No,” said he, with a look of surprise. “Who else should there be? And, dear boy,” he rushed on, “how good-looking you have grown! There’s bright eyes somewhere, eh? Isn’t there bright eyes somewhere, that you love the thought of?”

_{ТРЕК 12_03}

O Estella, Estella!

“They shall be yours, dear boy, if money can buy them. But let me finish what I was telling you. When I began to make money in Australia, I sent it home to Mr. Jaggers—all for you!”

He laid his hand on my shoulder. I trembled at the thought that, for all I knew, that hand might be stained with blood.

“It wasn’t easy for me, Pip, to leave those parts and come back here, but at last I’ve done it. Dear boy, I’ve done it!”

I tried to collect my thoughts.

“Where will you put me?” he asked. “I must sleep somewhere, dear boy.”

“Sleep?” said I. “Oh—yes—my friend is away—you must have his room.”

“He won’t come back tomorrow, will he?”

“No, not tomorrow.”

“Because, look here, dear boy,” he said, dropping his voice, “caution is necessary.”

“How do you mean? Caution?”

“I was sent abroad for life. It’s death for me to come back. They’ll hang me if they catch me.”

Nothing was needed but this; the wretched man, after loading me with his wretched gold and silver chains for years, had risked his wretched life to come to me, and I held it there in my keeping. My first thought was to draw the curtains, and then to lock the door. I gave him food and drink, and when I saw him eating, like a dog at his meal, I saw my convict on the marshes all over again. As soon as he had finished, he said that he was tired and wished to sleep. I took him into Herbert’s room, and my blood ran cold again when he took me by both hands and said good night.

I got away from him and sat down by the fire, afraid to go to bed. I sat there for a long time, thinking how wrecked I was, and how the ship in which I had sailed was gone to pieces.

_{ТРЕК 12_04}

Miss Havisham’s intentions towards me were all a dream. Estella was not meant for me at all. And, sharpest and deepest pain of all, it was for the convict that I had left Joe and Biddy. It was the most bitter hour of my life.

Gradually, however, I slipped from the chair and lay asleep on the floor. The church clocks were striking five when I awoke, the candles were burnt out, the fire was dead, and the noise of the wind and rain seemed louder than ever.

All that had happened came rushing back to my mind. I realized, in some alarm, that I could not keep the convict hidden in my rooms without someone knowing he was there. There were two women who came in each morning to clean up, and they would have to see him. I decided to tell them that my uncle had unexpectedly come from the country. Herbert must know the truth, since I should depend on him to help me.

I decided these things while I was feeling about in the darkness for the means of getting a light. Not finding what I wanted, I made up my mind to go down to the watchman’s lodge, and get the man to come with his lantern, thinking that I might, at the same time, let him know that my visitor—whom he must have seen arrive was my uncle from the country.

I unlocked the door and went softly down the stairs, one hand before me on the wall to guide me in the heavy blackness. I had reached the bottom of the stairs and was feeling my way along the angle of the wall, when I fell over something—something that moved and gave a little cry of pain and surprise—and that something was a man crouching in the corner.

_{ТРЕК 13_01}

_{Chapter Thirteen}

^{Magwitch’s Story}

I started back, in considerable alarm.

“Who’s there?” I asked, and my voice sounded strange in my own ears.

The man made no answer, but rushed quickly past me and along the dark passage at the foot of the stairs. It was no use going after him in the dark, so I ran straight to the lodge and urged the watchman to come quickly, telling him what had happened on the way. We examined the staircase from the bottom to the top and found no one there. It then occurred to me that the man might have slipped into my rooms. Lighting my candle at the watchman’s lamp, and leaving him standing at the door, I examined the place carefully, including the room in which my dreaded guest lay asleep. All was quiet; no other man was in those rooms.

It troubled me that there should have been an unknown watcher on the stairs, on that night of all nights in the year. I asked the watchman how many people he had admitted at his gate during the hours of darkness.

“Very few, sir,” he answered. “There were one or two gentlemen I know well, and I don’t call to mind another since about eleven o’clock, when a stranger asked for you.”

“My uncle,” I said. “Yes.”

“And 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 came this way.”

“What sort of person?”

The watchman had not particularly noticed.

When I had got rid of him, my mind was much troubled by the whole business, though there was little that I could do for the moment.

I lit the fire, then washed and dressed, and sat waiting for “my uncle” to come to breakfast. By and by, his door opened and he came out. I thought he had a worse look by daylight.

“I don’t even know,” I said, as he took his seat at the table, “by what name to call you. I have given out that you are my uncle. You used some name, I suppose, on board ship?”

“Yes, dear boy. I took the name of Provis.”

“What is your real name?” I asked.

“Magwitch. Abel Magwitch.”

“Had you anyone with you when you came here last night?”

_{ТРЕК 13_02}

“With me? No, dear boy, but I think there was a person who came in behind me.”

“Are you known in London?”

“I hope not!” said he, giving his neck a jerk with his finger that made me turn hot and sick.

“Were you—tried—in London?”

He nodded. “First got to know Mr. Jaggers that way. Jaggers spoke for me.”

