Джейн Остин. Гордость и предубеждение / Jane Austen "Pride and Prejudice"

Чарльз Диккенс. Большие надежды / Charles Dickens "Great Expectations"

Адаптация текста, составление комментариев и словаря С. А. Матвеева

Иллюстрации И. В. Кульбицкой, М. М. Салтыкова

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2014

Чарльз Диккенс. Большие надежды / Charles Dickens. Great Expectations

Chapter 1

My father’s family name was Pirrip,[1] and my Christian name was Philip.[2] So, I called myself Pip.[3]

My sister – Mrs. Joe Gargery,[4] who married the blacksmith. I never saw my father or my mother. The shape of the letters on my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a stout, dark man, with curly black hair.

That day I was at the churchyard. I was very sad and began to cry.

“Keep still,[5] you little devil!” cried a terrible voice, and a man stood up among the graves, “or I’ll cut your throat!”

A fearful man with a great chain on his leg. A man with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his head.

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

“Tell me your name!” said the man. “Quick!”

“Pip. Pip, sir.”

“Show me where you live,” said the man.

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

“Now look here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”

“There, sir!” said I. “She lies there.”

“Oh!” said he. “And is that your father with your mother?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too.”

“Ha!” he muttered then. “Who do you live with?”

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

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg. You know what a file is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you know what wittles[6] is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So you get me a file. And you get me wittles. Or I’ll have your heart and liver out.[7]”

I was dreadfully frightened. He held me by the arms, and went on in these fearful terms: —

“You bring me, tomorrow morning early, that file and the wittles. You will do it, and you will never say a word about me. So you will live. If you do not do this, my friend will take your heart and liver out. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in bed, may draw the clothes over his head, may think himself comfortable and safe, but that man will softly creep and creep his way to him and tear him open.[8] Now, what do you say?”

I said that I would get him the file, and I would get him some food I could, and I would come to him early in the morning.

“Now,” he said, “you remember what you’ve promised, and you remember that man, and you get home!”

“Good night, sir,” I faltered and ran away.

Chapter 2

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I, and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbors because she had brought me up “by hand.[9]”

She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general impression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe was a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth face, and with blue eyes. He was a mild, good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow.

Joe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of the dwellings in our country were – most of them, at that time. When I ran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was sitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I were fellow-sufferers.[10] I raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him, sitting in the chimney corner.

“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s out now.”

“Is she? Has she been gone long, Joe?”

“Well,” said Joe, “about five minutes, Pip. She’s a coming! Get behind the door, old chap.[11]”

I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, came in.

“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her foot.

“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and rubbing myself.

“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “Churchyard, indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two. You’ll drive me to the churchyard, one of these days!”

She applied herself to set the tea-things. But, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice. I felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful acquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful man.

It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with a copper-stick, from seven to eight. I decided to steal some food afterwards and bring it to my new “friend”. Suddenly I heard shots.

“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring; “was that great guns, Joe?”

“Ah!” said Joe. “A convict ran away.”

“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.

Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly, “Escaped.”

I asked Joe, “What’s a convict?”

“There was a convict off last night,[12]” said Joe, aloud, “after sunset. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re firing warning of another.”

“Who’s firing?” said I.

“Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no lies,” said my sister.

It was not very polite to herself, I thought. But she never was polite unless there was company.

“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “Please tell me, where the firing comes from?”

“Lord bless the boy![13]” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite mean that but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”

“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”

“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.

“Hulks are prison-ships![14]” exclaimed my sister.

It was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what, young fellow,” said she, “People are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob, and forge, and do all sorts of bad things.”

I was in mortal terror of the man who wanted my heart and liver; I was in mortal terror of the iron leg; I was in mortal terror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted.

In the early morning I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way, and every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Get up, Mrs. Joe!” I stole some bread, some cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat, some brandy from a bottle, a meat bone and a beautiful round compact pork pie.

There was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; I unlocked that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools. Then I opened the door at which I had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for the misty marshes.

Chapter 3

It was a rainy morning, and very damp. The mist was heavier yet when I got out upon the marshes, so that instead of my running at everything, everything seemed to run at me. The gates and dikes and banks cried as plainly as could be, “A boy with Somebody’s else’s pork pie! Stop him!” The cattle came upon me, staring out of their eyes, and steaming out of their nostrils, “Halloa, young thief!”

All this time, I was getting on towards the river. I had just crossed a ditch, and had just scrambled up the mound beyond the ditch, when I saw the man sitting before me. His back was towards me, and he had his arms folded, and was nodding forward, heavy with sleep. But it was not the same man, but another man!

And yet this man was dressed in coarse gray, too, and had a great iron on his leg. All this I saw in a moment, for I had only a moment to see it in: he ran into the mist, stumbling twice as he went, and I lost him.

“It’s the man!” I thought, feeling my heart shoot as I identified him.

Soon I saw the right Man, waiting for me. He was awfully cold, to be sure. His eyes looked so awfully hungry too.

“What’s in the bottle, boy?” said he.

“Brandy,” said I.

“I think you have got the ague,” said I.

“Sure, boy,” said he.

“It’s bad about here,” I told him. “You’ve been lying out on the meshes, and they’re dreadful aguish.”

“You’re not a deceiving imp? You brought no one with you?”

“No, sir! No!”

“Well,” said he, “I believe you.”

Something clicked in his throat as if he had works in him like a clock, and was going to strike. And he smeared his ragged rough sleeve over his eyes.

“I am glad you enjoy the food,” said I.

“What?”

“I said I was glad you enjoyed it.”

“Thank you, my boy. I do.”

I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I now noticed a decided similarity between the dog’s way of eating, and the man’s. The man took strong sharp sudden bites, just like the dog.

“I am afraid you won’t leave any food for him,” said I, timidly.

“Leave for him? Who’s him?” said my friend.

“The man. That you spoke of.”

“Oh ah!” he returned, with something like a gruff laugh. “Him? Yes, yes! He don’t want any wittles.”

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

The man stopped eating, and regarded me with the greatest surprise.

“Looked? When?”

“Just now.”

“Where?”

“Yonder,” said I, pointing; “over there, where I found him sleeping, and I thought it was you.”

He held me by the collar and stared at me so, that I began to think his first idea about cutting my throat had revived.

“Dressed like you, you know, only with a hat,” I explained, trembling. “Didn’t you hear the cannon last night?”

“Then there was firing!” he said to himself.

“He had a badly bruised face,” said I, recalling what I hardly knew I knew.

“Not here?” exclaimed the man, striking his left cheek.

“Yes, there!”

“Where is he?” He crammed what little food was left, into the breast of his gray jacket. “Show me the way he went. I’ll pull him down,[15] like a bloodhound. But first give me the file, boy.”

I indicated in what direction the other man had gone away, and he looked up at it for an instant. But then he sat on the wet grass and began to file his iron like a madman. I told him I must go, but he took no notice.

Chapter 4

I expected to find a Constable in the kitchen, waiting to take me up.[16] But Mrs. Joe was busy in getting the house ready for the festivities of the day.

We were to have a wonderful dinner, consisting of a leg of pickled pork and greens, and a pair of roast stuffed fowls. A handsome mince-pie had been made yesterday morning, and the pudding was already on the boil.

Mr. Wopsle,[17] the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr. Hubble[18] and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook[19] (Joe’s uncle), who lived in the nearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour was half-past one. Everything was most splendid, and not a word of the robbery.

The time came, without bringing with it any relief to my feelings, and the company came.

I opened the door to the company, and I opened it first to Mr. Wopsle, next to Mr. and Mrs. Hubble, and last of all to Uncle Pumblechook.

“Mrs. Joe,” said Uncle Pumblechook, a large hard-breathing middle-aged slow man, with a mouth like a fish, and dull staring eyes, “I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of sherry wine – and I have brought you, Mum, a bottle of port wine.”

Every Christmas Day he presented himself, as a profound novelty, with exactly the same words.

We dined on these occasions in the kitchen. My sister was lively on the present occasion, and indeed was generally more gracious in the society of Mrs. Hubble than in other company.

Among this good company I should have felt myself, even if I hadn’t robbed the pantry, in a false position. They wouldn’t leave me alone. It began the moment we sat down to dinner. Mr. Wopsle said grace with theatrical declamation,[20] and ended with the very proper aspiration that we might be truly grateful. My sister said, in a low voice, “Do you hear that? Be grateful.”

“Especially,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “be grateful, boy, to them which brought you up by hand.”

Mrs. Hubble shook her head and asked, “Why is it that the young are never grateful?” Mr. Hubble answered, “They are just vicious.” Everybody then murmured “True!” and looked at me in a particularly unpleasant and personal manner.

“You must taste,” said my sister, addressing the guests with her best grace – “you must taste such a delightful and delicious present of Uncle Pumblechook’s! You must know, it’s a pie; a pork pie.”

My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry. I saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I felt that I could bear no more, and that I must run away. I ran for my life.

But I ran no farther than the house door. There stood a party of soldiers with their muskets.

Chapter 5

The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe stood staring.

“Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,” said the sergeant, “but I am on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith.”

“And pray what might you want with him?” retorted my sister.

“Missis,” returned the gallant sergeant, “speaking for the king, I answer, a little job. You see, blacksmith, we have had an accident with handcuffs, and I find the lock of one of them goes wrong, and the coupling don’t act pretty. As they are wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye over them?[21]”

Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job would take two hours.

“Would you give me the time?” said the sergeant, addressing himself to Mr. Pumblechook.

“It’s just gone half past two.”

“That’s not so bad,” said the sergeant, reflecting; “How far are the marshes? Not above a mile, I reckon?”

“Just a mile,” said Mrs. Joe.

“Convicts, sergeant?” asked Mr. Wopsle.

“Ay!” returned the sergeant, “two. They are out on the marshes, and we are going to catch them.”

At last, Joe’s job was done. As Joe got on his coat, he proposed that some of us should go down with the soldiers. Mr. Pumblechook and Mr. Hubble declined, but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he was agreeable, and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. Mrs. Joe said, “If you bring the boy back with his head blown to bits by a musket, don’t ask me to put it together again.”

When we were all out in the raw air and were steadily moving towards the marshs, I whispered to Joe, “I hope, Joe, we shan’t find them.” and Joe whispered to me, “I’d give a shilling if they had run, Pip.”

The weather was cold and threatening, the way dreary, darkness coming on, and the people had good fires and were celebrating the day. A few faces hurried to glowing windows and looked after us, but none came out. Joe took me on his back. With my heart thumping, I looked all about for any sign of the convicts. Finally, I saw them both. The soldiers stopped.

After that they began to run. After a while, we could hear one voice calling “Murder!” and another voice, “Convicts! Guard! This way for the runaway convicts!” The soldiers ran like deer, and Joe too.

“Here are both men!” cried the sergeant. “Surrender, you two!”

Water was splashing, and mud was flying.

“Mind!” said my convict, wiping blood from his face with his ragged sleeves, and shaking torn hair from his fingers: “I took him! I give him up to you! Mind that!”

The other was bruised and torn all over.

“Take notice, guard – he tried to murder me,” were his first words.

“Tried to murder him?” said my convict, disdainfully. “Try, and not do it? I took him; that’s what I done. dragged him here. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain. Now, the Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me!”

The other one still gasped, “He tried – he tried to – murder me.”

“Look here!” said my convict to the sergeant. “I tried to kill him? No, no, no.”

The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme horror of his companion, repeated, “He tried to murder me. I should have been a dead man if you had not come up.”

“He lies!” said my convict, with fierce energy.

My convict never looked at me, except that once. He turned to the sergeant, and remarked,

“I wish to say something. It may prevent some persons laying under suspicion alonger me.[22]”

“You can say what you like,” returned the sergeant, standing coolly looking at him with his arms folded, “but you’ll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear about it, you know.”

“A man can’t starve; at least I can’t. I took some wittles, at the village over there.”

“You mean stole,” said the sergeant.

“And I’ll tell you where from. From the blacksmith’s.”

“Halloa!” said the sergeant, staring at Joe.

“Halloa, Pip!” said Joe, staring at me.

“It was some wittles – that’s what it was – and liquor, and a pie.”

“You’re welcome,” returned Joe, “We don’t know what you have done, but we wouldn’t have you starved, poor miserable fellow. Would us, Pip?”

Something clicked in the man’s throat, and he turned his back.

Chapter 6

The fear of losing Joe’s confidence, and of sitting in the chimney corner at night staring at my forever lost companion and friend, tied up my tongue. In a word, I was too cowardly to tell Joe the truth.

As I was sleepy before we were far away from the prison-ship, Joe took me on his back again and carried me home.

By that time, I was fast asleep, and through waking in the heat and lights and noise of tongues. As I came to myself (with the aid of a heavy thump between the shoulders), I found Joe telling them about the convict’s confession, and all the visitors suggesting different ways by which he had got into the pantry. Everybody agreed that it must be so.

Chapter 7

When I was old enough, I was to be apprenticed to Joe. Therefore, I was not only odd-boy about the forge, but if any neighbor happened to want an extra boy to frighten birds, or pick up stones, or do any such job, I was favoured with the employment.

“Didn’t you ever go to school, Joe, when you were as little as me?” asked I one day.

“No, Pip.”

“Why didn’t you ever go to school?”

“Well, Pip,” said Joe, taking up the poker, and settling himself to his usual occupation when he was thoughtful; “I’ll tell you. My father, Pip, liked to drink much. You’re listening and understanding, Pip?”

“Yes, Joe.”

“So my mother and me we ran away from my father several times. Sometimes my mother said, ‘Joe, you shall have some schooling, child,’ and she’d put me to school. But my father couldn’t live without us. So, he’d come with a crowd and took us from the houses where we were. He took us home and hammered us. You see, Pip, it was a drawback on my learning.[23]”

“Certainly, poor Joe!”

“My father didn’t make objections to my going to work; so I went to work. In time I was able to keep him, and I kept him till he went off.”

Joe’s blue eyes turned a little watery; he rubbed first one of them, and then the other, in a most uncomfortable manner, with the round knob on the top of the poker.

“I got acquainted with your sister,” said Joe, “living here alone. Now, Pip,” – Joe looked firmly at me as if he knew I was not going to agree with him; – “your sister is a fine figure of a woman.[24]”

I could think of nothing better to say than “I am glad you think so, Joe.”

“So am I,” returned Joe. “That’s it. You’re right, old chap! When I got acquainted with your sister, she was bringing you up by hand. Very kind of her too, all the folks said, and I said, along with all the folks.”

I said, “Never mind me,[25] Joe.”

“When I offered to your sister to keep company, and to be asked in church at such times as she was willing and ready to come to the forge, I said to her, ‘And bring the poor little child. God bless the poor little child,’ I said to your sister, ‘there’s room for him at the forge!’”

I broke out crying and begging pardon, and hugged Joe round the neck: who dropped the poker to hug me, and to say, “We are the best friends; aren’t we, Pip? Don’t cry, old chap!”

Joe resumed,

“Well, you see; here we are! Your sister a master-mind.[26] A master-mind.”

“However,” said Joe, rising to replenish the fire; “Here comes the mare!”

Mrs. Joe and Uncle Pumblechook was soon near, covering the mare with a cloth, and we were soon all in the kitchen.

“Now,” said Mrs. Joe with haste and excitement, and throwing her bonnet back on her shoulders, “if this boy isn’t grateful this night, he never will be! Miss Havisham[27] wants this boy to go and play in her house. And of course he’s going.”

I had heard of Miss Havisham – everybody for miles round had heard of her – as an immensely rich and grim lady who lived in a large and dismal house barricaded against robbers, and who led a life of seclusion.

“I wonder how she come to know Pip!” said Joe, astounded.

“Who said she knew him?” cried my sister. “Couldn’t she ask Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there? Uncle Pumblechook thinks that that is the boy’s fortune. So he offered to take him into town tonight in his own chaise-cart, and to take him with his own hands to Miss Havisham’s tomorrow morning.”

* * *

I was then delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook, who formally received me as if he were the Sheriff. He said: “Boy, be forever grateful to all friends, but especially unto them which brought you up by hand!”

“Good-bye, Joe!”

“God bless you, Pip, old chap!”

I had never parted from him before, and I could at first see no stars from the chaise-cart. I did not understand why I was going to play at Miss Havisham’s, and what I was expected to play at.

Chapter 8

Mr. Pumblechook and I breakfasted at eight o’clock in the parlor behind the shop. I considered Mr. Pumblechook wretched company.[28] On my politely bidding him Good morning, he said, “Seven times nine, boy?[29]” And how should I be able to answer, in a strange place, on an empty stomach![30] I was very hungry, but the math[31] lesson lasted all through the breakfast. “Seven?” “And four?” “And eight?” “And six?” “And two?” “And ten?” And so on.

For such reasons, I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started for Miss Havisham’s. Within a quarter of an hour we came to Miss Havisham’s house, which was of old brick, and dismal, and had a great many iron bars to it. While we waited at the gate, Mr. Pumblechook said, “And fourteen?” but I pretended not to hear him.

A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded “What name?” To which my conductor replied, “Pumblechook.” The voice returned, “Quite right,” and the window was shut again, and a young lady came across the courtyard, with keys in her hand.

“This,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “is Pip.”

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

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

“Oh!” she said. “Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?”

“If Miss Havisham wished to see me,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.

“Ah!” said the girl; “but you see she didn’t.”

She said it so finally, that Mr. Pumblechook could not protest. I was afraid that he would come ask me through the gate, “And sixteen?” But he didn’t.

My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the courtyard. It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The cold wind seemed to blow colder there than outside the gate.

She saw me looking at it, and she said, “Now, boy, you are at the Manor House.”

“Is that the name of this house, miss?”

“One of its names, boy.”

She called me “boy” very often, and with a carelessness that was far from complimentary, but she was of about my own age. She seemed much older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-possessed.

We went into the house by a side door, the great front entrance had two chains across it outside – and the first thing I noticed was, that the passages were all dark, and that she had left a candle burning there.

At last we came to the door of a room, and she said, “Go in.”

I answered, “After you, miss.”

To this she returned: “Don’t be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in.” And scornfully walked away, and – what was worse – took the candle with her.

This was very uncomfortable, and I was half afraid. However, I knocked and entered, and found myself in a pretty large room, well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight was to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room, as I supposed from the furniture. But prominent in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady’s dressing-table.

In an arm-chair, with an elbow resting on the table and her head leaning on that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.

She was dressed in rich materials – satins, and lace, and silks – all of white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and she had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and some other jewels lay sparkling on the table.

“Who is it?” said the lady at the table.

“Pip, ma’am.”

“Pip?”

“Mr. Pumblechook’s boy, ma’am. Come – to play.”

“Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close.”

It saw that her watch had stopped at twenty minutes to nine, and that a clock in the room had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.

“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?”

“No.”

“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hands, one upon the other, on her left side.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What do I touch?”

“Your heart.”

“Broken!”

She uttered the word with an eager look, and with strong emphasis, and with a weird smile.

“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want diversion. Play. I sometimes have sick fancies, and I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. There, there!” with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand; “play, play, play!”

I stood looking at Miss Havisham.

“Are you sullen and obstinate?”

“No, ma’am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can’t play just now. It’s so new here, and so strange, and so fine – and melancholy —.” I stopped, fearing I might say too much, or had already said it, and we took another look at each other.

Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in the looking-glass.

“So new to him,” she muttered, “so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella.[32]”

As she was still looking at the reflection of herself, I thought she was still talking to herself, and kept quiet.

“Call Estella,” she repeated, flashing a look at me. “You can do that. Call Estella. At the door.”

To stand in the dark and to roar out Estella’s name, was almost as bad as playing to order.[33] But she answered at last, and her light came along the dark passage like a star.

Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close, and took up a jewel from the table “Your own, one day, my dear, and you will use it well. Let me see you play cards with this boy.”

“With this boy? Why, he is a common laboring boy![34]”

Miss Havisham answered, “Well? You can break his heart.”

“What do you play, boy?” asked Estella of myself, with the greatest disdain.

“Nothing but beggar my neighbor,[35] miss.”

“Beggar him,[36]” said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards.

It was then I began to understand that everything in the room had stopped, like the watch and the clock, a long time ago. I noticed that Miss Havisham put down the jewel exactly on the spot from which she had taken it up. As Estella dealt the cards, I glanced at the dressing-table again, and saw that the shoe upon it, once white, now yellow. I glanced down at the foot from which the shoe was absent, and saw that the silk stocking on it, once white, now yellow, had been ragged. So the lady sat, corpse-like, as we played at cards.

“What coarse hands he has, this boy!” said Estella with disdain, before our first game was out. “And what thick boots!”

Her contempt for me was very strong. She won the game, and I dealt. She denounced me for a stupid, clumsy laboring-boy.

“You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham to me. “She says many hard things of you, but you say nothing of her. What do you think of her?”

“I don’t like to say,” I stammered.

“Tell me in my ear,” said Miss Havisham, bending down.

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

“Anything else?”

“I think she is very pretty.”

“Anything else?”

“I think she is very insulting.”

“Anything else?”

“I think I should like to go home.”

“And never see her again, though she is so pretty?”

“I am not sure that I shouldn’t like to see her again, but I should like to go home now.”

“You shall go soon,” said Miss Havisham, aloud. “Play the game out.[37]”

I played the game to an end with Estella, and she beggared me. She threw the cards down on the table.

“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham. “Let me think.”

I was beginning to remind her that today was Wednesday.

“I know nothing of days of the week; I know nothing of weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat. Go, Pip.”

I followed the candle down, as I had followed the candle up, and she stood it in the place where we had found it. She opened the side entrance.

“You are to wait here, you boy,” said Estella; and disappeared and closed the door.

She came back, with some bread and meat and a little mug of beer. She put the mug down on the stones of the yard, and gave me the bread and meat without looking at me, as insolently as if I were a dog in disgrace. I was so humiliated, hurt, offended, angry, sorry. Tears started to my eyes. The moment they sprang there, the girl looked at me with a quick delight. This gave me power to keep them back and to look at her. She gave a contemptuous toss and left me.

But when she was gone, I looked about me for a place to hide my face in and cried. As I cried, I kicked the wall, and took a hard twist at my hair.

Then I noticed Estella. She gave me a triumphant glance in passing me.

“Why don’t you cry?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You do,” said she. “You have been crying, and you are near crying again now.”

She laughed contemptuously, pushed me out, and locked the gate upon me. I went straight to Mr. Pumblechook’s, and was immensely glad to find him not at home. So on what day I was wanted at Miss Havisham’s again, I walked to our forge, remembering that I was a common laboring-boy; that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick.

Chapter 9

When I reached home, my sister was very curious to know all about Miss Havisham’s, and asked a number of questions. I felt convinced that if I described Miss Havisham’s as my eyes had seen it, I should not be understood. Consequently, I said as little as I could.

The worst of it was that that old Pumblechook came gaping over in his chaise-cart at tea-time, to have the details divulged to him.

“Well, boy,” Uncle Pumblechook began, as soon as he was seated in the chair of honor[38] by the fire. “How did you get on up town?[39]”

I answered, “Pretty well, sir,” and my sister shook her fist at me.

“Pretty well?” Mr. Pumblechook repeated. “Pretty well is no answer. Tell us what you mean by pretty well, boy?”

I reflected for some time, and then answered as if I had discovered a new idea, “I mean pretty well.”

My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me, – I had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge – when Mr. Pumblechook interposed with “No! Don’t lose your temper. Leave this lad to me, ma’am; leave this lad to me.” Mr. Pumblechook then turned me towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said,

“First (to get our thoughts in order): Forty-three pence?[40]”

To which I replied, after a long interval of reflection, “I don’t know.” And I was so aggravated that I almost doubt if I did know.

Mr. Pumblechook said, “Is forty-three pence seven and sixpence three fardens, for instance?[41]”

“Yes!” said I. The answer spoilt his joke, and brought him to a dead stop.

“Boy! What like is Miss Havisham?[42]” Mr. Pumblechook began again when he had recovered; folding his arms tight on his chest and applying the screw.

“Very tall and dark,” I told him.

“Is she, uncle?” asked my sister.

Mr. Pumblechook winked assent; from which I at once inferred that he had never seen Miss Havisham, for she was nothing of the kind.

“Good!” said Mr. Pumblechook. (“This is the way to have him,[43] I think, Mum!”)

“I am sure, uncle,” returned Mrs. Joe, “I wish you had him always; you know so well how to deal with him.”

“Now, boy! What was she a doing of, when you went in today?” asked Mr. Pumblechook.

“She was sitting,” I answered, “in a black velvet coach.”

Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another – as they well might – and both repeated, “In a black velvet coach?”

“Yes,” said I. “And Miss Estella – that’s her niece, I think – handed her in cake and wine at the coach-window, on a gold plate. And we all had cake and wine on gold plates. And I got up behind the coach to eat mine, because she told me to.”

“Was anybody else there?” asked Mr. Pumblechook.

“Four dogs,” said I.

“Large or small?”

“Immense,” said I. “And they fought for veal-cutlets out of a silver basket.”

Mr. Pumblechook and Mrs. Joe stared at one another again, in utter amazement. I was perfectly frantic and would have told them anything.

“Where was this coach, in the name of gracious?[44]” asked my sister.

“In Miss Havisham’s room.” They stared again. “But there weren’t any horses to it.”

“Can this be possible, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe. “What can the boy mean?”

“I’ll tell you, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook. “My opinion is, it’s a sedan-chair.[45] She’s flighty, you know – very flighty – quite flighty enough to pass her days in a sedan-chair.”

“Did you ever see her in it, uncle?” asked Mrs. Joe.

“How could I,” he returned, “when I never see her in my life?”

“Goodness, uncle! And yet you have spoken to her?”

“Why, don’t you know,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “that when I have been there, I have been took up to the outside of her door, and the door has stood ajar, and she has spoke to me that way. Don’t say you don’t know that, Mum. But the boy went there to play. What did you play at, boy?”

“We played with flags,” I said.

“Flags!” echoed my sister.

“Yes,” said I. “Estella waved a blue flag, and I waved a red one, and Miss Havisham waved one sprinkled all over with little gold stars, out at the coach-window. And then we all waved our swords and hurrahed.”

“Swords!” repeated my sister. “Where did you get swords from?”

“Out of a cupboard,” said I. “And I saw pistols in it – and jam – and pills. And there was no daylight in the room, but it was all lighted up with candles.”

“That’s true, Mum,” said Mr. Pumblechook, with a grave nod. “That’s the state of the case, for that much I’ve seen myself.” And then they both stared at me, and I stared at them.

Now, when I saw Joe open his blue eyes and roll them all round the kitchen in helpless amazement; but only as regarded him – not in the least as regarded the other two. Towards Joe, and Joe only, I considered myself a young monster. They had no doubt that Miss Havisham would “do something” for me. My sister stood out for “property.” Mr. Pumblechook was in favour of a handsome premium[46] for schooling.

After Mr. Pumblechook had driven off, and when my sister was washing up, I went into the forge to Joe, and remained by him until he had done for the night. Then I said, “Before the fire goes out, Joe, I should like to tell you something.”

“Should you, Pip?” said Joe. “Then tell me. What is it, Pip?”

“Joe,” said I, taking hold of his shirt sleeve, and twisting it between my finger and thumb, “you remember all that about Miss Havisham’s?”

“Remember?” said Joe. “I believe you! Wonderful!”

“It’s a terrible thing, Joe; it isn’t true.”

“What are you telling of, Pip?” cried Joe, falling back in the greatest amazement. “You don’t mean to say it’s – ”

“Yes I do; it’s lies, Joe.”

“But not all of it?” I stood shaking my head. “But at least there were dogs, Pip? Come, Pip,” said Joe, “at least there were dogs?”

“No, Joe.”

“A dog?” said Joe. “A puppy? Come?”

“No, Joe, there was nothing at all of the kind. It’s terrible, Joe; isn’t it?”

“Terrible?” cried Joe. “Awful! What possessed you?”

“I don’t know what possessed me, Joe,” I replied, letting his shirt sleeve go, and sitting down in the ashes at his feet, hanging my head; “but I wish my boots weren’t so thick nor my hands so coarse.”

And then I told Joe that I felt very miserable, and that I hadn’t been able to explain myself to Mrs. Joe and Pumblechook, who were so rude to me, and that there had been a beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s who was dreadfully proud, and that she had said I was common, and that I knew I was common, and that I wished I was not common, and that the lies had come of it somehow, though I didn’t know how.

“There’s one thing you may be sure of, Pip,” said Joe, after some rumination, “namely, that lies is lies. Don’t you tell more of them, Pip. That isn’t the way to get out of being common, old chap. But you are uncommon in some things. You’re uncommon small. There was a flag, perhaps?”

“No, Joe.”

“I’m sorry there wasn’t a flag, Pip. Look here, Pip, at what is said to you by a true friend. Don’t tell more lies, Pip, and live well and die happy.”

“You are not angry with me, Joe?”

“No, old chap. But when you go up stairs to bed, Pip, please think about my words. That’s all, old chap, and never do it more.”

When I got up to my little room and said my prayers, I did not forget Joe’s recommendation. I thought how Joe and my sister were sitting in the kitchen, and how I had come up to bed from the kitchen, and how Miss Havisham and Estella never sat in a kitchen, but were far above the level of such common doings.[47]

That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day.

Chapter 10

Of course there was a public-house[48] in the village, and of course Joe liked sometimes to smoke his pipe there. I had received strict orders from my sister to call for him at the Three Jolly Bargemen,[49] that evening, on my way from school, and bring him home. To the Three Jolly Bargemen, therefore, I directed my steps.

There was a bar at the Jolly Bargemen, with some alarmingly long chalk scores in it on the wall at the side of the door, which seemed to me to be never paid off.

It was Saturday night, I found the landlord looking rather sadly at these records; but as my business was with Joe and not with him, I merely wished him good evening, and passed into the common room at the end of the passage, where there was a bright large kitchen fire, and where Joe was smoking his pipe in company with Mr. Wopsle and a stranger. Joe greeted me as usual with “Halloa, Pip, old chap!” and the moment he said that, the stranger turned his head and looked at me.

He was a secret-looking man whom I had never seen before. His head was all on one side, and one of his eyes was half shut up, as if he were taking aim at something with an invisible gun. He had a pipe in his mouth, and he took it out, and, after slowly blowing all his smoke away and looking hard at me all the time, nodded. So, I nodded, and then he nodded again.

“You were saying,” said the strange man, turning to Joe, “that you were a blacksmith.”

“Yes. I said it, you know,” said Joe.

“What’ll you drink, Mr. – ? You didn’t mention your name, by the way.”

Joe mentioned it now, and the strange man called him by it. “What’ll you drink, Mr. Gargery? At my expense?[50]”

“Well,” said Joe, “to tell you the truth, I am not much in the habit of drinking at anybody’s expense but my own.”

“Habit? No,” returned the stranger, “but once and away, and on a Saturday night too. Come!”

“I don’t want to spoil the company,” said Joe. “Rum.”

“Rum,” repeated the stranger.

“Rum,” said Mr. Wopsle.

“Three Rums!” cried the stranger, calling to the landlord.

“This other gentleman,” observed Joe, by way of introducing Mr. Wopsle, “is our clerk at church.”

“Aha!” said the stranger, quickly. “The lonely church, right out on the marshes, with graves round it!”

“That’s it,” said Joe.

The stranger put his legs up on the settle. He wore a flapping broad-brimmed traveller’s hat, and under it a handkerchief tied over his head in the manner of a cap: so that he showed no hair. As he looked at the fire, I thought I saw a cunning expression, followed by a half-laugh, come into his face.

“I am not acquainted with this country, gentlemen, but it seems a solitary country towards the river.”

“Most marshes is solitary,” said Joe.

“No doubt, no doubt. Do you find any gypsies, now, or tramps of any sort, out there?”

“No,” said Joe; “none but a runaway convict now and then.[51] Eh, Mr. Wopsle?”

Mr. Wopsle assented; but not warmly.

The stranger looked at me again – still cocking his eye, as if he were taking aim at me with his invisible gun – and said, “He’s a nice boy. What is his name?”

“Pip,” said Joe.

“Son of yours?”

“Well,” said Joe, “well – no. No, he isn’t.”

“Nephew?” said the strange man.

“Well,” said Joe, with the same appearance of profound cogitation, “he is not – no, not to deceive you, he is not – my nephew.”

“What is he?” asked the stranger.

Mr. Wopsle expounded the ties between me and Joe.

The strange man looked at nobody but me. He said nothing, until the glasses of rum and water were brought; and then he made his shot, and a most extraordinary shot it was.

It was not a verbal remark, but it was addressed to me. He stirred his rum and water pointedly at me, and he tasted his rum and water pointedly at me. And he stirred it and he tasted it; not with a spoon that was brought to him, but with a file.

He did this so that nobody but I saw the file; and when he had done it he wiped the file and put it in a breast-pocket. I knew it to be Joe’s file, and I knew that he knew my convict, the moment I saw the instrument. I sat gazing at him, spell-bound.

“Stop half a moment, Mr. Gargery,” said the strange man. “I think I’ve got a bright new shilling somewhere in my pocket, and if I have, the boy will have it.”

He looked it out from a handful of small change, folded it in some crumpled paper, and gave it to me. “Yours!” said he. “Mind! Your own.”

I thanked him, staring at him. He gave Joe good-night, and he gave Mr. Wopsle good-night (who went out with us), and he gave me only a look with his aiming eye.

On the way home, if I had been in a humor for talking, the talk must have been all on my side, for Mr. Wopsle parted from us at the door of the Jolly Bargemen, and Joe went all the way home with his mouth wide open, to rinse the rum out with as much air as possible. But I could think of nothing else.

My sister was not in a very bad temper when we presented ourselves in the kitchen, and Joe told her about the bright shilling. “A bad one,[52] I’m sure,” said Mrs. Joe triumphantly, “Let’s look at it.”

I took it out of the paper, and it proved to be a good one. “But what’s this?” said Mrs. Joe, throwing down the shilling and catching up the paper. “Two One—Pound notes?”

Joe caught up his hat again, and ran with them to the Jolly Bargemen to restore them to their owner. While he was gone, I sat down on my usual stool and looked at my sister, feeling pretty sure that the man would not be there.

Presently, Joe came back, saying that the man was gone, but that he, Joe, had left word at the Three Jolly Bargemen concerning the notes. Then my sister sealed them up in a piece of paper, and put them under some dried rose-leaves in a teapot on the top of a press in the state parlor. There they remained, a nightmare to me, many and many a night and day.

Chapter 11

At the appointed time I returned to Miss Havisham’s. Estella locked the gate it after admitting me, as she had done before, and again preceded me into the dark passage where her candle stood. She took no notice of me until she had the candle in her hand, when she looked over her shoulder, saying, “You are to come this way today,[53]” and took me to quite another part of the house.

The passage was a long one. We traversed but one side of the square, however, and at the end of it she stopped, and put her candle down and opened a door. Here I found myself in a small paved courtyard. There was a clock in the outer wall of this house. Like the clock in Miss Havisham’s room, and like Miss Havisham’s watch, it had stopped at twenty minutes to nine.

We went in at the door, which stood open, and into a gloomy room with a low ceiling, on the ground-floor at the back.

As we were going with our candle along the dark passage, Estella stopped all of a sudden, and, facing round, said with her face quite close to mine —

“Well?”

“Well, miss?” I answered, almost falling over her and checking myself.

She stood looking at me, and, of course, I stood looking at her.

“Am I pretty?”

“Yes; I think you are very pretty.”

“Am I insulting?”

“Not so much so as you were last time,” said I.

“Not so much so?”

“No.”

She fired when she asked the last question, and she slapped my face with such force as she had, when I answered it.

“Now?” said she. “You little coarse monster,[54] what do you think of me now?”

“I shall not tell you.”

“Why don’t you cry again, you little wretch?[55]”

“Because I’ll never cry for you again,” said I.

We went on our way up stairs after this episode; and, as we were going up, we met a gentleman groping his way down.

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

“A boy,” said Estella.

He was a burly man of an exceedingly dark complexion, with an exceedingly large head, and a corresponding large hand. He took my chin in his large hand and turned up my face to have a look at me by the light of the candle. He was bald on the top of his head, and had bushy black eyebrows.

“Boy of the neighborhood? Hey?” said he.

“Yes, sir,” said I.

“How do you come here?”

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

“Well! Behave yourself,” said he, biting the side of his great forefinger as he frowned at me, “you behave yourself![56]”

With those words, he released me and went his way down stairs. There was not much time to consider the subject, for we were soon in Miss Havisham’s room, where she and everything else were just as I had left them. Estella left me standing near the door, and I stood there until Miss Havisham cast her eyes upon me from the dressing-table.

“So!” she said, “the days have worn away, have they?”

“Yes, ma’am. Today is – ”

“There, there, there![57]” with the impatient movement of her fingers. “I don’t want to know. Are you ready to play?”

“I don’t think I am, ma’am.”

“Not at cards again?” she demanded, with a searching look.

“Yes, ma’am; I could do that.”

“Since you are unwilling to play, boy,” said Miss Havisham, impatiently, “are you willing to work?”

I said I was quite willing.

“Then go into that opposite room,” said she, pointing at the door behind me with her withered hand, “and wait there till I come.”

I crossed the staircase landing, and entered the room she indicated. From that room, too, the daylight was completely excluded, and it had an airless smell that was oppressive. The most prominent object was a long table with a tablecloth spread on the table, as if a feast had been in preparation when the house and the clocks all stopped together.

Black beetles had fascinated my attention, and I was watching them from a distance, when Miss Havisham laid a hand upon my shoulder. In her other hand she had a stick on which she leaned, and she looked like the witch.

“This,” said she, pointing to the long table with her stick, “is where I will be laid when I am dead. They shall come and look at me here.”

I shrank under her touch.

“What do you think that is?” she asked me, again pointing with her stick; “that, where those cobwebs are?”

“I can’t guess what it is, ma’am.”

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

She looked all round the room in a glaring manner, and then said, leaning on me while her hand twitched my shoulder, “Come, come, come! Walk me, walk me![58]”

She was not strong, and after a little time said, “Slower!” After a while she said, “Call Estella!” so I went out on the landing and roared that name as I had done on the previous occasion. When her light appeared, I returned to Miss Havisham, and we started away again round and round the room.

Estella brought with her the three ladies and the gentleman, I didn’t know what to do.

“Dear Miss Havisham,” said a guest. “How well you look!”

“I do not,” returned Miss Havisham. “I am yellow skin and bone. And how are you, Camilla?” said Miss Havisham.

“Thank you, Miss Havisham,” she returned, “I am as well as can be expected.”

Miss Havisham and I had never stopped all this time, but kept going round and round the room.

“Matthew[59] couldnot come,” said Camilla.

“Matthew will come and see me at last,” said Miss Havisham, sternly, when I am laid on that table. That will be his place – there,” striking the table with her stick, “at my head! And yours will be there! And your husband’s there! And Sarah Pocket’s[60] there! And Georgiana’s[61] there! Now you all know where to take your stations when you come to feast upon me when you come to feast upon me.[62] And now go!”

She now said, “Walk me, walk me!” and we went on again.

“Bless you, Miss Havisham dear!” said the guests.

While Estella was away lighting them down, Miss Havisham still walked with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At last she stopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it some seconds —

“This is my birthday, Pip.”

I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick.

“I don’t want it to be spoken of.[63] They come here on the day, but they dare not refer to it.”

Of course I made no further effort to refer to it.

“On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of decay was brought here. It and I have worn away together. The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me.”

She held the head of her stick against her heart.

“When the ruin is complete,” said she, with a ghastly look, “and when they lay me dead, in my bride’s dress on the bride’s table – which shall be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him, – so much the better if it is done on this day![64]”

She stood looking at the table as if she stood looking at her own figure lying there. I remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too remained quiet. It seemed to me that we continued thus for a long time.