It was on my lips to ask him what he was tried for, but he took up a knife and fell to at his breakfast, just like a hungry old dog. We said nothing more till he had finished, when he got up from the table and produced a short black pipe, which he filled with tobacco. When it was burning to his satisfaction he went through his favourite action of holding out both his hands for mine.

“And this,” he said, “is the gentleman that I made! It does me good to look at you, Pip.”

“I want to speak to you,” I told him, pulling my hands away. “I want to know how you are to be kept out of danger, and how long you are going to stay.”

“How long?” said he, taking his black pipe from his mouth. “I’m not going back. I’ve come home for good.”

“Where are you to live?” I asked. “What is to be done with you? Where will you be safe?”

“I need some new clothes,” he said, “and I perhaps need to make myself look a bit different to what I do now.” He took out a great thick pocket-book, bursting with papers, and threw it on the table. “There’s something worth spending in that there book, dear boy,” he went on, “and there’s more where that came from. You get me some fine new clothes, and no one will ever recognize me as Abel Magwitch.”

It appeared to me that I could do no better than find him some quiet lodging near at hand, of which he might take possession when Herbert returned: whom I expected in two or three days. I would get him some different clothing—the kind of things a well-to-do farmer might wear—and we arranged that he should cut his hair close and wear a little powder.

That afternoon I left him locked in my rooms, and went to a lodging-house in Essex Street, within shouting distance of my own windows. There I was lucky enough to secure the second floor for my uncle, Mr. Provis. I then went from shop to shop, buying such things as I thought necessary to work the change in his appearance.

I went straight home again, where I found the terrible Provis drinking rum-and-water and smoking his pipe in safety.

Next day the clothes I had ordered arrived. When I had cut his hair, and had put on the clothes, it seemed to my anxious fancy that it was useless to attempt to disguise him. The more I dressed him, and the better I dressed him, the more he looked to me like the escaped convict of the marshes, for he had a wild and savage air that no dress could tame.

_{ТРЕК 13_03}

Words cannot tell what a sense I had, at the same time, of the awful mystery he was to me. I doubt if a ghost could have seemed more terrible to me, up in those lonely rooms in the long evenings and long nights, with the wind and the rain always rushing by. A ghost could not have been taken and hanged on my account, and the thought that he could be, and the dread that he would be, added to my horrors.

This time of waiting and doing nothing seemed like a year. It lasted about five days. Expecting Herbert all the time, I dared not go out, except when I took Provis for a walk after dark. At length, one evening when dinner was over and I had fallen asleep quite worn out, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Provis, who had been sleeping too, sprang to his feet, and in an instant I saw an open jack-knife shining in his hand.

“Quiet! It’s Herbert!” I said; and Herbert came bursting in.

“How are you?” he cried. “Why, you’ve grown quite thin and pale! My dear fellow, I—hullo! I beg your pardon!”

He stopped when he saw Provis, who was putting the knife back in his pocket.

“Herbert,” said I, shutting the door, while Herbert stood staring and wondering, “something very strange has
happened. This is—a visitor of mine. Sit down, Herbert, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

It would be hard to describe Herbert’s astonishment when he and I and Provis sat down before the fire, and I told the whole secret. And, when I had finished, it was the turn of Provis.

“Dear boy and Pip’s comrade,” he said, “I’m going to tell you the story of my life, and I’ll put it at once in a mouthful of English: in prison and out of prison, in prison and out of prison, since the time I was so high....

“I’ve no idea where I was born. I first became aware of myself down in Essex, thieving for my living. I knew my name was Magwitch—and I knew I was a ragged little creature that nobody wanted. What was I to do? I had to eat, didn’t I? Well, I worked and begged and stole for the next twenty years, and I got to be a man. I was married for a time—but, no, I won’t talk about that. I had a lot of trouble with her.

“At last I met a man named Compeyson, who set up to be a gentleman and who’d been to a good school and got learning. He was good-looking too, and a smooth one for talk. He took me on to be his partner. His business was any kind of fraud, passing stolen banknotes, and the like.

_{ТРЕК 13_04}

“There was another man in with Compeyson, as was called Arthur. He was a sick man when I first knew him, and he and Compeyson had been mixed up in a bad business with a rich lady some years before. They’d made a lot of money out of it, which they soon spent and wasted in bad living.

“Well, to cut a long story short, at last Compeyson and I were both caught for passing stolen notes, and there were other charges besides. When we were brought into court the first thing I noticed was what a fine gentleman Compeyson looked—and what a common sort of wretch I looked beside him! The evidence was heard, and it was me what got most of the blame. The verdict came, and it was Compeyson who got off light on account of his good character and for telling all that he could against me. And when we’re sentenced it was him that got seven years in the Hulks, and me fourteen. Can you wonder that I said to Compeyson, ‘Once out of this court, I’ll smash that pretty face of yours!’

“We was put in the same prison-ship, but I couldn’t get at him for long, though I tried hard enough. At last I came behind him and hit him on the cheek, but I was held back before I could do more. After that I escaped to the shore, where I first saw my boy in the churchyard.”

He gave me a look of affection.