At last, Miss Havisham said, “Let me see you two play cards; why have you not begun?” With that, we returned to her room, and sat down as before; I was beggared, as before; and again, as before, Miss Havisham watched us all the time, directed my attention to Estella’s beauty.

When we had played some half-dozen games, a day was appointed for my return, and I was taken down into the yard to be fed in the former dog-like manner. There, too, I was again left to wander about as I liked.

I found myself in the dismal corner upon which I had looked out of the window. I looked in and, to my great surprise, saw a pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair.

This pale young gentleman quickly disappeared, and reappeared beside me.

“Halloa!” said he, “young fellow!”

I said, “Halloa!”

“Who let you in?” said he.

“Miss Estella.”

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

What could I do but follow him?

“Stop a minute,” he said, “I ought to give you a reason for fighting. There it is!” In a most irritating manner he pulled my hair, dipped his head, and butted it into my stomach.

His spirit inspired me with great respect. He seemed to have no strength, and he never hit me hard. 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. He went on his knees backwards and said, “That means you have won.”

He seemed so brave and innocent, that I felt but a gloomy satisfaction in my victory. However, I said, “Can I help you?” and he said “No thank you,” and I said “Good afternoon,” and he said “Same to you.”

When I got into the courtyard, I found Estella waiting with the keys. But she neither asked me where I had been, nor why I had kept her waiting; and there was a bright flush upon her face, as though something had happened to delight her. Instead of going straight to the gate, too, she stepped back into the passage, and beckoned me.

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

I kissed her cheek as she turned it to me. But I felt that the kiss was worth nothing.

Chapter 12

As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed. But I wanted to study, and I told her many times about that. I hoped that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But she did not; on the contrary, she seemed to prefer my being ignorant. Neither did she ever give me any money – or anything but my daily dinner – nor ever say that I should be paid for my services.

Estella always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. Sometimes, she would condescend to me; sometimes, she would be quite familiar with me; sometimes, she would tell me that she hated me. Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, “Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?” And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it. Miss Havisham would embrace her with lavish love, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like “Break their hearts my pride and hope, break their hearts and have no mercy!”

One day Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my shoulder; and said with some displeasure —

“You are growing tall, Pip! Tell me the name of that blacksmith of yours.”

“Joe Gargery, ma’am.”

“Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?[65]”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Would Gargery come here with you?”

“At any particular time, Miss Havisham?”

“There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come along with you.”

Chapter 13

On the next day, Joe was arraying himself in his Sunday clothes to accompany me to Miss Havisham’s. The forge was shut up for the day.

We walked to town. As it was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham’s house. Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe took his hat off.

Estella took no notice of either of us, but led us the way that I knew so well. I followed next to her, and Joe came last.

Estella told me we were both to go in, so I conducted Joe into Miss Havisham’s presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.

“Oh!” said she to Joe. “You are the husband of the sister of this boy?”

Dear old Joe was looking like some extraordinary bird; standing speechless, with his mouth open as if he wanted a worm.

“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham, “of the sister of this boy?”

It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview, Joe was addressing me instead of Miss Havisham.

“Yes, you see, Pip, as I married your sister.”

“Well!” said Miss Havisham. “And you have reared the boy, with the intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?”

“You know, Pip,” replied Joe, “as you and me were friends… But, Pip, if you had ever made objections to that, nobody would force you, don’t you see?”

“Has the boy,” said Miss Havisham, “ever made any objection? Does he like the trade?”

“Pip,” returned Joe, “I think, there were not any objection on your part, right?”

It was quite in vain for me to make him understand that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham.

“Have you brought his indentures with you?” asked Miss Havisham.

“Well, Pip, you know,” replied Joe, “you saw me put them in my bag, and therefore you know as they are here.” With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow – I know I was ashamed of him – when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham’s chair, and that her eyes laughed.

“You expected,” said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, “no premium with the boy?”

“Joe!” I cried, for he made no reply at all. “Why don’t you answer – ”

“Pip,” returned Joe, “that is not a question requiring a answer between yourself and me. Should I say it?”Miss Havisham glanced at him and took up a little bag from the table beside her.

“Pip has earned a premium here,” she said, “and here it is. There are five-and-twenty guineas in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip.”

“This is very liberal on your part,[66] Pip,” said Joe, “ And now, old chap,” may we do our duty![67]

“Goodbye, Pip!” said Miss Havisham. “Let them out, Estella.”

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

“No. Gargery is your master now.”

We got out of the room. In another minute we were outside the gate, and it was locked, and Estella was gone. When we stood in the daylight alone again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to me, “Astonishing!”

When I got into my little bedroom, I was truly wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like Joe’s trade. I had liked it once, but once was not now.[68]

Chapter 14

It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister’s temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had believed in the forge as the glowing road to independence. Within a single year all this was changed. Now it was all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella see it on any account.[69]

Once, it had seemed to me that when I should be very proud and happy when I enter the forge. Now the reality was quite different, I only felt that I was dusty with the dust of small-coal.

It was not because I was faithful, but because Joe was faithful, that I never ran away and went for a soldier or a sailor. It was not because I had a strong sense of the virtue of industry,[70] but because Joe had a strong sense of the virtue of industry, that I worked very hard.

What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew? What I dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing the coarsest part of my work, and would despise me. Often after dark, when I was pulling the bellows for Joe, I would look towards those panels of black night in the wall which the wooden windows then were, and would believe that she had come at last.

After that, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever.

Chapter 15

“Joe,” said I one day; “don’t you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?”

“Well, Pip,” returned Joe, slowly considering. “What for?”

“What for, Joe? What is any visit made for?[71]”

“Pip,” said Joe, “Miss Havisham might think you wanted something – expected something of her.”

“Don’t you think I might say that I did not, Joe?”

“You might, old chap,” said Joe. “And she might believe it. Or she might not.”

Joe pulled hard at his pipe.

“You see, Pip,” Joe pursued, “Miss Havisham said “goodbye” to you, That’s all.”

“Yes, Joe. I heard her.”

“ALL,” Joe repeated, very emphatically.

“Yes, Joe. I tell you, I heard her.”

“Me to the North, and you to the South!”

“But, Joe.”

“Yes, old chap.”

“I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her. My dear Joe, if you would give me a half-holiday tomorrow, I think I would go to the town and make a call on Miss Est – Havisham.”

“Her name,” said Joe, gravely, “isn’t Estavisham, Pip.”

So, tomorrow I found myself again going to Miss Havisham’s. Miss Sarah Pocket came to the gate. No Estella.

“How, then? You here again?” said Miss Pocket. “What do you want?”

When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah began to think if I was the right person to let me in. Finally, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to “come up.”

Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.

“Well?” said she, fixing her eyes upon me. “I hope you want nothing? You’ll get nothing.”

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

“There, there!” with the old restless fingers. “Come now and then; come on your birthday. – Ay!” she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, “You are looking round for Estella? Hey?”

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

“Abroad,” said Miss Havisham; “educating for a lady; far out of reach; prettier than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?”

There was such a malignant enjoyment in her last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything.

As I was loitering along the High Street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman, who should come out of the shop but Mr. Wopsle.

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

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

“I can’t quite understand. The house seems to have been entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by convicts. Somebody has been attacked and hurt.”

We were running, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there were a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. My sister was lying without sense or movement on the bare boards.

Chapter 16

Joe had been at the Three Jolly Bargemen, smoking his pipe, from a quarter after eight o’clock to a quarter before ten. While he was there, my sister had been seen standing at the kitchen door, and had exchanged Good Night with a farm-worker going home. When Joe went home at five minutes before ten, he found her struck down on the floor, and promptly called in assistance.

My sister had been struck with something blunt and heavy, on the head and spine. And on the ground beside her, when Joe picked her up, was a convict’s leg-iron which had been filed asunder.

Knowing what I knew, I believed the iron to be my convict’s iron – the iron I had seen and heard him filing at, on the marshes – but my mind did not accuse him of having put it to its latest use.

It was horrible to think that I had provided the weapon.

The Constables and the Bow Street men from London[72] were about the house for a week or two, and did pretty much what I have heard and read of like authorities doing in other such cases. They took up several obviously wrong people, and they ran their heads very hard against wrong ideas, and persisted in trying to fit the circumstances to the ideas, instead of trying to extract ideas from the circumstances.

Long after these constitutional powers had dispersed, my sister lay very ill in bed. Her sight was disturbed, so that she saw objects multiplied; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and her speech was unintelligible.[73]

Chapter 17

I now fell into a regular routine of apprenticeship life. The most remarkable event was the arrival of my birthday and my paying another visit to Miss Havisham. I found Miss Sarah Pocket still on duty at the gate; I found Miss Havisham just as I had left her, and she spoke of Estella in the very same way, if not in the very same words. The interview lasted but a few minutes, and she gave me a guinea when I was going, and told me to come again on my next birthday.

I tried to decline taking the guinea on the first occasion, but with no better effect than causing her to ask me very angrily, if I expected more? Then, and after that, I took it.

The dull old house did not change, the yellow light in the darkened room, the faded spectre in the chair by the dressing-table glass stood still. Daylight never entered the house. It bewildered me, and under its influence I continued at heart to hate my trade and to be ashamed of home.

Wopsle’s second cousin Biddy used to come to help me and Joe. Biddy was a kind and intelligent but poor young woman. She was not beautiful – she was common, and could not be like Estella – but she was pleasant and wholesome and sweet-tempered. She had curiously thoughtful and attentive eyes; eyes that were very pretty and very good. I liked to talk to her, and she usually listened to me with great attention.

“Biddy,” said I one day, “we must talk together. And I must consult you a little more. Let us have a quiet walk on the marshes next Sunday, Biddy, and a long chat.”

Joe more than readily undertook the care of my sister on that Sunday afternoon, and Biddy and I went out together. It was summer-time, and lovely weather. When we had passed the village and the church and the churchyard, and were out on the marshes and began to see the sails of the ships as they sailed on, I resolved that it was a good time and place for the admission of Biddy into my inner confidence.

“Biddy,” said I, “I want to be a gentleman.”

“O, I wouldn’t, if I was you!” she returned. “What for?”

“Biddy,” said I, with some severity, “I have particular reasons for wanting to be a gentleman.”

“You know best, Pip; but don’t you think you are happier as you are?”

“Biddy,” I exclaimed, impatiently, “I am not at all happy as I am. I am disgusted with my calling and with my life. Don’t be absurd.”

“Was I absurd?” said Biddy, quietly raising her eyebrows; “I am sorry for that; I didn’t mean to be. I only want you to do well, and to be comfortable.”

“I could lead a very different sort of life from the life I lead now. See how I am going on. Dissatisfied and uncomfortable, coarse and common!”

Biddy turned her face suddenly towards mine, and looked far more attentively at me than she had looked at the sailing ships.

“It was neither a very true nor a very polite thing to say,” she remarked, directing her eyes to the ships again. “Who said it?”

I answered, “The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s, and she’s more beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I want to be a gentleman on her account.[74]”

“Do you want to be a gentleman, to spite her or to gain her over?[75]” Biddy quietly asked me, after a pause.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I admire her dreadfully.”

Biddy was the wisest of girls, and she tried to reason no more with me. She put her hand upon my hands, one after another, and gently took them out of my hair.

“I am glad of one thing,” said Biddy, “and that is your confidence, Pip. And I am glad of another thing, and that is, that of course you know you may depend upon my keeping it. Shall we walk a little farther, or go home?”

“Biddy,” I cried, getting up, putting my arm round her neck, and giving her a kiss, “I shall always tell you everything.”

“Till you’re a gentleman,” said Biddy.

“You know I never shall be, so that’s always.”

“Ah!” said Biddy, quite in a whisper. And then repeated, with her former pleasant change, “shall we walk a little farther, or go home?”

I said to Biddy we would walk a little farther. I said to myself, “Pip, what a fool you are!”

We talked a good deal as we walked, and all that Biddy said seemed right.

“Biddy,” said I, when we were walking homeward, “If I could only get myself to fall in love with you, that would be the thing for me.[76]”

“But you never will, you see,” said Biddy.

Biddy was immeasurably better than Estella, and the plain honest working life to which I was born had nothing in it to be ashamed of, but offered me sufficient means of self-respect and happiness. At those times, I would decide conclusively that I was becoming a partner with Joe and Biddy.

Chapter 18

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

I noticed a strange gentleman leaning over the back of the settle opposite me, looking on.

“From information I have received,” said he, looking round at us, “I have reason to believe there is a blacksmith among you, by name Joseph – or Joe – Gargery. Which is the man?”

“Here is the man,” said Joe.

The strange gentleman beckoned him out of his place, and Joe went.

“You have an apprentice,” pursued the stranger, “commonly known as Pip? Is he here?”

“I am here!” I cried.

The stranger did not recognize me, but I recognized him as the gentleman I had met on the stairs, on the occasion of my second visit to Miss Havisham.

“I wish to have a private conference with you two,” said he, when he had surveyed me at his leisure. “It will take a little time. Perhaps we had better go to your place of residence. I prefer not to anticipate my communication here.”

Amidst a wondering silence, we three walked out of the Jolly Bargemen, and in a wondering silence walked home. While going along, the strange gentleman occasionally looked at me, and occasionally bit the side of his finger. As we neared home, Joe vaguely acknowledging the occasion as an impressive and ceremonious one, went on ahead to open the front door. Our conference was held in the state parlor, which was feebly lighted by one candle.

It began with the strange gentleman’s sitting down at the table, drawing the candle to him, and looking over some entries in his pocket-book. He then put up the pocket-book and set the candle a little aside, after peering round it into the darkness at Joe and me, to ascertain which was which.

“My name,” he said, “is Jaggers,[77] and I am a lawyer in London. I am pretty well known. I have unusual business with you. If my advice had been asked, I should not have been here.”

Finding that he could not see us very well from where he sat, he got up, and threw one leg over the back of a chair and leaned upon it.

“Now, Joseph Gargery, I am ready to relieve you of this young fellow. You would not object to cancel his indentures at his request and for his good? You want nothing for so doing?”

“Lord forbid that I should want anything for not standing in Pip’s way,” said Joe, staring.

“Lord forbidding is pious, but the question is, Would you want anything? Do you want anything?” returned Mr. Jaggers.

“The answer is,” returned Joe, sternly, “No.”

I thought Mr. Jaggers glanced at Joe, as if he considered him a fool.

“Very well,” said Mr. Jaggers. “Now, I return to this young fellow. He has Great Expectations.”

Joe and I gasped, and looked at one another.

“I am instructed to communicate to him,” said Mr. Jaggers, throwing his finger at me sideways, “that he will come into a handsome property.[78] Further, that it is the desire of the present possessor of that property,[79] that he be immediately removed from this place, and be brought up as a gentleman – in a word, as a young fellow of great expectations.”

My dream came true; Miss Havisham was going to make my fortune on a grand scale.[80]

“Now, Mr. Pip,” pursued the lawyer, “You are to understand, first, that it is the request of the person from whom I take my instructions that you always bear the name of Pip. But if you have any objection, this is the time to mention it.”

My heart was beating very fast, I could scarcely stammer I had no objection.

“Good. Now you are to understand, Mr. Pip, that the name of the person who is your liberal benefactor remains a profound secret, until the person chooses to reveal it. I am empowered to mention[81] that it is the intention of the person to reveal it at first hand by word of mouth to yourself. When or where that intention may be carried out, I cannot say; no one can say. It may be years hence. But if you have any objection to it, this is the time to mention it. Speak out.”

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

“I should think not! Now, Mr. Pip, we come next, to mere details of arrangement. We have to choose your tutor. Have you ever heard of any tutor whom you would prefer to another?”

I replied in the negative.

“There is a certain tutor, of whom I have some knowledge,” said Mr. Jaggers. “I don’t recommend him; because I never recommend anybody. The gentleman I speak of is one Mr. Matthew Pocket.[82]”

Ah! I caught at the name directly. Miss Havisham’s relation. The Matthew whose place was to be at Miss Havisham’s head, when she lay dead, in her bride’s dress on the bride’s table.

“You know the name?” said Mr. Jaggers, looking at me, and then shutting up his eyes while he waited for my answer.

My answer was, that I had heard of the name.

“Oh!” said he. “You have heard of the name. You had better try him in his own house. The way shall be prepared for you, and you can see his son first, who is in London. When will you come to London?”

I said (glancing at Joe, who stood looking on, motionless), that I could come directly.

“First,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you should have some new clothes, and they should not be working-clothes. Say in a week. You’ll want some money. Shall I leave you twenty guineas?”

He took out a long purse, and counted them out on the table and pushed them over to me.

“Well, Joseph Gargery? You look astonished?”

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

“But what,” said Mr. Jaggers, swinging his purse – “what if it was in my instructions to make you a present, as compensation?”

“As compensation what for?” Joe demanded.

“For the loss of his services.”

Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. “Pip is hearty welcome,” said Joe, “to go free with his services, to honor and fortune, as no words can tell him. But if you think as Money can make compensation to me for the loss of the little child – what come to the forge – and ever the best of friends! – ”

Mr. Jaggers had looked at him, as one who recognized in Joe the village idiot,[83] and in me his keeper. When it was over, he said, weighing in his hand the purse he had ceased to swing:

“Now, Joseph Gargery, I warn you this is your last chance. If you mean to take a present that I have, speak out, and you shall have it. If on the contrary you mean to say – ” Here, to his great amazement, he was stopped by Joe’s words.

“I mean,” cried Joe, “that if you come into my place badgering me, come out! If you’re a man, come on! Stand or fall by!”

I drew Joe away. Mr. Jaggers delivered his remarks. They were these.

“Well, Mr. Pip, I think the sooner you leave here – as you are to be a gentleman – the better. Let it stand for this day week,[84] and you shall receive my printed address in the meantime.”

He went out, I thanked him and ran home again, and there I found that Joe had already locked the front, and was seated by the kitchen fire with a hand on each knee, gazing intently at the burning coals. I too sat down before the fire and gazed at the coals, and nothing was said for a long time.

My sister was in her chair in her corner, and Biddy sat at her needle-work before the fire, and Joe sat next Biddy, and I sat next Joe in the corner opposite my sister.

“Joe, have you told Biddy?” asked I.

“No, Pip,” returned Joe, still looking at the fire, and holding his knees tight, “ I left it to yourself, Pip.”

“I would rather you told, 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 both heartily gratulated me; but there was a certain touch of sadness in their congratulations.

Biddy said no more. I soon exchanged an affectionate good night with her and Joe, and went up to bed. When I got into my little room, I sat down and took a long look at it.

The sun had been shining brightly all day on the roof of my attic, and the room was warm. As I put the window open and stood looking out, I saw Joe come slowly forth at the dark door, below; and then I saw Biddy come, and bring him a pipe and light it for him. He never smoked so late.

Chapter 19

Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. No more low, wet grounds, no more dikes, no more of these grazing cattle – I was for London; not for smith’s work in general! I made my exultant way to the wood, and, lying down there, fell asleep.

When I awoke, I was much surprised to find Joe sitting beside me, smoking his pipe. He greeted me with a cheerful smile on my opening my eyes, and said —

“I decided to follow you, Pip.”

“Joe, I am very glad you did so.”

“Thank you, Pip.”

“You may be sure, dear Joe,” I went on, after we had shaken hands, “that I shall never forget you.”

“No, no, Pip!” said Joe, in a comfortable tone, “I’m sure of that. Ay, ay, old chap!”

When we had walked home and had had tea, I took Biddy into our little garden by the side of the lane, and said I had a favour to ask of her.

“And it is, Biddy,” said I, “that you will not omit any opportunity of helping Joe on, a little.”

“How helping him on?” asked Biddy, with a steady sort of glance.

“Well! Joe is a dear good fellow – in fact, I think he is the dearest fellow that ever lived – but he is rather backward in some things. For instance, Biddy, in his learning and his manners.”

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

“O, his manners! won’t his manners do then?[85]” asked Biddy, plucking a black-currant leaf.

“My dear Biddy, they do very well here – ”

“O! they do very well here?” interrupted Biddy, looking closely at the leaf in her hand.

“I mean a higher sphere.[86]”

“And don’t you think he knows that?” asked Biddy.

It was such a very provoking question, that I said, snappishly —

“Biddy, what do you mean?”

“Have you never considered that he may be proud?”

“Proud?” I repeated, with disdainful emphasis.

“O! there are many kinds of pride,” said Biddy, looking full at me and shaking her head; “pride is not all of one kind[87] – ”

“Well? What are you stopping for?” said I.

“He may be too proud,” resumed Biddy, “to let any one take him out of a place that he fills well and with respect. To tell you the truth, I think he is.”

“Now, Biddy,” said I, “I did not expect to see this in you. You are envious, Biddy, and grudging. You are dissatisfied on account of my rise in fortune.”

“If you have the heart to think so,” returned Biddy, “say so. Say so over and over again, if you have the heart to think so.”

But, morning once more brightened my view, and I extended my clemency to Biddy, and we dropped the subject. Putting on the best clothes I had, I went into town as early as I could hope to find the shops open, and presented myself before Mr. Trabb,[88] the tailor.

“Well!” said Mr. Trabb. “How are you, and what can I do for you?”

“Mr. Trabb,” said I, “it looks like boasting; but I have come into a handsome property. I am going up to my guardian in London, and I want a fashionable suit of clothes.”

“My dear sir,” said Mr. Trabb, “may I congratulate you? Would you do me the favour of stepping into the shop?”

I selected the materials for a suit, with the assistance of Mr. Trabb. Mr. Trabb measured and calculated me in the parlor.

After this memorable event, I went to the hatter’s, and the shoemaker’s, and the hosier’s. I also went to the coach-office[89] and took my place for seven o’clock on Saturday morning.

So, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, passed; and on Friday morning I went to pay my visit to Miss Havisham.

I went to Miss Havisham’s by all the back ways, and rang at the bell. Sarah Pocket came to the gate, and positively reeled back when she saw me so changed.

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

“I am going to London, Miss Pocket,” said I, “and want to say goodbye to Miss Havisham.”

Miss Havisham was taking exercise in the room with the long spread table, leaning on her crutch stick. She stopped and turned.

“Don’t go, Sarah,” she said. “Well, Pip?”

“I start for London, Miss Havisham, tomorrow,” I was exceedingly careful what I said, “and I thought you would kindly not mind[90] my taking leave of you. I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last, Miss Havisham, and I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham!”

“Ay, ay!” said she, looking at envious Sarah, with delight. “I have seen Mr. Jaggers. I have heard about it, Pip. So you go tomorrow?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“And you are adopted by a rich person?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Not named?”

“No, Miss Havisham.”

“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Well!” she went on; “you have a promising career before you. Be good – deserve it – and abide by Mr. Jaggers’s instructions.”

She looked at me, and looked at Sarah. “Goodbye, Pip! – you will always keep the name of Pip, you know.”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Goodbye, Pip!”

She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to my lips. Sarah Pocket conducted me down. I said “Goodbye, Miss Pocket;” but she merely stared, and did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken.

The world lay spread before me.

This is the end of the first stage of Pip’s expectations.[91]

Chapter 20

The journey from our town to London was a journey of about five hours.

Mr. Jaggers had sent me his address; it was, Little Britain,[92] and he had written after it on his card, “just out of Smithfield.[93] We stopped in a gloomy street, at certain offices with an open door, where was painted MR. JAGGERS.

“How much?” I asked the coachman.

The coachman answered, “A shilling – unless you wish to make it more.”

I naturally said I had no wish to make it more.

“Then it must be a shilling,” observed the coachman. I went into the front office with my little bag in my hand and asked, Was Mr. Jaggers at home?

“He is not,” returned the clerk. “He is in Court at present. Am I addressing Mr. Pip?”

I signified that he was addressing Mr. Pip.

“Mr. Jaggers left word, would you wait in his room.”

Mr. Jaggers’s room was lighted by a skylight only, and was a most dismal place. There were not so many papers about, as I should have expected to see; and there were some odd objects about, that I should not have expected to see – such as an old rusty pistol, a sword, several strange-looking boxes and packages.

I sat down in the chair placed over against Mr. Jaggers’s chair, and became fascinated by the dismal atmosphere of the place. But I sat wondering and waiting in Mr. Jaggers’s close room, and got up and went out.

At length, as I was looking out at the Little Britain, I saw Mr. Jaggers coming across the road towards me.

My guardian then took me into his own room, and while he lunched, informed me what arrangements he had made for me. I was to go to “Barnard’s Inn,[94]” to young Mr. Pocket’s rooms, where a bed had been sent in for my accommodation. “You will find your credit good, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian, but I shall by this means be able to check your bills.”

I asked Mr. Jaggers if I could send for a coach? He said it was not worth while, I was so near my destination; Wemmick[95] should walk round with me.

Chapter 21

Mr. Wemmick was a dry man, rather short in stature, with a square wooden face.

“So you were never in London before?” said Mr. Wemmick to me.

“No,” said I.

“I was new here once,” said Mr. Wemmick.

“You are well acquainted with it now?”

“Why, yes,” said Mr. Wemmick.

“Is it a very wicked place?” I asked, more for the sake[96] of saying something than for information.

“You may get cheated, robbed, and murdered in London. But there are plenty of people anywhere, who’ll do that for you.”

His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.

“Do you know where Mr. Matthew Pocket lives?” I asked Mr. Wemmick.

“Yes,” said he, nodding in the direction. “At Hammersmith,[97] west of London.”

“Is that far?”

“Well! Say five miles.”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes, I know him. I know him!”

Barnard’s Inn. I had supposed that establishment to be an hotel kept by Mr. Barnard. I found Barnard to be a disembodied spirit, or a fiction, and his inn the dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together.

I looked in dismay at Mr. Wemmick. “Ah!” said he; “the retirement reminds you of the country.”

He led me into a corner and conducted me up a flight of stairs – to a set of chambers on the top floor. MR. POCKET, JUN., was painted on the door, and there was a label on the letter-box, “Return shortly.[98]”

“You don’t want me any more?” asked Mr. Wemmick.

“No, thank you,” said I.

“As I keep the cash,” Mr. Wemmick observed, “we shall most likely meet pretty often. Good day.”

“Good day.”

I put out my hand, and Mr. Wemmick at first looked at it as if he thought I wanted something. Then he looked at me, and said, correcting himself —

“To be sure! Yes. You’re in the habit of shaking hands?”

I was rather confused, thinking it must be out of the London fashion, but said yes.

When we had shaken hands and he was gone, I opened the staircase window. Mr. Pocket, Junior, returned in half an hour. He had a paper-bag under each arm and some strawberries in one hand, and was out of breath.

“Mr. Pip?” said he.

“Mr. Pocket?” said I.

“Dear me!” he exclaimed. “I am extremely sorry. The fact is, I have been out on your account – for I thought, coming from the country, you might like a little fruit after dinner, and I went to Covent Garden Market[99] to get it good. Pray come in, allow me to lead the way. We might like to take a walk about London. I am sure I shall be very happy to show London to you. As to our table, you won’t find that bad, I hope, for it will be supplied from our coffee-house here,[100] and at your expense,[101] such being Mr. Jaggers’s directions. As to our lodging, it’s not by any means splendid, because I have my own bread to earn, and my father hasn’t anything to give me, and I shouldn’t be willing to take it, if he had. This is our sitting-room – just such chairs and tables and carpet and so forth, you see. This is your bedroom; the furniture’s hired for the occasion, but I trust it will answer the purpose; if you should want anything, I’ll go and fetch it. The chambers are retired, and we shall be alone together, but we shan’t fight, I dare say. But, I beg your pardon, you’re holding the fruit all this time. Pray let me take these bags from you. I am quite ashamed.”

Suddenly Mr. Pocket, Junior, said, falling back —

“Lord bless me, you’re the prowling boy!”

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

Chapter 22

The pale young gentleman and I stood contemplating one another in Barnard’s Inn, until we both burst out laughing.

“Well!” said the pale young gentleman, reaching out his hand good-humoredly, “it’s all over now, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

I derived from this speech that Mr. Herbert Pocket[102] (for Herbert was the pale young gentleman’s name) did not remember anything.

“Miss Havisham had sent for me, to see if she could take a fancy to me. But she couldn’t – she didn’t.”

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

“Bad taste,” said Herbert, laughing, “but a fact. Yes, she had sent for me on a trial visit, and if I had come out of it successfully, I suppose I should have been provided for; perhaps I should have been engaged to Estella.”

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

“Pooh!” said he, “I didn’t care much for it. She’s a Tartar.[103]”

“Miss Havisham?”

“I don’t say no to that, but I meant Estella. That girl’s hard and haughty and capricious to the last degree, and has been brought up by Miss Havisham to wreak revenge on all the male sex.[104]”

“What relation is she to Miss Havisham?”

“None,” said he. “Only adopted.”

“Why should she wreak revenge on all the male sex? What revenge?”

“Lord, Mr. Pip!” said he. “Don’t you know?”

“No,” said I.

“Dear me! It’s quite a story, and shall be saved till dinner-time. And now let me take the liberty of asking you a question. How did you come there, that day?”

I told him, and he was attentive until I had finished, and then burst out laughing again.

“Mr. Jaggers is your guardian, I understand?” he went on.

“Yes.”

“You know he is Miss Havisham’s man of business and solicitor, and has her confidence when nobody else has?”

I answered with a constraint, that I had seen Mr. Jaggers in Miss Havisham’s house on the very day of our combat, but never at any other time.

“He was so obliging[105] as to suggest my father for your tutor, and he called on my father to propose it. Of course he knew about my father from his connection with Miss Havisham. My father is Miss Havisham’s cousin.”

Herbert Pocket was still a pale young gentleman. He had not a handsome face, but it was better than handsome: being extremely amiable and cheerful.

As he was so communicative, I told him my small story, and stressed on my being forbidden to inquire who my benefactor was. I further mentioned that as I had been brought up a blacksmith in a country place, and knew very little of the ways of politeness, I would take it as a great kindness in him if he would give me a hint whenever he saw going wrong.

“With pleasure,” said he, “Will you do me the favour to begin at once to call me by my Christian name, Herbert?”

I thanked him and said I would. I informed him in exchange that my Christian name was Philip.

“No,” said he, smiling, “Would you mind Handel[106] for a familiar name? There’s a charming piece of music by Handel, called the Harmonious Blacksmith.[107]”

“I should like it very much.”

“Then, my dear Handel,” said he, turning round as the door opened, “here is the dinner!”

It was a nice little dinner. Everything made the feast delightful. We had made some progress in the dinner, when I reminded Herbert of his promise to tell me about Miss Havisham.

“True,” he replied. “ Let me introduce the topic, Handel, by mentioning that in London it is not the custom to put the knife in the mouth – for fear of accidents – and that while the fork is reserved for that use. Also, the spoon is not generally used over-hand, but under.[108]”

He offered these friendly suggestions in such a lively way, that we both laughed and I scarcely blushed.

“Now,” he pursued, “concerning Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham, you must know, was a spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her father denied her nothing.[109] Her father was a country gentleman down in your part of the world, and was a brewer. Well! Mr. Havisham was very rich and very proud. So was his daughter.”

“Miss Havisham was an only child?” I hazarded.

“Stop a moment, I am coming to that. No, she was not an only child; she had a half-brother.[110] Her father privately married again – his cook, I rather think.”

“I thought he was proud,” said I.

“My good Handel, so he was. He married his second wife privately, because he was proud, and in course of time she died. When she was dead, I apprehend he first told his daughter what he had done, and then the son became a part of the family, residing in the house you are acquainted with. As the son grew a young man, he turned out riotous, extravagant – altogether bad. At last his father disinherited him; but he softened when he was dying, and gave him something, though less than to Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham was now an heiress.[111] Her half-brother had debts. There were stronger differences between him and her than there had been between him and his father. Now, I come to the cruel part of the story. There appeared a certain man, who made love to Miss Havisham. I never saw him (for this happened five-and-twenty years ago, before you and I were, Handel), but I have heard my father mention that he was a showy man.[112] Well! This man pursued Miss Havisham closely. And she passionately loved him. There is no doubt that she perfectly idolized him. Your guardian was not at that time in Miss Havisham’s counsels, and she was too haughty and too much in love to be advised by any one. Her relations were poor, with the exception of my father; he was poor enough, but not jealous. The only independent one among them, he warned her that she was doing too much for this man. She took the first opportunity of angrily ordering my father out of the house, in his presence, and my father has never seen her since.”

I thought of her having said, “Matthew will come and see me at last when I am laid dead upon that table;” and I asked Herbert whether his father was so inveterate against her?

“It’s not that,” said he, “To return to the man and make an end of him. The marriage day was fixed, the wedding dresses were bought, the wedding tour was planned out, the wedding guests were invited. The day came, but not the bridegroom. He wrote her a letter – ”

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

“At the hour and minute,” said Herbert, nodding, “at which she afterwards stopped all the clocks.”

“Is that all the story?” I asked.

“All I know of it. But I have forgotten one thing. It has been supposed that the man to whom she gave her misplaced confidence acted throughout in concert[113] with her half-brother; that it was a conspiracy between them; and that they shared the profits.”

“I wonder he didn’t marry her and get all the property,” said I.

“He may have been married already,” said Herbert. “But I don’t know that.”

“What became of the two men?” I asked, after considering the subject.

“They fell into deeper shame and degradation – if there can be deeper – and ruin.”

“Are they alive now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said just now that Estella was not related to Miss Havisham, but adopted. When adopted?”

Herbert shrugged his shoulders. “There has always been an Estella, since I have heard of a Miss Havisham. I know no more. And now, Handel, all that I know about Miss Havisham, you know.”

“And all that I know,” I retorted, “you know.”

On the Monday morning at a quarter before nine, Herbert went to the counting-house. He was to come away in an hour or two to attend me to Hammersmith, and I was to wait about for him. We went back to Barnard’s Inn and got my little bag, and then took coach for Hammersmith. We arrived there at two or three o’clock in the afternoon, and had very little way to walk to Mr. Pocket’s house. Lifting the latch of a gate, we passed direct into a little garden overlooking the river, where Mr. Pocket’s children were playing about.

Mrs. Pocket was sitting on a garden chair under a tree, reading, with her legs upon another garden chair; and Mrs. Pocket’s two nurse-maids were looking about them while the children played. “Mamma,” said Herbert, “this is young Mr. Pip.”

Chapter 23

Mr. Pocket said he was glad to see me, and he hoped I was not sorry to see him. He was a young-looking man, in spite of his very gray hair, and his manner seemed quite natural. When he had talked with me a little, he said to Mrs. Pocket, “Belinda,[114] I hope you have welcomed Mr. Pip?[115]” And she looked up from her book, and said, “Yes.”

I found out within a few hours, that Mrs. Pocket was the only daughter of a certain gentleman. The young lady had grown up highly ornamental, but perfectly helpless and useless. I learnt, and chiefly from Herbert, that Mr. Pocket had been educated at Harrow[116] and at Cambridge;[117] and he had had the happiness of marrying Mrs. Pocket very early in life.

After dinner the children were introduced. There were four little girls, and two little boys. One of the little girls have prematurely taken upon herself some charge of the others.

I looked awkwardly at the tablecloth while this was going on. A pause succeeded. But the time was going on, and soon the evening came.

There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in the attitude of the Dying Gladiator.[118] Still in that attitude he said, with a hollow voice, “Good night, Mr. Pip.” So I decided to go to bed and leave him.

Chapter 24

After two or three days, when I had established myself in my room, Mr. Pocket and I had a long talk together. He knew more of my intended career than I knew myself.

He advised my attending certain places in London. Through his way of saying this, and much more to similar purpose, he placed himself on confidential terms with me in an admirable manner.

I thought if I could retain my bedroom in Barnard’s Inn, my life would be agreeably varied. So I went off to Little Britain and expressed my wish to Mr. Jaggers.

“If I could buy the furniture now hired for me,” said I, “and one or two other little things, I should be quite at home there.”

“Go it![119]” said Mr. Jaggers, with a short laugh. “Well! How much do you want?”

I said I didn’t know how much.

“Come!” retorted Mr. Jaggers. “How much? Fifty pounds?”

“O, not nearly so much.”

“Five pounds?” said Mr. Jaggers.

This was such a great fall, that I said in discomfiture, “O, more than that.”

“More than that, eh!” retorted Mr. Jaggers, lying in wait for me, with his hands in his pockets, his head on one side, and his eyes on the wall behind me; “how much more?”

“It is so difficult to fix a sum,” said I, hesitating.

“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers. “Twice five; will that do? Three times five; will that do? Four times five; will that do?”

“Twenty pounds, of course,” said I, smiling.

“Wemmick!” said Mr. Jaggers, opening his office door. “Take Mr. Pip’s written order, and pay him twenty pounds.”

Mr. Jaggers never laughed. As he happened to go out now, and as Wemmick was brisk and talkative, I said to Wemmick that I hardly knew what to make of Mr. Jaggers’s manner.

“Tell him that, and he’ll take it as a compliment,” answered Wemmick. “It’s not personal; it’s professional: only professional.”

Wemmick was at his desk, lunching – and crunching – on a dry hard biscuit; pieces of which he threw from time to time into his mouth, as if he were posting them.

“Always seems to me,” said Wemmick, “as if he had set a man-trap and was watching it. Suddenly – click – you’re caught!”

I said I supposed he was very skilful?

“Deep,” said Wemmick, “as Australia. If there was anything deeper,” added Wemmick, bringing his pen to paper, “he’d be it.”

Then I asked if there were many clerks? to which he replied —

“We don’t run much into clerks,[120] because there’s only one Jaggers. There are only four of us. Would you like to see them? You are one of us, as I may say.”

I accepted the offer. When Mr. Wemmick had paid me my money from a cash-box in a safe, the key of which safe he kept somewhere down his back, we went up stairs. The house was dark and shabby. In the front first floor, a clerk who looked something between a publican and a rat-catcher[121] – a large pale, puffed, swollen man – was attentively engaged with three or four people of shabby appearance. In the room over that, a little flabby terrier of a clerk with dangling hair was similarly engaged with a man with weak eyes. In a back room, a high-shouldered man,[122] who was dressed in old black clothes, was stooping over his work of making fair copies of the notes of the other two gentlemen, for Mr. Jaggers’s own use.

This was all the establishment. When we went down stairs again, Wemmick led me into my guardian’s room, and said, “This you’ve seen already.”

Then he went on to say, in a friendly manner:

“If at any odd time when you have nothing better to do, you wouldn’t mind coming over to see me at Walworth,[123] I could offer you a bed, and I should consider it an honor. I have not much to show you; but such two or three curiosities as I have got you might like to look over; and I am fond of[124] a bit of garden and a summer-house.”

I said I should be delighted to accept his invitation.

“Thank you,” said he. “Have you dined with Mr. Jaggers yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well,” said Wemmick, “he’ll give you wine, and good wine. I’ll give you punch, and not bad punch. And now I’ll tell you something. When you go to dine with Mr. Jaggers, look at his housekeeper.”

“Shall I see something very uncommon?”

“Well,” said Wemmick, “you’ll see a wild beast tamed.”

I told him I would do so, with all the interest and curiosity that his preparation awakened.

Chapter 25

When I had been in Mr. Pocket’s family a month or two, Mr. and Mrs. Camilla[125] turned up. Camilla was Mr. Pocket’s sister. Georgiana, whom I had seen at Miss Havisham’s on the same occasion, also turned up. She was a cousin – an indigestive single woman. These people hated me with the hatred of disappointment. Towards Mr. Pocket they showed the complacent forbearance.

These were the surroundings among which I settled down, and applied myself to my education. I soon began to spend an amount of money that within a few short months I should have thought almost fabulous; but I stuck to my books. There was no other merit in this, than my having sense enough to feel my deficiencies.

I had not seen Mr. Wemmick for some weeks, when I thought I would write him a note and propose to go home with him on a certain evening. He replied that it would give him much pleasure, and that he would expect me at the office at six o’clock. Thither I went, and there I found him, putting the key of his safe down his back as the clock struck.

“Did you think of walking down to Walworth?” said he.

“Certainly,” said I, “if you approve.”

Wemmick’s house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of garden, and the top of it was cut out and painted.

“My own doing,” said Wemmick. “Looks pretty; doesn’t it?”

I highly commended it, I think it was the smallest house I ever saw; with the queerest gothic windows,[126] and a gothic door almost too small to get in at.

“That’s a real flagstaff, you see,” said Wemmick, “and on Sundays I run up a real flag. Then look here. After I have crossed this bridge, I hoist it.”

The bridge was a plank, and it crossed a chasm about four feet wide and two deep. But it was very pleasant to see the pride with which he hoisted it up; smiling as he did so, and not merely mechanically.

“At nine o’clock every night, Greenwich time,[127]” said Wemmick, “the gun fires. There it is, you see! Then, at the back, out of sight, there’s a pig, and there are fowls and rabbits.”

Then, he conducted me to a bower; and in this retreat our glasses were already set forth. Our punch was cooling in an ornamental lake, on whose margin the bower was raised.

“I am my own engineer, and my own carpenter, and my own plumber, and my own gardener, and my own Jack of all Trades,[128]” said Wemmick, in acknowledging my compliments. “Well; it’s a good thing, you know. It pleases the Aged. You wouldn’t mind being at once introduced to the Aged, would you?”

I expressed the readiness I felt, and we went into the castle. There we found, sitting by a fire, a very old man in a flannel coat: clean, cheerful, comfortable, and well cared for, but deaf.

“Well aged parent,” said Wemmick, shaking hands with him in a cordial way, “how are you?”

“All right, John; all right!” replied the old man.

“Here’s Mr. Pip, aged parent,” said Wemmick, “and I wish you could hear his name. Nod away at him, Mr. Pip; that’s what he likes. Nod away at him, if you please.”

“This is a fine place of my son’s, sir,” cried the old man, while I nodded as hard as I possibly could.

“You’re as proud of it; aren’t you, Aged?” said Wemmick, contemplating the old man, with his hard face really softened; “there’s a nod for you;” giving him a tremendous one; “there’s another for you;” giving him a still more tremendous one; “you like that, don’t you? If you’re not tired, Mr. Pip, will you nod away at him again? You can’t think how it pleases him.”

I nodded away at him several more, and he was in great spirits.[129] We left him bestirring himself to feed the fowls, and we sat down. Wemmick told me, as he smoked a pipe, that it had taken him many years to bring the property up to its present condition.

“Is it your own, Mr. Wemmick?”

“O yes,” said Wemmick, “I have got hold of it!”

“Is it indeed? I hope Mr. Jaggers admires it?”

“Never seen it,” said Wemmick. “Never heard of it. Never seen the Aged. Never heard of him. No; the office is one thing, and private life is another. When I go into the office, I leave the Castle behind me, and when I come into the Castle, I leave the office behind me. If it’s not in any way disagreeable to you, you’ll oblige me by doing the same. I don’t wish it spoken about.”

Before supper Wemmick showed me his collection of curiosities. They were mostly of a felonious character: the pen with which a celebrated forgery had been committed, a razor or two, some locks of hair, and several manuscript confessions written under condemnation.

There was a neat little girl in attendance, who looked after the Aged in the day. When she had laid the supper-cloth, the bridge was lowered, and she went away for the night. The supper was excellent; and I was heartily pleased with my whole entertainment.

Wemmick was up early in the morning, and I am afraid I heard him cleaning my boots. After that, he fell to gardening, and I saw him from my gothic window pretending to employ the Aged, and nodding at him in a most devoted manner. Our breakfast was as good as the supper, and at half-past eight precisely we started for Little Britain. By degrees,[130] Wemmick got dryer and harder as we went along. At last, when we got to his place of business and he pulled out his key from his coat-collar, he looked quite different.

Chapter 26

My guardian was in his room, washing his hands with his scented soap, when I went into the office from Walworth; and he called me to him, and gave me the invitation for myself and friends which Wemmick had prepared me to receive. “No ceremony,” he stipulated, “and no dinner dress, and say tomorrow.” I asked him where we should come to (for I had no idea where he lived), and replied, “Come here, and I’ll take you home with me.”

He washed his hands after his clients, as if he were a surgeon or a dentist. He had a closet in his room, fitted up for the purpose, which smelt of the scented soap like a perfumer’s shop. It had an unusually large jack-towel on a roller inside the door, and he would wash his hands, and wipe them and dry them all over this towel. When I and my friends repaired to him at six o’clock next day, we found him with his head butted into this closet, not only washing his hands, but laving his face. And even when he had done all that, and had gone all round the jack-towel, he took out his penknife and scraped the case out of his nails before he put his coat on.

He conducted us to Gerrard Street, Soho,[131] to a house on the south side of that street. He took out his key and opened the door, and we all went into a stone hall, bare, gloomy, and little used. So, up a dark brown staircase into a series of three dark brown rooms on the first floor. There were carved garlands on the walls.

Dinner was laid in the best of these rooms; the second was his dressing-room; the third, his bedroom. He told us that he held the whole house, but rarely used more of it than we saw. The table was comfortably laid – no silver in the service, of course – and a variety of bottles and decanters on it, and four dishes of fruit for dessert.

There was a bookcase in the room; I saw from the backs of the books, that they were about evidence, criminal law, criminal biography, trials, acts of Parliament, and such things. The furniture was all very solid and good, like his watch-chain. In a corner was a little table of papers with a shaded lamp: so that he seemed to bring the office home with him in that respect too.

My friends were: Bentley Drummle,[132] a coarse young man, I met him at Mr. Pocket’s house, as Drummle was also to be trained in skills; and Startop,[133] who – like Bentley Drummle – was my fellow student, but unlike Drummle, he was kind.

Mr. Jaggers had scarcely seen my three companions until now – for he and I had walked together. To my surprise, he seemed to be interested in Drummle.

“Pip,” said he, putting his large hand on my shoulder and moving me to the window, “I don’t know one from the other. Who’s the Spider?”

“The spider?” said I.

“The blotchy, sulky fellow.”

“That’s Bentley Drummle,” I replied; “the one with the delicate face is Startop.”

Mr. Jaggers returned, “Bentley Drummle is his name, is it? I like the look of that fellow.”

He immediately began to talk to Drummle. I was looking at the two, when there came between me and them the housekeeper, with the first dish for the table.

She was a woman of about forty, I supposed – but I may have thought her younger than she was. Rather tall, of a nimble figure, extremely pale, with large faded eyes, and a quantity of streaming hair. I had seen Macbeth[134] at the theatre, a night or two before, and that her face looked to me as if it were all disturbed by fiery air, like the faces I had seen rise out of the Witches’ caldron.[135]

She set the dish on, touched my guardian quietly on the arm with a finger to notify that dinner was ready, and vanished. We took our seats at the round table, and my guardian kept Drummle on one side of him, while Startop sat on the other. It was a noble dish of fish that the housekeeper had put on table, and we had mutton afterwards, and then bird. Sauces, wines, all the accessories we wanted, and all of the best, were given out by our host. No other attendant than the housekeeper appeared. She set on every dish; and I always saw in her face, a face rising out of the caldron.

Dinner went off very well. For myself, I found that I was expressing my tendency to lavish expenditure, and to patronize Herbert, and to boast of my great prospects, before I quite knew that I had opened my lips. It was so with all of us.

When we had got to the cheese, that our conversation turned upon our rowing feats, and that Drummle was not very good in rowing. Drummle informed our host that he much preferred our room to our company, and that as to skill he was more than our master, and that as to strength he could scatter us like chaff. Drummle was baring and spanning his arm to show how muscular it was, and we all fell to baring and spanning our arms in a ridiculous manner.

My guardian was leaning back in his chair biting the side of his forefinger and showing an interest in Drummle, that, to me, was quite inexplicable. Suddenly, he clapped his large hand on the housekeeper’s, like a trap, as she stretched it across the table. So suddenly and smartly did he do this, that we all stopped in our foolish contention.

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

Her entrapped hand was on the table, but she had already put her other hand behind her waist. “Master,” she said, in a low voice, with her eyes attentively fixed upon him. “Don’t.”

“I’ll show you a wrist,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, with an determination to show it. “Molly, let them see your wrist.”

“Master,” she again murmured. “Please!”

“Molly,” said Mr. Jaggers, not looking at her, but looking at the opposite side of the room, “let them see both your wrists. Show them. Come!”

He took his hand from hers, and turned that wrist up on the table. She brought her other hand from behind her, and held the two out side by side. The last wrist was much disfigured[136] – deeply scarred and scarred across and across. When she held her hands out she took her eyes from Mr. Jaggers, and turned them watchfully on every one of the rest of us in succession.

“There’s power here,[137]” said Mr. Jaggers, coolly tracing out the sinews with his forefinger. “Very few men have the power of wrist that this woman has. I have had occasion to notice many hands; but I never saw stronger in that respect, man’s or woman’s, than these.”

While he said these words in a leisurely, critical style, she continued to look at every one of us in regular succession as we sat. The moment he ceased, she looked at him again. “That’ll do, Molly,[138]” said Mr. Jaggers, giving her a slight nod; “you have been admired, and can go.” She withdrew her hands and went out of the room, and Mr. Jaggers filled his glass and passed round the wine.

“At half-past nine, gentlemen,” said he, “we must break up.[139] Pray make the best use of your time.[140] I am glad to see you all. Mr. Drummle, I drink to you.”

Drummle showed his morose depreciation of the rest of us, in a more and more offensive degree, until he became downright intolerable. But Mr. Jaggers followed him with the same strange interest. He actually seemed to serve as a zest to Mr. Jaggers’s wine.

In our boyish want of discretion I dare say we took too much to drink, and I know we talked too much. We became particularly hot upon some boorish sneer of Drummle’s, to the effect that we were too free with our money. It led to my remarking, that Startop had lent him money in my presence but a week or so before.

“Well,” retorted Drummle; “he’ll be paid.”

“I don’t mean to imply that he won’t,” said I, “but it might make you hold your tongue about us and our money, I should think.”

“You should think!” retorted Drummle. “Oh Lord!”

“I dare say,” I went on, meaning to be very severe, “that you wouldn’t lend money to any of us if we wanted it.”

“You are right,” said Drummle. “I wouldn’t lend one of you a sixpence. I wouldn’t lend anybody a sixpence.”

“Rather mean to borrow under those circumstances, I should say.”

“You should say,” repeated Drummle. “Oh Lord!”

This was so very aggravating.

“Come, Mr. Drummle, since we are on the subject, I’ll tell you what passed between Herbert here and me, when you borrowed that money.”

“I don’t want to know what passed between Herbert there and you,” growled Drummle. And I think he added in a lower growl, that we might both go to the devil.

Startop took him in hand, though with a much better grace than I had shown, and exhorted him to be a little more agreeable.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Jaggers, deliberately putting down the glass, and hauling out his gold repeater by its massive chain, “I am exceedingly sorry to announce that it’s half past nine.”

On this hint we all rose to depart. Before we got to the street door, Startop was cheerily calling Drummle “old boy,” as if nothing had happened. But the old boy was so far from responding, that he would not even walk to Hammersmith on the same side of the way; so Herbert and I, who remained in town, saw them going down the street on opposite sides.

As the door was not yet shut, I thought I would leave Herbert there for a moment, and run up stairs again to say a word to my guardian. I found him in his dressing-room surrounded by his stock of boots, already hard at it, washing his hands of us.

I told him I had come up again to say how sorry I was that anything disagreeable should have occurred, and that I hoped he would not blame me much.

“Pooh!” said he, sluicing his face, and speaking through the water-drops; “it’s nothing, Pip. I like that Spider though.”

He had turned towards me now, and was shaking his head, and blowing, and towelling himself.

“I am glad you like him, sir,” said I – “but I don’t.”

“No, no,” my guardian assented; “don’t have too much to do with him. Keep as clear of him as you can. But I like the fellow, Pip; he is one of the true sort. Why, if I was a fortune-teller – ”

Looking out of the towel, he caught my eye.

“But I am not a fortune-teller,” he said, letting his head drop into a festoon of towel, and towelling away at his two ears. “You know what I am, don’t you? Good night, Pip.”

“Good night, sir.”

In about a month after that, the Spider’s time with Mr. Pocket was up for good, and, to the great relief of all the house, he went home to the family hole.

Chapter 27

“MY DEAR MR PIP: —

“I write this by request of Mr. Gargery, for to let you know that he is going to London in company with Mr. Wopsle and would be glad to see you. He would call at Barnard’s Hotel Tuesday morning at nine o’clock. We talk of you in the kitchen every night, and wonder what you are saying and doing. No more, dear Mr. Pip, from your ever obliged, and affectionate servant,

“Biddy.”

“P.S. I hope and do not doubt it will be agreeable to see him, even though a gentleman, for you had ever a good heart, and he is a worthy, worthy man. I have read him all, excepting only the last little sentence.”

I received this letter by the post on Monday morning, and therefore its appointment was for next day. Let me confess exactly with what feelings I looked forward to Joe’s coming.

Not with pleasure; no; with considerable disturbance. If I could have kept him away by paying money, I certainly would have paid money. My greatest hope was that he was coming to Barnard’s Inn, not to Hammersmith, and consequently would not fall in Bentley Drummle’s way. By this time, the rooms were different from what I had found sometimes before. I had even hired a servant.

This boy was ordered to be on duty at eight on Tuesday morning in the hall, and Herbert suggested certain things for breakfast that he thought Joe would like.

I came into town on the Monday night to be ready for Joe, and I got up early in the morning. Unfortunately the morning was drizzly.

I heard Joe on the staircase. I knew it was Joe, by his clumsy manner of coming up stairs. When at last he stopped outside our door, I could hear his finger tracing over the painted letters of my name, and I afterwards distinctly heard him breathing in at the keyhole. Finally he gave a faint single rap, and Pepper[141] – such was the name of the boy – announced “Mr. Gargery!” Joe was wiping his feet for a long time, but at last he came in.

“Joe, how are you, Joe?”

“Pip, how ARE you, Pip?”

“I am glad to see you, Joe. Give me your hat.”

But Joe was taking it up carefully with both hands, like a bird’s-nest with eggs in it.

“Oh, how you have grown,” said Joe, “and swelled, and gentle-folked!” “And you, Joe, look wonderfully well.”

“Thank God,” said Joe, “And your sister, she’s no worse than she were. And Biddy, she’s ever right and ready.”

All this time (still with both hands taking great care of the bird’s-nest), Joe was rolling his eyes round and round the room, and round and round the flowered pattern of my dressing-gown.

“And Wopsle,” said Joe, lowering his voice, “he’s left the Church and went into the playacting.[142]”

“Were you at his performance, Joe?” I inquired.

“I was,” said Joe, with emphasis.

Herbert had entered the room. So, I presented Joe to Herbert, who held out his hand; but Joe backed from it, and held on by the bird’s-nest.

“Your servant, Sir,” said Joe, “For the present it may be a very good inn, according to London opinions; but I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself.[143]”

Joe, being invited to sit down to table, looked all round the room for a suitable spot on which to deposit his hat – and finally stood it on an extreme corner of the chimney-piece, from which it ever afterwards fell off at intervals.

“Do you take tea, or coffee, Mr. Gargery?” asked Herbert.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Joe, stiff from head to foot, “I’ll take whichever is most agreeable to yourself.”

“What do you say to coffee?”

“Thank you, Sir,” returned Joe, evidently dispirited by the proposal, “since you are so kind as make a cup of coffee, I will not run contrary to your own opinions.”

“Say tea then,” said Herbert, pouring it out.

Here Joe’s hat tumbled off the mantel-piece, and he started out of his chair and picked it up, and fitted it to the same exact spot.

“When did you come to town, Mr. Gargery?”

“Was it yesterday afternoon?” said Joe, after coughing behind his hand. “No it was not. Yes it was. Yes. It was yesterday afternoon”.

“Have you seen anything of London yet?”

“Why, yes, Sir,” said Joe, “me and Wopsle went off straight to look at the Blacking Ware’us.[144] It is there too architectooralooral.[145]”

Joe’s attention was caught by his hat, which was toppling. Indeed, it demanded from him a constant attention. He made extraordinary play with it, and showed the greatest skill, rushing at it and catching it neatly as it dropped; now, beating it up, and finally splashing it into the slop-basin.

Joe sat so far from the table, and dropped so much more than he ate, and pretended that he hadn’t dropped it; that I was heartily glad when Herbert left us for the City.

“We are now alone, sir,” – began Joe.

“Joe,” I interrupted, “how can you call me sir?”

Joe looked at me for a single instant with something faintly like reproach.

“We are now alone, sir,” resumed Joe, “and I have the intentions and abilities to stay not many minutes more, I will now conclude – to mention what have led to my having had the present honor. Well, sir, this is how it was. I were at the Bargemen the other night, Pip; when there came up in his shay-cart, Pumblechook. Well, Pip; this Pumblechook came to me and his words were, ‘Joseph, Miss Havisham wishes to speak to you.’”

“Miss Havisham, Joe?”

“‘She wishes,’ were Pumblechook’s words, ‘to speak to you.’” Joe sat and rolled his eyes at the ceiling.

“Yes, Joe? Go on, please.”

“Next day, sir,” said Joe, looking at me as if I were a long way off, “having cleaned myself, I go and I see Miss A.”

“Miss A., Joe? Miss Havisham?”

“Which I say, sir,” replied Joe, with an air of legal formality, as if he were making his will, “Miss A., or Havisham. And she said: ‘Mr. Gargery. You are in correspondence with Mr. Pip?’ Having had a letter from you, I was able to say ‘I am.’

‘Would you tell him, then,’ said she, ‘that Estella has come home and would be glad to see him.’”

I felt my face fire up as I looked at Joe.

“Biddy,” pursued Joe, “when I got home and asked her to write the message to you, she says, “I know he will be very glad to have it by word of mouth, it is holiday time, you want to see him, go!” I have now concluded, sir,” said Joe, rising from his chair, “and, Pip, I wish you ever well and ever prospering to a greater and a greater height.”

“But you are not going now, Joe?”

“Yes I am,” said Joe.

“But you are coming back to dinner, Joe?”

“No I am not,” said Joe.

Our eyes met, and all the “ir” melted out of that manly heart as he gave me his hand.

“Pip, dear old chap, life is made of so many partings, as I may say, and one man’s a blacksmith, and one’s a goldsmith. Divisions among such must come, and must be met as they come. You and me are not two figures to be together in London; nor yet anywheres else. I’m not proud, but that I want to be right, as you shall never see me in these clothes. I’m wrong in these clothes. I’m wrong out of the forge, the kitchen, or off the marshes. I’m right in my forge dress, with my hammer in my hand, or even my pipe. And GOD bless you, dear old Pip, old chap, GOD bless you!”

He touched me gently on the forehead, and went out. As soon as I could recover myself sufficiently, I hurried out after him and looked for him in the neighboring streets; but he was gone.

Chapter 28

It was clear that I must go to our town next day, and in the beginning it was equally clear that I must stay at Joe’s. But, when I had secured my box-place by tomorrow’s coach, I was not convinced on the last point, and began to invent reasons and make excuses for putting up at the Blue Boar.[146] I should be an inconvenience at Joe’s; I was not expected, and my bed would not be ready; I should be too far from Miss Havisham’s.

It was the afternoon coach by which I had taken my place, and, as winter had now come round, I should not arrive at my destination until two or three hours after dark. Our time of starting from the Cross Keys[147] was two o’clock. I arrived on the ground with a quarter of an hour to spare, attended by my servant.

At that time it was customary to carry Convicts down to the dock-yards by stage-coach.

“You don’t mind them, Handel?” said Herbert.

“O no!”

“I thought you seemed as if you didn’t like them?”

“I can’t pretend that I do like them, and I suppose you don’t particularly. But I don’t mind them.”

“See! There they are,” said Herbert, “coming out of the Tap. What a degraded and vile sight it is!”

The two convicts were handcuffed together, and had irons on their legs – irons of a pattern that I knew well. They wore the dress that I knew well. Their keeper had a brace of pistols, and carried a thick-knobbed bludgeon under his arm. One was a taller and stouter man than the other; but I knew his half-closed eye at one glance. There stood the man whom I had seen on the settle at the Three Jolly Bargemen on a Saturday night, and who had brought me down with his invisible gun!

But this was not the worst of it. It came out that the whole of the back of the coach had been taken by a family removing from London, and that there were no places for the two prisoners but on the seat in front behind the coachman. So, a choleric gentleman, who had taken the fourth place on that seat, flew into a most violent passion, and said that it was a very bad deal to mix him up with such company, and that it was poisonous, and infamous, and shameful, and I don’t know what else. At this time the coach was ready and the coachman impatient, and we were all preparing to get up.

“Good bye, Handel!” Herbert called out as we started. I thought what a blessed fortune it was, that he had found another name for me than Pip.

It is impossible to express my feelings. I felt the convict’s breathing, not only on the back of my head, but all along my spine.

The weather was raw. It made us all sleepy before we had gone far. I could recognize nothing in the darkness and the fitful lights and shadows of our lamps, I traced marsh country in the cold damp wind that blew at us. The convicts were closer to me than before. The very first words I heard them interchange were “Two One Pound notes.”

“How did he get them?” said the convict I had never seen.

“How should I know?” returned the other. “Given him by friends, I expect.”

“I wish,” said the other, with a bitter curse upon the cold, “that I had them here.”

“Two one pound notes, or friends?”

“Two one pound notes. Well? So he says —?”

“So he says,” resumed the convict I had recognized – “it was all said and done in half a minute – ‘You’re a going to be discharged?’ Yes, I was. Would I find out that boy that had fed him and kept his secret, and give him them two one pound notes? Yes, I would. And I did.”

“You fool,” growled the other. “I’d have spent them in wittles and drink.”

“What might have been your opinion of the place?”

“A most beastly place. Mudbank, mist, swamp, and work; work, swamp, mist, and mudbank.”

The coffee-room at the Blue Boar was empty, and I had not only ordered my dinner there, but had sat down to it, before the waiter knew me. As soon as he had apologized for his memory, he asked me if he should send the servant for Mr. Pumblechook?

“No,” said I, “certainly not.”

Chapter 29

Next morning I was thinking about my patroness, and painting brilliant pictures of her plans for me.

She had adopted Estella, I can say that she had adopted me. The truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. I loved her none the less because I knew it.

I arrived at the gate at my old time. I had come to the house, where I found his room to be one just within the side-door, with a little window in it looking on the courtyard. In its small proportions, it was not unlike the kind of place usually assigned to a gate-porter in Paris. Certain keys were hanging on the wall.

I turned down the long passage. At the end of the passage I found Sarah Pocket.

“Oh!” said she. “You, is it, Mr. Pip?”

“It is, Miss Pocket. I am glad to tell you that Mr. Pocket and family are all well.”

“Are they any wiser?” said Sarah, with a dismal shake of the head; “they had better be wiser, than well. Ah, Matthew, Matthew! You know your way, sir?”

I ascended to the door of Miss Havisham’s room. “Pip,” I heard her say, immediately; “come in, Pip.”

She was in her chair near the old table, in the old dress, with her two hands crossed on her stick, her chin resting on them, and her eyes on the fire. Sitting near her, with the white shoe, that had never been worn, in her hand, and her head bent as she looked at it, was an elegant lady whom I had never seen.

“Come in, Pip,” Miss Havisham continued to mutter; “come in, Pip, how do you do, Pip? so you kiss my hand as if I were a queen, eh? – Well?”

She looked up at me suddenly, only moving her eyes, and repeated in a grimly manner —

“Well?”

“I heard, Miss Havisham,” said I, rather at a loss, “that you were so kind as to wish me to come and see you, and I came directly.”

“Well?”

The lady whom I had never seen before, lifted up her eyes and looked archly at me, and then I saw that the eyes were Estella’s eyes. But she was so much changed, was so much more beautiful, so much more womanly! I felt, as I looked at her, that I slipped back into the coarse and common boy again.

She gave me her hand. I stammered something about the pleasure I felt in seeing her again, and about my having looked forward to it, for a long, long time.

“Do you find her much changed, Pip?” asked Miss Havisham, with her greedy look.

“When I came in, Miss Havisham, I thought there was nothing of Estella in the face or figure; but now it all settles down so curiously into the old – ”

“What? You are not going to say into the old Estella?” Miss Havisham interrupted. “She was proud and insulting, and you wanted to go away from her. Don’t you remember?”

I said that that was long ago, and that I knew no better then, and the like. Estella smiled with perfect composure, and said she had been very disagreeable.

“Is he changed?” Miss Havisham asked her.

“Very much,” said Estella, looking at me.

“Less coarse and common?” said Miss Havisham, playing with Estella’s hair.

Estella laughed, and looked at the shoe in her hand, and laughed again, and looked at me, and put the shoe down. She treated me as a boy still, but she lured me on.[148]

We sat in the dreamy room, and I learnt 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, and return to the hotel at night, and to London tomorrow. So, Estella and I went out into the garden by the gate through which I had strayed to my encounter with the pale young gentleman, now Herbert. As we drew near to the place of encounter, she stopped and said —

“I decided to hide and see that fight that day; and I enjoyed it very much.”

“You rewarded me very much.”

“Did I?” she replied.

“He and I are great friends now.”

“Are you? I think I recollect though, that you are his father’s student?”

“Yes.”

“Since your change of fortune and prospects, you have changed your companions,” said Estella.

“Naturally,” said I.

“What was fit company for you once,” she added, in a haughty tone; “would be quite unfit company for you now.”

The garden was very big, and after we had made the round of it twice or thrice, we came out again into the yard. I showed her where I had seen her walking on the casks, that first old day, and she said, with a cold and careless look in that direction, “Did I?” I reminded her where she had come out of the house and given me my meat and drink, and she said, “I don’t remember.” “Not remember that you made me cry?” said I. “No,” said she, and shook her head and looked about her.

“You must know,” said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and beautiful woman might, “that I have no heart – maybe I have no memory as well. You know what I mean. I have no softness there, no – sympathy-sentiment – nonsense. I am serious, you had better believe it at once. I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere.[149] I have never had any such thing. What is the matter? Are you scared again?”

“I should be, if I believed what you said just now,” I replied.

“Then you don’t? Very well. It is said, at any rate.[150] Let us make one more round of the garden, and then go in. Come! You will not shed tears for my cruelty today; you will be my Page,[151] and give me your shoulder.”

We walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more, and it was all in bloom for me.

There was no discrepancy of years between us to remove her far from me; we were of nearly the same age; but the air of inaccessibility which her beauty and her manner gave her, tormented me in the midst of my delight.

At last we went back into the house, and there I heard, with surprise, that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business, and would come back to dinner.

When Estella had gone and we two left alone, Miss Havisham turned to me, and said in a whisper —

“Is she beautiful, graceful, well-grown? Do you admire her?”

“Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham.”

She drew an arm round my neck, and drew my head close down to hers as she sat in the chair. “Love her, love her, love her! How does she use you?[152]”

Before I could answer (if I could have answered so difficult a question at all) she repeated, “Love her, love her, love her! If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her!”

I could feel the muscles of the thin arm round my neck that possessed her.

“Hear me, Pip! I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her, to be loved. I developed her into what she is, that she might be loved. Love her!”

She said the word often enough, and there could be no doubt that she meant to say it.

“I’ll tell you,” said she, in the same hurried passionate whisper, “what real love is. It is blind devotion, self-humiliation, utter submission, trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world, giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter – as I did!”

When she came to that, and to a wild cry that followed that, I caught her round the waist. For she rose up in the chair, in her dress, and struck at the air.

All this passed in a few seconds. As I drew her down into her chair, I saw my guardian in the room.

Miss Havisham had seen him as soon as I, and was (like everybody else) afraid of him. She made a strong attempt to compose herself, and stammered that he was as punctual as ever.

“As punctual as ever,” he repeated, coming up to us. “(How do you do, Pip? Shall I give you a ride, Miss Havisham? Once round?) And so you are here, Pip?”

I told him when I had arrived, and how Miss Havisham had wished me to come and see Estella. To which he replied, “Ah! Very fine young lady!” Then he pushed Miss Havisham in her chair before him, with one of his large hands, and put the other in his trousers-pocket.

“Well, Pip! How often have you seen Miss Estella before?” said he, when he came to a stop.

“How often?”

“Ah! How many times? Ten thousand times?”

“Oh! Certainly not so many.”

“Twice?”

“Jaggers,” interposed Miss Havisham, much to my relief, “leave my Pip alone, and go with him to your dinner.”

We groped our way down the dark stairs together.

“Pray, sir,” said I, “may I ask you a question?”

“You may,” said he, “and I may decline to answer it. Put your question.”

“Estella’s name. Is it Havisham or —?” I had nothing to add.

“Or what?” said he.

“Is it Havisham?”

“It is Havisham.”

We played until nine o’clock, and then it was arranged that when Estella came to London I should be forewarned of her coming and should meet her at the coach; and then I took leave of her, and touched her and left her.

My guardian lay at the Boar in the next room to mine. Far into the night, Miss Havisham’s words, “Love her, love her, love her!” sounded in my ears. I adapted them for my own repetition, and said to my pillow, “I love her, I love her, I love her!” hundreds of times.

Ah me! I thought those were high and great emotions. But I never thought there was anything low and small in my keeping away from Joe, because I knew she would be contemptuous of him. Joe had brought the tears into my eyes; they had soon dried, God forgive me! soon dried.

Chapter 30

The coach, with Mr. Jaggers inside, came up in due time, and I took my box-seat again, and arrived in London safe – but not sound, for my heart was gone. As soon as I arrived, I sent a codfish and barrel of oysters to Joe, and then went on to Barnard’s Inn.

I found Herbert dining on cold meat, and delighted to welcome me back. I felt that I must open my breast that very evening to my friend.

Dinner done and we sitting with our feet upon the fender, I said to Herbert, “My dear Herbert, I have something very particular to tell you.”

“My dear Handel,” he returned, “I shall esteem and respect your confidence.”

“It concerns myself, Herbert,” said I, “and one other person.”

Herbert crossed his feet, looked at the fire with his head on one side, and looked at me because I didn’t go on.

“Herbert,” said I, laying my hand upon his knee, “I love – I adore – Estella.”

Herbert replied in an easy way, “Exactly. Well?”

“Well, Herbert? Is that all you say? Well?”

“What next, I mean?” said Herbert. “Of course I know that.”

“How do you know it?” said I.

“How do I know it, Handel? Why, from you.”

“I never told you.”

“Told me! You have always adored her, ever since I have known you. You brought your adoration and your bag here together. Told me! Why, you have always told me all day long. When you told me your own story, you told me plainly that you began adoring her the first time you saw her, when you were very young indeed.”

“Very well, then,” said I, to whom this was a new and not unwelcome light, “I have never left off adoring her. And she has come back, a most beautiful and most elegant creature. And I saw her yesterday. And if I adored her before, I now adore her more and more.”“Lucky for you then, Handel,” said Herbert, “Have you any idea yet, of Estella’s views on the adoration question?”

I shook my head. “Oh! She is thousands of miles away, from me,” said I.

“Patience, my dear Handel: time enough,[153] time enough.”

“What a hopeful disposition you have!” said I, admiring his cheery ways.

“I ought to have,” said Herbert, “for I have not much else. I was going to say a word or two, Handel, concerning my feelings.”

“Then you are?[154]” said I.

“I am,” said Herbert; “but it’s a secret.”

I assured him of my keeping the secret.

“May I ask the name?” I said.

“Name of Clara,” said Herbert.

“Live in London?”

“Yes. Perhaps I ought to mention,” said Herbert, “that she is rather below my mother’s family notions. Her father is an invalid now.”

“Living on —?”

“On the first floor,” said Herbert. Which was not at all what I meant, for I had intended my question to apply to his means. “I have never seen him, since I have known Clara. But I have heard him constantly. He makes tremendous rows – roars, and pegs at the floor with some frightful instrument.” Herbert looked at me and then laughed heartily.

At night I miserably thought of Estella, and miserably dreamed that my expectations were all cancelled, and that I had to give my hand in marriage to Herbert’s Clara, or play Hamlet before twenty thousand people, without knowing twenty words of it.

Chapter 31

One day when I was busy with my books and Mr. Pocket, I received a note by the post. It had no beginning, as Dear Mr. Pip, or Dear Pip, or Dear Sir, or Dear Anything, but ran thus: —

“I am to come to London the day after tomorrow by the midday coach. I believe it was settled you should meet me? At all events Miss Havisham has that impression, and I write in obedience to it. She sends you her regard.

Yours, ESTELLA.”

If there had been time, I should probably have ordered several suits of clothes for this occasion. My appetite vanished instantly, and I knew no peace or rest until the day arrived. I was worse than ever, and began haunting the coach-office in Wood Street, Cheapside, before the coach had left the Blue Boar in our town. I had performed the first half-hour of a watch of four or five hours, when Wemmick ran against me.

“Halloa, Mr. Pip,” said he; “how do you do?”

I explained that I was waiting to meet somebody who was coming up by coach, and I inquired after the Castle and the Aged.

“Both flourishing thank you,” said Wemmick, “and particularly the Aged. He’s a wonderful father. He’ll be eighty-two next birthday. I plan to fire eighty-two times. Where do you think I am going to?”

“To the office?” said I, for he was tending in that direction.

“Next thing to it,” returned Wemmick, “I am going to Newgate. Mr. Pip! Would you like to have a look at Newgate? Have you time to spare?”

I had so much time to spare, that the proposal came as a relief. I joined Mr. Wemmick, and I had received, accepted his offer.

Chapter 32

We were at Newgate in a few minutes, and we passed through the lodge into the interior of the jail. It was visiting time when Wemmick took me in, and the prisoners, behind bars in yards, were talking to friends; and a frowzy, ugly, disorderly, depressing scene it was.

It struck me that Wemmick walked among the prisoners much as a gardener might walk among his plants. He was saying, “What, Captain Tom? Are you there? Ah, indeed!” and also, “Is that Black Bill behind the cistern? Why I didn’t look for you these two months; how do you find yourself?[155]” Wemmick was highly popular.

We walked through Wemmick’s greenhouse, until he turned to me and said, “Notice the man I shall shake hands with.”

“Colonel, to you!” said Wemmick; “how are you, Colonel?”

“All right, Mr. Wemmick.”

“Everything was done that could be done, but the evidence was too strong for us, Colonel.”

“Yes, it was too strong, sir – but I don’t care.”

“No, no,” said Wemmick, coolly, “you don’t care.” Then, turning to me, “Served His Majesty this man. Was a soldier in the line and bought his discharge.[156]”

I said, “Indeed?” and the man’s eyes looked at me, and then looked over my head, and then looked all round me, and then he drew his hand across his lips and laughed.

“By the way,” said Wemmick. “You were quite a pigeon-fancier.” The man looked up at the sky. “Could you commission any friend of yours to bring me a pair, of you’ve no further use for them?[157]”

“It shall be done, sir.”

“All right,” said Wemmick, “they shall be taken care of.[158] Good afternoon, Colonel. Good bye!”

They shook hands again, and as we walked away Wemmick said to me, “A Coiner,[159] a very good workman. The Recorder’s report is made to-day, and he is sure to be executed on Monday. Still you see, a pair of pigeons are portable property all the same.[160]”

Mr. Wemmick and I parted at the office in Little Britain, and I returned to my watch in the street of the coach-office, with some three hours on hand. I thought of the beautiful young Estella, proud, coming towards me, and I thought with absolute abhorrence of the contrast between the jail and her. At last, I saw her face at the coach window and her hand waving to me.

Chapter 33

In her travelling-dress, Estella seemed more delicately beautiful than she had ever seemed yet, even in my eyes. I thought I saw Miss Havisham’s influence in the change.

“I am going to Richmond,[161]” she told me. “There are two Richmonds, one in Surrey[162] and one in Yorkshire,[163] and mine is the Surrey Richmond. The distance is ten miles. I am to have a carriage. This is my purse, and you are to pay my charges out of it. O, you must take the purse! We have no choice, you and I, but to obey our instructions.”

As she looked at me in giving me the purse, I hoped there was an inner meaning in her words. She said them not with displeasure.

“A carriage will have to be sent for,[164] Estella. Will you rest here a little?”

“Yes, I am to rest here a little, and I am to drink some tea, and you are to take care of me the while.”

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

“I am going to live,” said she, “at a great expense, with a lady there, who has the power – or says she has – of taking me about, and introducing me, and showing people to me and showing me to people.”

“I suppose you will be glad of variety and admiration?”

“Yes, I suppose so. How is your life at Mr. Pocket’s?”

“I live quite pleasantly there.”

“Your friend Mr. Matthew, I believe, is superior to the rest of his family?”

“Very superior indeed. He is nobody’s enemy – ”

“He really is disinterested,” interposed Estella, “and above small jealousy and spite, I have heard?”

“I am sure I have every reason to say so.[165]”

She gave me her hand. I held it and put it to my lips.

“You ridiculous boy,” said Estella, “will you never take warning? Or do you kiss my hand in the same spirit in which I once let you kiss my cheek?”

“What spirit was that?” said I.

“I must think a moment. A spirit of contempt.”

“If I say yes, may I kiss the cheek again?”

“You should have asked before you touched the hand. But, yes, if you like.”

I leaned down, and her calm face was like a statue’s. “Now,” said Estella, gliding away the instant I touched her cheek, “you are to take care that I have some tea, and you are to take me to Richmond.”

When we passed through Hammersmith, I showed her where Mr. Matthew Pocket lived, and said it was no great way from Richmond, and that I hoped I should see her sometimes.

“O yes, you are to see me; you are to come when you think proper; you are to be mentioned to the family; indeed you are already mentioned.”

I inquired was it a large household she was going to be a member of?

“No; there are only two; mother and daughter. The mother is a lady of some station.[166]”

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

“It is a part of Miss Havisham’s plans for me, Pip,” said Estella, with a sigh, as if she were tired; “I am to write to her constantly and see her and report how I go on – I and the jewels – for they are nearly all mine now.”

It was the first time she had ever called me by my name. Of course she did so purposely, and knew that I should treasure it up.

Chapter 34

As I had grown accustomed to my expectations, I had begun to notice their effect upon myself and those around me. I lived in a state of chronic uneasiness respecting my behaviour to Joe. My conscience was not by any means comfortable about Biddy. When I woke up in the night, I used to think, that I should have been happier and better if I had never seen Miss Havisham’s face, and had worked with Joe in the honest old forge. When I sat alone looking at the fire, I thought, there was no fire like the forge fire and the kitchen fire at home.

My lavish habits led Herbert’s easy nature into expenses that he could not afford, corrupted his life, and disturbed his peace with anxieties and regrets.

Moreover, I began to contract a quantity of debt. Herbert soon followed me. At Startop’s suggestion, we put ourselves down for election into a club called The Finches of the Grove.[167] The members were dining expensively once a fortnight, quarrelling among themselves as much as possible after dinner, and causing six waiters to get drunk on the stairs. That’s all.

The Finches spent their money foolishly (the Hotel we dined at was in Covent Garden), and the first Finch I saw when I had the honor of joining the Grove was Bentley Drummle.

I was usually at Hammersmith about half the week, and when I was at Hammersmith I haunted Richmond.

We spent as much money as we could. We were always more or less miserable, and most of our acquaintance were in the same condition. There was a gay fiction among us that we were constantly enjoying ourselves, and a skeleton truth that we never did.

At certain times – I would say to Herbert, as if it were a remarkable discovery —

“My dear Herbert, we are getting on badly.[168]”

“My dear Handel,” Herbert would say to me, in all sincerity, if you will believe me, those very words were on my lips, by a strange coincidence.”