“Pip told me how Compeyson was out on the marshes too. I believe he escaped in his terror to get away from me, not knowing it was me that had got ashore. I hunted him down, I smashed his face, and I dragged him back to serve his time, caring nothing for myself. I was put in irons, brought to trial again, and sent out of the country for life. I didn’t stop for life, though, as you can see me here.”

There was a silence.

“Is he dead?” I asked at last.

“Is who dead, dear boy?”

“Compeyson.”

“He hopes I am, if he’s alive, you may be sure,” with a fierce look. “I never heard more of him.”

Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. He pushed the book over to me as Provis stood smoking, with his eyes on the fire, and I read in it:

“Young Havisham’s name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man who pretended to be Miss Havisham’s lover.”

I shut the book and nodded to Herbert; but we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood smoking by the fire.

_{ТРЕК 14_01}

_{Chapter Fourteen}

^{The Accident}

“The first and main thing to be done,” said Herbert, “is to get him out of England. He’ll let himself be persuaded if you say you’ll go with him.”

I agreed. There was nothing else that could be done. It was late that same night, and I had just returned from seeing Provis to his lodging.

“He’s risked his life to come here,” went on Herbert quietly, “and you must save him if possible. If this man Compeyson finds out that he’s here—well, you know what will happen, for sure. He’ll hand him over to be hanged, if only to save his own skin.”

I remembered, with an uneasy feeling, the unknown watcher on the stairs. Perhaps Compeyson did know already. It was a disturbing thought. The sooner we persuaded Provis to leave the country, the better it would be; but I said to Herbert that before I could go abroad, I must see Estella for the last time. I decided to go out to Richmond next day; and I went.

I learned, from Estella’s maid, that Estella had gone into the country. Where? To Miss Havisham’s, as usual.

Next day I pretended that I was under a promise to go down to see Joe. Provis was to be very careful while I was gone, and Herbert was to take charge of him.

I set off by the early morning coach, and breakfasted at the Blue Boar in our town. When I had washed the marks of the journey from my face and hands, I went out to the old house that it would have been better for me never to have entered.

I found Miss Havisham in the room where the long table stood, but there was no sign of Estella. The old lady looked steadily at me, but I could see that she was rather confused.

“And what wind blows you here, Pip?” she asked.

“Miss Havisham,” said I, “ I went to Richmond yesterday to speak to Estella. I was told that she was here, and so I followed.”

She shook her head.

“Estella is not here,” she said. “She has gone. Today, Pip, is her wedding-day.”

I stared at her. The awful truth dawned on me.

“Not to—to—”

I could not speak the name. Miss Havisham nodded.

_{ТРЕК 14_02}

“Yes, Pip,” she said, “to Bentley Drummle.”

I dropped my face into my hands. Why had she done it? Why had she thrown herself away on such a stupid brute as Drummle? I knew the answer. This was part of Miss Havisham’s revenge. There were many, other than me, who loved and admired Estella; many would have given their lives for her; and, when they knew what she had done, they too would suffer as I was suffering now.

I looked up and saw with astonishment that there were tears in the old lady’s eyes, and her face was full of pain. She held out her hands to me.

“Oh, Pip,” she said, in a broken voice. “What have I done? Forgive me, Pip, my dear. Oh, what have I done?”

“If you mean, Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me, let me answer you. Very little. I should have loved her under any circumstances.”

“My dear,” she said, “believe this: when she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did worse, with my praises and my jewels, and with warnings against all men. I stole away her heart and put ice in its place. If you knew all my story, Pip, you would have a better understanding of me.”

“I do know all your story,” I answered. “Tell me, please, whose child was Estella?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head again.

“Mr. Jaggers brought her here,” she told me. “I had been shut up in these rooms a long time, when I let him know that I wanted a little girl to bring up and love as my own. He said that he would look about for such an orphaned child. One night he brought her here asleep when she was two or three years of age—and I called her Estella.”

So Mr. Jaggers had brought Estella there! There was much, I thought, that Mr. Jaggers might tell if only he could be persuaded.

I rose to my feet, filled with a sickness of despair.

“Miss Havisham,” I said, “I will walk a little in the garden before I take my leave of you.”

As I went from the room she called something after me, but I made my way down the stairs and out into the ruined garden. I went all round it many times; round by the corner where Herbert and I had fought; round by the paths where Estella and I had walked. All so cold, so lonely, so dismal now!

It was a long time before I went back up the stairs to say good-bye to Miss Havisham. I looked into the room where I had left her, and saw her seated in a ragged chair close to the fire. Her back was towards me. I was about to turn and go quietly away, when I saw a great flame of light spring up. In the same moment I saw her running at me, screaming, with flames all about her.

_{ТРЕК 14_03}

Her long bridal-dress had touched the flames of the fire, and flared up in an instant.

I had on a thick and heavy coat. I tore it off, put my arms round her, threw her down, and got the coat over her. Then I dragged the great cloth from the table, and with it pulled down the rotten heap in the middle and all the ugly things that sheltered there. I threw the cloth over her too, and then we were both on the ground, struggling like enemies, and the closer I covered her the more wildly she screamed and tried to free herself.

The servants came running to the door. Still I held her down with all my strength, like a prisoner who might escape.