“Then, Herbert,” I would respond, “let us look into out affairs.”

We ordered something rather special for dinner, with a bottle of something similarly out of the common way, in order that our minds might be fortified for the occasion.

I would then take a sheet of paper, and write across the top of it, in a neat hand, the heading, “Pip’s debts”; with Barnard’s Inn and the date very carefully added. Herbert would also take a sheet of paper, and write across it with similar formalities, “Herbert’s debts.”

Each of us would then refer to a confused heap of papers at his side, which had been thrown into drawers, worn into holes in pockets, half burnt in lighting candles, stuck for weeks into the looking-glass, and otherwise damaged. The sound of our pens going refreshed us exceedingly.

When we had written a little while, I would ask Herbert how he got on?

“The figures are mounting up, Handel,” Herbert would say; “upon my life, they are mounting up.”

“Be firm, Herbert,” I would retort. “Look into your affairs.”

“What a fellow of resource you are![169]” my friend would reply, with admiration. “Really your business powers are very remarkable.”

I thought so too. I established with myself, on these occasions, the reputation of a first-rate man of business – prompt, decisive, energetic, clear, cool-headed. One evening we heard a letter dropped through the slit in the said door, and fall on the ground. “It’s for you, Handel,” said Herbert, going out and coming back with it.

The letter was signed Trabb & Co.,[170] and its contents were simply, that they begged to inform me that Mrs. J. Gargery had departed this life on Monday last at twenty minutes past six in the evening, and that my attendance was requested on Monday next at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Chapter 35

It was the first time that a grave had opened in my road of life. The figure of my sister in her chair by the kitchen fire, haunted me night and day. In my rooms, with which she had never been at all associated, there was at once the smell of death.

Whatever my fortunes might have been, I could scarcely have recalled my sister with much tenderness. Having written to Joe, to offer him consolation, and to assure him that I would come to the funeral, I passed the days in the curious state of mind. I went down early in the morning, and alighted at the Blue Boar in good time to walk over to the forge.

It was fine summer weather. At last I came within sight of the house, and saw that Trabb and Co. had put in a funereal execution and taken possession. Poor dear Joe, entangled in a little black cloak tied in a large bow under his chin, was seated apart at the upper end of the room. When I bent down and said to him, “Dear Joe, how are you?” he said, “Pip, old chap, you knew her when she was a fine figure of a – ” and clasped my hand and said no more.

“Biddy,” said I, “I think you might have written to me about these sad matters.”

“Do you, Mr. Pip?” said Biddy. “I should have written if I had thought that.”

“How are you going to live, Biddy? If you want any mo – ”

“How am I going to live?” repeated Biddy, striking in, with a momentary flush upon her face. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Pip. I am going to try to get the place of mistress in the new school nearly finished here. I can be well recommended by all the neighbors, and I hope I can be industrious and patient, and teach myself while I teach others. You know, Mr. Pip,” pursued Biddy, with a smile, as she raised her eyes to my face, “the new schools are not like the old, but I learnt a good deal from you after that time, and have had time since then to improve.”

Chapter 36

Herbert and I went on from bad to worse, in the way of increasing our debts.

I had taken care to have it well understood in Little Britain when my birthday was. On the day before it, I received an official note from Wemmick, informing me that Mr. Jaggers would be glad if I would call upon him at five in the afternoon of the auspicious day. This convinced us that something great was to happen. But Wemmick said nothing respecting it, and motioned me with a nod into my guardian’s room.

It was November, and my guardian was standing before his fire leaning his back against the chimney-piece, with his hands under his coattails.[171]

“Well, Pip,” said he, “I must call you Mr. Pip today. Congratulations, Mr. Pip.”

We shook hands and I thanked him.

“Take a chair, Mr. Pip,” said my guardian.

As I sat down, I felt at a disadvantage, which reminded me of that old time when I had been put upon a tombstone.

“Now my young friend,” my guardian began, “I am going to have a word or two with you.”

“If you please, sir.”

“What do you suppose,” said Mr. Jaggers, “what do you suppose you are living at the rate of?[172]”

“At the rate of, sir?”

“At,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, still looking at the ceiling, “the – rate – of?” And then looked all round the room, and paused with his pocket-handkerchief in his hand, half-way to his nose.

Reluctantly, I confessed myself quite unable to answer the question. This reply seemed agreeable to Mr. Jaggers, who said, “I thought so!” and blew his nose[173] with an air of satisfaction.

“Now, I have asked you a question, my friend,” said Mr. Jaggers. “Have you anything to ask me?”

“Of course it would be a great relief to me to ask you several questions, sir; but I remember your prohibition.”

“Ask one,” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Is my benefactor to be made known to me today?”

“No. Ask another.”

“Have—I – anything to receive, sir?” On that, Mr. Jaggers said, triumphantly, “I thought we should come to it!” and called to Wemmick to give him that piece of paper. Wemmick appeared, handed it in, and disappeared.

“Now, Mr. Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, “attend, if you please. Your name occurs pretty often in Wemmick’s cash-book; but you are in debt, of course?”

“I am afraid I must say yes, sir.”

“You know you must say yes; don’t you?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t ask you what you owe, because you don’t know; and if you did know, you wouldn’t tell me; you would say less. Yes, yes, my friend,” cried Mr. Jaggers, waving his forefinger to stop me as I made a show of protesting: “You’ll excuse me, but I know better than you. Now, take this piece of paper in your hand. You have got it? Very good. Now, unfold it and tell me what it is.”

“This is a bank-note,” said I, “for five hundred pounds.”

“That is a bank-note,” repeated Mr. Jaggers, “for five hundred pounds. And a very handsome sum of money too, I think. You consider it so?”

“How could I do otherwise!”

“Ah! But answer the question,” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Undoubtedly.”

“You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money. Now, that handsome sum of money, Pip, is your own. It is a present to you on this day, in earnest of your expectations.[174] And at the rate of that handsome sum of money per annum, and at no higher rate, you are to live until the donor of the whole appears. As I have told you before, I am the mere agent. I execute my instructions, and I am paid for doing so.”

I was beginning to express my gratitude to my benefactor for the great freedom with which I was treated, when Mr. Jaggers stopped me. “I am not paid, Pip,” said he, coolly, “to carry your words to any one.[175]”

“There was a question just now, Mr. Jaggers. I hope I am doing nothing wrong in asking it again?”

“What is it?” said he.

“Is it likely,” I said, after hesitating, “that my patron will soon – ” there I delicately stopped.

“Will soon what?” asked Mr. Jaggers.

“Will soon come to London,” said I, “or summon me anywhere else?”

“Now, here,” replied Mr. Jaggers, “we must come back to the evening when we first met in your village. What did I tell you then, Pip?”

“You told me, Mr. Jaggers, that it might be years hence when that person appeared.”

“Just so,” said Mr. Jaggers, “that’s my answer.”

We looked at one another until I withdrew my eyes, and looked thoughtfully at the floor. When I raised my eyes again, I found that he had been looking at me all the time, and was doing so still.

“If that is all you have to say, sir,” I remarked, “there can be nothing left for me to say.”

He nodded assent, and pulled out his watch, and asked me where I was going to dine? I replied at my own chambers, with Herbert. As a necessary sequence, I asked him if he would favour us with his company, and he promptly accepted the invitation. But he insisted on walking home with me, in order that I might make no extra preparation for him, and first he had a letter or two to write, and (of course) had his hands to wash. So I said I would go into the outer office and talk to Wemmick.

The fact was, that when the five hundred pounds had come into my pocket, a thought had come into my head which had been often there before; and it appeared to me that Wemmick was a good person to advise with concerning such thought.

“Mr. Wemmick,” said I, “I want to ask your opinion. I am very desirous to help a friend. This friend is trying to get on in commercial life,[176] but has no money, and finds it difficult to make a beginning. Now I want somehow to help him to a beginning.”

“With money down?” said Wemmick.

“With some money down,” I replied.

“Mr. Pip,” said Wemmick, “take a walk and pitch your money into the Thames; serve a friend with it – but it’s a less pleasant and profitable end.”

“This is very discouraging,” said I. “Then is it your opinion,” I inquired, with some little indignation, “that a man should never – ”

“ – Invest portable property in a friend?” said Wemmick. “Certainly he should not. Unless he wants to get rid of the friend.[177]

“And that,” said I, “is your deliberate opinion, Mr. Wemmick?”

“That,” he returned, “is my deliberate opinion in this office.”

“Ah!” said I, pressing him, “but would that be your opinion at Walworth?”

“Mr. Pip,” he replied, with gravity, “Walworth is one place, and this office is another. Much as the Aged is one person, and Mr. Jaggers is another.”

Chapter 37

“My son, sir,” said the old man, when I was visiting Mr. Wemmick’s in Walworth, “had thought that you might come to see us, and he left word that he would soon be home from his afternoon’s walk. He is very regular in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my son.”

I nodded at the old gentleman, and we went in and sat down by the fireside.

“You made acquaintance with my son, sir,” said the old man, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, “at his office, I expect?” I nodded. “Hah! I have heard that my son is a wonderful hand at his business,[178] sir?” I nodded hard. “Yes; so they tell me. His business is the Law?” I nodded harder.

The old man cried with great triumph, “My son’s come home!” and we both went out to the drawbridge.

I informed Wemmick that I was anxious in behalf of Herbert Pocket, and I told him how we had first met, and how we had fought. I glanced at Herbert’s home, and at his character, and at his having no means but such as he was dependent on his father for; those, uncertain. For all these reasons (I told Wemmick), and because he was my young companion and friend, and I had a great affection for him, I wished my own good fortune to reflect some rays upon him, and therefore I sought advice from Wemmick’s experience and knowledge of men and affairs, how I could best try with my resources to help Herbert to some present income – say of a hundred a year, to keep him in good hope and heart[179] – and gradually to buy him on to some small partnership. I begged Wemmick, in conclusion, to understand that my help must always be hidden from Herbert’s knowledge or suspicion.

Wemmick was silent for a little while, and then said with a kind of start, “Well you know, Mr. Pip, I must tell you one thing. This is devilish good of you.[180] Skiffins[181] is an accountant and agent. I’ll look him up and go to work for you.[182]”

“I thank you ten thousand times.”

Before a week was out, I received a note from Wemmick, dated Walworth, stating that he hoped he had made some advance in that matter. So, I went out to Walworth again, and yet again, and yet again, and I saw him by appointment in the City several times, but never held any communication with him on the subject in or near Little Britain. Finally, we found a young merchant, not long established in business, who wanted intelligent help, and who wanted capital, and who in due course of time and receipt would want a partner. Between him and me, secret articles were signed of which Herbert was the subject, and I paid him half of my five hundred pounds down.

The whole business was so cleverly managed, that Herbert had not the least suspicion of my role in it. I never shall forget the radiant face with which he came home one afternoon, and told me of his meeting one Clarriker[183] (the young merchant’s name), and of Clarriker’s extraordinary inclination towards him. Day by day his hopes grew stronger and his face brighter. I had the greatest difficulty in restraining my tears of triumph when I saw him so happy. The thing was done, and he has that day entered Clarriker’s House, and he has talked to me for a whole evening in a flush of pleasure and success. I did really cry in good earnest when I went to bed, to think that my expectations had done some good to somebody.

But I must give one chapter to Estella.

Chapter 38

The lady with whom Estella was placed, Mrs. Brandley[184] by name, was a widow, with one daughter several years older than Estella. The mother looked young, and the daughter looked old; the mother’s complexion was pink, and the daughter’s was yellow; the mother liked frivolity, and the daughter liked theology.[185] They were in what is called a good position, and visited, and were visited by, numbers of people. Mrs. Brandley had been a friend of Miss Havisham’s before the time of her seclusion.

In Mrs. Brandley’s house and out of Mrs. Brandley’s house, I suffered every kind and degree of torture that Estella could cause me. She used me to tease other admirers. If I had been her secretary, steward, half-brother, poor relation – if I had been a younger brother of her appointed husband – I could not have seemed to myself further from my hopes when I was nearest to her. But I had the privilege of calling her by her name and hearing her call me by mine.

She had admirers without end. No doubt my jealousy made an admirer of every one who went near her; but there were more than enough of them without that.

I saw her often at Richmond, I heard of her often in town, and I used often to take her and the Brandleys on the water; there were picnics, fête days,[186] plays, operas, concerts, parties, all sorts of pleasures, through which I pursued her – and they were all miseries to me. I never had one hour’s happiness in her society.

Sometimes she would seem to pity me.

“Pip, Pip,” she said one evening, when we sat apart at a darkening window of the house in Richmond; “will you never take warning?”

“Of what?”

“Of me. If you don’t know what I mean, you are blind.”

“At any rate,” said I, “You wrote to me to come to you, this time.”

“That’s true,” said Estella, with a cold careless smile that always chilled me.

After looking at the twilight without, for a little while, she went on to say:

“Miss Havisham wishes to have me for a day. You are to take me there, and bring me back, if you will. She would rather I did not travel alone. Can you take me?”

“Can I take you, Estella!”

“You can then? The day after tomorrow, if you please. You are to pay all charges out of my purse, You hear the condition of your going?”

“And must obey,” said I.

Miss Havisham never wrote to me. We went down on the next day, and we found her in the room where I had first beheld her, and it is needless to add that there was no change in her house.

From Estella she looked at me, with a searching glance. “How does she use you,[187] Pip; how does she use you?” she asked me again, with her witch-like eagerness. But, when we sat by her flickering fire at night, she was most weird.

It happened that some sharp words arose between Estella and Miss Havisham. We were seated by the fire, and Miss Havisham still had Estella’s arm drawn through her own, and still clutched Estella’s hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself. She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it.

“What!” said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, “are you tired of me?”

“Only a little tired of myself,” replied Estella, disengaging her arm, and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at the fire.

“Speak the truth!” cried Miss Havisham, passionately striking her stick upon the floor; “you are tired of me.”

Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down at the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a self-possessed indifference.

“You cold, cold heart!” exclaimed Miss Havisham.

“What?” said Estella; “do you reproach me for being cold? You?”

“Are you not?” was the fierce retort.

“You should know,” said Estella. “I am what you have made me.[188] Take all the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the failure; in short, take me.”

“O, look at her, look at her!” cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; “Look at her so hard and thankless![189]”

“What would you have?” said Estella, “You have been very good to me, and I owe everything to you. What would you have?”

“Love,” replied the other.

“You have it.”

“I have not,” said Miss Havisham.

“Mother by adoption,” retorted Estella, “mother by adoption, I have said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. Beyond that, I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you, what you never gave me, my gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities.”

“Did I never give her love!” cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me. “Let her call me mad, let her call me mad!”

“Why should I call you mad,” returned Estella.

“So proud, so proud!” moaned Miss Havisham, pushing away her gray hair with both her hands.

“Who taught me to be proud?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?”

“So hard, so hard!” moaned Miss Havisham.

“Who taught me to be hard?” returned Estella. “Who praised me when I learnt my lesson?”

“But to be proud and hard to me!” Miss Havisham quite shrieked, as she stretched out her arms. “Estella, Estella, Estella, to be proud and hard to me!”

Estella looked at her for a moment with a kind of calm wonder.

“I cannot think,” said Estella, raising her eyes after a silence “why you should be so unreasonable when I come to see you after a separation.”

It was with a depressed heart that I walked in the night.

It is impossible to turn this leaf of my life, without putting Bentley Drummle’s name upon it.

On a certain occasion when the Finches were assembled, Drummle toasted a lady.[190] What was my indignant surprise when he called upon the company to pledge him to “Estella!”

“Estella who?” said I.

“Never you mind,” retorted Drummle.

“Estella of where?” said I.

“Of Richmond, gentlemen,” said Drummle, “and a beauty.”

“I know that lady,” said Herbert, across the table, when the toast had been honored.

“Do you?” said Drummle.

“And so do I,” I added, with a scarlet face.

“Do you?” said Drummle. “O, Lord!”

It was easy for me to find out, and I did soon find out, that Drummle had begun to follow her closely,[191] and that she allowed him to do it.

At a certain Ball at Richmond I asked her, “Are you tired, Estella?”

“Rather, Pip.”

“You should be.”

“Estella, it makes me wretched that you should encourage a man so generally despised as Drummle. You know he is despised.”

“Well?” said she.

“You know he is a deficient, ill-tempered, lowering, stupid fellow.”

“Well?” said she; and each time she said it, she opened her lovely eyes the wider.

Chapter 39

I was three-and-twenty years of age. Nothing had I heard to enlighten me on the subject of my expectations. We had left Barnard’s Inn more than a year, and lived in the Temple. Our chambers were in Garden-court,[192] down by the river.

Business had taken Herbert on a journey to Marseilles.[193] I was alone, and had a dull sense of being alone. Dispirited and anxious, I sadly missed the cheerful face and ready response of my friend.

It was wretched weather; stormy and wet, stormy and wet; and mud, mud, mud, deep in all the streets.

I read with my watch upon the table, purposing to close my book at eleven o’clock. As I shut it, all the many church-clocks in the City – some leading, some accompanying, some following – struck that hour. Suddenly I heard the footstep stumble in coming on.

“There is some one down there, is there not?” I called out, looking down.

“Yes,” said a voice from the darkness beneath.

“What floor do you want?”

“The top. Mr. Pip.”

“That is my name. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing the matter,” returned the voice. And the man came on. In the instant, I had seen a smiling face that was strange to me. The man looked as a voyager by sea. He had long gray hair. His age was about sixty. He was a muscular man, strong on his legs.

“Pray what is your business?” I asked him.

“My business?” he repeated, pausing. “Ah! Yes. I will explain my business.”

“Do you wish to come in?”

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

He looked about him with the strangest air – an air of wondering pleasure.

“What do you want?” said I, half suspecting him to be mad.

He stopped in his looking at me, and slowly rubbed his right hand over his head. He sat down on a chair that stood before the fire, and covered his forehead with his large brown hands. I looked at him attentively then, and recoiled a little from him; but I did not know him.

“I’m glad you’ve grown up,” said he, shaking his head.

I knew him! Even yet I could not recall a single feature, but I knew him! It was my convict. He grasped my hands heartily, raised them to his lips, kissed them, and still held them.

“You acted noble,[194] my boy,” said he. “Noble, Pip! And I have never forgot it!”

“Oh!” said I. “If you are grateful to me for what I did when I was a little child… If you have come here to thank me, it was not necessary. I am glad to believe you have repented and recovered yourself. I am glad to tell you so. I am glad that, thinking I deserve to be thanked, you have come to thank me. But our ways are different ways. You are wet, and you look weary. Will you drink something before you go?”

“I think,” he answered with the end at his mouth, “that I will drink (I thank you) before I go.”

There was a tray ready on a side-table. I brought it to the table near the fire, and asked him what he would have? He touched one of the bottles without looking at it or speaking, and I made him some hot rum and water.

“How are you living?” I asked him.

“I’ve been a sheep-farmer, stock-breeder, other trades besides, away in the new world,” said he; “many a thousand mile of stormy water off from this.”

“I hope you have done well?[195]”

“I’ve done wonderfully well. I’m famous for it.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“I hope to hear you say so, my dear boy.”

“May I ask you,” he said then, with a smile that was like a frown, and with a frown that was like a smile, “how you have done well, since you and me were out on them lone shivering marshes?”

“How?”

“Ah!”

He emptied his glass, got up, and stood at the side of the fire, with his heavy brown hand on the mantel-shelf. I answered that I had got some property.

“Might I ask what property?” said he.

I faltered, “I don’t know.”

“Might I ask whose property?” said he.

I faltered again, “I don’t know.”

“Could I make a guess, I wonder,” said the Convict, “at your income! As to the first figure now. Five? Concerning a guardian, as to the first letter of that lawyer’s name now. Would it be J? His name is Jaggers. How did I find you? I wrote to a person in London. That person’s name? Why, Wemmick.”

I could not have spoken one word. I stood, with a hand on the chair-back and a hand on my breast, where I seemed to be suffocating. He caught me, drew me to the sofa, put me up against the cushions, and bent on one knee before me.

“Yes, Pip, dear boy, I’ve made a gentleman on you![196] I swore that time, if I earned a guinea, that guinea should go to you. I swore afterwards, you should get rich. I worked hard, that you should be above work. Look here, Pip. I’m your second father. You’re my son. I’ve put away money, only for you to spend. I decided: when I get liberty and money, I’ll make that boy a gentleman! And I done it. Why, look at you, dear boy! A lord? Ah! You’re richer than many lords!”

In his heat and triumph, he did not notice my reaction to all this.

“Look here!” he went on, taking my watch out of my pocket, and turning towards him a ring on my finger, “gold and beauty: that’s gentleman’s, I hope! A diamond all set round with rubies; that’s a gentleman’s, I hope! Look at your linen; fine and beautiful! Look at your clothes; nothing is better! And your books too,” turning his eyes round the room, “on their shelves, by hundreds! And you read them; don’t you? I see were reading them when I came in. Ha, ha, ha! You will read them to me, dear boy!”

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

“Do not talk, Pip,” said he. “Didn’t you never think it might be me?”

“O no, no, no,” I returned, “Never, never!”

“Well, you see it was me.”

I tried to collect my thoughts, but I was stunned.

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

“To sleep?” said I.

“Yes. And to sleep long,” he answered.

“My friend and companion,” said I, rising from the sofa, “is absent; you must have his room.”

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

“No,” said I, answering almost mechanically; “not tomorrow.”

“Because, look here, dear boy,” he said, dropping his voice, and laying a long finger on my breast in an impressive manner, “caution is necessary.”

“How do you mean? Caution?”

“I was sent for life.[197] It’s death to come back.[198]”

When I had gone into Herbert’s room, and had shut off any other communication between it and the staircase than through the room in which our conversation had been held, I asked him if he would go to bed? He said yes, but asked me for some of my “gentleman’s linen” to put on in the morning. I brought it out, and laid it ready for him, and my blood again ran cold when he again took me by both hands to give me good night.

This is the end of the second stage of pip’s expectations.

Chapter 40

I could not keep him concealed in the chambers. I asked the watchman, whether he had seen anybody or not. Yes, he said; a stranger asked for you.”

“My uncle,” I muttered.

“You saw him, sir?”

“Yes. Oh yes.”

“And the person with him?”

“And the person with him!” I repeated. “What sort of person?”

The watchman had not particularly noticed; he had a dust-coloured kind of clothes on, under a dark coat.

I came back and began to wait for Him to come to breakfast. By and by, his door opened and he came out. I thought he had a worse look by daylight.

“I do not even know,” said I, speaking low as he took his seat at the table, “by what name to call you. I have given out that you are my uncle.”

“That’s it, dear boy! Call me uncle.”

“You assumed some name, I suppose, on board ship?”

“Yes, dear boy. I took the name of Provis.[199]”

“Do you mean to keep that name?”

“Why, yes, dear boy, it’s as good as another – unless you’d like another.”

“What is your real name?” I asked him in a whisper.

“Magwitch,” he answered, in the same tone; “Abel Magwitch.[200]”

“When you came in at the gate and asked the watchman the way here, had you anyone with you?”

“With me? No, dear boy.”

“Are you known in London?”

“I hope not!” said he.

“Were you tried[201] – in London?”

“Which time?” said he, with a sharp look.

“The last time.”

He nodded. “First knew Mr. Jaggers that way. Jaggers was for me.[202]”

He ate in a way that was very disagreeable, and all his actions were uncouth, noisy, and greedy. He looked terribly like a hungry old dog.

“This,” said he, “this is the gentleman what I made! The real genuine One! It does me good to look at you, Pip, dear boy!”

He took out of his pocket a great thick pocket-book, bursting with papers, and tossed it on the table.

“There’s something worth spending in that book, dear boy. It’s yours. All I’ve got isn’t mine; it’s yours!”

“Stop!” said I, almost in a frenzy of fear and dislike, “I want to speak to you. I want to know what is to be done. I want to know how you are to be kept out of danger, how long you are going to stay, what projects you have.”

“Well, dear boy, the danger isn’t so great.”

“Is there no chance person who might identify you in the street?” said I.

“Well,” he returned, “not many. Here I am. Pip, I’m here, because I wanted to see you.”

I decided to find him a quiet lodging nearby. I then went from shop to shop, making necessary purchases to the change in his appearance. After that I went to Little Britain.

Mr. Jaggers was at his desk, but, seeing me enter, got up immediately and stood before his fire.

“Now, Pip,” said he, “be careful.”

“I will, sir,” I returned

“Don’t commit yourself,[203]” said Mr. Jaggers, “and don’t commit any one. You understand – any one. Don’t tell me anything: I don’t want to know anything; I am not curious.”

Of course I saw that he knew the man was come.

“I merely want, Mr. Jaggers,” said I, “to assure myself that what I have been told is true. I have no hope of its being untrue, but at least I may verify it.”

Mr. Jaggers nodded. “But did you say ‘told’ or ‘informed’?” he asked me, with his head on one side, and not looking at me, but looking in a listening way at the floor. “Told would seem to imply verbal communication.[204] You can’t have verbal communication with a man in New South Wales,[205] you know.”

“I will say, informed, Mr. Jaggers.”

“Good.”

“I have been informed by a person named Abel Magwitch, that he is the benefactor so long unknown to me.”

“That is the man,” said Mr. Jaggers, “in New South Wales.”

“And only he?” said I.

“And only he,” said Mr. Jaggers.

“I am always supposed it was Miss Havisham.”

“Pip,” returned Mr. Jaggers, turning his eyes upon me coolly, and taking a bite at his forefinger, “I am not at all responsible for that.”

“I have no more to say,” said I, with a sigh, after standing silent for a little while. “I have verified my information, and there’s an end.”

“And Magwitch – in New South Wales – having at last disclosed himself, I communicated to Magwitch – in New South Wales – when he first wrote to me – from New South Wales. I cautioned him that he was not at all likely to obtain a pardon;[206] that his coming back would cause the extreme penalty of the law.[207] I gave Magwitch that caution,” said Mr. Jaggers, looking hard at me; “I wrote it to New South Wales. Good day, Pip, glad to have seen you. Good day, Pip!”

We shook hands, and he looked hard at me as long as he could see me.

Next day the clothes I had ordered all came home, and he put them on. One night I was roused by the welcome footstep on the staircase.

“Quiet! It’s Herbert!” I said.

“Handel, my dear fellow, how are you, and again how are you, and again how are you? Handel, my – Halloa! I beg your pardon.”

He was stopped in his running on and in his shaking hands with me, by seeing Provis.

“Herbert, my dear friend,” said I, shutting the double doors, while Herbert stood staring and wondering, “something very strange has happened. This is a visitor of mine.”

Chapter 41

“Though, look here, Pip’s comrade,” he said to Herbert, “I know the life very well. I made Pip a gentleman, and Pip is going to make you a gentleman. Dear boy, and Pip’s comrade, you two may count upon me.”

Herbert said, “Certainly,” but looked as if there were no specific consolation in this, and remained perplexed and dismayed. It was midnight before I took him round to Essex Street,[208] and saw him safely in at his own dark door. When it closed upon him, I experienced the first moment of relief I had known since the night of his arrival.

Herbert received me with open arms, and I had never felt before so well what it is to have a friend. When he had spoken some words of sympathy and encouragement, we sat down to consider the question, What was to be done?

“What,” said I to Herbert, – “what is to be done?”

“My poor dear Handel,” he replied, holding his head, “I am too stunned to think.”

“So was I, Herbert. Still, something must be done. He is intent upon various new expenses[209] – horses, and carriages, and lavish appearances of all kinds. He must be stopped somehow.”

“You mean that you can’t accept – ”

“How can I?” I interposed, as Herbert paused. “Think of him! Look at him! Yet I am afraid the dreadful truth is, Herbert, that he is attached to me, strongly attached to me!”

“My poor dear Handel,” Herbert repeated.

“Then,” said I, “after all, stopping here, never taking another penny from him, think what I owe him already! Then again: I am heavily in debt – very heavily for me, who have now no expectations, and I am fit for nothing.[210]”

“Well, well, well!” Herbert remonstrated. “Don’t say fit for nothing.”

“What am I fit for? I know only one thing that I am fit for, and that is, to go for a soldier.[211]”

“Anyhow, my dear Handel,” said Herbert presently, “soldiering won’t do. Besides, it’s absurd. You would be infinitely better in Clarriker’s house. I am working up towards a partnership, you know.”

Poor fellow! He little suspected with whose money. But what was to be done?

“The first and the main thing to be done,” said Herbert, “is to get him out of England. You will have to go with him.”

Herbert got up, and linked his arm in mine, and we slowly walked to and fro together, studying the carpet.

“Handel,” said Herbert, stopping, “you feel convinced that you can take no further benefits from him; do you?”

“Fully. Surely you would, too, if you were in my place?”

“And you feel convinced that you must break with him?”

“Herbert, can you ask me?”

“Then you must get him out of England.”

We went to bed. I had the wildest dreams concerning him.

He came round at the appointed time, took out his knife, and sat down to his meal. He was full of plans. When he had made an end of his breakfast, and was wiping his knife on his leg, I said to him, without a word of preface —

“I told my friend of the struggle that the soldiers found you engaged in on the marshes. You remember?”

“Remember!” said he. “I think so!”

“We want to know something about that man – and about you.”

Chapter 42

“Dear boy and Pip’s comrade. I am not a going to tell you my life like a song, or a story-book. In jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail, in jail and out of jail. That’s all. That’s my life.

I knew my name to be Magwitch, Abel Magwitch. Tramping, begging, thieving,[212] working sometimes when I could. A deserting soldier learnt me to read; and a travelling Giant[213] learnt me to write.

At Epsom races,[214] twenty years ago, I got acquainted with a man. His right name was Compeyson;[215] and that’s the man, dear boy, whom I was pounding in the ditch.

‘What can you do?’ said Compeyson.

‘Eat and drink,’ said I.

Compeyson laughed, looked at me again very noticing, gave me five shillings, and appointed me for next night.

I went to Compeyson next night, and Compeyson took me on to be his partner. And what was Compeyson’s business? Compeyson’s business was the swindling, handwriting forging, stolen bank-note passing, and such like.[216] He was as cold as death, and he had the head of the Devil.

There was another in with Compeyson, Arthur.[217] Arthur and Compeyson had made a bad thing with a rich lady some years before, and they’d made a pot of money by it.[218] At last, me and Compeyson was both committed for felony. Compeyson said to me, ‘Separate defences, no communication,’ and that was all.

Compeyson blamed me, and everybody was convinced that I was to blame alone. So my punishment was much harder. When we’re sentenced, he got seven years, and I got fourteen. I said to Compeyson that I’d smash his face!”

“Is he dead?” I asked, after a silence.

“Is who dead, dear boy?”

“Compeyson.”

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

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

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

I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert. We did not say anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood smoking by the fire.

Chapter 43

If Compeyson were alive and should discover his return, I could hardly doubt the consequence. Compeyson is afraid of Provis and will become an informer.

I did not tell Provis about Estella. But, I said to Herbert that, before I could go abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham. I resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and I went.

Mrs. Brandley told me that Estella had gone into the country. Where? To Miss Havisham, as usual.

Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis led us to the conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroad until I came back from Miss Havisham’s.

When I drove up to the Blue Boar after a drizzly ride, whom should I see come out under the gateway, toothpick in hand, to look at the coach, but Bentley Drummle!

“Oh!” said I, “it’s you, is it? How do you do?”

“You have just come down?” said Mr. Drummle.

“Yes,” said I.

“Beastly place,” said Drummle. “Your part of the country, I think.”

Here Mr. Drummle looked at his boots and I looked at mine, and then Mr. Drummle looked at my boots, and I looked at his.

“Have you been here long?” I asked, determined not to yield an inch of the fire.

“Long enough to be tired of it,” returned Drummle, pretending to yawn.

“Do you stay here long?”

“Can’t say,” answered Mr. Drummle. “Do you?”

“Can’t say,” said I. “Mr. Drummle, I did not seek this conversation, and I don’t think it an agreeable one.”

“I am sure it’s not,” said he.

“And therefore,” I went on, “I will suggest that we hold no kind of communication in future.”

“Quite my opinion,” said Drummle. “But don’t lose your temper. Haven’t you lost enough without that?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Waiter!” said Drummle, instead of answering me.

The waiter reappeared.

“Look here. You quite understand that the young lady doesn’t ride today, and that I dine at the young lady’s?”

“Quite so, sir!”

Chapter 44

In the room where the dressing-table stood, and where the wax candles burnt on the wall, I found Miss Havisham and Estella; Miss Havisham seated near the fire, and Estella on a cushion at her feet. Estella was knitting, and Miss Havisham was looking on. They both raised their eyes as I went in.

“And what wind,” said Miss Havisham, “blows you here, Pip?”

“Miss Havisham,” said I, “I went to Richmond yesterday, to speak to Estella.”

I took the chair by the dressing-table.

“What I had to say to Estella, Miss Havisham, I will say before you. It will not surprise you, it will not displease you. I am very unhappy.”

Miss Havisham continued to look steadily at me.

“I have found out who my patron is. It is not a fortunate discovery, and is not likely ever to enrich me in reputation, station, fortune, anything. It is not my secret, but another’s.”

“Miss Havisham, you deeply wrong both Mr. Matthew Pocket and his son Herbert.”

“They are your friends,” said Miss Havisham.

“They made themselves my friends,” said I.

Still looking at me keenly, Miss Havisham asked:

“What do you want, then?”

“Estella,” said I, turning to her now, and trying to command my trembling voice, “you know I love you. You know that I have loved you long and dearly.”

She raised her eyes to my face.

“I should have said this sooner, but I refrained from saying it. But I must say it now.”

Estella shook her head.

“I know,” said I, in answer to that action – “I know. I have no hope that I shall ever call you mine, Estella. I am ignorant what may become of me very soon, how poor I may be, or where I may go. Still, I love you. I have loved you ever since I first saw you in this house.”

Looking at me perfectly unmoved and with her fingers busy, she shook her head again.

“It seems,” said Estella, very calmly, “that there are sentiments, fancies – I don’t know how to call them – which I am not able to comprehend. When you say you love me, I know what you mean, as a form of words; but nothing more. You address nothing in my breast,[219] you touch nothing there. I don’t care for what you say at all. I have tried to warn you of this; now, have I not?”

I said in a miserable manner, “Yes.”

“Yes. I can do no more.”

“Is it not true,” said I, “that Bentley Drummle is in town here, and pursuing you?”

“It is quite true,” she replied.

“That you encourage him, and ride out with him, and that he dines with you this very day?”

She seemed a little surprised that I should know it, but again replied, “Quite true.”

“You cannot love him, Estella!”

Her fingers stopped for the first time, as she retorted rather angrily, “What have I told you? Do you still think, in spite of it, that I do not mean what I say?”

“You would never marry him, Estella?”

She looked towards Miss Havisham, and considered for a moment with her work in her hands. Then she said, “Why not tell you the truth? I am going to be married to him.”

I dropped my face into my hands.

“I am going,” she said again, in a gentler voice, “to be married to him. The preparations for my marriage are making, and I shall be married soon.”

“Such a mean brute, such a stupid brute!” I urged, in despair. “O Estella! How could I see you Drummle’s wife?”

“You will forget me in a week.”

“You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read since I first came here! You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets! O God bless you, God forgive you!”

I held her hand to my lips some moments, and so I left her.

It was past midnight when I crossed London Bridge. The night-porter examined me with much attention. To help his memory I mentioned my name.

“Here’s a note, sir. The messenger said that you should read it immediately.”

Much surprised by the request, I took the note. It was directed to Philip Pip, Esquire, and on the top were the words, “PLEASE READ THIS, HERE.” I opened it, the watchman holding up his light, and read inside, in Wemmick’s writing —

“DON’T GO HOME.”

Chapter 45

I drove to the Hummums[220] in Covent Garden. In those times a bed was always to be got there at any hour of the night.

What a doleful night! How anxious, how dismal, how long! There was a strong smell in the room of hot dust.

Why was I not to go home? What had happened at home? When should I go home? These questions were occupying my mind.

I had left directions that I was to be called at seven; for I decided to see Wemmick before seeing any one else.

“Halloa, Mr. Pip!” said Wemmick. “You did come home, then?”

“Yes,” I returned; “but I didn’t go home.”

“That’s all right,” said he, rubbing his hands. “I left a note for you at each of the Temple gates, on the chance.[221]”

I thanked him for his friendship and caution, and our discourse proceeded in a low tone.

“Now, Mr. Pip, you know,” said Wemmick, “you and I understand one another. We are in our private and personal capacities.”

I cordially assented. I was so very nervous.

“I heard there by chance, yesterday morning,” said Wemmick, “that a certain person – I don’t know who it may really be – we won’t name this person – ”

“Not necessary,” said I.

“ – Had made some noise in a certain part of the world where many people go. He disappeared from such place. I also heard that you at your chambers in Garden Court, Temple, had been watched, and might be watched again.”

“By whom?” said I.

“I wouldn’t go into that,[222]” said Wemmick, “it might clash with official responsibilities.”

“You have heard of a man of bad character, whose name is Compeyson?”

He answered with one other nod.

“Is he living?”

One other nod.

“Is he in London?”

He gave me one other nod.

“Now,” said Wemmick, “questioning is over. I went to Garden Court to find you; not finding you, I went to Clarriker’s to find Mr. Herbert. I did not mention any names. Mr. Herbert knows the house by the river-side, between Limehouse and Greenwich,[223] which is kept by a very respectable widow. It could be a house for our friend, right?”

Wemmick, having finished his breakfast, looked at his watch, and began to get his coat on.

“And now, Mr. Pip,” said he, with his hands still in the sleeves, “I have probably done the most I can do. Here’s the address. And let me give you some advice. Lay hold of his portable property.[224] You don’t know what may happen to him. Don’t let anything happen to the portable property.”

I soon fell asleep before Wemmick’s fire. When it was quite dark, I left.

Chapter 46

I found the house very easily.

“All is well, Handel,” said Herbert, “and he is quite satisfied, though eager to see you. A curious place, Handel; isn’t it?”

It was a curious place, indeed; but remarkably well kept and clean.

In his two cabin rooms at the top of the house, which were fresh and airy, I found Provis comfortably settled. His coming back was a venture, he said, and he had always known it to be a venture.

Herbert, who had been looking at the fire, here said that something had come into his thoughts. “We are both good watermen, Handel, and could take him down the river ourselves when the right time comes.”

I liked this scheme, and Provis was quite elated by it.

“I don’t like to leave you here,” I said to Provis, “though I cannot doubt that you are safer here than near me. Good bye!”

“Dear boy,” he answered, clasping my hands, “I don’t know when we may meet again, and I don’t like good bye. Say good night!”

“Good night! Herbert will go regularly between us, and when the time comes you may be certain I shall be ready. Good night, good night!”

We thought it best that he should stay in his own rooms; and we left him on the landing outside his door.

All things were as quiet in the Temple as ever I had seen them. The windows of the rooms on that side, lately occupied by Provis, were dark and still.

Next day I set myself to get the boat. It was soon done, and the boat was brought round to the Temple stairs, and lay where I could reach her within a minute or two. Then, I began to practice: sometimes alone, sometimes with Herbert. But I was always full of fears for the man who was in hiding, that Magwitch.

Chapter 47

Some weeks passed without bringing any change. We waited for Wemmick, and he made no sign.

My affairs began to wear a gloomy appearance, and I was pressed for money by more than one creditor. Even I myself began to know the want of money (I mean of ready money in my own pocket). But I had quite determined that it would be a heartless fraud to take more money from my patron in the existing state of my uncertain thoughts and plans. Therefore, I had sent him the pocket-book by Herbert, to hold in his own keeping, and I felt a kind of satisfaction.

It was an unhappy life that I lived. Condemned to inaction, I rowed about in my boat, and waited, waited, waited, as I best could.