At last her cries died away, but I was afraid to have her moved or even touched. A doctor was sent for, and I held her until he came, fancying that if I let go of her the fire would break out again and destroy her. When I got up at last, I was astonished to see that both my hands were burnt, for I had felt nothing of pain while I held her.

By the doctor’s directions her bed was carried into that room and laid upon the great table. When he had examined her, he said that she had received very serious burns and was not likely to live.

There was a time that evening when she spoke clearly of what had happened. Then towards midnight she began to wander in her speech, and said again and again in a low, solemn voice: “What have I done! Oh, Pip, what have I done!”

My hands had been dressed by the doctor, and the burns were nothing serious. Since I could do no good by remaining in the house, I decided in the course of the night that I would return by the early morning coach to London. At about six in the morning, therefore, I leaned over her and touched her lips with mine, then went down the stairs and out of the house.

I was very muddy and weary when I reached home, so I did not take it ill that the watchman examined me closely as he held the gate open for me to pass in.

“Just a moment, sir,” he said. “Here’s a note for you.”

Much surprised, I took the sealed envelope he handed me. On it was written, “Please read this here.” I opened it, and read inside, in Wemmick’s writing: “Don’t go to your rooms.”

_{ТРЕК 15_01}

_{Chapter Fifteen}

^{Estella’s Father}

Turning from the gate as soon as I had read the warning, I made my way to Mr. Jagger’s office. My guardian was in court, but Wemmick was there and he looked very relieved to see me.

“You got my note?” he said. “Good. Yesterday morning I accidentally heard that a certain person—we won’t mention names, Mr. Pip—who went abroad at the government’s expense, has stirred up a lot of excitement by disappearing from a certain place and being no more heard of. I also heard that someone who knew him had seen him in London; and that your rooms had been watched, and might be watched again.”

“By whom?” I asked.

“I won’t go into that,” Wemmick replied. “Mr. Jaggers doesn’t like me to mention the names of clients—or of old clients, either. A lot of our business, Mr. Pip, is done with people who are on the wrong side of the law, and we have to be very careful, you know.”

I nodded. “You’ve heard of a man called Compeyson?” I asked.

It was Wemmick’s turn to nod.

“Is he living?”

Another nod.

“Is he in London?”

“Yes,” said Wemmick. “Now let me tell you what I did after hearing what I heard. I went to the Temple to find you; not finding you, I went to Mr. Herbert’s place of business and gave him to understand that if he was aware of anybody in hiding, he had better get that person out of the way while you were out of the way.”

“He’d be puzzled what to do,” I said.

“He was puzzled what to do, because I gave him my opinion that it was not safe to try to get this person out of the country at the moment. Then he thought up a plan. He mentioned to me that he is courting a young lady who has a bedridden father, and who lived in a house by the river, between Limehouse and Greenwich. I expect you know the young lady, Mr. Pip?”

“Not very well,” said I.

All I knew, in fact, was that the young lady’s name was Clara, and that she objected to me as an expensive companion who did Herbert no good.

“Mr. Herbert suggested that he take a certain person there,” continued Wemmick, “and I thought very well of the idea. First, because it’s close to the river; second, because Mr. Herbert can go there often without anyone growing suspicious; and third, because if you should want to slip this person on board a foreign boat there he is ready. He’s been told that he’s in danger, and he’s agreed to leave the country if you’ll go with him.”

_{ТРЕК 15_02}

I agreed with all this, of course. It made good sense, and I thanked Wemmick for what he had done.

“Mr. Pip,” he said then, “I’ll tell you something. Leave your friend where he is for a while, until things have quietened down. You’re a good waterman, and you can take him down the river yourself when the right time comes. It might be a good thing if you began to keep a boat at the Temple stairs, and were in the habit of rowing up and down the river. You fall into that habit, and then who notices or minds? If you’ll leave things to me to arrange, I’ll let you know the right time to get away.”

Again I offered Wemmick my thanks. Then I thought of something else that had been worrying me for some time.

“Wemmick,” I said, “do you remember telling me to take particular note of Mr. Jagger’s housekeeper?’’ He nodded. “I wish you’d tell me her story. I have a—a personal interest in it.”

He hesitated for a moment, and then said: “Twenty years ago that woman was tried at the Old Bailey for murder. She was a beautiful young woman then—”

“And she was acquitted?”

“Yes. Mr. Jaggers was for her, and got her off. The murdered person was a woman. It was a case of jealousy. This girl Molly had been married to a no-good fellow who took up with the other woman. The murdered woman was found dead in a barn. There had been a violent struggle. She was bruised and scratched, and had been held by the throat and choked. It seemed certain that it was Molly who had killed her. She had only a bruise or two about her, but the backs of her hands and wrists were torn as if by finger-nails. It was attempted to set up as proof of her jealousy that she had murdered her child—then some three years old—to revenge herself upon her husband. Mr. Jaggers worked that in this way: ‘You say the marks on her hands are the marks of fingernails, and you say that she destroyed her child. For anything we know, she may have destroyed that child, and the child may have scratched her hands. What then? You are not trying her for the murder of the child. You are trying her for the murder of another woman—and that is something that you are unable to prove.’ In short, sir, Mr. Jaggers was too much for the jury, and they gave in.”

_{ТРЕК 15_03}

“Was the child a boy or a girl?” I asked.

“A girl.”

Yet again I gave Wemmick my thanks, and went home with new matter for my thoughts, though with no relief from the old.

My first question, when Herbert came home that evening, was whether all was well down the river. He answered yes, and we sat down by the fire to talk over the events of the past few days.

“I sat with Provis for two hours last night,” Herbert told me, “and for some reason he talked a lot more about his early life. Do you remember that he mentioned some woman that he had had great trouble with? It seems that she was young and wild, and very jealous—so jealous that she went to the length of murder.”

I started, but Herbert was looking into the fire and did not notice.

“She was tried for it,” he went on, “and defended by Mr. Jaggers. It was another woman who was the victim, and there had been a struggle—in a barn. Provis and his wife had a little child—a girl of whom Provis was very fond. On the evening of the murder, his wife came to him and swore that she would destroy the child to spite him. Then she vanished.”

“Did the woman keep her word?”

“He says she did. He never saw the child again, and after the trial the woman vanished.”

“Did he tell you when this happened?” I asked, listening to the heavy beating of my own heart.

“Yes—three or four years before you found him in the churchyard. He said you reminded him of the little girl he had lost, who would have been about your own age.”

“I know her,” I said. “She’s not dead. Herbert, the man we have in hiding down the river is Estella’s father!”

_{ТРЕК 16_01}

_{Chapter Sixteen}

^{Down River}

Next day I went and brought the boat round to the Temple stairs so that she lay where I could reach her in a minute or two. Then I began to go out as if for training and practice, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Herbert. We had no word from Wemmick, and saw nothing that in any way alarmed us. Still, I knew that there was cause for alarm, and I could not get rid of the idea of being watched.

Some weeks passed. It was an unhappy life that I led, and one that was filled with anxiety. I rowed about in my boat, and waited, waited, waited, as best I could.

I had a new anxiety when Herbert told me that his business affairs were doing so well that he and his partner were planning to open a branch-house in the East, and that he would have to go out to it himself, and that he must do so very soon. What, I wondered, should I do if Herbert left me to deal with Provis alone?

We got into the month of March, and the burns on my hands were quite healed. Then, on a Monday morning, when we were at breakfast, I received the following note from Wemmick:

“Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week, or say Wednesday, you might do what you know of. Now burn.”

Herbert and I considered what to do. I did not care what port Provis and I made for, as long as I got him out of England. We knew what steamers would leave London on the same tide, and we knew the build and colour of each. We decided that we would get him well down the river, and lie by in some quiet spot until we could pull off to a steamer. Passengers had been picked up in this way before, and I saw no reason why it should not happen again.

We then separated for a few hours: I to get at once such papers and passports as were necessary; Herbert to visit Provis and warn him that the time had come, and that he must come down to some stairs close by the house on Wednesday, when he saw us, and not sooner.

I slept little between that time and the coming of Wednesday morning. It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold. We had several thick coats with us, and a supply of food.

We went down to the Temple stairs and stood there for some minutes, as if we were not quite decided to go upon the water or not. Then we went on board and took up the oars. It was high-water—half-past eight.

_{ТРЕК 16_02}

Early as it was, there were plenty of boats dropping down with the tide. We drew near the meeting-place.

“Is he there?” said Herbert.

“Not yet. No, wait a minute! Now I see him! Pull hard. Easy, Herbert—oars!”

We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board and we were off again. He was wearing a long cloak, and had a black bag with him.

“Dear boy,” he said, putting an arm on my shoulder as he took his seat. “Well done, dear boy. Thank you, thank you.”

After that he sat there and smoked, seeming as peaceful and content as if we were already out of England.

The tide ran strong and our steady stroke carried us on for mile after mile. At midday we went ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank what we had with us.

We pushed off again and made what way we could all through the afternoon and until night began to fall, when we looked about for anything like a house. We held on, seeing nothing, for four or five dull miles. The night was dark by this time and it was with great relief that we saw a light and a roof, and soon afterwards ran alongside a rough landing-stage that had been made of stones. I left the others in the boat, stepped ashore, and found the light to be the window of an inn. It was a dirty place, but there was a good fire in the kitchen, and food to eat, and drink to warm us. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms that we might share.

I went down to the boat again, and we all came ashore and pulled her up for the night. We had made a good meal by the kitchen fire, when the landlord came in and asked me if we had seen a four-oared galley going up with the tide. We told him that we had not.

“That’s odd,” he said. “She was hanging about here for some time, and then went up with the tide. She must have put in somewhere, or you’d have been sure to see her.”

This information worried me. A four-oared galley hanging about so as to attract notice was an ugly circumstance that I could not get out of my mind.

We arranged that Provis should share my room, and that Herbert should take the other. I lay down with most of my clothes on and slept well for a few hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and fearing for the safety of our boat I looked out of the window. The moon was high and by its light I saw two men down by the boat, looking into her. My first thought was to wake the others, but I remembered that they were tired, and so I just stood there and watched the men move off across the marsh. In that light, however, I soon lost them and, feeling very cold, lay down to think of the matter and fall asleep once more.