One afternoon, late in the month of February, I came ashore at dusk. As it was a raw evening, and I was cold, I thought I would comfort myself with dinner at once. Afterwards I went to the play. The theatre where Mr. Wopsle had achieved his triumph was in that water-side neighborhood, and to that theatre I resolved to go.

After the play I greeted Mr. Wopsle.

“How do you do?” said I, shaking hands with him as we turned down the street together. “I saw that you saw me.”

“Saw you, Mr. Pip!” he returned. “Yes, of course I saw you. But who else was there?”

“Who else?”

“It is the strangest thing,” said Mr. Wopsle, drifting into his lost look again. “You’ll hardly believe what I am going to tell you. I could hardly believe it myself, if you told me.”

“Indeed?” said I.

“No, indeed. Mr. Pip, you remember in old times a certain Christmas Day, when you were quite a child, and I dined at Gargery’s, and some soldiers came to the door to get a pair of handcuffs mended?”

“I remember it very well.”

“And you remember that there was a chase after two convicts, and that we joined in it, and that Gargery took you on his back, and that I took the lead?”

“I remember it all very well.” Better than he thought.

“Then, Mr. Pip, one of those two prisoners sat behind you tonight. I saw him over your shoulder.”

“But,” I asked him then, “which of the two do you suppose you saw?”

“The one who had been mauled,” he answered readily, “and I’ll swear I saw him! The more I think of him, the more certain I am of him.”

“This is very curious!” said I, with the best assumption I could put on of its being nothing more to me. “Very curious indeed!”

I put such questions to Mr. Wopsle as, When did the man come in? He could not tell me that; he saw me, and over my shoulder he saw the man. How was he dressed? He thought, in black.

It was between twelve and one o’clock when I reached the Temple, and the gates were shut. No one was near me when I went in and went home.

Herbert had come in, and we held a very serious council by the fire. But there was nothing to be done.

Chapter 48

The second meeting occurred about a week after the first. I was strolling along the street, when a large hand was laid upon my shoulder. It was Mr. Jaggers’s hand.

“As we are going in the same direction, Pip, we may walk together. Where are you going to?”

“To the Temple, I think,” said I.

“Don’t you know?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Well,” I returned, “I do not know, for I have not made up my mind.[225]”

“You are going to dine?” said Mr. Jaggers. “Are you engaged?”

“No, I am not engaged.”

“Then,” said Mr. Jaggers, “come and dine with me.”

I was going to excuse myself, when he added, “Wemmick’s coming.” So I changed my excuse into an acceptance.

At the office in Little Britain there was the usual letter-writing, hand-washing, candle-snuffing, and safe-locking, that closed the business of the day. We went to Gerrard Street, all three together. And, as soon as we got there, dinner was served. Wemmick turned his eyes on Mr. Jaggers whenever he raised them from the table, and was as dry and distant to me as if there were twin Wemmicks, and this was the wrong one.

“Did you send that note of Miss Havisham’s to Mr. Pip, Wemmick?” Mr. Jaggers asked, soon after we began dinner.

“No, sir,” returned Wemmick; “it was going by post, when you brought Mr. Pip into the office. Here it is.” He handed it to Mr. Jaggers instead of to me.

“It’s a note of two lines, Pip,” said Mr. Jaggers, handing it on, “Miss Havisham tells me that she wants to see you. You’ll go down?”

“Yes,” said I, casting my eyes over the note.

“When do you think of going down?”

“At once, I think.”

“If Mr. Pip has the intention of going at once,” said Wemmick to Mr. Jaggers, “he needn’t write an answer, you know.”

I settled that I would go tomorrow, and said so.

“So, Pip! Our friend the Spider,” said Mr. Jaggers, “has played his cards. He has won the pool.[226] So here’s to Mrs. Bentley Drummle. Now, Molly, Molly, Molly, Molly, how slow you are today!”

It was a dull evening. We took our leave early, and left together. Mr. Jaggers went away. I felt that the right Wemmick was on his way back.

“Well!” said Wemmick, “that’s over!”

I asked him if he had ever seen Miss Havisham’s adopted daughter, Mrs. Bentley Drummle.

“Wemmick,” said I, “do you remember telling me, before I first went to Mr. Jaggers’s private house, to notice that housekeeper?”

“Did I?” he replied. “Ah, I dare say I did,” he added, suddenly.

“A wild beast tamed, you called her.”

“And what do you call her?”

“The same. How did Mr. Jaggers tame her, Wemmick?”

“That’s his secret. She has been with him for many years.”

“I wish you would tell me her story. You know that what is said between you and me goes no further.”

“Well!” Wemmick replied, “I don’t know her story – that is, I don’t know all of it. But what I do know I’ll tell you. We are in our private and personal capacities, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Twenty years ago that woman was tried at the Old Bailey[227] for murder, and was acquitted. She was a very handsome young woman, and I believe had some gypsy blood in her.”

“But she was acquitted.”

“Mr. Jaggers was for her,” pursued Wemmick, with a look full of meaning, “and worked the case in a way quite astonishing. He worked it himself at the police-office, day after day for many days. The murdered person was a woman – a woman ten years older, very much larger, and very much stronger. It was a case of jealousy. They both led tramping lives, and this woman in Gerrard Street here had been married very young to a tramping man, and was fury in her jealousy. The murdered woman was found dead in a barn. There had been a violent struggle, perhaps a fight. Mr. Jaggers saved Molly.”

“Has she been in his service ever since?[228]”

“Yes; but not only that,” said Wemmick, “They said she had a child.”

“Do you remember the sex of the child?”

“A girl.”

“You have nothing more to say to me tonight?”

We exchanged a cordial good-night, and I went home.

Chapter 49

I went down again by the coach next day.

An elderly woman, whom I had seen before as one of the servants who lived in the small house across the back courtyard, opened the gate. The lighted candle stood in the dark passage within, as usual, and I took it up and ascended the staircase alone. Miss Havisham was not in her own room, but was in the larger room. Her eyes rested on me. She stared, and said in a low voice, “Is it real?”

“It is I, Pip. Mr. Jaggers gave me your note yesterday, and I have lost no time.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

As I brought another of the ragged chairs to the hearth and sat down, I remarked a new expression on her face, as if she were afraid of me.

“Are you very unhappy now?”

I could not reply at the moment, for my voice failed me. She put her left arm across the head of her stick, and softly laid her forehead on it.

“I am far from happy, Miss Havisham.”

After a little while, she raised her head, and looked at the fire again.

“O!” she cried. “What have I done! What have I done!”

“If you mean, Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me, let me answer. Very little. I should have loved her under any circumstances.[229] Is she married?”

“Yes. What have I done! What have I done!” She wrung her hands, and crushed her white hair, and returned to this cry over and over again. “What have I done!”

I knew not how to answer, or how to comfort her.

“What have I done! What have I done!” And so again, twenty, fifty times over, What had she done! “Pip – my dear! My dear! Believe this: when she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. At first, I meant no more.”

“Well, well!” said I. “I hope so.”

“But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did worse, and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with my teachings, and with this figure of myself always before her, I stole her heart away, and put ice in its place. If you knew all my story,” she pleaded, “you would have some compassion for me and a better understanding of me.”

“Miss Havisham,” I answered, as delicately as I could, “I believe I may say that I do know your story, and have known it ever since I first left this neighborhood. But may I ask you a question relative to Estella?”

She was seated on the ground, with her arms on the ragged chair, and her head leaning on them. She looked at me when I said this, and replied, “Go on.”

“Whose child was Estella?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head again.

“But Mr. Jaggers brought her here, or sent her here?”

“Brought her here. I told him that I wanted a little girl to rear and love. He told me that he would try to find an orphan child. One night he brought her here asleep, and I called her Estella.”

“Might I ask her age then?”

“Two or three. She herself knows nothing, but that she was left an orphan and I adopted her.”

What more could I hope to learn here? Miss Havisham had told me all she knew of Estella, I had said and done what I could to ease her mind. We parted.

This place and time, and the great terror of this illusion, though it was but momentary, caused me to feel an awe. But before my going out I went up again.

I looked into the room where I had left Miss Havisham, and I saw her seated in the ragged chair upon the hearth close to the fire, with her back towards me. In the moment when I was withdrawing my head to go quietly away, I saw a great flaming light spring up. In the same moment I saw her running at me.

I had a coat on. I got it off, closed with her, threw her down, and got it over her. Then, I looked round and saw the disturbed beetles and spiders running away over the floor, and the servants coming in with breathless cries at the door.

Miss Havisham did not move, and I was afraid to move or even touch her. Assistance was sent for,[230] and I held her until it came.

I found, on questioning the servants, that Estella was in Paris, and I got a promise from the surgeon that he would write to her by the next post.

Chapter 50

My left arm was burned to the elbow, and it was very painful. My right hand was not so badly burnt but that I could move the fingers. My hair had been caught by the fire, but not my head or face.

My first question when I saw Herbert had been of course, whether all was well down the river? He replied in the affirmative.

“I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two hours. Do you know, Handel, he improves?”

“I said to you I thought he was softened when I last saw him.”

“So you did. And so he is. He was very communicative last night, and told me more of his life. He told me about some woman that he had had great trouble with. Shall I tell you?”

“Tell me by all means. Every word.”

“It seems,” said Herbert, “that the woman was a young woman, and a jealous woman, Handel, to the last degree.”

“To what last degree?”

“Murder.”

“How did she murder? Whom did she murder?”

“She was tried for it,” said Herbert, “and Mr. Jaggers defended her, and the reputation of that defence first made his name known to Provis. This acquitted young woman and Provis had a little child; a little child of whom Provis was exceedingly fond. After the acquittal she disappeared, and thus he lost the child and the child’s mother.”

“Herbert,” said I, after a short silence, in a hurried way, “The man we have in hiding down the river, is Estella’s Father.”

Chapter 51

There were some occasions when Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick went over the office accounts, and put all things straight. On these occasions, Wemmick took his books and papers into Mr. Jaggers’s room, and one of the up-stairs clerks came down into the outer office. Finding such clerk on Wemmick’s post that morning, I knew what was going on. “Miss Havisham was good enough to ask me,” I said, “whether she could do nothing for me, and I told her No.”

“Everybody should know his own business,” said Mr. Jaggers. And I saw Wemmick’s lips form the words “portable property.”

“I should not have told her No, if I had been you,” said Mr Jaggers; “but every man ought to know his own business best.”

“I did ask something of Miss Havisham, however, sir. I asked her to give me some information relative to her adopted daughter, and she gave me all she possessed.”

“Did she?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“I know more of the history of Miss Havisham’s adopted child than Miss Havisham herself does, sir. I know her mother.”

Mr. Jaggers looked at me, and repeated “Mother?”

“I have seen her mother within these three days.”

“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“And so have you, sir. And you have seen her still more recently.”

“Yes?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Perhaps I know more of Estella’s history than even you do,” said I. “I know her father too.”

“So! You know the young lady’s father, Pip?” said Mr. Jaggers.

“Yes,” I replied, “and his name is Provis – from New South Wales.”

“And on what evidence, Pip,” asked Mr. Jaggers, very coolly, as he paused with his handkerchief half way to his nose, “does Provis make this claim?”

“He does not make it,” said I, “and has never made it, and has no knowledge or belief that his daughter is alive.”

“Hah!” said Mr. Jaggers at last, as he moved towards the papers on the table. “For whose sake would you reveal the secret? For the father’s? I think he would not be much the better for the mother. For the mother’s? I think if she had done such a deed she would be safer where she was. For the daughter’s? I think it would hardly serve her to establish her parentage[231] for the information of her husband. Now, Wemmick, what item was it you were at when Mr. Pip came in?[232]”

Chapter 52

Clarriker informed me that the affairs of the House were steadily progressing, that he would now be able to establish a small branch-house in the East, and that Herbert in his new partnership capacity would go out and take charge of it.

It was the month of March. My right arm was restored.

On a Monday morning, when Herbert and I were at breakfast, I received the following letter from Wemmick by the post.

“Walworth. Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week, or say Wednesday, you might do what you know of.[233] Now burn.”

When I had shown this to Herbert and had put it in the fire, we considered what to do. I could not row.

“I have thought it over again and again,” said Herbert, “and I think I know what to do: we will take Startop. A good fellow, a skilled hand, and enthusiastic and honorable.”

I had thought of him more than once.

“But how much would you tell him, Herbert?”

“It is necessary to tell him very little. Let him know that there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and away. You go with him?”

“No doubt.”

“Where?”

I thought about Hamburg, Rotterdam, Antwerp[234] – he must be out of England. Any foreign steamer that would take us up would do.[235]

We found that a steamer for Hamburg was likely to suit our purpose best, and we directed our thoughts chiefly to that vessel. Herbert went to see Startop at his lodgings. We both did what we had to do without any hindrance, and when we met again. I, for my part, was prepared with passports; Herbert had seen Startop, and he was more than ready to join.

Chapter 53

Herbert lay asleep in his bed, and our old fellow-student lay asleep on the sofa. I made up the fire, and got some coffee ready for them. In good time they too started up strong and well, and we admitted the sharp morning air at the windows, and looked at the tide that was still flowing towards us.

“When it turns at nine o’clock,” said Herbert, cheerfully, “look out for us, and stand ready, you over there at Mill Pond Bank![236]”

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. I took a bag. Of all my worldly possessions I took no more than the few necessaries that filled the bag. My mind was wholly set on Provis’s safety.

We loitered down to the Temple stairs, and stood there. After that we went on board and cast off; Herbert in the bow, I steering. It was then half-past eight.

Our plan was this. The steamer for Hamburg and the steamer for Rotterdam would start from London at about nine on Thursday morning. We should know at what time to expect them, and would hail the first; so that, if by any accident we were not taken abroad, we should have another chance. We knew the distinguishing marks of each vessel.

The crisp air, the sunlight, the movement on the river, and the moving river itself freshened me with new hope.

Now I, sitting in the stern, could see, with a faster beating heart, Mill Pond Bank and Mill Pond stairs.

“Is he there?” said Herbert.

“Not yet.”

“Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his signal?”

“Not well from here; but I think I see it. – Now I see him! Pull both. Easy, Herbert. Oars!”

Provis had his boat-cloak on him, and looked a natural part of the scene. It was remarkable that he was the least anxious of any of us.

“If you knew, dear boy,” he said to me, “what it is to sit here with my dear boy and have my smoke, after being between four walls! But you don’t know what it is.”

“I think I know the delights of freedom,” I answered.

“Ah,” said he, shaking his head gravely. “But you don’t know it equal to me.”

“If all goes well,” said I, “you will be perfectly free and safe again within a few hours.”

“Well,” he returned, drawing a long breath, “I hope so.”

The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the sunshine was very cheering. The tide ran strong.

Our oarsmen[237] were still fresh. We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank what we had with us, and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim horizon.

We pushed off again. It was much harder work now, but Herbert and Startop rowed and rowed and rowed until the sun went down.

Finally we ran alongside a little causeway made of stones. Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light to be in a window of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough; but there was a good fire in the kitchen, and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various liquors to drink. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms. No other company was in the house than the landlord, his wife, and a worker.

I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a few hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house was creaking and banging about. I looked out of the window and I saw two men looking into our boat.

My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going away. But reflecting, before I got into his room, which was at the back of the house, that he and Startop had had a harder day than I, and were fatigued, I forbore. Going back to my window, I could see the two men moving over the marsh. In that light, however, I soon lost them, and, feeling very cold, lay down to think of the matter, and fell asleep again.

We were up early.

Provis smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on the shoulder. It seemed that it was I who was in danger, not he, and that he was reassuring me. We spoke very little. By that time it was ten minutes of one o’clock, and we began to look out for the steamer’s smoke.

But, it was half-past one before we saw the smoke, and soon afterwards we saw behind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on at full speed, we got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity of saying good by to Herbert and Startop. We had all shaken hands cordially, and neither Herbert’s eyes nor mine were quite dry, when I saw a strange boat a little way ahead of us.

The galley was visible, it was coming head on. I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide, that she might see us lying by for her, and I adjured Provis to sit quite still, wrapped in his cloak. He answered cheerily, “Trust to me, dear boy,” and sat like a statue. Meantime the galley had crossed us.

“You have a returned Transport there,[238]” said the man who held the lines. “That’s the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, otherwise Provis. I apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender, and you to assist.”

At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew, he ran the galley abroad of us. They were holding on to us, before we knew what they were doing. This caused great confusion on board the steamer,[239] and I heard them calling to us. In the same moment I saw the face of the other convict of long ago, and heard a great cry on board the steamer, and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.

Magwitch fell in the water with his enemy. They drowned together, and Magwitch went up alone. He began to swim, but he was not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled at the wrists and ankles.

Magwitch – Provis no longer – had received some very severe injury in the chest, and a deep cut in the head. The injury to his chest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought he had received against the side of the galley.

Chapter 54

We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then Magwitch was carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and Startop were to get to London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful parting, and when I took my place by Magwitch’s side, I felt that that was my place while he lived.

In the hunted, wounded creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had been my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately and gratefully towards me with great constancy through a series of years. I only saw in him a much better man than I had been to Joe.

His breathing became more difficult and painful, and often he could not repress a groan. That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope.[240] He who had been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since broken prison and had been tried again, who had returned from transportation under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who was the cause of his arrest.

“Dear boy,” he said, “I’m quite content. I’ve seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me.”

No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No. I understood Wemmick’s hint now. I foresaw that Magwitch’s possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.[241]

“Look here, dear boy,” said he. “Only come to see me. Sit where I can see you, and I don’t ask anymore.”

“I will never leave you,” said I, “I will be as true to you as you have been to me!”

Chapter 55

He was taken to the Police Court next day. Mr. Jaggers told me that the case must be over in five minutes, and that no power on earth could prevent its going against us.

Mr. Jaggers was angry with me for having “let money slip through my fingers.” I understood that very well. I was not connected with Magwitch by any tie.

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

“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you. I shall go to Cairo, and I am very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me.”

“Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you; but my need is no greater now than at another time.”

“You will be so lonely.”

“My dear fellow,” said Herbert, “have you thought of your future?”

“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.”

“My dear dear Handel, in the branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a – ”

I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, “A clerk.”

“A clerk. And I hope that he may expand (as a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now, Handel – in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?”

I thanked him heartily, but said I could not yet make sure of joining him as he so kindly offered.

On the Saturday in that same week, I took my leave of Herbert. Then I went into a coffee-house; and on the stairs I encountered Wemmick, who was coming down.

“You don’t blame me, I hope, Mr. Pip?” said Wemmick, “I am sure I tried to serve you, with all my heart.”

“I am as sure of that, Wemmick, as you can be, and I thank you most earnestly for all your interest and friendship.”

“Thank you, thank you very much. It’s a bad job,” said Wemmick, scratching his head, “So much portable property! Lost! Gone!”

“What I think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property.”

Chapter 56

Magwitch lay in prison very ill. He had broken two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathed with great pain and difficulty. He spoke so low; therefore he spoke very little. But he was ever ready to listen to me; and it became the first duty of my life to say to him, and read to him.

I saw him every day; he wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, day by day.

The trial was very short and very clear. The punishment for his return to the land that had cast him out, was death, so he had to prepare himself to die.

I earnestly hoped and prayed that he might die before the execution. As the days went on, I noticed more and more that he would lie looking at the white ceiling.

The number of the days had risen to ten, when I saw a greater change in him than I had seen yet. His eyes were turned towards the door, and lighted up as I entered.

“Dear boy,” he said, as I sat down by his bed: “Thank you, dear boy. God bless you! You’ve never deserted me, dear boy.”

I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I had once meant to desert him.

He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty.

“Are you in much pain today?”

“I don’t complain, dear boy.”

“You never do complain.”

He had spoken his last words. He smiled, and I understood his touch to mean that he wished to lift my hand, and lay it on his breast. I laid it there, and he smiled again, and put both his hands upon it.

“Dear Magwitch, I must tell you now, at last. You understand what I say?”

A gentle pressure on my hand.

“You had a child once, whom you loved and lost.”

A stronger pressure on my hand.

“She lived, and found powerful friends. She is living now. She is a lady and very beautiful. And I love her!”

With a last faint effort, he raised my hand to his lips. The placid look at the white ceiling came back, and passed away, and his head dropped quietly on his breast.

I knew there were no better words that I could say beside his bed, than “O Lord, be merciful to him a sinner![242]”

Chapter 57

I was in debt, and had scarcely any money, and began to be seriously alarmed by the state of my affairs. My illness was coming on me now.

For a day or two, I lay on the sofa, or on the floor with a heavy head and aching limbs, and no purpose, and no power. One day I saw two men looking at me.

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

“Well, sir,” returned one of them, bending down and touching me on the shoulder, “I dare say, but you’re arrested.”

“What is the debt?”

“Hundred and twenty-three pound, fifteen, six. Jeweller’s account, I think.”

“You see my state,” said I. “I would come with you if I could; but indeed I am quite unable. If you take me from here, I think I shall die by the way.”

I had a fever and was avoided, I suffered greatly, I often lost my reason.

After I had turned the worst point of my illness, I opened my eyes in the night, and I saw, in the great chair at the bedside, Joe. I opened my eyes in the day, and, sitting on the window-seat, smoking his pipe in the shaded open window, still I saw Joe. I asked for cooling drink, and the dear hand that gave it me was Joe’s. I sank back on my pillow after drinking, and the face that looked so hopefully and tenderly upon me was the face of Joe.

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

And the dear old home-voice answered, “Yes, that’s me, old chap.”

After which, Joe withdrew to the window, and stood with his back towards me, wiping his eyes.

“How long, dear Joe?”

“You mean, Pip, how long have your illness lasted, dear old chap?”

“Yes, Joe.”

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

“And have you been here all that time, dear Joe?”

“Yes, old chap. When the news of your illness were brought by letter, Biddy said, ‘Go to him, without loss of time.’”

I kissed his hand, and lay quiet, while he proceeded to write a note to Biddy, with my love in it. Evidently Biddy had taught Joe to write.

I asked Joe about Miss Havisham. He shook his head.

“Is she dead, Joe?”

“Why you see, old chap,” said Joe, “She isn’t living.”

“Dear Joe, have you heard what becomes of her property?”

“Well, old chap,” said Joe, “it do appear that she had settled the most of it on Miss Estella. But she left four thousand to Mr. Matthew Pocket.”

“Have you heard, Joe,” I asked him that evening, upon further consideration, as he smoked his pipe at the window, “who my patron was?”

“I heard,” returned Joe, “it was not Miss Havisham, old chap.”

“Did you hear who it was, Joe?”

“Well! I heard it was a person who sent the person who gave you the bank-notes at the Jolly Bargemen, Pip.”

“So it was.”

“Astonishing!” said Joe, in the placidest way.

“Did you hear that he was dead, Joe?” I presently asked, with increasing diffidence.

“I think so,” said Joe.”

“Did you hear anything of his circumstances, Joe?”

“Not much, Pip.”

“If you would like to hear, Joe – ” I was beginning, when Joe got up and came to my sofa.

“Look here, old chap,” said Joe, bending over me. “We are the best of friends; aren’t us, Pip?”

I was ashamed to answer him.

“Very good, then,” said Joe, as if I had answered; “that’s all right. Let’s not speak about unnecessary things, right? You are quite tired, you must have your supper and your wine and water, and sleep.”

Time was flying, and I was recovering. We had a quiet day on the Sunday, and we rode out into the country, and then walked in the fields.

“I feel thankful that I have been ill, Joe,” I said. “It has been a memorable time for me. We have had a time together, Joe, that I can never forget.”

When I got up in the morning, refreshed and stronger yet, I was full of my resolution to tell Joe all, without delay. I would tell him before breakfast. I went to his room, and he was not there. Not only was he not there, but his box was gone.

I hurried then to the breakfast-table, and on it found a letter.

“I have departured for you are well again, dear Pip and will do better without Joe.”

Enclosed in the letter was a receipt for the debt and costs on which I had been arrested. Joe had paid the money, and the receipt was in his name.

What remained for me now, but to follow him to the dear old forge, and something had formed into a settled purpose.

The purpose was, that I would go to Biddy, that I would show her how humbled and repentant I came back, that I would tell her how I had lost all I once hoped for. Then I would say to her, “Biddy, I think you once liked me very well, when my errant heart was quieter and better with you than it ever has been since. If you can like me only half as well once more, if you can take me with all my faults and disappointments on my head, if you can receive me like a forgiven child, I hope I am a little worthier of you that I was[243] – not much, but a little. And now, dear Biddy, if you can tell me that you will go through the world with me, you will surely make it a better world for me, and me a better man for it, and I will try hard to make it a better world for you.”

Such was my purpose.

Chapter 58

It was evening when I arrived, much fatigued by the journey I had so often made so easily. Early in the morning, while my breakfast was getting ready, I strolled round by Miss Havisham’s House. There were printed bills on the gate and on bits of carpet hanging out of the windows, announcing a sale by auction of the Household Furniture and Effects, next week. The House itself was to be sold as old building materials, and pulled down.

When I got back to my breakfast in the Boar’s coffee-room, I found Mr. Pumblechook conversing with the landlord. Mr. Pumblechook was waiting for me, and addressed me in the following terms:

“Young man, I am sorry to see you brought low.[244] But what else could be expected! what else could be expected!”

I sat down to my breakfast. Mr. Pumblechook stood over me and poured out my tea.

“Hah!” he said, handing me the bread and butter. “Are you going to Joseph?”

“What does it matter to you,” said I, firing, “where I am going?”

The June weather was delicious. The sky was blue, the larks were soaring high over the green corn. They awakened a tender emotion in me; for my heart was softened by my return.

I went softly towards the forge, when Joe and Biddy stood before me, arm in arm.

At first Biddy gave a cry, but in another moment she was in my embrace. I wept to see her, and she wept to see me; I, because she looked so fresh and pleasant; she, because I looked so worn and white.

“But dear Biddy, how smart you are!”

“Yes, dear Pip.”

“And Joe, how smart you are!”

“Yes, dear old Pip, old chap.”

I looked at both of them, from one to the other, and then —

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

My first thought was one of great thankfulness[245] that I had never breathed this last baffled hope to Joe. How often, while he was with me in my illness, had it risen to my lips!

“Dear Biddy,” said I, “you have the best husband in the whole world. And, dear Joe, you have the best wife in the whole world, and she will make you as happy as even you deserve to be, you dear, good, noble Joe!”

Joe looked at me with a quivering lip, and fairly put his sleeve before his eyes.

“And Joe and Biddy both, receive my humble thanks for all you have done for me! But I must say more. Dear Joe, I hope you will have children to love, and that some little fellow will sit in this chimney-corner of a winter night. Now let me go up and look at my old little room, and rest there a few minutes by myself. And then, dear Joe and Biddy, we’ll say good bye!”

I sold all I had, and put aside as much as I could – and I went out and joined Herbert. Within a month, I had quitted England, and within two months I was clerk to Clarriker and Co. We were not in a grand way of business, but we had a good name, and worked for our profits, and did very well.

Chapter 59

For eleven years, I had not seen Joe nor Biddy with my eyes – when, upon an evening in December, an hour or two after dark, I laid my hand softly on the latch of the old kitchen door. I touched it so softly that I was not heard. There, smoking his pipe in the old place by the kitchen firelight, as strong as ever, though a little gray, sat Joe; and there sitting on my own little stool looking at the fire, was – I again!

“We gave him the name of Pip for your sake,[246] dear old chap,” said Joe, delighted, when I took another stool by the child’s.

“Biddy,” said I, when I talked with her after dinner, as her little girl lay sleeping in her lap, “you must give Pip to me one of these days; or lend him.”

“No, no,” said Biddy, gently. “You must marry.”

“I don’t think I shall, Biddy. I am already quite an old bachelor.”

“Dear Pip,” said Biddy, “tell me as an old, old friend. Have you quite forgotten her?

“My dear Biddy, I have forgotten nothing in my life. But that poor dream, as I once used to call it, has all gone by, Biddy – all gone by!”

Nevertheless, I knew, while I said those words, that I secretly intended to 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,[247] and who had become quite renowned as a compound of pride, avarice, and brutality. And I had heard of the death of her husband, from an accident consequent on his ill-treatment of a horse.

I walked over to the old spot before dark. There was no house now, no building whatever left, but the wall of the old garden. I pushed the gate in the fence open, and went in.

When I was looking along the desolate garden walk, I noticed a solitary figure in it. As I came nearer, I saw it to be the figure of a woman. Then it uttered my name, and I cried out —

“Estella!”

“I am greatly changed. I wonder you know me.[248]”

The freshness of her beauty was indeed gone, but its indescribable majesty and its indescribable charm remained.

We sat down on a bench that was near, and I said, “After so many years, it is strange that we should thus meet again, Estella, here where our first meeting was! Do you often come back?”

“I have never been here since.”

“Nor I.”

The moon began to rise. Estella said, “I have very often hoped and intended to come back, but have been prevented by many circumstances. Poor, poor old place! The ground belongs to me. It is my only possession. Everything else has gone from me, little by little, but I have kept this. And you, – you live abroad still?”

“Still.”

“And do well, I am sure?”

“I work pretty hard for a sufficient living, and therefore – yes, I do well.”

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

“Have you?”

“Very often.”

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

And we were silent again until she spoke.

“So, be as considerate and good to me as you were, and tell me we are friends,” said Estella.

“We are friends,” said I, rising and bending over her, as she rose from the bench.

I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and in tranquil light I saw no shadow.

Джейн Остин. Гордость и предубеждение / Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 1

Everybody knows that a single man in possession of a good fortune[249] must look for a wife.

When such a man enters a neighbourhood, the surrounding families begin to think, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

“But it is,” returned she.

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

“Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife impatiently.

“What is his name?”

“Bingley.”

“Is he married or single?”

“Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

“How so? How can it affect them?”

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.[250] When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to think about their future. My dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into the neighbourhood. Consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would be for one of them.”

“My daughters have nothing to recommend them,” replied he; “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls.”

Mr. Bennet was a mixture of quick mind, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. Her mind was less difficult to develop. She was a woman of mean understanding,[251] little information, and uncertain temper.[252] When she was discontented, she treated herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her daughters married;[253] she adored visiting and news.

Chapter 2

Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who told Mr. Bingley about his coming. Observing his second daughter decorated a hat, he suddenly told her:

“I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”

“We will never know what Mr. Bingley likes,” said her mother, “if we do not visit him.”

“And what will you say, Mary? You are a young lady of deep reflection,[254] I know, and read great books and make extracts.”

Mary wished to say something sensible, but did not know how.

“While Mary is adjusting her ideas,” he continued, “let us return to Mr. Bingley. I have actually paid the visit, so we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”

The astonishment of the ladies was just what he wished; Mrs. Bennet began to declare that it was what she had expected all the time.

“How good it was of you, my dear Mr. Bennet! I was sure you loved your girls too well to neglect such an acquaintance. Well, how pleased I am!”

“Now, Kitty, you may cough as much as you want,” said Mr. Bennet; and, as he spoke, he left the room.

“What an excellent father you have, girls!” said she, when the door was shut. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I can say Mr. Bingley will dance with you at the next ball.”

“Oh!” said Lydia stoutly, “I am not afraid; I am the youngest, but I’m the tallest.”

Chapter 3

Mr. Bingley was quite young, wonderfully handsome, extremely agreeable, and he meant to be at the next assembly with a large party. Nothing could be more delightful! To be fond of dancing[255] was a certain step towards falling in love.

“If I can see one of my daughters happily settled at Netherfield,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well married, I shall have nothing to wish for.[256]”

In a few days Mr. Bingley returned Mr. Bennet’s visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. He had hoped to see young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father.

Mr. Bingley was going to bring twelve ladies and seven gentlemen with him to the assembly. The girls grieved over such a number of ladies, but were comforted the day before the ball by hearing, that instead of twelve he brought only six with him from London – his five sisters and a cousin. And when the party entered the assembly room it consisted of only five altogether – Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the eldest, and another young man.

Mr. Bingley was good-looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant look, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women. His brother-in-law merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report of his having ten thousand a year.[257] The gentlemen declared him to be a real man, the ladies declared he was much handsomer than Mr. Bingley, and he was looked at[258] with great admiration for about half the evening. But his manners made his popularity go down. Hew was very proud and he was above his company.

Mr. Bingley had soon made himself acquainted with all the people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, danced every dance, and was angry that the ball closed so early. Such amiable qualities must speak for themselves. What a contrast between him and his friend! Mr. Darcy danced only once with Miss Bingley, and spent the rest of the evening in walking about the room. His character was decided.[259] He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again. Amongst the most violent against him was Mrs. Bennet.

Elizabeth Bennet was sitting by the wall. Mr. Darcy was standing near enough for her to hear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes, to force his friend to join it.

“Come, Darcy,” said he, “Dance! I hate to see you standing here in this stupid manner.”

“I certainly shall not. There is no woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to dance with.”

“Oh,” cried Mr. Bingley, “Upon my honour,[260] I never met so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening.”

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.

“Yes, she is the most beautiful person I ever met! But there is one of her sisters sitting just behind you, who is very pretty, and very agreeable.”

“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth. He withdrew his eyes and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to bother me. My friend, you are just wasting your time with me.”

Mr. Bingley followed his advice. Mr. Darcy walked out; and Elizabeth did not have cordial feelings toward him.

But in general the evening went pleasantly to the whole family. Mrs. Bennet was very glad. Mr. Bingley had danced with her eldest daughter twice. Jane was happy, too. Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure.[261] Catherine and Lydia had been lucky enough never to be without partners. They returned, therefore, in good spirits to Longbourn, the village where they lived.

“Oh! my dear Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Bennet as she entered the room, “we have had a most delightful evening, a most excellent ball. I wish you had been there. Everybody said how well Jane looked; and Mr. Bingley danced with her twice! Only think of that, my dear; he actually danced with her twice! and she was the only creature in the room that he asked a second time. He is so excessively handsome! And his sisters are charming women. I never in my life saw anything more elegant than their dresses.”

Then she told about the shocking rudeness of Mr. Darcy.

“But I can assure you,” she added, “that Lizzy did not lose much; for he is a most disagreeable, horrid man. He walked here, and he walked there, I quite detest this man.”

Chapter 4

When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, Jane expressed to her sister just how very much she admired Mr. Bingley.

“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good-humoured, lively; and I’ve never seen such happy manners!”

“He is also handsome,” replied Elizabeth, “His character is thereby complete.”

“I was very much surprised when he asked me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment.”

“Did not you? What could be more natural than his asking you again? He noticed that you were the prettiest girl in the room. Well, he certainly is very agreeable. You have liked many a stupider person.[262]”

“Dear Lizzy!”

“Oh! you like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. All the world are good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a person in your life.”

“I always speak what I think.”

“I know; and it is that which makes the wonder. With your good sense, to be so honestly blind to the follies and nonsense of others! And so you like Mr. Bingley’s sisters, too, do you? Their manners are not equal to his.”

“Certainly not – at first. But they are very pleasing women when you talk to them. Miss Bingley wants to live with her brother, and keep his house.”

Elizabeth listened in silence. Mr. Bingley’s sisters were in fact very fine ladies; they were rather handsome, had been educated in one of the first private seminaries in town, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, and thought well of themselves, and meanly of others. They were of a respectable family in the north of England.

Mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father. Between him and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character. Darcy liked the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was not stupid, but Darcy was cleverer.

The manner in which they spoke of the assembly was sufficiently characteristic. Bingley had never met with more pleasant people or prettier girls in his life; everybody had been most kind and attentive to him; there had been no formality, no stiffness; he had soon felt acquainted with all everybody. And, as to Miss Bennet,[263] he could not imagine an angel more beautiful. Darcy, on the contrary, had seen a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion, for none of whom he had felt the smallest interest, and from none received either attention or pleasure. Miss Bennet was pretty, but she smiled too much.

Chapter 5

Within a short walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Lady Lucas was a very good kind of woman, not too clever to be a valuable neighbour to Mrs. Bennet. Her eldest daughter, a sensible, intelligent young woman, about twenty-seven, was Elizabeth’s best friend.

Miss Lucas and Miss Bennet met to talk about the ball, it was absolutely necessary.

“You began the evening well, Charlotte,” said Mrs. Bennet to Miss Lucas. “You were Mr. Bingley’s first choice.”

“Yes; but he seemed to like his second better.”

“Oh! you mean Jane, I suppose, because he danced with her twice.”

“But Darcy!” said Charlotte. “He is terrible.”

“Miss Bingley told me,” said Jane, “that he never speaks much, unless among his intimate acquaintances. With them he is agreeable.”

“I wish he had danced with Eliza,” said Miss Lucas.

“Another time, Lizzy,” said her mother, “I would not dance with him, if I were you.”

“I believe, ma’am, I may promise you never to dance with him.”

“His pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. We cannot wonder that a young man, with family, fortune, everything, should think highly of himself. He has a right to be proud.”

“Pride,” observed Mary, “is a very common failing, I believe. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

“If I were as rich as Mr. Darcy,” cried a young Lucas, who came with his sisters, “I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of dogs,[264] and drink a bottle of wine a day.”

Chapter 6

The ladies of Longbourn soon visited Netherfield. The visit was soon returned. Miss Bennet’s pleasing manners made good impressions; and though the mother was found to be intolerable,[265] and the younger sisters not worth speaking to,[266] the two eldest were very nice and well-behaved. By Jane, this attention was received with the greatest pleasure, but could not like them.

Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy was caught by her playfulness. But Elizabeth did not know anything. To her he was only the man who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.[267]

He began to wish to know more of her. Once at Sir William Lucas’s a large party was assembled.

Sir William began: “What a charming amusement for young people the balls are, Mr. Darcy! There is nothing like dancing after all.”

“Certainly, sir; every savage can dance.”

Sir William only smiled. “Your friend performs delightfully,” he continued after a pause; “Do you often dance?”

“Never, sir.”

He paused in hopes of an answer; and Elizabeth at that instant moved towards them. Sir William called out to her:

“My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing? Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he gave it to Mr. Darcy. But Elizabeth instantly drew back, and said to Sir William:

“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.”

Mr. Darcy requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined.

“You dance so well, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you.”

“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,[268]” said Elizabeth, smiling. She looked archly, and turned away.

Chapter 7

Mr. Bennet’s property consisted almost entirely in an estate of two thousand a year, which, unfortunately for his daughters, was entailed, in default of heirs male, on a distant relation.[269]

The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient distance for the young ladies, who were usually going three or four times a week, to pay their duty to their aunt. The two youngest of the family, Catherine and Lydia, went there very often. Meryton was the headquarters for the officers.

Young sisters could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley’s large fortune was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the officer’s coat.

After listening one morning to their talking, Mr. Bennet observed:

“You must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced.”

Catherine was disconcerted, and made no answer; but Lydia, with perfect indifference, continued to express her admiration of Captain Carter, who was going the next morning to London.

“My dear Mrs. Bennet, you must not expect such girls to have the sense of their father and mother,” said Mr. Bennet.

“When they get to our age, I dare say they will not think about officers any more. I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well – and, indeed, if a smart young colonel, with five or six thousand a year, should want one of my girls I shall not say “no” to him.”

Suddenly a letter for Miss Bennet arrived; it came from Netherfield, and the servant waited for an answer. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled with pleasure,

“Well, Jane, who is it from? What is it about? What does he say? Well, Jane, make haste and tell us; make haste, my love.”

“It is from Miss Bingley,” said Jane, and then read it aloud.

“MY DEAR FRIEND, —

“If you are not so kind to dine today with Louisa and me, we will hate each other, because a whole day between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can. My brother and the gentlemen will dine with the officers.

Yours,

“Caroline Bingley”

“With the officers!” cried Lydia.

“Dining out,” said Mrs. Bennet, “that is very unlucky.”

“Can I have the carriage?” said Jane.