_{ТРЕК 16_03}

We were up early. I told the others what I had seen in the night. Neither Herbert nor Provis seemed worried by the news. It was likely, they said, that the men had no interest in us at all, and I tried to persuade myself that this was so—as, indeed, it might easily be.

We waited at the inn until midday, then pushed our boat off and rowed out into the track that we knew the steamers took.

It was half-past one before we saw a steamer’s smoke, and soon after we saw behind it the smoke of another. As they were both coming on at full speed, Provis and I took the opportunity of saying good-bye to Herbert. Neither Herbert’s eyes nor mine were quite dry, when I saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the bank a little way in front, and row out into the same track.

The steamer was coming on fast. I called to Herbert to keep our boat before the tide so that she might see us lying by for her. Meanwhile, the galley had let us come up with her, and had fallen alongside. There were four men at the oars, a steersman, and a sixth man sitting wrapped up in a big cloak, much as Provis was, with a broad hat pulled down over his eyes. This sitter seemed to whisper some command or other to the steersman as he looked at us. Otherwise, not a word was spoken in either boat.

Herbert, who had good eyes, could make out in a few minutes which steamer was first, and gave me the word “Hamburg” in a low voice. She was nearing us very fast, and the beating of her paddles grew louder and louder. I felt as if her shadow was right upon us, when there came a shout from the galley:

“You have a returned convict there,” called the steersman. “His name is Abel Magwitch. I arrest that man, and call upon him to surrender.”

At the same moment, he ran the galley close upon us. They had pulled one sudden stroke, had got their oars in, and were holding on to our boat before we knew what they were doing.

This seemed to cause some confusion on board the steamer. I heard voices calling to us, and an order given to stop the paddles. In the same moment, I saw the steersman of the galley lay his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder, and noticed that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide. Still in the same moment, I saw the prisoner start up, lean across to the other boat, and pull the cloak from the neck of the sitter in the galley. Still in the same moment, I saw that the face revealed was the face of the other convict of long ago. Still in the same moment, I saw that face go white with a terror that I shall never forget. Then I heard a great cry on board the steamer and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.

_{ТРЕК 17_01}

_{Chapter Seventeen}

^{The Death of Magwitch}

It was for a moment or two only that I struggled in the water, and then I felt myself seized and lifted into the galley. Herbert was there already, but our boat was gone and so were the two convicts.

What with the shouts from the steamer, and her driving on, and our driving on, I could not at first distinguish sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the galley lay upon their oars, every man looking at the water behind. A moment or two, and a dark object was seen, bearing towards us on the tide. As it came nearer, I saw that it was Magwitch, swimming, but very weakly. He was pulled on board and handcuffs were instantly put upon his wrists.

The galley was kept steady and a silent look-out was kept upon the water for the other man. But the other steamer now came up at speed, and in a minute 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 last we gave it up, and pulled towards the shore and the inn, where we were received in some surprise. There, I was able to get some comforts for Magwitch, who had been badly wounded in the chest and had a deep cut in the head.

He told me that the man in the cloak had been Compeyson. He believed that they had both gone under the steamer and had been struck in rising, most likely by one of the great paddle wheels. He told me in a whisper that they had gone down together, locked in each other’s arms, and that there had been a struggle under the water, but he had managed to free himself and had struck out to the surface.

I asked the officer in charge of the galley if I might change the prisoner’s wet clothes by purchasing any spare clothing I could get at the inn. He agreed in a willing way, but said that he must take charge of everything his prisoner had about him. He also gave me leave to accompany Magwitch back to London, but said that Herbert must return by land.

We remained at the inn till the tide turned, and then Magwitch was carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and I took a sad parting of each other, and when I took my seat by Magwitch’s side I felt that that was my place while he still lived.

_{ТРЕК 17_02}

He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty, and it was clear that he had been badly hurt inside. All my dislike of him had melted away, and in the hunted creature who held my hand in his I saw only a man who had meant to help me—a much better man to me, I thought, than I had been to Joe.

His breathing grew more difficult and painful as the night drew on. I tried to rest him upon my arm. I was sure that he was dying, and I could not be sorry for it, since it was best that he should die. If he lived, he would have to stand his trial—he who had been given a life-sentence, and who had brought about the death of the man he hated.

I told him how sorry I was that he had come home for my sake.

“Dear boy,” he answered, “I was quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me. I’m dying, dear boy, and all I have will come to you.”

He was wrong. I knew that, as a returned convict, all his possessions would pass to the Crown, but I did not tell him so.

When the first pale light of dawn crept into the sky, I could see that the end was near. His breathing was awful to listen to. Though he tried to keep his eyes upon my face, the light left his own eyes ever and again, and he had no idea where he was.

“Are you there, Pip?” he whispered once.

“I’m here,” I answered. “I won’t leave you while you need me.”

I felt his hand tremble in mine, and I thought of something that might comfort him in his last minutes.

“Dear Magwitch,” I said, “I must tell you something. You understand what I say?”

A gentle pressure on my hand.

“You had a child, one 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 he raised my hand to his lips, then he gently let it sink again. I saw a film come over his eyes as his head dropped, and I knew that he was dead.

_{ТРЕК 18_01}

_{Chapter Eighteen}

^{Joe and Biddy}

So it was that, in the end, all my great expectations came to nothing....

I learned from Mr. Jaggers that Magwitch had left no will in my favour, and I had no claim to his fortune that would be recognized in law. I was, indeed, in a worse state than when I first came to London, for I was in debt—as I had been often in the past few years, but now there would be no more money to get me out of it.

It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert came home one evening and said:

“My dear Pip, I’m afraid that I shall have to leave you. I’m to go to the East on business for some months, at least. Then I shall return to marry Clara, and take her back with me. What will you do, Pip?”

“I don’t know,” I answered slowly. “I haven’t worked it out yet.”

He put a hand on my shoulder, his face troubled.

“Pip,” he said, “in our branch-house we shall need a—”

He hesitated, but I knew what he was going to say.

“A clerk?” I said.

“Yes. Will you come with me?”

I shook my head. There was a plan of sorts, a vague purpose in my mind, that made me refuse his offer.

“If you could leave the question open for a little while—” I began.

“For any while,” cried Herbert. “Six months, a year!”

“Not as long as that,” said I. “Two or three months at most.”

We shook hands on this arrangement. On the Saturday of that same week I said good-bye to Herbert. Then I went back to my lonely home—if it deserved that name, for it was now no home to me, and I had no home anywhere.

I began to be seriously alarmed at the state of my affairs, for my money was gone and my debts still remained to be paid. I knew, too, that I was falling very ill, and then there came a time when I knew very little else.

_{ТРЕК 18_02}

For a day or two I lay on the bed, or on the floor—anywhere that I happened to sink down—with a heavy head and aching limbs, with no purpose and no power. Then there came a night which seemed of great length, and which was filled with anxiety and horror; and when in the morning I tried to sit up in my bed and think, I found I could not do so.

Then I saw two men beside my bed, staring at me.

“What do you want?” I asked. “I don’t know you.”

“Well, sir,” returned one of them, “this is a matter that you’ll soon arrange, I dare say, but you’re arrested.”

“What is the debt?”

“Hundred and twenty-three pounds, fifteen shillings and sixpence. Jeweller’s account. You’d better come now.”

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, just looking at me. I lay there still.

“You see my state,” I said. “I’d 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; I don’t know what they did, except that they did not take me away. I knew nothing else of the real world for days and weeks, but lay in a fever and was haunted by strange dreams of murder and violence, of escape and capture, fire and drowning. Sometimes I seemed to struggle with real people, in the belief that they were murderers, and then I would realize that they meant to do me good, and allow them to lay my head back upon its pillow. And all these people, in some odd way, had a marked likeness to Joe.

After I had turned the worst point of my illness, I began to notice that whoever came about me still looked like Joe. I opened my eyes in the night, and there was Joe sitting in a chair at my bedside. I opened my eyes in the day, and, sitting on the window-seat, still I saw Joe.

At last, one day, I took courage and said: “Is it, Joe?”

And the dear old voice answered: “It is, Pip.”

“Joe, you break my heart. Look angry at me, Joe. Don’t be so good to me—after the way I’ve behaved.”

Joe said nothing, but put his arm round my neck, in his joy that I knew him.

“How long have I been ill?” I asked him.

“It’s the end of May, Pip. Tomorrow is the first of June.”

“And have you been here all the time?”

“Pretty near—ever since I had a letter from Mr. Wemmick telling me that you were ill.”

Then he said that I was not to talk too much until I was better, and I lay there in the first peace of mind I had known for many months.

_{ТРЕК 18_03}

Next day I asked him if Miss Havisham had recovered. He shook his head.

“She died about a week after you was taken ill,” he told me.

“Have you heard what becomes of her property?”

“Yes. It all goes to Miss Estella.”

He hurried on after that, talking of other things, as if to help me forget the pain of hearing him mention the name of Estella.

The days passed, and Joe stayed with me, and I gained in strength. We both looked forward to the day when I should be able to go out and walk in the garden again. And when the day came, I leaned on Joe’s arm and said: “I feel thankful that I’ve been ill, Joe. We’ve had a time together that I shall never forget. There were days when I did forget you; but I shall never forget these as long as I live.”

That night, when I had gone to bed, Joe came into my room. He asked me if I felt sure that I was as well as in the morning.

“Yes, Joe,” I answered. “I can feel myself getting stronger all the time.”

He put a hand on my shoulder and smiled and nodded, and said, in what I thought was an odd voice: “Good night, Pip, dear old boy.”

I lay awake a long time that night, filled with thoughts of the purpose that had been taking shape in my mind since before I fell ill.

When I got up in the morning, refreshed and stronger yet, I dressed at once and went to his room—and found that he was not there.

I hurried to the breakfast-table, and on it found a letter. These were its brief contents:

“I have departed for you are well again dear Pip and will do better without

Jo.

P.S. Ever the best of friends.”

With the letter was a receipt for the debt on which I had been arrested. I had never dreamed that Joe had paid the money, but paid it he had and the receipt was in his name.

What remained for me now but to follow him to the dear old forge, and there tell him of my plan for the future? The purpose was that I should go to Biddy; that I would show her how humble I came back, and tell her that I had lost all that I had once hoped for; that I would ask her to marry me; that I should work at the forge with Joe; and that the three of us would live together in happiness for the rest of our days.