“No, my dear, you had better go on horseback,[270] because it seems likely to rain; and then you must stay all night.”

So Jane was therefore obliged to go on horseback, and her mother attended her to the door. Soon it rained hard. Her sisters were worried about her, but her mother was delighted. The rain continued the whole evening; Jane certainly could not come back.

“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs. Bennet. But the next morning a servant from Netherfield brought the following note for Elizabeth:

“My dearest Lizzy, —

“I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is due to my getting wet through yesterday. My kind friends invited me to stay here. The doctor will come in a while, so do not worry. I have a sore throat and headache.

– Your Jane.”

“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet, when Elizabeth had read the note aloud, “if your daughter should die, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley.”

“Oh! I am not afraid, people do not die of colds. She will be taken good care of.[271] As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”

Elizabeth decided to go with her, but she could not ride the horse, so she decided to walk. She declared her resolution.

“How can you be so silly,” cried her mother, “in all this dirt!”

“But I shall see Jane – that is all I want. The distance is nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner.”

Elizabeth’s appearance made a great surprise. She was walking three miles so early, in such dirty weather. It was incredible to everybody. She was received, however, very politely by them; and in their brother’s manners there was something better than politeness; there was good humour and kindness. Mr. Darcy said very little, he was thinking of her beauty.

Miss Bennet was not well enough to leave her room. Elizabeth was glad to see her immediately.

When breakfast was over Mr. Bingley’s sisters came; and Elizabeth began to like them, when she saw how much affection they showed for Jane. The doctor came, and examined his patient. He that she had caught a violent cold; advised her to return to bed. The advice was followed readily. Elizabeth did not quit her room for a moment.

Chapter 8

At five o’clock the two ladies retired to dress, and at half-past six Elizabeth was called to dinner.

Jane was not better. The sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how they disliked being ill themselves.

When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began to abuse Elizabeth as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were considered very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation,[272] no style, no beauty.

“She has nothing, in short, to recommend her. Of course, she is an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning.”

“Why did she come here, because her sister had a cold? Her hair, so untidy!”

“I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well, Louisa,” said Bingley; “when she came into the room this morning.”

“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it?”

A short pause followed this speech, and the sisters began again:

“I like Miss Jane Bennet very much, she is really a very sweet girl. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance for her in the life.”

To this speech Bingley made no answer.

Jane was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all, till late in the evening. On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party playing cards, and was immediately invited to join them. But she declined it, and said she would read a book instead.

“Do you prefer reading to cards? That is very strange.”

“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader.”

“Not at all, I am not a great reader,” cried Elizabeth; “and I have pleasure in many things.”

Elizabeth walked towards the table where a few books were lying. “I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father has such a small collection of books. What a delightful library you have, Mr. Darcy!”

“It is good,” he replied, “I am always buying books.”

“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have patience to be so educated as they all are.”

“All young ladies educated! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”

“Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint pictures, and net purses. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this.”

“ I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general,” said Darcy, “I cannot name five women, that are really educated.”

“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.

“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “in your opinion, who is an educated woman?”

“Oh! No one can be really educated who does not know necessary things. A woman must know music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air[273] and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and the most important thing, she must read a lot.”

The conversation was over, and Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed, “is one of those young ladies who try recommend themselves to the men; and with many men it succeeds.”

Elizabeth joined them again only to say that her sister was worse, and that she could not leave her. Bingley was quite uncomfortable; his sisters declared that they were miserable.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth passed the night in her sister’s room. Suddenly Mrs. Bennet, accompanied by her two youngest girls, came to Netherfield soon after the family breakfast.

If she found Jane in a danger, Mrs. Bennet would have been very miserable. But she was satisfied that her illness was not dangerous. She would not listen, therefore, to her daughter’s proposal of coming home. After sitting a little while with Jane, the mother and three daughters came into the breakfast parlour. Bingley met them with hopes that Mrs. Bennet had not found Miss Bennet worse than she expected.

“Indeed I have, sir,” was her answer. “She is too ill to be moved. We must use your kindness a little longer. You have a sweet room here, Mr. Bingley. I do not know a place in the country that is equal to Netherfield. You will not think of quitting it in a hurry.”

“Whatever I do is done in a hurry,” replied he; “But at present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here.[274]“

“That is exactly what I should have supposed of you,” said Elizabeth.

“You begin to comprehend me, do you?” cried he.

“Oh! yes – I understand you perfectly.”

“Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not continue in the wild manner that you use at home.”

“I did not know before,” continued Bingley immediately, “that you were a studier of character. It must be an amusing study.”

“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply a few subjects for such a study.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Mrs. Bennet, offended by his manner of mentioning a country neighbourhood. “I cannot see that London has any great advantage over the country, except the shops and public places. The country is far more pleasant, is it not, Mr. Bingley?”

“When I am in the country,” he replied, “I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is the same. They have each their advantages.”

“That is because you have the right disposition. But that gentleman,” looking at Darcy, “seemed to think the country was nothing at all.”

“Indeed, Mamma, you are mistaken,” said Elizabeth, blushing for her mother. “You quite mistook Mr. Darcy. He only meant that there was not such a variety of people to be met with in the country as in the town.”

“Certainly, my dear, but we dine with twenty-four families.”

Elizabeth asked her mother if Charlotte Lucas had been at Longbourn.

“Yes, she came yesterday with her father. What an agreeable man Sir William is, Mr. Bingley, is not he? He has always something to say to everybody.”

“Did Charlotte dine with you?”

“No, she went home. The Lucases are a very good sort of girls, I assure you. It is a pity they are not handsome! Not that I think Charlotte so very plain – she is our friend.”

“She seems a very pleasant young woman.”

“Oh! dear, yes; but you must agree she is very plain. Lady Lucas herself has often said so, and envied me Jane’s beauty.[275] I do not like to boast of my own child, but to be sure, Jane – one does not often see anybody better looking. It is what everybody says. When she was only fifteen, there was a man so much in love with her that my sister-in-law was sure he would make her an offer. But, however, he did not. Perhaps he thought she was too young. However, he wrote some verses on her,[276] and very pretty they were.”

“ I wonder,” said Elizabeth impatiently, “who first discovered the poetry was driving away love!”

“I always thought that the poetry was the food of love,” said Darcy.

“Maybe. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it is weak, one good sonnet will kill it.”

Darcy only smiled; Mrs. Bennet began to thank Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Mr. Bingley was very civil in his answer, and forced his younger sister to be civil also, and say what the occasion required.

Lydia was a stout girl of fifteen, with a fine complexion and good-humoured countenance; a favourite with her mother, whose affection had brought her into public at an early age. She had a sort of natural self-consequence. She reminded Mr. Bingley about the ball that he promised to organise. And she added, that it would be the most shameful thing in the world if he did not keep his promise. His answer was delightful to their mother’s ear:

“I am perfectly ready, I assure you, to keep my promise, when your sister is recovered. But you would not wish to dance when she is ill.”

Lydia declared herself satisfied. “Oh! yes – it would be much better to wait till Jane was well, and by that time most likely Captain Carter would be at Meryton again.”

Mrs. Bennet and her daughters then left, and Elizabeth returned instantly to Jane.

Chapter 10

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with Jane, who continued, though slowly, to recover; and in the evening Elizabeth joined their party in the drawing-room. Mr. Darcy was writing, and Miss Bingley, seated near him. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were playing cards, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.

Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused looking what happened between Darcy and his companion.

“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”

He made no answer.

“You write uncommonly fast.”

“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”

“Please tell your sister that I want to see her.”

“I have already told her, by your desire.[277]”

“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”

“Thank you – but I always mend myself.”

“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear her playing the harp. Do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”

“They are generally long; but whether always charming it is not for me to determine.[278]”

“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write badly.”

“My style of writing is very different from yours. And what do you think, dear Elizabeth?”

“I think,” said Elizabeth, “ Mr. Darcy must finish his letter.”

Mr. Darcy took her advice, and did finish his letter.

When that business was over, he offered young ladies to play some music.

Mrs. Hurst sang with her sister, and while they were thus employed, Elizabeth noticed, how frequently Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to such a great man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine, however, at last that she drew his attention because there was something wrong with her, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present.

After playing some Italian songs, Mr. Darcy, coming to Elizabeth, said to her:

“Do not you feel like dancing, Miss Bennet?”

She smiled, but made no answer. He repeated the question, with some surprise at her silence.

“Oh!” said she, “I heard you before, but I could not immediately decide what to say in reply. You wanted me, I know, to say ‘Yes,’ that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste. But I say ‘no’, I do not want to dance a at all – and now despise me if you dare.”

“Indeed I do not dare.”

Elizabeth was amazed at his gallantry; but there was a mixture of sweetness. Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.

Miss Bingley saw, or suspected enough to be jealous; and her great anxiety for the recovery of her dear friend Jane was sincere.

Chapter 11

When the ladies removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to her sister, and seeing her well attended her into the drawing-room, where she was welcomed by her two friends with pleasure. And Elizabeth had never seen them so agreeable as they were during the hour which passed before the gentlemen appeared. They could describe an entertainment with accuracy, relate an anecdote with humour, and laugh at their acquaintance with spirit.

But when the gentlemen entered, Jane was no longer the first object; Miss Bingley’s eyes were instantly turned toward Darcy. He addressed himself to Miss Bennet, with a polite congratulation. Elizabeth, in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.

When tea was over, Mr. Hurst reminded his sister-in-law of the card-table – but in vain. Mr. Darcy did not want to play cards. Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sofas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same.

Miss Bingley yawned and said, “How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! When I have a house of my own, I shall be miserable if I have not an excellent library.”

No one made any reply. She then yawned again, threw aside her book. Her brother was talking to Miss Bennet about the ball, so she turned suddenly towards him and said:

“ Charles, are you really serious about a dance at Netherfield? I think there is somebody among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure.”

“If you mean Darcy,” cried her brother, “he may go to bed, if he chooses, before it begins – but as for the ball, it is quite a settled thing.”

“I should like balls infinitely better,” she replied, “if they were carried on[279] in a different manner.” Turning to Elizabeth, she said:

“Miss Eliza Bennet, let me persuade you to follow my example, and take a turn about the room.[280]”

Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to it immediately. Mr. Darcy looked up. He was invited to join their party, but he declined it.

“You have secret affairs to discuss,” said he, “or you know well that your figures appear better in walking. If the first, I would stand in your way, and if the second, I can admire you much better as I sit by the fire.”

“Oh! shocking!” cried Miss Bingley. “I never heard anything so abominable. How shall we punish him for such a speech?”

“Nothing so easy,” said Elizabeth. “Tease him – laugh at him.”

“But tease calmness of manner and presence of mind! No, no.”

“Mr. Darcy is not to be laughed at!” cried Elizabeth. “I dearly love a laugh.”

“Miss Bingley,” said he, “has given me more credit than can be. The wisest and the best of men may be rendered ridiculous by a person whose first object in life is a joke.”

“Certainly,” replied Elizabeth – “there are such people, but I hope I am not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, and I laugh at them whenever I can. Such as vanity and pride.”

“Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride – where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.”

Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile.

“Your examination of Mr. Darcy is over, I presume,” said Miss Bingley; “and what is the result?”

“I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect.”

“No,” said Darcy, “I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.”

“That is a failing indeed!” cried Elizabeth.

“Do let us have a little music,” cried Miss Bingley, tired of a conversation in which she had no share.

The pianoforte was opened; and Darcy was not sorry for it. He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.

Chapter 12

In consequence of an agreement between the sisters, Elizabeth wrote the next morning to their mother, to beg that the carriage might be sent for them in the course of the day. But Mrs. Bennet, calculated on her daughters remaining at Netherfield till the following Tuesday. Mrs. Bennet told them that they could not possibly have the carriage before Tuesday; and in her postscript it was added, that if Mr. Bingley and his sister pressed them to stay longer, she could spare them very well.[281]

Miss Bingley was very sorry that she had proposed the delay, for her jealousy and dislike of one sister much exceeded her affection for the other.

The master of the house heard with real sorrow that they were going to leave so soon, and tried to persuade Miss Bennet that it would not be safe for her – that she was not enough recovered; but Jane was firm.

To Mr. Darcy it was welcome intelligence – Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked – and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her.

On Sunday, after morning service, the separation, so agreeable to almost all, took place. Miss Bingley’s civility to Elizabeth increased at last very rapidly, as well as her affection for Jane; and when they parted, she even shook hands with the former.

They were not welcomed home very cordially by their mother. Mrs. Bennet wondered at their coming. But their father, though very laconic in his expressions of pleasure, was really glad to see them; he had felt their importance in the family circle.

They found Mary, as usual, deep in the study of human nature. Catherine and Lydia had information for them of a different sort. Several of the officers had dined lately with their uncle, and Colonel Forster was going to be married.

Chapter 13

“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Bennet to his wife, as they were at breakfast the next morning, “that you have ordered a good dinner today, because I expect an addition to our family party.”

“Who do you mean, my dear? I know of nobody that is coming.”

“The person of whom I speak is a gentleman, and a stranger.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled. “A gentleman and a stranger! It is Mr. Bingley, I am sure! Well, I am sure I shall be extremely glad to see Mr. Bingley. But – good Lord! how unlucky! There is not a bit of fish today.”

“It is not Mr. Bingley,” said her husband; “it is a person whom I never saw in my life.”

This roused a general astonishment.

“About a month ago I received this letter; and about a fortnight ago I answered it. It is from my cousin, Mr. Collins, who, when I am dead, may turn you all out of this house as soon as he pleases.”

“Oh! my dear,” cried his wife, “I cannot hear that. Please do not talk of that odious man. Your estate should be entailed away from your own children!”

“Nothing can prevent Mr. Collins from the inheriting Longbourn,” said Mr. Bennet, “but you must listen to his letter.”

“No, I am sure I shall not; and I think it is very impertinent of him to write to you at all, and very hypocritical. I hate such false friends.”

“This is his letter:

“Dear Sir, —

“The disagreement between yourself and my father always gave me much uneasiness. I have been so fortunate to be distinguished by the patronage of the Right Honourable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, widow of Sir Lewis de Bourgh. As a clergyman, moreover, I feel it my duty to promote and establish the blessing of peace in all families within the reach of my influence. I would be very much obliged to meet your nice daughters as well. If you have no objection to receive me into your house, I will be glad to visit you and your family, Monday, November 18th, by four o’clock. I remain, dear sir, with respectful compliments to your lady and daughters, your well-wisher and friend,

William Collins

“At four o’clock, therefore, we may expect this peace-making gentleman,” said Mr. Bennet, as he folded up the letter. “He seems to be a most conscientious and polite young man, upon my word.”

“There is some sense in what he says about the girls. If he wants to make them any amends, I shall not be the person to discourage him.”

“There is something very pompous in his style, I think,” said Elizabeth. “Could he be a sensible man, sir?”

“No, my dear, I think not. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him.”

To Catherine and Lydia, neither the letter nor its writer were in any degree interesting. As for their mother, she was preparing to see Mr. Collins with a degree of composure which astonished her husband and daughters.

Mr. Collins was punctual to his time, and was received with great politeness by the whole family. He was a tall, heavy-looking young man of twenty-five.

Chapter 14

During dinner, Mr. Bennet did not speak at all; but when the servants were gone, he thought to start a conversation with his guest. He mentioned Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Mr. Bennet could not have chosen better. Mr. Collins was eloquent in her praise. She had asked him twice to dine together, and had sent for him only the Saturday before, to make up her pool of quadrille in the evening.[282] Lady Catherine was reckoned proud by many people he knew, but he had never seen anything but affability in her. She had always spoken to him as she would to any other gentleman. She had even advised him to marry as soon as he could; and had once paid him a visit in his humble house.

“That is all very proper and civil, I am sure,” said Mrs. Bennet, “and I dare say she is a very agreeable woman. It is a pity that great ladies in general are not more like her. Does she live near you, sir?”

“The garden in which stands my humble abode is separated only by a lane from Rosings Park, her ladyship’s residence.[283]”

“I think you said she was a widow, sir? Has she any family?”

“She has only one daughter, the heiress of Rosings, and of very extensive property.”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Bennet, shaking her head, “then she is happier than many girls. And what sort of young lady is she? Is she handsome?”

“She is a most charming young lady indeed. Lady Catherine herself says that Miss de Bourgh is very beautiful. But she is unfortunately of a sickly constitution.”

Mr. Bennet’s expectations were fully answered. His cousin was as stupid as he had hoped, and he listened to him with the keenest enjoyment.

By teatime Mr. Bennet was glad to take his guest into the drawing-room, and, when tea was over, glad to invite him to read aloud to the ladies. Mr. Collins readily agreed, and a book was brought; but when he saw it, begging pardon, he protested. He said that he never read novels. Kitty stared at him, and Lydia exclaimed. Other books were brought, and he chose Fordyce’s Sermons.[284] Lydia gaped as he opened the volume, and before he had, with very monotonous solemnity, read three pages, she interrupted him with:

“Do you know, mamma, that my uncle Phillips talks of Richard? I shall walk to Meryton to-morrow to hear more about it.”

Mr. Collins, much offended, laid aside his book, and said:

“I have often observed how little young ladies are interested by books of serious topics, though written for their benefit. It amazes me. But I will no longer importune my young cousin.”

Then turning to Mr. Bennet, he offered himself as his antagonist at backgammon. Mrs. Bennet and her daughters apologised most civilly for Lydia’s interruption, and promised that it should not occur again, if he would resume his book. But Mr. Collins seated himself at another table with Mr. Bennet, and prepared for backgammon.

Chapter 15

Mr. Collins was not a sensible man. The greatest part of his life he spent under the guidance of an illiterate and miserly father. A fortunate chance had recommended him to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. And the respect which he felt for her high rank, and his veneration for her as his patroness, made him altogether a mixture of pride and obsequiousness, self-importance and humility.

Having now a good house and a very sufficient income, he intended to marry. So he meant to choose one of the daughters, if he found them as handsome and amiable. This was his plan for inheriting their father’s estate; and he thought it an excellent one.

His plan did not vary. Miss Bennet’s lovely face confirmed his views. The next morning, however, he was interested in Jane very much. But Mrs. Bennet said that Jane was likely to be very soon engaged.

Mr. Collins had only to change from Jane to Elizabeth – and it was soon done.

Lydia’s intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten; every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; and Mr. Collins was to attend them, at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to get rid of him.

Time passed till they entered Meryton. The eyes of the younger girls were wandering up in the street in quest of the officers.

The attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man, whom they had never seen before, of most gentlemanlike appearance, walking with another officer on the other side of the way. The officer was Mr. Denny. Mr. Denny addressed them directly, and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who had returned with him the day before from town. His appearance was greatly in his favour;[285] he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, and a good figure. Suddenly they heard the sound of horses, and they saw Darcy and Bingley riding down the street. The two gentlemen came directly towards the girls. Mr. Darcy noticed the stranger, and Elizabeth was wondered as both changed colour, one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine.

In another minute, Mr. Bingley rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Phillip’s house, and then made their bows.

Chapter 16

The next day Elizabeth decided to ask Mr. Wickham about Mr. Darcy. They were at Mr. Phillip’s house. Mr. Wickham did not play at whist, and with ready delight was he received at the other table between Elizabeth and Lydia. Elizabeth was very willing to hear the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. Her curiosity was unexpectedly relieved. Mr. Wickham began the story. He inquired how far Netherfield was from Meryton; and, after receiving her answer, asked in a hesitating manner how long Mr. Darcy had been staying there.

“About a month,” said Elizabeth; and then added, “He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I believe.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Wickham; “his estate there is a noble one. I have been connected with his family from my infancy.”

Elizabeth was very surprised.

“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet, after seeing, as you probably might, the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?”

“As much as I ever wish to be,” cried Elizabeth very warmly. “I have spent four days in the same house with him, and I think him very disagreeable.”

“I have no right to give my opinion,” said Wickham, “I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial. Here you are in your own family.”

“Upon my word,[286] he is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride.”

“The world is blinded by his money, or frightened by his high and imposing manners,” Wickham shook his head. “We are not friends, and it always gives me pain to meet him, but I have no reason for avoiding. His father, Mr. Darcy, was one of the best men that I ever met, and the truest friend I ever had. But his son disappointed the hopes and disgraced the memory of his father.”

Elizabeth found the interest of the subject increase, and listened with all her heart.

“I am a disappointed man. I must have employment and society. A military life is not what I was intended for. The church ought to have been my profession – I was brought up for the church.”

“Indeed!”

“Yes – old Mr. Darcy wanted to give me the best living[287] in his gift. He was my godfather, and excessively attached to me. But the living was given to somebody else.”

“Good heavens!” cried Elizabeth; “but how could that be? How could his will be disregarded?”

“Yes, unfortunately his son decided to change Mr. Darcy’s last will. I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may have spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is, that we are very different sort of men, and that he hates me.”

“This is quite shocking! He deserves to be publicly disgraced.”

“Some time or other he will be – but it shall not be by me. Till I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him.”

Elizabeth honoured him for such feelings, and thought him handsomer than ever.

“But what,” said she, after a pause, “can have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?”

“A thorough, determined dislike of me – a dislike which I cannot understand, maybe his jealousy. Had Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have treated me better. But his father’s attachment to me irritated him, I believe.”

“I had not thought so very ill of him.”

Elizabeth exclaimed, “To treat in such a manner the godson, the friend, the favourite of his father! Who had been his companion from childhood!”

“We were born in the same parish; the greatest part of our youth was passed together; inmates of the same house, sharing the same amusements, objects of the same parental care. My father was most highly esteemed by Mr. Darcy, a most intimate, confidential friend. Before my father’s death, Mr. Darcy gave him a voluntary promise of providing for me.[288]”

“How strange!” cried Elizabeth. “How abominable!”

“It is wonderful,” replied Wickham, “for almost all his actions may be traced to pride; and pride had often been his best friend.”

“Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?”

“Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous, to give his money freely, to display hospitality. Family pride, and filial pride – for he is very proud of what his father was.”

“What sort of girl is Miss Darcy?”

He shook his head. “I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy. But she is too much like her brother – very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing, and extremely fond of me; and I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen. Since her father’s death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her.”

“I am astonished at his intimacy with Mr. Bingley!” said Elizabeth. “How can Mr. Bingley, who is, I really believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?”

“Not at all.”

“He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man. He cannot know what Mr. Darcy is.”

“Probably not; but Mr. Darcy can please where he chooses. His pride never deserts him; but with the rich he is liberal-minded, just, sincere, rational, honourable, and perhaps agreeable. By the way, you know of course that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters; consequently that she is aunt to the present Mr. Darcy?”

“No, indeed, I did not. I knew nothing at all of Lady Catherine’s connections. I never heard of her existence till the day before yesterday.”

“Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh, will have a very large fortune,[289] and they say that she and her cousin will unite the two estates.”

This information made Elizabeth smile, as she thought of poor Miss Bingley.

“Mr. Collins,” said she, “speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter.”

“I have not seen her for many years,” replied Wickham; “but I very well remember that I never liked her, and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent.”

Elizabeth smiled. Mr. Wickham’s manners recommended him to everybody. Whatever he said, was said well; and whatever he did, done gracefully. Elizabeth could think of nothing but of Mr. Wickham, and of what he had told her, all the way home.

Chapter 17

Elizabeth related to Jane the next day what had passed between Mr. Wickham and herself. Jane listened with astonishment and concern; she did not know how to believe that Mr. Darcy could be so unworthy of Mr. Bingley’s regard.

The two young ladies were thinking about the long-expected ball at Netherfield, which was fixed for the following Tuesday. They were delighted to see their dear friend again. To the rest of the family they paid little attention; avoiding Mrs. Bennet as much as possible, saying not much to Elizabeth, and nothing at all to the others.

The prospect of the Netherfield ball was extremely agreeable to every female of the family. Mrs. Bennet was particularly flattered by receiving the invitation from Mr. Bingley himself. Jane pictured to herself a happy evening in the society of her two friends, and Elizabeth thought with pleasure of dancing with Mr. Wickham.

Elizabeth was in a very good mood. And though she did not often speak to Mr. Collins, she could not help asking him whether he intended to accept Mr. Bingley’s invitation.

“I do not think, I assure you,” said he, “that a ball of this kind, given by a young man of character, to respectable people, can have any evil tendency. And I take this opportunity of inviting you, Miss Elizabeth, for the two first dances.”

Elizabeth accepted Mr. Collins’s proposal with as good a grace as she could.

Chapter 18

Till Elizabeth entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, and looked in vain for Mr. Wickham, a doubt of his coming had never occurred to her. But his friend Denny, to whom Lydia eagerly applied, said that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business the day before.

But Elizabeth was not made for ill-humour; and though her hopes were destroyed for the evening, she could not be sad long. The first two dances, however, brought her a sense of distress; they were dances of mortification. Mr. Collins was awkward and solemn. The moment of her release from him was ecstasy.

She danced next with an officer, and heard that he was universally liked.[290] When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas. Suddenly Mr. Darcy invited her to dance. Without knowing what she did, she accepted him.

They stood for some time without speaking a word. She made some slight observation on the dance. He replied, and was again silent. After a pause of some minutes, she addressed him a second time with: – “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some sort of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”

He smiled, and assured her that whatever she wished him to say should be said.

“Very well. Perhaps I may observe that private balls are much pleasanter than public ones. But now we may be silent.”

“Do you talk while you are dancing?”

“Sometimes. One must speak a little, you know.”

They were again silent till they had gone down the dance, when he asked her if she and her sisters did not very often walk to Meryton. She answered ‘yes’, and, unable to resist the temptation, added, “When you met us there the other day, we had just met a new acquaintance.”

The effect was immediate. Darcy said, “Mr. Wickham has so happy manners that he makes friends easily.”

“He has been so unlucky as to lose[291] your friendship,” replied Elizabeth with emphasis.

Darcy made no answer.

“What do you think of books?” said he, smiling.

“Books – oh! no. I am sure we never read the same books, or not with the same feelings.”

“I am sorry you think so; but we may compare our different opinions.”

“No – I cannot talk of books in a ball-room; my head is always full of something else.”

“The present always occupies you – does it?” said he, with a look of doubt.

“Yes, always,” she replied, without knowing what she said.

She said no more, and they went down the other dance and parted in silence; and on each side dissatisfied.

Miss Bingley came towards her:

“Miss Eliza, I hear you are quite delighted with George Wickham! Your sister has been talking to me about him, and asking me a thousand questions. I find that the young man quite forgot to tell you that he was the son of old Wickham, the late Mr. Darcy’s steward.[292] Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to believe him much; for as to Mr. Darcy’s using him ill,[293] it is perfectly false; for, on the contrary, he has always been remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner.”

“You are much mistaken,” said Elizabeth to herself, “if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own wilful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth came to Jane.

“I want to know,” said she, “what you have learnt about Mr. Wickham.”

“I have nothing satisfactory to tell you,” replied Jane, “Mr. Bingley does not know the whole of his history, and is quite ignorant of the circumstances which have principally offended Mr. Darcy. And he is perfectly convinced that Mr. Wickham has deserved much less attention from Mr. Darcy than he has received. And I am sorry to say that Mr. Wickham is not a respectable young man. I am afraid he has been very imprudent, and has deserved to lose Mr. Darcy’s regard.”

“Mr. Bingley does not know Mr. Wickham himself?”

“No; he never saw him till the other morning at Meryton.”

“This opinion then is what he has received from Mr. Darcy. I am satisfied. But what does he say of the living?”

“He does not exactly recollect the circumstances, though he has heard them from Mr. Darcy more than once, but he believes that it was left to him conditionally only.”

“I have not a doubt of Mr. Bingley’s sincerity,” said Elizabeth warmly; “but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only.[294]”

Mr. Collins came up to them, and told her with great exultation that he had just been so fortunate.

“I have found out,” said he, “by a singular accident, that there is now in the room a near relation of my patroness. How wonderfully these sort of things occur!”

“You are not going to introduce yourself to Mr. Darcy!”

“Indeed I am. I believe him to be Lady Catherine’s nephew.”

Elizabeth tried hard to dissuade him from such a scheme. But Mr. Collins was determined. And with a low bow he left her to attack Mr. Darcy. Mr. Collins then returned to Elizabeth.

“Mr. Darcy,” said he, “seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility. I am much pleased with him.”

When they sat down to supper, Mrs. Bennet was speaking about Jane’s marrying. Her mother would talk of her views in the most intelligible tone. Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation.

At length, however, Mrs. Bennet had no more to say; and Elizabeth now began to revive. But the rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She was teased by Mr. Collins, who continued to talk to her all the time. In vain did she entreat him to talk to somebody else, and offer to introduce him to any young lady in the room.

Mrs. Bennet was perfectly satisfied, and quitted the house under the delightful persuasion that she should undoubtedly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in the course of three or four months. Of having another daughter married to Mr. Collins, she thought with equal certainty.

Chapter 19

The next day Mr. Collins made his declaration in form.[295] On finding Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth, and one of the younger girls together, soon after breakfast, he addressed the mother in these words:

“May I hope, madam, can I have a private audience with your fair daughter Elizabeth this morning?”

Before Elizabeth had time for anything but a blush of surprise, Mrs. Bennet answered instantly, “Oh dear! – yes – certainly. I am sure Lizzy will be very happy – I am sure she can have no objection. Come, Kitty.” And, gathering her work together, she was hastening away, when Elizabeth called out:

“Dear madam, do not go. I beg you will not go. Mr. Collins must excuse me. He can have nothing to say to me that anybody need not hear. I am going away myself.”

“No, no, nonsense, Lizzy. I desire you to stay where you are.” And she added: “Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins.”

Elizabeth sat down again and tried to conceal. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty walked off, and as soon as they were gone, Mr. Collins began.

“Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty rather adds to your other perfections. Allow me to assure you, that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse. Almost as soon as I entered the house, I thought about you as the companion of my future life. But perhaps it would be better to state my reasons for marrying. My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced that it will make my life happier; and thirdly – which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour of calling patroness. She said, ‘Mr. Collins, you must marry. A clergyman like you must marry. Choose properly, this is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her here, and I will visit her.’ Allow me, by the way, to observe, my fair cousin, that my views were directed towards Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood, where I can assure you there are many amiable young women. But the fact is, that I will inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer). And I decided to choose a wife from among his daughters. This has been my motive, my fair cousin. To money I am perfectly indifferent, and shall make no demand of that nature on your father. On that head,[296] therefore, I shall be silent; and you may assure yourself that no ungenerous reproach shall ever pass my lips when we are married.”

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him now.

“You are too hasty, sir,” cried Elizabeth. “You forget that I have made no answer. Accept my thanks for the compliment you are paying me. I am very sensible of the honour of your proposals, but I must decline them.”

“Are you serious?” asked Mr. Collins, with a formal wave of the hand.

“Upon my word, sir,” cried Elizabeth, “I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world who could make you so. I thank you again and again for the honour you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible.”

Chapter 20

When Elizabeth opened the door, Mrs. Bennet entered the breakfast-room, and congratulated both him and herself in warm terms on the happy prospect or their nearer connection. Mr. Collins related the details of their interview.

“Mr. Collins,” said Mrs. Bennet, “I will speak to Lizzy about it directly. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest but I will make her know it.”

“Pardon me for interrupting you, madam,” cried Mr. Collins; “but if she is really headstrong and foolish, I am not sure that she could be a very desirable wife to a man in my situation, who naturally looks for happiness in the marriage state.”

“Sir, you quite misunderstand me,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Lizzy is only headstrong in such matters as these. In everything else she is as good-natured a girl as ever lived. I will go directly to Mr. Bennet, and we shall very soon settle it with her, I am sure.”

She would not give him time to reply, but hurrying instantly to her husband. “Oh! Mr. Bennet, you must come and make Lizzy marry Mr. Collins.”

Mr. Bennet raised his eyes from his book as she entered, and fixed them on her face with a calm unconcern.

“Of what are you talking?” said he, when she had finished her speech.

“Of Mr. Collins and Lizzy. Lizzy declares she will not marry Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not marry Lizzy.”

“And what am I to do on the occasion? It seems a hopeless business.”

“Speak to Lizzy about it yourself. Tell her that you insist upon her marrying him.”

“Call her. She shall hear my opinion.”

Mrs. Bennet rang the bell, and Miss Elizabeth was called to the library.

“Come here, child,” cried her father as she appeared. “I have sent for you on an affair of importance.[297] I understand that Mr. Collins has made you an offer of marriage. Is it true?” Elizabeth replied that it was. “Very well – and this offer of marriage you have refused?”

“I have, sir.”

“Very well. Your mother insists upon your accepting it. Is it not so, Mrs. Bennet?”

“Yes, or I will never see her again.”

“An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you do.”

Mrs. Bennet was excessively disappointed.

“What do you mean, Mr. Bennet, in talking this way? You promised me to insist upon her marrying him.”

“My dear,” replied her husband, “please, allow me to say what I think.”

While the family were in this confusion, Charlotte Lucas came in. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who cried in a half whisper, “I am glad you are come, for there is such fun here! What do you think has happened this morning? Mr. Collins has made an offer to Lizzy, and she will not marry him.”

Charlotte hardly had time to answer, before they were joined by Kitty, who came to tell the same news.

“Aye, there she comes,” said Mrs. Bennet, “I tell you, Miss Lizzy – if you take it into your head – I do not know who will maintain you when your father is dead. I shall not be able to keep you – and so I warn you. I have no pleasure in talking to undutiful children.”

Elizabeth passed quietly out of the room, Jane and Kitty followed her.

Chapter 21

The next morning Mr. Collins was also in the state of angry pride. After breakfast, the girls walked to Meryton to inquire if Mr. Wickham returned. He joined them on their entering the town.

“I found,” said he, “that I had better not meet Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth highly approved his forbearance, and they talked a lot. Soon after their return, a letter was delivered to Miss Bennet; it came from Netherfield. The envelope contained a sheet of elegant, little paper. Elizabeth saw her sister’s face change as she read it. Jane said:

“This is from Caroline Bingley. The whole party have left Netherfield by this time, and are on their way to town – and without any intention of coming back again.”

Elizabeth saw nothing in it really to lament.

“It is unlucky,” said she, after a short pause, “that you should not be able to see your friends before they leave the country.”

“Caroline decidedly says that nobody will return into Hertfordshire this winter. I will read it to you. It is evident that her brother comes back no more this winter.”

“Why do you think so? He is his own master.”

“What do you think of this, my dear Lizzy?” said Jane.

“Is it not clear enough? Miss Bingley sees that her brother is in love with you, and wants him to marry Miss Darcy. She follows him to town in hope of keeping him there, and tries to persuade you that he does not care about you.”

Jane shook her head.

“Indeed, Jane, you ought to believe me. Miss Bingley, I am sure, is more anxious to get Miss Darcy for her brother.”

“But if he returns no more this winter… A thousand things may arise in six months!”

Chapter 22

The Bennets were engaged to dine[298] with the Lucases and again was Miss Lucas so kind as to listen to Mr. Collins. Elizabeth took an opportunity of thanking her. Charlotte’s kindness extended farther than Elizabeth could imagine. Next morning Mr. Collins hastened to Charlotte to throw himself at her feet.

In as short a time as Mr. Collins’s long speeches would allow, everything was settled between them to the satisfaction of both; and as they entered the house he earnestly asked her to name the day that would make him the happiest of men. But Miss Lucas, who accepted him from the pure desire of an establishment, cared not how soon that establishment would happen.

Mr. Collins’s present circumstances made it a most eligible match for her, to whom they could give little fortune. The whole family was overjoyed on the occasion. The boys and the girls were relieved: Charlotte would not die an old maid. Charlotte herself was tolerably composed. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband. And marriage in general was the only provision for well-educated young women of small fortune.

When Elizabeth learned about Charlotte’s marriage, she could not help crying out:[299]

“Engaged to Mr. Collins! My dear Charlotte – impossible!”

“Why should you be surprised, my dear Eliza? I see what you are feeling,” replied Charlotte. “You must be surprised, very much surprised – so lately as Mr. Collins was wishing to marry you. But when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. Collins’s character, connection, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most people can boast on entering the marriage state.”

Elizabeth quietly answered, “Undoubtedly;” and after an awkward pause, they returned to the rest of the family. Charlotte did not stay much longer, and Elizabeth was then left to reflect on what she had heard. Charlotte the wife of Mr. Collins was a most humiliating picture!

Chapter 23

Elizabeth was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, when Sir William Lucas himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to announce her engagement to the family.

Elizabeth mentioned her prior knowledge of it from Charlotte herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William.

Mr. Bennet’s emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion. He discovered that Charlotte Lucas, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!

Between Elizabeth and Charlotte there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Elizabeth felt that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Charlotte made her turn to her sister. Bingley had now been gone a week and nothing more was heard of his return.

Jane was in a great distress of Mr. Bingley’s continued absence. Day after day passed away without bringing any news of him.

Even Elizabeth began to fear that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Darcy and the amusements of London might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment.

Chapter 24

Miss Bingley’s letter arrived, and put an end to doubt. The very first sentence said that all settled in London for the winter, and concluded that her brother was regretting because he did not have time to pay his respects to his friends in Hertfordshire before he left the country.

Hope was over, entirely over. Miss Darcy’s praise occupied the main part of the letter.

Elizabeth’s heart was divided between concern for her sister, and resentment against all others. To Caroline’s assertion of her brother’s affection to Miss Darcy she paid no attention. That he was really fond of Jane, she doubted no more.

A day or two passed before Jane had courage to speak of her feelings to Elizabeth:

“Oh, I wish my dear mother had more command over herself![300] She can have no idea of the pain she gives me by her continual reflections on Mr. Bingley. But I hope it cannot last long. He will be forgotten, and we shall all be as we were before.”

Elizabeth looked at her sister with incredulous solicitude, but said nothing.

“You do not believe me,” cried Jane, slightly colouring; “indeed, you have no reason. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance, but that is all. Thank God! I have not that pain.”

“My dear Jane!” exclaimed Elizabeth, “you are too good. Your sweetness and disinterestedness are really angelic; I do not know what to say to you. His sisters influence him.”

“I cannot believe it,” replied Jane; “Why should they try to influence him? They can only wish his happiness; and if he is attached to me, no other woman can secure it. Beyond a doubt, they do wish him to choose Miss Darcy. If they believed him attached to me, they would not try to part us; if he were so, they could not succeed. Let me take everything in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood.”

From this time Mr. Bingley’s name was scarcely ever mentioned between them.

Mrs. Bennet still continued to wonder. Elizabeth tried to convince her of what she did not believe herself, that his attentions to Jane had been merely the effect of a common and transient liking.[301] Mrs. Bennet’s best comfort was that Mr. Bingley must come again in the summer.

Mr. Wickham’s society dispelled the gloom of the Longbourn family. They saw him often, and to his other recommendations was now added that of general unreserve.[302] What Elizabeth had already heard, his claims on Mr. Darcy, and all that he had suffered from him, was now openly acknowledged; and everybody was pleased to know how much they had always disliked Mr. Darcy before they had known anything.

Miss Bennet was the only person who could admit there might be any excuse for Mr. Darcy, unknown to the society of Hertfordshire – but by everybody else Mr. Darcy was condemned as the worst of men.

Chapter 25

On the following Monday, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of receiving her brother and his wife, who came as usual to spend the Christmas at Longbourn. Mr. Gardiner was a sensible, gentlemanlike man. Mrs. Gardiner, who was several years younger than Mrs. Bennet, was an amiable, intelligent, elegant woman, and a great favourite with all her Longbourn nieces. The two eldest had frequently been staying with her in town.

Mrs. Bennet had many grievances to relate, and much to complain of. Two of her girls had been upon the point of marriage, and after all there was nothing in it.

“I do not blame Jane,” she continued, “But Lizzy! Oh, sister! It is very hard to think that she might have been Mr. Collins’s wife by this time. Just think: Lady Lucas will have a daughter married before I have. The Lucases are very artful people indeed, sister. It makes me very nervous and poorly, to be thwarted so in my own family, and to have neighbours who think of themselves before anybody else.”

Mrs. Gardiner, to whom this news had been given before, in the course of Jane and Elizabeth’s correspondence with her, made her sister a slight answer, and, in compassion to her nieces, turned the conversation.

When alone with Elizabeth afterwards, she spoke more on the subject. “These things happen so often! A young man, such as you describe Mr. Bingley, so easily falls in love with a pretty girl for a few weeks, and when accident separates them, so easily forgets her. Say, how violent was Mr. Bingley’s love?”

“I never saw a more promising inclination. Every time they met, it was more decided and remarkable. At his own ball he offended two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance; and I spoke to him twice myself, without receiving an answer.”

“Oh, yes! Poor Jane! I am sorry for her. But do you think she would join us to go back with us? Changes may help her – and perhaps a little relief from home may be useful.”

Elizabeth was exceedingly pleased with this proposal.

“I hope,” added Mrs. Gardiner, “that she will not connect this journey with this young. We live in a different part of town, all our connections are so different, and, as you well know, we go out so little, that it is very improbable that they should meet at all, unless he really comes to see her.”

“And that is quite impossible, Mr. Darcy would not let him go alone! My dear aunt, how could you think of it? Mr. Bingley never moves without him.”

“I hope they will not meet at all.”

Miss Bennet accepted her aunt’s invitation with pleasure.

Chapter 26

Mrs. Gardiner decided to talk to Elizabeth about Mr. Wickham.

“Elizabeth, are you in love with him?”

“Oh, do not be afraid, he shall not be in love with me, if I can prevent it.”

“Elizabeth, you are not serious now.”

“I beg your pardon. At present I am not in love with Mr. Wickham; no, I certainly am not. But he is, beyond all comparison, the most agree– able man I ever saw – and if he becomes really attached to me – I believe it will be better that he should not. Oh! that abominable Mr. Darcy! My father, however, is partial to Mr. Wickham. In short, my dear aunt, all that I can promise you, therefore, is not to be in a hurry. In short, I will do my best.”

Charlotte and Mr. Collins got married. The wedding took place; and the bride and bridegroom went to Kent from the church door. Elizabeth soon heard from her friend; and their correspondence was as regular and frequent as it had ever been. Elizabeth felt that Charlotte wrote cheerfully, seemed surrounded with comforts. The house, furniture, neighbourhood, and roads, were all to her taste, and Lady Catherine’s behaviour was most friendly.

Chapter 27

January and February passed away. In March Elizabeth decided to visit Hunsford. She had not at first thought very seriously of going there; but Charlotte insisted. Absence had increased her desire of seeing Charlotte again, and weakened her disgust of Mr. Collins. Moreover, the journey would give her an opportunity to see Jane.

The farewell between herself and Mr. Wickham was perfectly friendly. She left him convinced that, whether married or single, he must always be her model[303] of the amiable and pleasing.

It was a journey of only twenty-four miles, and they began it so early as to be in Gracechurch Street by noon. As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival. Elizabeth was pleased to see her healthful and lovely as ever.

The day passed most pleasantly away; the morning in shopping, and the evening at one of the theatres.

Elizabeth received an invitation to accompany her uncle and aunt in a tour which they proposed taking in the summer.

“We have not determined how far it shall carry us,” said Mrs. Gardiner, “but, perhaps, to the Lakes.”

No plan could have been more agreeable to Elizabeth, and her acceptance of the invitation was most ready and grateful. “Oh, my dear, dear aunt,” she rapturously cried, “what delight! what felicity! You give me fresh life and vigour. Good-bye to disappointment and spleen. What are young men to rocks and mountains? Oh! what happy hours we shall spend! Lakes, mountains, and rivers, I adore them!”

Chapter 28

Elizabeth’s northern tour was a constant source of delight. When they left the high road for the lane to Hunsford, every eye was in search of the Parsonage.[304]

Finally the Parsonage was seen. Mr. Collins and Charlotte appeared at the door, and the carriage stopped at the small gate. Mrs. Collins welcomed her friend with the liveliest pleasure, and Elizabeth was more and more satisfied with coming when she found herself so affectionately received. She saw instantly that her cousin’s manners were not altered by his marriage.

Elizabeth was prepared to see him in his glory; he wished to make her feel what she had lost in refusing him. When Mr. Collins said anything of which his wife might be ashamed, which certainly was very often, she involuntarily turned her eye on Charlotte. Once or twice she could discern a faint blush; but in general Charlotte wisely did not hear.

Mr. Collins invited his guests to take a walk in the garden, which was very large. To work in this garden was one of his most respectable pleasures. His house was a handsome modern building, well situated on rising ground.

From his garden, Mr. Collins would have led them round his two meadows; but the ladies, not having comfortable shoes, turned back; and while Sir William accompanied him, Charlotte took her sister and friend over the house, to have the opportunity of showing it without her husband’s help. It was rather small, but well built and convenient; and everything was fitted up and arranged with a neatness and consistency.

She had already learnt that Lady Catherine was still in the country. They spoken about her while they were at dinner, when Mr. Collins observed:

“Yes, Miss Elizabeth, you will have the honour of seeing Lady Catherine de Bourgh on Sunday at church, and I need not say you will be delighted with her. We dine at Rosings twice every week, and are never allowed to walk home. Her ladyship’s carriage is regularly ordered for us. I should say, one of her ladyship’s carriages, for she has several.”

“Lady Catherine is a very respectable, sensible woman indeed,” added Charlotte, “and a most attentive neighbour.”

“Very true, my dear, that is exactly what I say.”

About the middle of the next day, as she was in her room getting ready for a walk, Elizabeth heard somebody running up stairs in a violent hurry, and calling loudly after her. She opened the door and met Maria, who, breathless with agitation, cried out —

“Oh, my dear Eliza! make haste and come into the dining-room! I will not tell you what it is. Make haste, and come down this moment.”

Elizabeth asked questions in vain; Maria would tell her nothing more, and down they ran into the dining-room. It was two ladies stopping in a low phaeton at the garden gate.

“And is this all?” cried Elizabeth. “I expected at least that the pigs were got into the garden, and here is nothing but Lady Catherine and her daughter.”

“My dear,” said Maria, quite shocked at the mistake, “it is not Lady Catherine. The old lady is Mrs. Jenkinson, who lives with them; the other is Miss de Bourgh. Only look at her. She is quite a little creature. Who would have thought that she could be so thin and small?”

“Why does she not come in?”

“Oh, Charlotte says she hardly ever does. It is the greatest of favours when Miss de Bourgh comes in.”

“I like her appearance,” said Elizabeth. “She looks sickly and cross. Yes, she will make him a very proper wife.”

There was nothing more to be said; the ladies drove on, and the others returned into the house.

Chapter 29

Mr. Collins’s triumph, in consequence of this invitation, was complete. The power of showing the grandeur of his patroness to his visitors was exactly what he had wished for.

Scarcely anything was talked of the whole day or next morning but their visit to Rosings. Mr. Collins was carefully instructing them in what they were to expect: the sight of such rooms, so many servants, and so splendid a dinner.

He said to Elizabeth —

“Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your dress. Lady Catherine will not think the worse of you for being simply dressed.”

As the weather was fine, they had a pleasant walk of about half a mile across the park. Every park has its beauty; and Elizabeth saw much to be pleased with.

From the entrance-hall they followed the servants to the room where Lady Catherine, her daughter, and Mrs. Jenkinson were sitting. Her lady– ship, with great condescension, arose to receive them.

Elizabeth could see the three ladies before her. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome.

When, after examining the mother, in whose countenance she soon found some resemblance of Mr. Darcy, she turned her eyes on the daughter. She was very thin and small. There was neither in figure nor face any likeness between the ladies. Miss de Bourgh was pale and sickly; her features were insignificant; and she spoke very little.

The party did not supply much conversation. Elizabeth was ready to speak whenever there was an opening, but she was seated between Charlotte and Miss de Bourgh – the former of whom was engaged in listening to Lady Catherine. Mrs. Jenkinson was chiefly employed in watching how little Miss de Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some other dish. The gentlemen did nothing but eat and admire.

When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, there was little to be done but to hear Lady Catherine talk.

“Do you play and sing, Miss Bennet?”

“A little.”

“Oh! then – some time or other we shall be happy to hear you. Our instrument is a capital one. You shall try it some day. Do your sisters play and sing?”

“One of them does.”

“Why did not you all learn? Do you draw?”

“No, not at all.”

“What, none of you?”

“Not one.”

“That is very strange. But I suppose you had no opportunity.”

“We never had any governess.”

“No governess! How was that possible? Five daughters brought up at home without a governess! I never heard of such a thing. Then, who taught you? who attended to you?”

“We were always encouraged to read, and had all the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainly might.”

When the gentlemen had joined them, and tea was over, the card-tables were placed. Lady Catherine, Sir William, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins sat down to quadrille.

Chapter 30

Sir William stayed a week at Hunsford. The room in which the ladies sat was backwards. From the drawing-room they could distinguish nothing in the lane.

Very few days passed in which Mr. Collins did not walk to Rosings. Elizabeth soon perceived, that though the great lady was not in commission of the peace of the county, she was a most active magistrate in her own parish.

The entertainment of dining at Rosings was repeated about twice a week; and, allowing for the loss of Sir William, and there being only one card-table in the evening, every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first.[305] This, however, was no evil to Elizabeth, and upon the whole she spent her time comfortably enough; there were half-hours of pleasant conversation with Charlotte, and the weather was so fine for the time of year that she had often great enjoyment out of doors.

In this quiet way, the first fortnight of her visit soon passed away. Easter was approaching. Elizabeth had heard soon after her arrival that Mr. Darcy was expected there in the course of a few weeks. Lady Catherine talked of his coming with the greatest satisfaction, spoke of him in terms of the highest admiration.

His arrival was soon known at the Parsonage. On the following morning Mr. Collins hastened to Rosings to pay his respects. There were two nephews of Lady Catherine to require them, for Mr. Darcy had brought with him a Colonel Fitzwilliam.[306] Charlotte had seen them from her husband’s room, crossing the road.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was about thirty, not handsome, but in person and address[307] most truly the gentleman. Mr. Darcy looked just as he had been used to look in Hertfordshire, with his usual reserve. Elizabeth after a moment’s pause, said:

“My eldest sister has been in town these three months. Have you seen her there?”

She knew perfectly that Mr. Darcy never had, and she thought he looked a little confused as he answered that he had not met Miss Bennet. The subject was pursued no farther,[308] and the gentlemen soon afterwards went away.

Chapter 31

For the last week they had seen very little of Lady Catherine or her daughter. Mr. Darcy they had seen only at church.

Some days passed before they were invited to the great Lady. The invitation was accepted of course, and at a proper hour they joined the party in Lady Catherine’s drawing-room.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see them. He seated himself by Elizabeth, and talked so agreeably of new books and music, that Elizabeth had never been half so well entertained in that room before. They drew the attention of Lady Catherine herself, as well as of Mr. Darcy. His eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity. Lady Catherine called out:

“What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is.”

“We are speaking of music, madam,” said he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.

“Of music! Then please speak aloud. I must have my share in the conversation if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, if her health had allowed her to apply. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well unless she practises more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the pianoforte in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room. She would be in nobody’s way, you know, in that part of the house.”

When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of her promising to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and making with his usual deliberation towards the pianoforte stationed himself. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with a smile, and said:

“You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming to hear me?”

“I shall not say you are mistaken,” he replied, “I know that you find great enjoyment in professing opinions[309] which in fact are not your own.”

Elizabeth laughed heartily, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, “Your cousin will teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so able to expose my real character.”

“I am not afraid of you,” said he. “I certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with people I have never seen before.”

Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy:

“Miss Bennet would play better if she practised more. She has a very good notion of fingering,[310] though her taste is not equal to Anne’s. Anne would have been a delightful performer, if her health allowed her to learn.”

Chapter 32

Elizabeth was sitting by herself the next morning, and writing to Jane while Mrs. Collins and Maria were gone on business into the village, when she was startled by a ring at the door, the certain signal of a visitor. The door opened, and, to her very great surprise, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy only, entered the room.

He said that he had hoped to see all the ladies.

They then sat down. It was absolutely necessary, therefore, to think of something, so she observed:

“How very suddenly you all quitted Netherfield last November, Mr. Darcy! It must have been a most agreeable surprise to Mr. Bingley to see you all after him so soon; for, if I recollect right, he went but the day before. He and his sisters were well, I hope, when you left London?”

“Perfectly so, I thank you.”

“I think I have understood that Mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to Netherfield again?”

“I have never heard him say so; but it is probable that he may spend very little of his time there in the future,” said Darcy, “I should not be surprised, if he moved as soon as possible.”

Elizabeth made no answer. She was afraid of talking longer of his friend; and, having nothing else to say, was silent.

“This seems a very comfortable house. Lady Catherine, I believe, did a great deal to it[311] when Mr. Collins first came to Hunsford.”

“I believe she did.”

“Mr. Collins appears to be very fortunate in his choice of a wife.”

“Yes, indeed, his friends may well rejoice. My friend is an excellent wife, I suppose.”

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, in a colder voice:

“Are you pleased with Kent?”

A short dialogue on the subject of the country followed, on either side calm and concise. Charlotte and her sister returned from their walk. Mr. Darcy after sitting a few minutes longer without saying much to anybody, went away.

“What can be the meaning of this?” said Charlotte, as soon as he was gone. “My dear, Eliza, he must be in love with you.”

Why Mr. Darcy came so often to the Parson-age, it was difficult to understand. He frequently sat there ten minutes together without opening his lips; and when he did speak, he spoke very little.

Charlotte had once or twice suggested to Elizabeth the possibility of his loving her, but Elizabeth always laughed at the idea; and Mrs. Collins did not think it right to press the subject.

Chapter 33

More than once did Elizabeth, in her walking in the park, unexpectedly meet Mr. Darcy. How it could occur, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did. He never said much, nor did she give herself the trouble of[312] talking or of listening much.

But one day, instead of meeting Mr. Darcy, she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam. Forcing a smile,[313] she said:

“I did not know before that you ever walked this way.”

“I have been making the tour of the park,” he replied, “as I generally do every year. Are you going much farther?”

“No, I am going to turn in a moment.”

And they walked towards the Parsonage together.

“Do you certainly leave Kent on Saturday?” said she.

“Yes – if Darcy does not put it off[314] again,” replied Colonel Fitzwilliam. “But I am at his disposal. He arranges the business just as he pleases. He likes to have his own way very well. But so we all do. He is rich, and many others are poor. Our habits of expense make us too dependent, and there are few people in my rank of life[315] who can afford to marry without some money.”

“Is this,” thought Elizabeth, “meant for me?” and she coloured. “Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes care of him.”

“Care of him! Yes, I really believe Darcy does take care of him in those points where he most wants care. I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him.[316] But I have no right to suppose that Bingley was the person meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“What he told me was merely this: that he congratulated himself: he saved a friend from the most imprudent marriage, but without mentioning names, and I only suspected it to be Bingley.”

“Did Mr. Darcy give you reasons for this interference?”

“I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady.”

“And what did he do to separate them?”

“He did not tell me,” said Fitzwilliam, smiling. “He only told me what I have now told you.”

Elizabeth made no answer, and walked on, her heart swelling with indignation. After watching her a little, Fitzwilliam asked her why she was so thoughtful.

“I am thinking of what you have told me,” said she. “Your cousin’s behaviour does not suit my feelings. I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to decide for his friend. But,” she continued, “as we know nothing, it is not fair to condemn him.”

They reached the Parsonage. There, shut into her own room, as soon as their visitor left them, Elizabeth could think without interruption of all that she had heard. Mr. Darcy separated Bingley and Jane! He was the cause, his pride and caprice were the cause, of all that Jane had suffered, and still continued to suffer. He had ruined every hope of happiness for the most affectionate, generous heart in the world.

“There were some very strong objections against the lady,” were Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words; and those strong objections probably were, her having one uncle who was a country attorney,[317] and another who was in business in London.

“To Jane herself,” she exclaimed, “there could be no objection; all loveliness and goodness as she is! Neither could anything be said against my father.” When she thought of her mother, her confidence went away; but she would not allow that any objections there had material for Mr. Darcy.

Chapter 34

Elizabeth began to reread all the letters which Jane had written to her. They contained no actual complaint. But in all, and in almost every line of each, there was a lack of something.

She could not think of Darcy’s leaving Kent without remembering that his cousin was to go with him; but Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear that he had no intentions at all, and she did not mean to be unhappy about him.

Suddenly she heard the door-bell, she thought that it could be Colonel Fitzwilliam himself, who had once before called late in the evening. But, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but did not say a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began:

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do.[318] You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement. He spoke well; but he was not more eloquent on the subject of love than of pride.

In spite of her deep dislike, Elizabeth could feel the compliment of such a man’s affection. But when he stopped, the colour rose into her cheeks, and she said:

“I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly. I am sorry to pain anyone.”

Mr. Darcy caught her words with surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. The pause was dreadful to Elizabeth’s feelings. Finally, with a voice of forced calmness, he said:

“And this is all the reply! I want to know, why I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance.”

“Shall I accept the man,” replied she, “who has been the means of ruining, perhaps for ever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?”

As she pronounced these words, Mr. Darcy changed colour; but the emotion was short. She continued:

“I have every reason to think ill of you.[319] No motive can excuse the unjust and ungenerous part you acted. You cannot deny, that you have been the principal, if not the only means of dividing them from each other.”

She paused. He looked at her with a smile.

“Can you deny that you have done it?” she repeated.

With assumed tranquillity he then replied: “I have no wish to deny that I did everything in my power to separate my friend from your sister.”

“But it is not merely this affair,” continued Elizabeth, “on which my dislike is founded. Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. What can you say? Who knows what his misfortunes have been?”

“His misfortunes!” repeated Darcy contemptuously; “yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed. This is your opinion of me! This is the estimation in which you hold me! I am not ashamed of the feelings I have. They are natural and just. Could you expect me to rejoice on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is beneath my own?[320]”

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to speak calmly:

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, I would refuse anyway.”

Again his astonishment was obvious. She went on:

“From the very beginning – from the first moment – of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressed me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others. You are the last man in the world whom I could ever marry.”

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings. Forgive me for taking so much of your time, and accept my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

Elizabeth sat down and cried for half-an-hour. She received an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! He is in love with her! But his pride, his abominable pride, and the manner in which he had mentioned Mr. Wickham, his cruelty towards Jane tell more than his words of love.

Chapter 35

The next morning Elizabeth could not recover from the surprise of what had happened; it was impossible to think of anything else. Soon after breakfast she went for a walk.

After walking two or three times along that part of the lane, she stopped at the gates and looked into the park. Suddenly she noticed a gentleman which was moving that way. It was Mr. Darcy, he was near enough to see her, and stepping forward with eagerness, pronounced her name. He said, “I have been walking in the park in the hope of meeting you. Will you do me the honour of reading that letter?” And then, with a slight bow, was soon out of sight.

With no expectation of pleasure, but with the strongest curiosity, Elizabeth opened the letter. It was written at eight o’clock in the morning, and was as follows: —

“I write without any intention of paining you, or humbling myself. You must pardon the freedom with which I demand your attention, but I demand it of your justice.[321]

Two offenses[322] of a very different nature you last night laid to my charge.[323] The first mentioned was, that I had detached Mr. Bingley from your sister, and the other, that I had ruined the immediate prosperity of Mr. Wickham. I can only say that I am sorry. I will try to explain everything.

In Hertfordshire, I saw that Bingley preferred your elder sister to any other young woman in the country. Bingley’s attentions to your sister had given rise to a general expectation of their marriage. Everybody spoke of it as a certain event. From that moment I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard. So I thought she was not serious. But of course, your superior knowledge of your sister is true. So I can understand I made a terrible error to inflict pain on her. Pardon me. It pains me to offend you. Indeed, I preserved my friend from what I esteemed a most unhappy connection. He left Netherfield for London, on the day following, as you, I am certain, remember.

In London I tried to tell my friend the certain evils of his choice. I described, and enforced them earnestly. To persuade him against returning into Hertfordshire was scarcely the work of a moment.[324] I cannot blame myself for having done thus much. On this subject I have nothing more to say, no other apology to offer. If I have wounded your sister’s feelings, please forgive me.

With respect to that other, more weighty accusation, connected with Mr. Wickham, I can only tell the story of my family. Of what he has particularly accused me I am ignorant; but I will tell you everything.

Mr. Wickham is the son of a very respectable man, who had for many years the management of all the Pemberley estates, and whose good conduct inclined my father to do him something good. George Wickham was his godson. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge – most important assistance, as his own father, always poor from the extravagance of his wife, was unable to give him a gentleman’s education. My father had the highest opinion of him, and hoping the church would be his profession, intended to provide for him in it.[325] As for myself, it is many, many years since I first began to think of him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities, which he was carefully hiding from the knowledge of his best friend, could not escape the observation of a young man of nearly the same age with himself. Here again I shall give you pain – to what degree you only can tell.

My beloved father died about five years ago; and his attachment to Mr. Wickham was so steady, that in his will he particularly recommended it to me, to promote his advancement – and desired that a valuable family living[326] might be his as soon as it became vacant. There was also an amount of one thousand pounds. His own father did not long survive mine, and within half a year from these events, Mr. Wickham wrote to inform me that he decided not to become a clergyman. He wanted to receive money. So Mr. Wickham received three thousand pounds from me. All connection between us dissolved. I thought too ill of him to invite him to Pemberley, or admit his society in town. His life was a life of idleness and dissipation. For about three years I heard little of him. When the money was over, he wrote, that he decided to became a priest and asked me about the place that would suit him. You will hardly blame me for refusing to comply with this entreaty. So he was violent in his abuse of me to others. How he lived I know not. But last summer he again most painfully appeared in my life.

I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself. My sister, who is more than ten years younger than me, was left to the guardianship of my mother’s nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school. Last summer she went with the lady to Ramsgate; and there also went Mr. Wickham. He had evil intentions: he offered her to run away with him. My sister was fifteen only, which must be her excuse. I am happy to add, that I joined them unexpectedly a day or two before the intended escape, and then Georgiana told me everything. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. I wrote to Mr. Wickham, who left the place immediately. Mr. Wickham was interested in my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I am sure he was thinking of revenging himself on me.[327]

For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam. I shall find some opportunity of putting this letter in your hands this morning. I will only add, God bless you.

Fitzwilliam Darcy”

Chapter 36

When Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth the letter, she had formed no expectation at all of its contents. But she read with eagerness. Mr. Darcy expressed no regret for what he had done; his style was not penitent, but haughty. It was all pride and insolence.

When she was reading about Mr. Wickham, she wished to discredit it entirely, repeatedly exclaiming, “This must be false! This cannot be! This must be the grossest falsehood!”

She put down the letter, weighed every circumstance – but with little success. Again she read on; but every line told her that she was wrong about Mr. Wickham. His countenance, voice, and manner had established him at once in the possession of every virtue. She perfectly remembered everything that had passed in conversation between Wickham and herself, in their first evening at Mr. Phillips’s. Many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory.

How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned! She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! Till this moment I never knew myself.”

She could not deny the justice of his description of Jane. She felt that Jane’s feelings were little displayed.

After wandering along the lane for two hours, giving way to every variety of thought – re-considering events, determining probabilities, and reconciling herself, she entered the house with the wish of appearing cheerful as usual.

She was immediately told that the two gentlemen from Rosings had each called during her absence; Mr. Darcy, only for a few minutes, to take leave[328] – but that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been sitting with them at least an hour, hoping for her return. Elizabeth could think only of her letter.

Chapter 37

The two gentlemen left Rosings the next morning, and Mr. Collins hastened to console Lady Catherine and her daughter.

Elizabeth looked at Lady Catherine and thought that she might be her future niece. “What would she have said? how would she have behaved?” were questions with which she amused herself.

“I assure you, no one feels the loss of friends so much as I do,” said Lady Catherine; “I am particularly attached to these young men, and I know how they are attached to me! They were excessively sorry to go!”

Lady Catherine observed, after dinner, that Miss Bennet seemed out of spirits. So she said:

“You must write to your mother and beg that you may stay a little longer. Mrs. Collins will be very glad of your company, I am sure.”

“I am much obliged to your ladyship for your kind invitation,” replied Elizabeth, “but it is not in my power to accept it. I must be in town next Saturday.”

“Why, I expected you to stay two months. I told Mrs. Collins so before you came. There can be no need for your going so soon.”

“But my father wrote last week to hurry my return. You are all kindness, madam; but I believe I must return home.”

Lady Catherine said, “Mrs. Collins, you must send a servant with them. I cannot bear the idea of two young women travelling by themselves. It is highly improper. You must contrive to send somebody. Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. When my niece Georgiana went to Ramsgate last summer, I made a point of her having two men-servants go with her. I am excessively attentive to all those things. You must send John with the young ladies, Mrs. Collins.”

“My uncle will send a servant for us.”

“Oh! Your uncle! He keeps a man-servant, does he? I am very glad you have somebody who thinks of these things. Where shall you change horses? Oh! Bromley, of course.”

Lady Catherine had many other questions to ask concerning their journey, and as she did not answer them all herself, attention was necessary.

Elizabeth studied every sentence of Mr. Darcy’s letter; and her feelings towards its writer were at times widely different. His attachment deserved gratitude, his general character respect; but she could not approve him. In her own past behaviour, there was a constant source of vexation and regret.

Anxiety on Jane’s behalf[329] was another concern. How grievous was her fate!

When to these recollections was added the development of Wickham’s character, it may be easily understood that the happy spirits which had seldom been depressed before, were now so alarming.

When they parted, Lady Catherine, with great condescension, wished them a good journey, and invited them to come to Hunsford again next year; and Miss de Bourgh held out her hand to both.

Chapter 38

On Saturday morning Elizabeth and Mr. Collins met for breakfast a few minutes before the others appeared; and he took the opportunity of paying the parting civilities.

Elizabeth was eager with her thanks and assurances of happiness. She had spent six weeks with great enjoyment; and the pleasure of being with Charlotte, and the kind attentions she had received, must make her feel the obliged. Mr. Collins was gratified, and with a more smiling solemnity replied:

“It gives me great pleasure to hear that you have passed your time not disagreeably. We have certainly done our best. You may, in fact, carry a very favourable report of us into Hertfordshire, my dear cousin.”

Elizabeth could safely say that it was a great happiness to meet them here. Poor Charlotte! it was melancholy to leave her to such society! But she had chosen it with her eyes open; and she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and all their dependent concerns, had not yet lost their charms.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready.

“Good gracious!” cried Maria, after a few minutes’ silence, “it seems but a day or two since we first came! and yet how many things have happened!”

“A great many indeed,” said her companion with a sigh.

“We have dined nine times at Rosings, besides drinking tea there twice! How much I shall have to tell!”

Elizabeth added privately, “And how much I shall have to conceal!”

Their journey was performed without much conversation; and within four hours of their leaving Hunsford they reached Mr. Gardiner’s house, where they were to remain a few days.

Jane looked well, and Elizabeth had little opportunity of studying her spirits. But Jane was to go home with her, and at Longbourn there would be time enough for observation.

Chapter 39

After welcoming their sisters, Kitty and Lydia triumphantly displayed a table set out with cold meat, “Is not this nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?”

“Look here, I have bought this bonnet.” added Lydia. “I do not think it is very pretty; but I decided to buy it anyway. I shall pull it to pieces as soon as I get home, and see if I can make it better. You know, the officers are going to leave Meryton in a fortnight.”

“Are they indeed!” cried Elizabeth, with the greatest satisfaction.

“They are going to Brighton; and I do so want papa to take us all there for the summer! It would be such a delicious plan; and I dare say would not cost anything at all. Only think what a miserable summer else we shall have!”

“Now I have got some news for you,” said Lydia, as they sat down at table. “What do you think? It is excellent news – capital news – and about a certain person we all like!”

Jane and Elizabeth looked at each other, and the waiter was told he need not stay. Lydia laughed, and said:

“You thought the waiter must not hear, as if he cared! I dare say he often hears worse things said than I am going to say. But he is an ugly fellow! I am glad he is gone. I never saw such a long chin in my life. Well, it is about dear Wickham. There is no danger of Wickham’s marrying Mary King. She is gone down to her uncle at Liverpool: gone to stay. Wickham is safe.”

“And Mary King is safe, too!” added Elizabeth.

“She is a great fool for going away, if she liked him.”

“But I hope there is no strong attachment on either side,” said Jane.

“I am glad I bought my bonnet,” cried Lydia. “And in the first place, let us hear what has happened to you all since you went away. Have you seen any pleasant men? Have you had any flirting? I was in great hopes that one of you would have got a husband before you came back. Jane will be an old maid soon, I declare. She is almost twenty-three!”

Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see Jane; and more than once during dinner did Mr. Bennet say voluntarily to Elizabeth:

“I am glad you are come back, Lizzy.”

Their party in the dining-room was large, for almost all the Lucases came to meet Maria and hear the news. Lydia seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute.

In the afternoon Lydia was urgent with the rest of the girls to walk to Meryton, and to see how everybody went on; but Elizabeth steadily opposed the plan. Miss Bennet dreaded seeing Mr. Wickham again, and was resolved to avoid it as long as possible.

Chapter 40

Elizabeth’s impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome; and she related to her the next morning the scene between Mr. Darcy and herself.

“His sureness of succeeding was wrong,” said she, “but consider how much it must increase his disappointment!”

“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth, “I am heartily sorry for him; but he has other feelings, which will probably soon drive away his regard for me. You do not blame me, however, for refusing him?”

“Blame you! Oh, no.”

“But you will know it, when I tell you what happened the very next day.”

She then spoke of the letter, repeating the whole of its contents. What a stroke was this for poor Jane! It was some time, however, before Jane could smile.

“I do not know when I was more shocked,” said she. “Wickham is so bad! Poor Mr. Darcy! Dear Lizzy, only consider what he must have suffered. Such a disappointment! And poor Wickham! there is such an expression of goodness in his countenance! such an openness and gentleness in his manner! Lizzy, when you first read that letter, I am sure you could not treat the matter as you do now.[330]”

“Indeed, I could not. I was uncomfortable enough, I may say unhappy. And there was no Jane to comfort me! Oh! how I wanted you!”

Elizabeth became calm. She had got rid of two of the secrets which had troubled her for a long time. But she noticed that Jane was not happy. She still loved Bingley.

“Well, Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet one day, “what is your opinion now of this sad business of Jane’s? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it again to anybody. Well, he is a very undeserving young man.[331] There is no talk of his coming to Netherfield again in the summer; and I have inquired of everybody, too, who is likely to know.”

“I do not believe he will ever live at Netherfield any more.”

“Oh well! it is just as he chooses. Nobody wants him to come.”

Elizabeth made no answer.

“Well, Lizzy,” continued her mother, soon afterwards, “and so the Collinses live very comfortable, do they? Well, well, I only hope it will last. And what sort of table do they keep? Charlotte is an excellent manager, I dare say. If she is half as sharp as her mother, she is saving enough. There is nothing extravagant in their housekeeping, I dare say.”

“No, nothing at all.”

“A great deal of good management. Yes, yes. They will take care not to outrun their income. They will never be distressed for money. And so, I suppose, they often talk of having Longbourn when your father is dead. I say, whenever that happens.”

“It was a subject which they could not mention before me.”

“I make no doubt they often talk of it between themselves.”

Chapter 41

The first week was soon gone. The second began. It was the last of the regiment’s stay in Meryton, and all the young ladies in the neighbourhood were sad. The elder sisters alone were still able to eat, drink, and sleep, and pursue the usual course of their employments. Kitty and Lydia were weeping.

“Good Heaven! what is to become of us? What are we to do?” they often exclaimed. “How can you smile, Lizzy?”

“I am sure I shall break my heart,” said Lydia.

“If we could go to Brighton!” observed Mrs. Bennet.

“Oh, yes! – if we could go to Brighton! But papa is so disagreeable.”

Elizabeth tried to stay apart; but all sense of pleasure was lost in shame. But suddenly Lydia received an invitation from Mrs. Forster, the wife of the colonel of the regiment, to accompany her to Brighton. This friend was a very young woman, and very lately married. A resemblance in good humour and good spirits had recommended her and Lydia to each other.

The rapture of Lydia on this occasion, her adoration of Mrs. Forster, the delight of Mrs. Bennet, and the mortification of Kitty, are scarcely to be described. Lydia flew about the house in restless ecstasy, and laughing and talking with more violence than ever.

“I cannot see why Mrs. Forster should not ask me as well as Lydia,” said Kitty, “Though I am not her particular friend. I am two years older!”

In vain did Elizabeth attempt to make her reasonable. As for Elizabeth herself, this invitation was so far from exciting in her the same feelings as in her mother and Lydia. She said to Mr. Bennet:

“Our importance, my dear father, our respectability in the world[332] must be affected by the Lydia’s wild volatility, by her character. Excuse me, for I must speak plainly. In this danger Kitty also is comprehended. She will follow wherever Lydia leads. Vain, ignorant, idle, and absolutely uncontrolled!”

Mr. Bennet, affectionately taking her hand, said in reply:

“Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. Wherever you and Jane are known you must be respected and valued. We shall have no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Let her go, then. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and will keep her out of any real mischief; and she is luckily too poor to be an object of prey to anybody.[333] At Brighton the officers will find women better worth their notice.[334]”

In Lydia’s imagination, a visit to Brighton was real earthly happiness. She saw herself the object of attention. She herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once.

Elizabeth had to see Mr. Wickham for the last time. On the very last day of the regiment’s remaining at Meryton, he dined, with other of the officers, at Longbourn. She mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s and Mr. Darcy’s staying at Rosings, and asked him, if he was acquainted with the former.

He looked surprised, displeased, alarmed; but with a smile, replied, that he had formerly seen him often; and, after observing that he was a very gentlemanlike man, asked her how she had liked him. Her answer was warmly in his favour. With an air of indifference he soon afterwards added:

“How long did you say he was at Rosings?”

“Nearly three weeks.”

“And you saw him frequently?”

“Yes, almost every day.”

“His manners are very different from his cousin’s.”

“Yes, very different. But I think Mr. Darcy improves.”

“Indeed!” cried Mr. Wickham with a look which did not escape her.

Elizabeth could not repress a smile at this. She saw that he wanted to engage her on the old subject of his grievances.

Lydia returned with Mrs. Forster to Meryton, from whence they were to set out early the next morning. The separation between her and her family was rather noisy than pathetic. Kitty was the only one who shed tears; but she did weep from vexation and envy.

Chapter 42

Elizabeth’s father, captivated by youth and beauty, had married a woman whose illiberal mind had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was fond of the country and of books; and these were his principal enjoyments. The true philosopher will derive benefit from such as are given.[335]

Elizabeth, however, was not blind. She had always seen everything with pain. Wickham left, and at home she had mother and sister whose constant lamentations made the life insupportable. But she was dreaming about her tour to the Lakes; it was her best consolation.

When Lydia went away she promised to write very often to her mother and Kitty; but her letters were always very short.

After the first fortnight or three weeks of her absence, health, and good humour began to reappear at Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet was restored to her usual querulous serenity; and, by the middle of June, Kitty was so much recovered as to be able to enter Meryton without tears.

The time fixed for the beginning of their northern tour was now fast approaching. But Mr. Gardiner could start in July, and must be in London again within a month, and as that left little time for them to go so far. Elizabeth was excessively disappointed; she dreamt of the Lakes.

Her relatives offered her to visit Derbyshire. And it was impossible for her to go to Derbyshire without thinking of Pemberley and its owner, Mr. Darcy.

The period of expectation was now doubled. Four weeks passed away before her uncle and aunt’s arrival. And Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, with their four children, appeared at Longbourn. The children, two girls of six and eight years old, and two younger boys, were to be left with their cousin Jane, who was ready to teach them, play with them, and love them.

The Gardiners stayed only one night at Longbourn, and left the next morning with Elizabeth in pursuit of amusement.

Mr. Gardiner declared his willingness to visit Pemberley, and Elizabeth did not say a word.

“My love, do not you like to see a place of which you have heard so much?” said her aunt; “a place, too, with which so many of your acquaintances are connected. Wickham passed all his youth there, you know.”

Elizabeth was distressed. She felt that she had no business at Pemberley, she really had no pleasure in seeing rich houses.

Mrs. Gardiner noticed, “The views here are delightful. They have the finest woods in the country.”

Elizabeth said no more. The possibility of meeting Mr. Darcy, while viewing the place, would be dreadful!

Chapter 43

Elizabeth, as they drove along, watched for the first appearance of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation. Finally they turned in at the lodge.

The park was very large, and contained great variety of ground. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood.

Elizabeth saw and admired every remarkable spot and point of view. They found themselves at the top of a big hill, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley. It was a large, handsome stone building, standing on rising ground. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more. They admired the view; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something![336]

They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door. On applying to see the place,[337] they were admitted into the hall.

The housekeeper came; a respectable-looking elderly woman. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well proportioned room. Elizabeth went to a window to enjoy its prospect. From every window there were beauties to be seen. The rooms were lofty and handsome.

“And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress![338] Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own.”

She wanted to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really absent, but had not the courage for it. The question was asked by her uncle. Mrs. Reynolds replied that he was, adding, “But we expect him tomorrow, with a large party of friends.”

Her aunt now called her to look at a picture. She approached and saw the portrait of Mr. Wickham. Her aunt asked her, how she liked it. The housekeeper came forward, and told them it was a picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master’s steward. “He is now gone into the army,” she added; “but I am afraid he has turned out very wild.[339]”

Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a smile.

“And that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, pointing to another of the miniatures, “is my master. It was drawn at the same time as the other – about eight years ago.”

“I have heard much of your master,” said Mrs. Gardiner, looking at the picture; “it is a handsome face. But, Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Mrs. Reynolds asked:

“Does that young lady know Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth coloured, and said: “A little.”

“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?”

“Yes, very handsome.”

Mrs. Reynolds then directed their attention to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.

“And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Oh! yes – the handsomest young lady that ever was seen! She plays and sings all day long. In the next room there is a new instrument – a present from my master; she comes here tomorrow with him.”

“Does your master live at Pemberley?” asked Mr. Gardiner.

“Not so much as I could wish, sir; but Miss Darcy is always here for the summer months.”

“If your master would marry, you could see him more often.”

“Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him. Everybody will say so.”

“You are lucky in having such a master.”

“Yes, sir, I know I am. I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world.”

Elizabeth almost stared at her. “Can this be Mr. Darcy?” thought she.

“His father was an excellent man,” said Mrs. Gardiner.

“Yes, ma’am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him.”

Elizabeth listened, wondered, and doubted. Mrs. Reynolds continued, “He is the best landlord, and the best master, that ever lived. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. And he is certainly a good brother.”

In the gallery there were many family portraits. When they had seen all of the house, they returned downstairs, and took leave of the housekeeper.

As they walked across the hall towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also, and the owner of the house suddenly came forward from the road.

Mr. Darcy became immovable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, spoke to Elizabeth. He repeated his inquiries about Longbourn and Derbyshire, and she answered. He was speaking very politely, without pride, and Elizabeth was very surprised. She did not know what to think.

Mr. Darcy handed the ladies into the carriage; and when it drove off, Elizabeth saw him walking slowly towards the house.

“He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming,” said her uncle. “His behaviour to us more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention.”

“To be sure, Lizzy,” said her aunt, “he is not so handsome as Wickham. But why did you tell me that he was so disagreeable?”

Elizabeth said that she had liked him better when they had met in Kent than before, and that she had never seen him so pleasant as this morning.