_{ТРЕК 18_04}

Such was my purpose. After another week of recovery, I went down to our town, and from there walked slowly towards the village. The June weather was perfect. The sky was blue, the birds sang and flew high over the green corn, and I thought all the countryside more beautiful and peaceful by far than I had ever known it to be yet. My mind was full of pleasant pictures of the life I would lead there in the days to come. . .

At last the forge was only a short way off, and I listened eagerly for the sound of Joe’s hammer. Long after I ought to have heard it, all was still. Almost fearing, I drew near and saw that the forge was closed, all shut up and still.

Yet the house was not empty, and the best parlour seemed to be in use, for the window was open and bright with flowers. I walked on, and the door opened and Joe and Biddy stood before me, arm in arm.

At first Biddy gave a cry, as if she thought it was my ghost, but in another moment she was in my arms, crying because I looked so white and worn.

“My dear Biddy,” I said, “how smart you look!”

“Yes, Pip.”

“And Joe, how smart you are!”

“Yes, dear old Pip.”

I looked from one to the other, and then—

“It’s my wedding day!” cried Biddy in a burst of happiness. “And I am married to Joe!”

_{* * * * * *}

I sold all that I had, and put aside as much as I could, and I went out and joined Herbert. Within two months I was a clerk in the branch-house of his business. Four months later, when Herbert had gone away to marry his Clara, I was left in charge of the branch-house until he brought her back.

Some years went by before I was made a partner in the business, but I lived happily with Herbert and his wife, and paid Joe the money I owed him, and wrote him a letter every week of the year. We were never a great business, but we had a good name, and worked hard for our profits and did very well, so that I was able to save money; and at last I came home for a holiday.

And what happened then is all I have left to tell....

_{ТРЕК 19_01}

_{Chapter Nineteen}

^{December Evening}

For eleven years I had not seen Joe or Biddy—though they had often been in my fancy in the East—when, upon an evening in December, an hour or two after dark, I opened the old kitchen door. I touched it so softly that I was not heard, and I looked in unseen. There, smoking his pipe by the fire, as big and strong as ever, though a little grey about the head, sat Joe; and there, sitting on my own little chair, was—I again!

“We called him Pip for your sake,” said Joe, when I took another chair by the child’s side, “and we hoped that he might grow a little bit like you, and we think he do.”

I thought so too. I took him out for a walk next morning, and we talked all the time in good understanding. I took him to the churchyard, and sat him on a certain gravestone there, and remembered many, many things.

“Biddy,” said I, when I talked with her after dinner, “you must give Pip to me one of these days; or lend him, at all events.”

“No,” said Biddy gently. “You must marry.” She put her hand on mine. “Tell me, Pip, have you quite forgotten her?”

“My dear Biddy, I’ve forgotten nothing in my life, but that old dream has gone for ever.” I knew while I said those words that I secretly intended to visit 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 I had heard of the death of Drummle, from an accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a horse. This had happened two years before and, for anything I knew, she was married again.

I set out after dinner that evening, and the day was dying when I came to the place. There was no house now, no building whatever left, but the wall of the garden was still there.

A thin mist was rising and the moon was not yet up. But the stars were shining beyond the mist, and the moon was coming, and the evening was not dark. I could see where every part of the old house had been, and as I walked towards it I saw a solitary figure standing there.

_{ТРЕК 19_02}

As I drew nearer, I saw it to be the figure of a woman. As I drew nearer still, it started as if much surprised, and called my name.

“Estella!” I cried out.

She held out both her hands and I took them in mine.

“I am changed,” she said. “I wonder that you knew me.”

The freshness of her beauty was indeed gone. She was no longer a girl, but she had become a lovely woman. There were attractions in her face that I had never seen before; the softened light of the once proud eyes, for instance; and what I had never felt before was the friendly touch of the once cold hands.

We sat down on a bench that was near, and I said: “After so many years, it’s strange that we should meet here. Do you often come back?”

“I have never been here since Miss Havisham died.”

“Nor I.”

The moon began to rise and for some reason I thought of poor Magwitch dying in the galley, and the way he had pressed my hand when our last few words were spoken.

“Were you wondering,” asked Estella, “how the poor old place came to be in this condition?”

“Yes, Estella.”

“The ground belongs to me. It is the only possession I have not given up. Everything else has gone from me, little by little, but I have kept this.”

“Is it to be built on?”

“Yes. I came here to say good-bye before it changed. And you,” she said, “do you still live abroad?”

“Still.”

“And do pretty well, I am sure.”

“I work hard for a sufficient living. Yes, I do well enough.”

“I have often thought of you,” said Estella.

“Have you?”

“Of late, very often.”

There was something in her voice that made me look into her eyes.

“You have always held your place in my heart,” I answered.

And we were silent again for a long time.

“Tell me,” she said suddenly, “are we still friends?”

I rose to my feet.

“We are friends,” I said, and took her hand in mine as we went out of the ruined place.

As the morning mists had risen long ago when first I left the forge, so the evening mists were rising now, and in all that broad space of peaceful light I saw no shadow of another parting from her.