Chapter 44

Elizabeth did not think that Mr. Darcy would come to visit them in the inn. But her conclusion was false; for in the very morning the visitors came.

Miss Darcy and her brother appeared, and the introduction took place. Miss Darcy was tall, much taller than Elizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed. She was less handsome than her brother; but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were gentle.

Mr. Darcy told Elizabeth that Bingley was also coming to see her; and she had barely time to express her satisfaction, and prepare for such a visitor, when Bingley’s quick step was heard on the stairs, and in a moment he entered the room. All Elizabeth’s anger against him went away. He inquired in a friendly way after her family, and looked and spoke with the same good-humoured ease that he had ever done.

Elizabeth had much to do. She wanted to ascertain the feelings of each of her visitors; she wanted to compose her own.

Bingley said in a tone which had something of real regret, that it “was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing each other;” and, before she could reply, he added, “It is above eight months. We have not met since the 26th of November, when we were all dancing together at Netherfield.”

Elizabeth was pleased to find his memory so exact. There was not much in the question, nor in the preceding remark; but there was a look and a manner which gave them meaning.

It was not often that she could turn her eyes on Mr. Darcy himself; but, whenever she did catch a glimpse, she saw an expression of general complaisance. Never, even in the company of his dear friends at Netherfield, or his dignified relations at Rosings, had she seen him so nice and well-behaved.

Their visitors stayed with them above half-an-hour; and when they arose to depart, Mr. Darcy expressed their wish of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, and Miss Bennet, to dinner at Pemberley, before they left the country.

Bingley expressed great pleasure of seeing Elizabeth again, hoping to speak about her sister. So the visitors went away. Elizabeth’s uncle and aunt liked Mr. Darcy very much. They had nothing to accuse him. The people in the country loved him. It was acknowledged that he was a liberal man, and did much good among the poor.

Chapter 45

On reaching the house, Elizabeth and her relatives were shown through the hall into the saloon. In this house they were received by Miss Darcy, who was sitting there with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and the lady with whom she lived in London.

Their visit did not continue long; and while Mr. Darcy was attending them to their carriage Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticism on Elizabeth’s person, behaviour, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her.

“How very ill Miss Eliza Bennet looks this morning, Mr. Darcy,” she cried; “She is grown so brown and coarse![340] Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her eyes have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all; and in her air there is something, which is intolerable.”

But Darcy admired Elizabeth.

“Yes,” replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, “but that was only when I first saw her, and now I consider her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

He then went away.

Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth talked of all that had occurred during their visit, as they returned. Elizabeth wanted to know what Mrs. Gardiner thought of Mr. Darcy.

Chapter 46

When Elizabeth arrived at Lambton, a letter from Jane was waiting for her.

“Something has occurred, dearest Lizzy. What I have to say relates to poor Lydia. Colonel Forster informed us that she was gone off to Scotland[341] with Wickham! Imagine our surprise. Our poor mother is sadly grieved. Colonel Forster will come here soon. Lydia left a few lines for his wife. Dearest Lizzy, I have bad news for you, and it cannot be delayed. Nobody knows where they are! Our distress, my dear Lizzy, is very great. My father and mother believe the worst. My poor mother is really ill. And as to my father, I never in my life saw him so affected. My father is going to London with Colonel Forster, to try to discover Lydia.”

“Oh! where, where is my uncle?” cried Elizabeth, darting from her seat as she finished the letter, in eagerness to follow him, without losing time. But as she reached the door it was opened by a servant, and Mr. Darcy appeared. Before he could speak, she exclaimed, “I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must find Mr. Gardiner this moment, on business that cannot be delayed; I have no time to lose.”

“Good God! what is the matter?” cried he, “I will not detain you a minute; but let me, or let the servant go after Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. You are not well enough; you cannot go yourself.”

Elizabeth hesitated, but her knees trembled under her. She sat down, unable to support herself, and looking miserably ill. “Let me call your maid. You are very ill.”

“No, I thank you,” she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well; I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”

She burst into tears, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Then she spoke again. “I have just had a letter from Jane, with such dreadful news. It cannot be concealed from anyone. My younger sister has left all her friends; has thrown herself into the power of Mr. Wickham. They ran away. She has no money, no connections, she is lost for ever.”

“I am shocked indeed,” cried Darcy.

“Oh, yes! They left Brighton together on Sunday night. My father is gone to London. But nothing can be done – I know very well that nothing can be done. How can one find them? I have not the smallest hope. It is horrible!”

Darcy shook his head, he made no answer. He was walking up and down the room, his brow contracted. Elizabeth instantly understood it that everything was lost. It was really shameful for her family.

“Please say that urgent business calls us home immediately. Conceal the unhappy truth as long as it is possible.”

He readily assured her of his secrecy; again expressed his sorrow for her distress, wished it a happier conclusion, and went away.

Her uncle returned. They seated in the carriage, and were on the road to Longbourn.

Chapter 47

“Well, let’s suppose that they are in London, Elizabeth,” said her uncle, as they drove from the town; “They may be there. They have very little money.”

“But why all this secrecy? Why any fear of detection? If they are going to marry, why must their marriage be private? Oh, no, no – this is not likely. Wickham will never marry a woman without some money. He cannot afford it. Lydia has no brothers to step forward;[342] that’s why he is so ‘brave’. But can you think that Lydia loves him so much?”

“It does seem, and it is most shocking indeed,” replied Elizabeth, with tears in her eyes, “But, really, I do not know what to say. But she is very young; she has never been taught to think on serious subjects. Nothing but love, flirtation, and officers are in her head. Wickham has neither integrity nor honour; he is as false and deceitful as he is insinuating. His lies about the whole Pemberley family are endless.”

“But does Lydia know nothing of this? can she be ignorant of what you and Jane seem so well to understand?”

“Oh, yes! – that, that is the worst of all. The necessity of opening her eyes to his character never occurred to me. That she could be in any danger from the deception never entered my head.”

They travelled as fast as possible, and, sleeping one night on the road, reached Longbourn by dinner time the next day. Elizabeth asked Jane if she had heard of the fugitives.

“Not yet,” replied Jane. “But now my dear uncle has come, I hope everything will be well.”

“Is my father in town?”

“Yes, he went on Tuesday.”

“And have you heard from him often?”

“We have heard only twice. He wrote me a few lines on Wednesday to say that he had arrived in safety.”

“And my mother – how is she? How are you all?”

“My mother is tolerably well, I think. Mary and Kitty, thank Heaven, are quite well.”

“But you – how are you?” cried Elizabeth. “You look pale!”

Her sister, however, assured her of her being perfectly well.[343] Jane ran to her uncle and aunt, and welcomed and thanked them both.

Mary whispered to Elizabeth, soon after they were seated at table:

“This is a most unfortunate affair. We must do something.”

Chapter 48

Everybody was in hopes of a letter from Mr. Bennet the next morning, but the post came in without bringing a single line from him.

All Meryton was striving to blacken the man who, three months before, had been almost an angel. Elizabeth and even Jane became almost hopeless.

Mr. Gardiner left Longbourn on Sunday; on Tuesday his wife received a letter from him; it told them that, on his arrival, he had immediately found out his brother, and persuaded him to come to Gracechurch Street; and that he was now looking for the fugitives at all the principal hotels in town. Mr. Gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. There was also a postscript to this letter:

“At present we have nothing to guide us. Colonel Forster will do everything in his power. But, perhaps, Lizzy could tell us what relatives that officer could have in London.”

Elizabeth was ready to help; but it was not in her power to give any useful information. She had never heard of any Wickham’s relatives, except a father and mother, both of whom had been dead many years.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious part of each was when the post was expected. The arrival of letters was the grand object of every morning’s impatience.

Mr. Gardiner wrote in his letter, that they might expect to see their father at home on the following day, which was Saturday. When Mrs. Bennet was told of this, she did not express so much satisfaction as her children expected.

“What, is he coming home, and without poor Lydia?” she cried. “Sure he will not leave London before he has found them. Who is to fight Wickham, and make him marry her, if he comes away?”

When Mr. Bennet arrived, he said as little as he usually did.

“Do you suppose them to be in London?” asked Elizabeth

“Yes; where else can they be so well hidden? And Lydia is happy then,” said her father drily.

Chapter 49

Two days after Mr. Bennet’s return, as Jane and Elizabeth were walking together in the shrubbery behind the house, they saw the housekeeper coming towards them. She said to Miss Bennet, “I beg your pardon, madam, for interrupting you, but there is a letter for you from Mr. Gardiner.”

The girls ran away. They ran through the vestibule into the breakfast-room; from thence to the library:

“Oh, papa, what news – what news? Have you heard from my uncle?”

“Yes I have had a letter from him.”

“Well, and what news does it bring – good or bad?”

“Read it aloud,” said their father and gave them a letter.

“Gracechurch Street, Monday, August 2.

“MY DEAR BROTHER,

“At last I have seen them both – ”

“Then it is as I always hoped,” cried Jane; “they are married!”

Elizabeth read on:

“I have seen them both. They are not married; but if you are willing to perform the engagements, I hope it will not be long before they are. Mr. Wickham’s circumstances are not so hopeless as they are generally believed to be. I am happy to say there will be some little money, even when all his debts are discharged, to settle on my niece, in addition to her own fortune. Yours, Edw. Gardiner.”

“Is it possible?” cried Elizabeth, when she had finished. “Can it be possible that he will marry her?”

“Wickham is not so bad, then, as we thought him,” said her sister. “My dear father, I congratulate you.”

“And have you answered the letter?” cried Elizabeth.

“No; but it must be done soon.”

“Oh! my dear father,” she cried, “come back and write immediately.”

“Let me write for you,” said Jane, “if you dislike the trouble yourself.”

“I dislike it very much,” he replied; “but it must be done.”

“And they must marry!”

“Yes, yes, they must marry. There is nothing else to be done. But there are two things that I want very much to know; one is, how much money your uncle promised him; and the other, how will I give it back to him.”

“Money! My uncle!” cried Jane, “what do you mean, sir?”

“I mean, that no Wickham would marry poor Lydia.”

“That is true,” said Elizabeth; “though it had not occurred to me before. His debts to be discharged, and something still to remain! Oh! it must be my uncle’s doings! Generous, good man! A small sum could not do all this.”

“No,” said her father; “Wickham’s a fool if he takes less than ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand pounds! How is such a sum to be repaid?”

Mr. Bennet made no answer, and each of them continued silent till they reached the house. Their father then went on to the library to write, and the girls walked into the breakfast-room.

“And they are really to be married!” cried Elizabeth. “How strange this is! Oh, Lydia!”

Elizabeth took the letter, and they went up stairs together. Mary and Kitty were both with Mrs. Bennet. After a slight preparation for good news, the letter was read aloud. Mrs. Bennet could hardly contain herself. As soon as Jane had read Mr. Gardiner’s letter, her joy burst forth. To know that her daughter would be married was enough.

“My dear, dear Lydia!” she cried. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! My good, kind brother! I knew he would manage everything! But the clothes, the wedding clothes! I will write to my sister about them directly. Lizzy, my dear, run down to your father, and ask him how much he will give her. Stay, stay, I will go myself. Ring the bell, Kitty. My dear, dear Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet!”

Her eldest daughter reminded her about Mr. Gardiner’s help.

“Well,” cried her mother, “it is all very right; who should do it but her own uncle? Well! I am so happy! In a short time I shall have a daughter married. Mrs. Wickham! How well it sounds! And she was only sixteen last June.”

Chapter 50

Instead of spending his whole income, Mr. Bennet had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. Now he wanted to discharge the obligation as soon as he could.

When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was useless, for, of course, they hoped to have a son. Five daughters successively entered the world, but no arrived.

Mr. Bennet had never before supposed that, Wickham could marry his daughter.

The good news spread quickly through the house. It was a fortnight since Mrs. Bennet had been downstairs; but on this happy day she again took her seat at the head of her table. But Mrs. Bennet found, with amazement and horror, that her husband would not give a guinea to buy clothes for his daughter.

Elizabeth was now most heartily sorry that she had told Mr. Darcy about her sister. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her.

Mr. Gardiner soon wrote again to his brother. The principal purport of his letter was to inform him that Mr. Wickham decided to quit the place and go to the North.

Mr. Bennet and his daughters saw all the advantages of Wickham’s removal. Jane and Elizabeth wanted to see the couple at Longbourn, as soon as they were married. And their mother was satisfied that she would be able to show her married daughter in the neighbourhood before she was banished to the North. When Mr. Bennet wrote again to his brother, therefore, he sent his permission for them to come; and it was settled, that as soon as the ceremony was over, they should proceed to Longbourn.

Chapter 51

They came. The family were assembled in the breakfast room to receive them. Smiles decked the face of Mrs. Bennet as the carriage drove up to the door; her husband looked impenetrably grave; her daughters, alarmed, anxious, uneasy.

Lydia’s voice was heard in the vestibule; she ran into the room. Her mother stepped forwards, embraced her, and gave her hand, with an affectionate smile, to Wickham, who followed his lady; and wished them both joy and love.

Their reception from Mr. Bennet was not so cordial. He scarcely opened his lips. Elizabeth was disgusted, and even Miss Bennet was shocked. Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. She turned from sister to sister, demanding their congratulations; and when they all sat down, looked eagerly round the room with a laugh.

The bride and her mother began to talk to each other. Wickham, who sat near Elizabeth, began inquiring after his acquaintance in that neighbourhood. They seemed each of them to have the happiest memories in the world. Nothing of the past was recollected with pain.

“Only think of three months,” cried Lydia, “since I went away; and yet so many things happened.”

Her father lifted up his eyes. Jane was distressed. Elizabeth looked expressively at Lydia; but she, who never heard nor saw anything, gaily continued, “Oh! mamma, do the people here know I am married today? I was afraid they might not.”

Elizabeth could not hear it longer. She got up, and ran out of the room. Lydia wanted to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucases, and all their other neighbours; she went after dinner to show her ring.

“Well, mamma,” said she, when they were all returned to the breakfast room, “and what do you think of my husband? Is not he a charming man? I am sure my sisters must all envy me. They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands. What a pity it is, mamma, we did not all go.”

“Very true.”

“You and papa, and my sisters, must come and see us. We shall be at Newcastle all the winter, and I dare say there will be some balls, and I will take care to get good partners for them all.”

“I thank you,” said Elizabeth; “but I do not like your way of getting husbands.”

Lydia was exceedingly fond of her husband. He was her dear Wickham; he did everything best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September, than anybody else in the country.

One morning, soon after their arrival, as she was sitting with her two elder sisters, she said to Elizabeth:

“Lizzy, I never told you about my wedding. Are you not curious to hear?”

“Not really,” replied Elizabeth.

“You are so strange! But I must tell you. We were married, you know, at St. Clement’s.[344] Well, Monday morning came, and I was in such a hurry! I was so afraid, you know, that something would happen to put it off. And there was my aunt, all the time I was dressing. Well, I was so frightened I did not know what to do, for my uncle went away. But, luckily, he came back again in ten minutes, and then Mr. Darcy was in time.”

“Mr. Darcy!” repeated Elizabeth, in utter amazement.

“Oh, yes! – he came there with Wickham, you know. But gracious me![345] I quite forgot! I must not say a word about it. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It is a secret!”

“If it is a secret,” said Jane, “You may trust us, we will tell nobody.”

“Oh! certainly,” said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity; “we will ask you no questions.”

“Thank you,” said Lydia, “for if you did, I should certainly tell you all, and then Wickham would be angry.”

Elizabeth stood up and left. Mr. Darcy had been at her sister’s wedding! But why? She took a sheet of paper and wrote a short letter to her aunt, to request an explanation of what Lydia had said.

Chapter 52

The answer came very soon.

“Gracechurch street, Sept. 6.

“My dear niece,

“I have just received your letter, and shall devote this whole morning to answering it. I have to tell you something. I must say that your letter made me wonder; I did not expect it from you. I had not imagined such inquiries on your side.

On the very day of my coming home from Longbourn, your uncle had a most unexpected visitor. Mr. Darcy called, and was shut up with him several hours. It was all over before I arrived. He came to tell Mr. Gardiner that he had found out where your sister and Mr. Wickham were, and that he had seen and talked with them both; Wickham repeatedly, Lydia once. Mr. Darcy was sure that it was his fault that he did not tell the world who that Wickham was. He had been some days in town, before he was able to discover them.

So Mr. Darcy saw Wickham, and afterwards insisted on seeing Lydia. He was going to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation, and return to her friends, offering his assistance. But Lydia decided to remain where she was. She cared for none of her friends; she wanted no help of his; she would not hear of leaving Wickham. She was sure they should be married some time or other. In his very first conversation with Wickham, he easily learnt that Wickham did not want to marry Lydia at all. Mr. Darcy asked him why he had not married your sister. And he found, in reply to this question, that Wickham wanted to get some money by marriage in some other place. Do you understand?

They met several times, Wickham of course wanted more than he could get. Finally everything was settled between them. Mr. Darcy’s next step was to pay Wickham’s debts, I believe, more than a thousand pounds, another thousand was offered to Lydia.

Mr. Darcy, as Lydia informed you, attended the wedding. He dined with us the next day, and left us on Wednesday or Thursday. Will you be very angry with me, my dear Lizzy, if I say before how much I like him. His understanding and opinions all please me. I thought him[346] very sly; – he hardly ever mentioned your name.

But I must write no more.

“Yours, very sincerely,

“M. Gardiner.”

The contents of this letter made Elizabeth silent. Mr. Darcy was doing so much for her family! He had found Lydia and Wickham, he bribed the man whom he always most wished to avoid. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. She read over her aunt’s view of him again and again. It pleased her.

Chapter 53

The day of Wickham and Lydia’s departure soon came.

“Oh! my dear Lydia,” cried Mrs. Bennet, “when shall we meet again?”

“Oh, lord! I don’t know. Not these two or three years, perhaps.”

“Write to me very often, my dear.”

“As often as I can. But you know married women have never much time for writing. My sisters may write to me. They will have nothing else to do.”

The life went on. The housekeeper at Netherfield had received orders to prepare for the arrival of her master, who was coming down in a day or two, to stay there for several weeks. Mrs. Bennet did not know what to do. She looked at Jane, and smiled and shook her head.

“Well, well, and so Mr. Bingley is coming, sister. Well, so much the better.[347] Not that I care about it, though. He is nothing to us, you know, and I am sure I never want to see him again. But, however, he is very welcome to come to Netherfield, if he likes it. And who knows what may happen? But that is nothing to us. You know, sister, we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it. And so, is it quite certain he is coming?”

Elizabeth was sure Mr. Bingley was in love with Jane. In spite of what her sister declared, she felt that Jane still loves him, too.

Mr. Bingley arrived. But on the third morning after his arrival in Hertfordshire, she saw him, from her dressing-room window.

“There is a gentleman with him, mamma,” said Kitty; “who can it be?”

“I am sure I do not know,” answered her mother.

“Oh!” replied Kitty, “That tall, proud man.”

“Good gracious! Mr. Darcy!”

Chapter 54

Mr. Darcy’s behaviour astonished and vexed Elizabeth.

“Why did he come?” said she. “He can be amiable to my uncle and aunt, when he was in town; and why not to me? Teasing, teasing, man! I will think no more about him.”

Jane joined her with a cheerful look.

“Now,” said she, “I feel perfectly easy. These men are invited to dine with us on Tuesday. I cannot wait.”

They did not see the gentlemen again till Tuesday. On Tuesday there was a large party assembled at Longbourn; and the two were most anxiously expected. On entering the room, Bingley seemed to hesitate; but Jane happened to smile: it was decided. He placed himself by her.

Mr. Darcy sat near her mother. She was not near enough to hear any of their discourse, but she could see how seldom they spoke to each other.

After the dinner, Darcy had walked away to another part of the room. Elizabeth followed him.

“Is your sister at Pemberley still?”

“Yes, she will remain there till Christmas.”

“And quite alone? Have all her friends left her?”

“Mrs. Annesley is with her.”

She could think of nothing more to say. He stood by her, however, for some minutes, in silence; and, at last, he walked away.

“Well girls,” said Mrs. Bennet, as soon as her daughters were left to themselves, “What will you say? I think everything has been excellent. The soup was fifty times better than what we had at the Lucases’ last week. And, my dear Jane, I never saw you look in greater beauty. I hope we may often meet again.”

Elizabeth smiled.

Chapter 55

A few days after this visit, Mr. Bingley came again, and alone. His friend had left him that morning for London, but was to return home in ten days time. He sat with them above an hour, and was in remarkably good spirits.[348] Mrs. Bennet invited him to dine with them; but he thanked and explained that he had a lot of things to do.

“Next time you call,” said she, “I hope we shall be more lucky. Can you come tomorrow?”

Yes, he had no engagement at all for tomorrow; and her invitation was accepted.

After tea, Mr. Bennet retired to the library, and Mary went up stairs to her instrument. In a few minutes, Mrs. Bennet half-opened the door and called out:

“Lizzy, my dear, I want to speak with you.”

Elizabeth was forced to go.

“We may as well leave them by themselves you know;” said her mother, as soon as she was in the hall. “Kitty and I are going up stairs to sit in my dressing-room.”

So Mr. Bingley and Jane were left alone. They had much time to talk to each other. After this day, Jane said no more of her indifference. Not a word passed between the sisters concerning Bingley; but Elizabeth went to bed in the happy belief that all must speedily be concluded.

Even Mr. Bennet said:

“Jane, I congratulate you. You will be a very happy woman.”

Jane went to him instantly, kissed him, and thanked him for his goodness.

“You are a good girl,” he replied, “and I have great pleasure in thinking you will be so happily settled.”

Mrs. Bennet was the happiest mother in the world. Wickham, Lydia, were all forgotten. Jane was beyond competition the favourite.

Bingley, from this time, was a daily visitor at Longbourn; coming frequently before breakfast, and always remaining till after supper.

“He has made me so happy,” said Jane, one evening, “by telling me that he was totally ignorant of my being in town last spring! I had not believed it possible. Would you believe it, Lizzy, that when he went to town last November, he really loved me!”

“He made a little mistake.”

“I am certainly the most fortunate person that ever existed!” cried Jane. “Oh! Lizzy, if I could but see you as happy![349]”

“I never can have your happiness. Perhaps, if I have very good luck, I may meet with another Mr. Collins in time.[350]”

The situation of affairs in the Longbourn family could not be long a secret. Mrs. Bennet whispered it to Mrs. Phillips, and she did the same by all her neighbours in Meryton. The Bennets were speedily declared to be the luckiest family in the world.

Chapter 56

One morning, about a week after Bingley’s engagement with Jane, as he and the females of the family were sitting together in the dining-room, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window, by the sound of a carriage. It was too early in the morning for visitors. In some minutes their visitor entered. It was Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

The astonishment was beyond the expectation. She entered the room with an air more than usually ungracious, and sat down without saying a word. Elizabeth had mentioned her name to her mother.

Mrs. Bennet received her with the utmost politeness. After sitting for a moment in silence, Lady Catherine de Bourgh said very stiffly to Elizabeth,

“I hope you are well, Miss Bennet. That lady, I suppose, is your mother.”

Elizabeth replied very concisely that she was.

“And that I suppose is one of your sisters.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Bennet, delighted to speak to Lady Catherine. “She is my young girl. My youngest of all is lately married, and my eldest is walking with a young man who, I believe, will soon become a part of the family.”

“You have a very small park here,” said Lady Catherine after a short silence.

“It is nothing in comparison of Rosings, my lady, but it is much larger than Sir William Lucas’s.”

Lady Catherine very resolutely, and not very politely, rising up, said to Elizabeth,

“Miss Bennet, I should be glad to take a walk with you in the park.”

They proceeded in silence along the gravel walk that led to the copse; Elizabeth decided not to begin a conversation with a woman who was now more than usually insolent and disagreeable.

As soon as they entered the copse, Lady Catherine began in the following manner:

“Miss Bennet, you can understand the reason of my journey here. Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”

Elizabeth looked with astonishment.

“Indeed, you are mistaken, Madam. I cannot even imagine that.”

“Miss Bennet,” replied her ladyship, in an angry tone, “Two days ago I was told that you, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would be soon united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. I know it must be a scandalous falsehood.”

“If you believed it impossible to be true,” said Elizabeth, colouring with astonishment and disdain, “I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far.[351]”

“You must contradict it.”

“Your coming to Longbourn, to see me and my family,” said Elizabeth coolly, “will be rather a confirmation of it; if such a report is in existence.[352]”

“Do you then pretend to be ignorant of it? Do you not know that such a report is spread abroad?”

“I never heard that it was.”

“And can you declare, that there is no foundation for it?”

“Your ladyship, you may ask questions which I shall not choose to answer. Your ladyship has declared it to be impossible.”

“But you may have drawn him in.[353]”

“If I have, I shall be the last person to confess it.”

“Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this.[354] You know, this marriage can never take place. No, never. Mr. Darcy is engaged to my daughter. Now what have you to say?”

“Only this; that if he is so, you can have no reason to suppose he will make an offer to me.”

Lady Catherine hesitated for a moment, and then replied:

“Have you not heard me say that from his earliest hours he was destined for his cousin?”

“Yes, and I had heard it before. But what is that to me? Why can not Mr. Darcy make another choice?”

“Because honour, decorum, prudence, interest, forbid it. Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Tell me, are you engaged to him?”

Elizabeth answered:

“I am not.”

Lady Catherine seemed pleased.

“And will you promise me, never to enter into such an engagement?”

“I will make no promise of the kind.[355]”

“Miss Bennet, I am shocked and astonished. I expected to find a more reasonable young woman. I shall not go away till you give me the assurance I require.”

“And I certainly never shall give it. You can now have nothing further to say. You have insulted me in every possible method. I must return to the house.”

And she rose as she spoke. Lady Catherine rose also, and they turned back.

“Unfeeling, selfish girl!”

“Lady Catherine, I have nothing further to say. You know my sentiments.”

“And this is your final resolve! Very well. I shall now know how to act. I am most seriously displeased.”

In this manner Lady Catherine talked on, till they were at the door of the carriage.

Chapter 57

Elizabeth, for many hours, was excited. Lady Catherine has come to break her supposed engagement with Mr. Darcy! Elizabeth did not know the exact degree of his affection for his aunt, or his dependence on her judgment.

The surprise of the rest of the family, on hearing who their visitor had been, was very great. The next morning, as she was going downstairs, she was met by her father, who came out of his library with a letter in his hand.

“Lizzy,” said he, “I was going to look for you; come into my room.”

What is the letter he held? It suddenly struck her that it might be from Lady Catherine.

She followed her father to the fireplace, and they both sat down. He then said,

“I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns you, you must know its contents. So, let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.”

The colour now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks; when her father continued:

“You look conscious. This letter is from Mr. Collins.”

“From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?”

“He writes that everybody is talking about you and Mr. Darcy. But, Lizzy, what did Lady Catherine say about this? Is she satisfied? I suppose not.”

To this question his daughter replied only with a laugh.

Chapter 58

Soon after Lady Catherine’s visit Bingley brought Darcy with him to Longbourn. The gentlemen arrived early.

Now was the moment for Elizabeth’s words, and, when her courage was high, she immediately said:

“Mr. Darcy, I thank you for your unexampled kindness to my poor sister.”

“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have been informed of this. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”

“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia was the first to reveal your secret. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family.”

“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. Your family owe me nothing. I thought only of you.”

Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Elizabeth could not hide her happiness. They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said. Darcy’s aunt told him about Elizabeth’s behaviour. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.

“It gave me the hope,” said he.

Elizabeth coloured and laughed.

After walking several miles in a leisurely manner, they found at last, on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home.

“Where are Mr. Bingley and Jane?” asked Elizabeth.

Darcy was delighted with their engagement; his friend had given him the earliest information of it.

“You were surprised, were not you?” said Elizabeth.

“Not at all. When I went away, I felt that it would soon happen. On the evening before my going to London, I talked to him. I told him how I wanted to break his connection with Jane. His surprise was great. He had never had the slightest suspicion. I told him, moreover, that I believed, that your sister was indifferent to him. Bingley is very modest. After our conversation, he rushed to Jane. He was angry. But his anger, I am sure, lasted not long. He has heartily forgiven me now.”

Elizabeth observed that Mr. Bingley had been a good friend.

Chapter 59

The evening passed quietly. The lovers talked and laughed. At night Elizabeth opened her heart to Jane.

“You are joking, Lizzy. This cannot be! – engaged to Mr. Darcy! No, no, you shall not deceive me. I know it to be impossible.”

“I am sure nobody else will believe me, if you do not. Yet, indeed, it is true. I speak nothing but the truth. He still loves me, and we are engaged.”

Jane looked at her. “Oh, Lizzy! it cannot be. I know how much you dislike him.”

“You know nothing of the matter. Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable.”

Miss Bennet still looked all amazement.

“Good Heaven! can it be really so! Yet now I must believe you,” cried Jane. “My dear, dear Lizzy, I congratulate you – but are you certain? Are you quite certain that you can be happy with him?”

“There can be no doubt of that. Yes, we are the happiest couple in the world. But are you pleased, Jane? Shall you like to have such a brother?”

“Very, very much. Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight. And do you really love him quite well enough?”

“Oh, yes! Very much!”

Next evening, soon after Mr. Bennet withdrew to the library, she saw Mr. Darcy rise also and follow him. Then Mr. Darcy appeared again, and Elizabeth, looking at him, was a little relieved by his smile. In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”

Her father was walking about the room. “Lizzy,” said he, “We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man; but this would be nothing if you really liked him.”

“I do, I do like him,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “I love him. Indeed he was very proud. But, indeed, he is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is.”

“Lizzy,” said her father, “I have given him my consent. I now give it to you. I have no more to say. He deserves you.”

Elizabeth then told him what Mr. Darcy had done for Lydia. He heard her with astonishment.

“This is an evening of wonders, indeed! So much the better. It will save me a world of trouble and economy. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow; he will tell about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter.[356]”

When her mother went up to her dressing-room at night, Elizabeth followed her, and told her about Mr. Darcy. The effect was most extraordinary; Mrs. Bennet sat quite still, and unable to utter a word. She tried to comprehend what she heard.

“Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Lizzy! how rich and how great you will be! What money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Jane’s is nothing to it – nothing at all. I am so pleased – so happy. Such a charming man! – so handsome! so tall! Dear, dear Lizzy. A house in town! Three daughters married! Ten thousand a year!”

Mr. Bennet said, smiling:

“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane’s.”

Vocabulary

А

aboard – на борту

abode – жилище; обитель; местопребывание

abominable – отвратительный

absence – отсутствие

absent – отсутствующий

absolute – совершенный

abuse – оскорблять; ругать

acceptance – принятие

acceptance – принятие

accessory – дополнение

accommodation – жильё

accompany – сопровождать

account – описание; рассчитывать

accountant – бухгалтер

accuracy – точность; правильность

accusation – обвинение

accuse – обвинять; предъявлять обвинение

accustomed – привыкший; приученный

achieve – достигать; добиваться

acknowledge – признавать

acquaint – знакомить

acquaintance – знакомство; знакомый

acquit – оправдывать

acquittal – оправдание

adapt – приспосабливать(ся)

addition – прибавление; добавление

adjoin – примыкать, прилегать

adjure – молить; заклинать

adjust – приспосабливать; регулировать; устанавливать; выверять

administration – управление

admirable – замечательный; восхитительный

admiration – восхищение

admire – восхищаться

admission – доступ; вход

admit – допускать; признавать

adopt – усыновлять

adoption – усыновление

adoration – обожание

adore – обожать; поклоняться

advance – аванс

advancement – продвижение; распространение; успех; прогресс

advantage – преимущество

affability – приветливость; любезность

affair – дело

affection – привязанность; любовь

affectionate – любящий; нежный

afford – давать; предоставлять

afraid – испуганный

afterward – потом; впоследствии; позже

agate – агат

aged – старый; пожилой

aggravate – отягчать; усугублять

agitate – волновать; возбуждать

agitation – волнение; возбуждение

agreeable – приятный

agreement – (взаимное) согласие; договор; соглашение

ague – малярия; лихорадка

aguish – малярийный; лихорадочный

ahead – впереди

ajar – приоткрытый

alarmed – тревожный

alarmingly – тревожно

alight – сходить; высаживаться

allow – позволять

ally – союзник

alongside – бок о бок; рядом

aloud – вслух

alter – изменить(ся)

altogether – в общем; в целом

amaze – изумлять

amazed – изумленный

amazement – изумление

amends – компенсация; возмещение

amiable – дружелюбный; добродушный

amidst – среди; между

amongst – среди

amount – количество

amuse – забавлять; развлекать

amusement – развлечение

amusing – забавный; занимательный

anecdote – короткий рассказ; эпизод

angelic – ангельский

anger – гнев; раздражение

angry – сердитый

ankle – лодыжка

announce – объявлять

announcement – объявление; сообщение

annual – ежегодный; годовой

antagonist – соперник; противник

anxiety – беспокойство; тревога

anxious – озабоченный; беспокоящийся; волнующийся

appeal – взывать, обращаться

appear – показываться, появляться

appearance – вид, наружность, внешность

apply – обращаться

appoint – назначать

apprehend – понимать

apprentice – ученик; подмастерье

apprenticeship – учение; ученичество

approach – приближаться

approve – одобрять

April – апрель

apron – передник; фартук

archly – лукаво

ardently – страстно; ревностно

arise (arose, arisen) – подниматься

arrange – планировать; устраивать; приводить в порядок

array – надевать одежду

artful – хитрый; ловкий

ascertain – выяснять; удостоверяться

ashame – стыдить

ashore – на берегу; на берег

aside – в стороне; в сторону

aspiration – стремление; сильное желание

assemble – собирать

assembly – собрание; общество

assent – согласие

assertion – утверждение; заявление

assiduity – усердие; усидчивость

assign – назначать (на должность)

assist – помогать; содействовать

assistance – помощь; содействие

associate – связывать; ассоциировать

assume – предполагать; допускать; принимать

assumption – предположение; допущение

assurance – уверение; гарантия; уверенность

assure – уверять; заверять; убеждаться

astonish – удивлять, изумлять

astonishment – удивление

astound – поражать; изумлять

asunder – порознь; отдельно

attach – прикреплять; присоединять

attachment – привязанность; преданность

attack – нападение; нападать

attempt – попытка; пытаться

attend – присутствовать

attendance – присутствие; посещение

attentive – внимательный; заботливый

attic – мансарда; чердак

attorney – поверенный; адвокат

attract – притягивать, привлекать

attraction – притяжение; тяготение; привлекательность

auction – аукцион

audience – публика

auspicious – благоприятный

avarice – алчность; жадность

avoid – избегать

awe – трепет

awkward – неуклюжий, неловкий

aye – вот! есть!

B

backgammon – триктрак (игра)

backwards – назад; задом

badger – изводить; травить; издеваться

baffle – ставить в тупик; сбивать с толку

ball – бал

bang – шататься, заниматься бездельем

banish – изгонять; высылать; прогонять

bare – голый; оголять

barely – едва; лишь; c трудом

bear (bore, borne) – нести, выносить

beckon – манить (жестом); кивать

beg – просить

behold (beheld, beheld) – смотреть; узреть

belief – вера

believe – верить; полагать, считать

bellow – реветь

beloved – любимый; возлюбленная

beneath – вниз; ниже

benefactor – благодетель; благотворитель

benefit – выгода; польза; пенсия; пособие

bestir – встряхнуться; активизироваться

bestow – даровать; награждать

bewilder – ставить в тупик

bewitch – заколдовывать; очаровывать

bid (bade, bidden) – предлагать

bill – счёт; купюра

bit – кусок, кусочек; чутьчуть

bite (bit, bitten) – кусать

blacken – делать черным, темным; чернить

blacksmith – кузнец

blame – вина; осуждать, винить

blaze – гореть ярким пламенем

bleat – блеять

bless – благословлять; благодарить; славословить

bloodhound – ищейка (порода собак)

bloom – цветение

blotchy – покрытый пятнами; в пятнах

bludgeon – дубинка

blunt – грубоватый

blush – краснеть (от смущения, стыда)

boar – кабан; вепрь

boast – хвастать(ся); гордиться

bonnet – шляпка

bonny – красивый, хороший, дивный

boorish – невоспитанный; грубый

bother – отвлекать; беспокоить; надоедать

bound – ограничивать

bow – поклон; кланяться

brace – приободриться

breathless – запыхавшийся; задыхающийся

brewer – пивовар

bribe – подкупать

bride – невеста

bridegroom – жених

brilliancy – большие способности; талант; блеск; великолепие

brisk – живой; проворный

brow – бровь

bruise – поставить синяк, кровоподтёк, ссадину

brutality – жестокость; зверство

burly – дородный; дюжий

burst (burst; burst) – взрываться

bushy – покрытый кустарником; кустистый; густой

C

calculate – рассчитывать

caldron – котёл

calmness – спокойствие

capital – капитал; главный

caprice – каприз; причуда

capricious – капризный; непостоянный

captivate – пленять; увлекать

carpenter – плотник

carriage – повозка

cask – бочка

cause – причина; быть причиной; вызывать (что-л.)

causeway – гать

caution – осторожность; предостерегать

cease – прекращать

ceremonious – чопорный

ceremony – церемония

chaff – мякина

chaise – фаэтон; легкий экипаж

chance – случай

chap – парень; малый

charge – назначать цену

chase – гнать

chasm – глубокая расселина

cheek – щека

cheerful – бодрый; веселый

cheery – весёлый; живой

chest – грудная клетка

chiefly – главным образом; в первую очередь

chin – подбородок

choleric – раздражительный

chorus – хор; припев

churchyard – церковное кладбище

circumstance – обстоятельство

cistern – бак

civil – вежливый; воспитанный

civility – любезность; вежливость

civilly – вежливо; учтиво

claim – требовать, претендовать; заявлять права (на что-л.)

clap – хлопать

clash – сталкиваться

clasp – сжимать

clemency – милосердие; снисходительность

clergyman – священник

cloak – плащ

cloth – тряпка

clumsy – неуклюжий; неповоротливый

clutch – схватить; зажать

coach – карета

coachman – кучер

coal – уголь

coarse – грубый

coat – пальто

cobweb – паутина

codfish – пескарь

cogitation – обдумывание; размышление

colonel – полковник

commend – хвалить

commission – комиссия

commission – обязанность

commit – совершать

common – обычный

compact – компактный; плотный

companion – товарищ

company – обществo

comparison – сравнение

compassion – жалость; сочувствие

competition – соревнование, состязание

complacent – самодовольный

complaisance – услужливость; почтительность

complexion – цвет лица

comply – исполнять; подчиняться

compose – составлять; сочинять

composure – спокойствие

compound – смесь

comprehend – понимать; постигать

conceal – скрывать, прятать

conceit – самомнение; тщеславие

concern – заботить, беспокоить

concise – краткий; сжатый

concisely – кратко; сжато

conclude – делать вывод; заключать

conclusion – заключение; вывод

condemn – осуждать; порицать

condemn – осуждать; порицать

condemnation – осуждение; приговор

condescension – снисхождение; снисходительность

condition – состояние

conditionally – условно

conduct – поведение

confess – признаваться; сознаваться

confession – признание

confidence – уверенность, самонадеянность

confirm – подтверждать

confirmation – подтверждение

confuse – спутывать; смущать

confusion – смятение; замешательство; беспорядок; путаница, неразбериха

conquest – завоевание; покорение

conscience – совесть

conscientious – усердный; добросовестный

conscious – сознающий

consent – соглашаться, разрешать

consequence – (по)следствие

consequent – вытекающий; являющийся результатом

consequently – следовательно; поэтому; в результате

consider – рассматривать, считать

considerate – внимательный; деликатный; тактичный

consideration – рассмотрение; обсуждение

consist – состоять (из чего-л.)

consistency – последовательность; постоянство

consolation – утешение

console – утешать

conspiracy – конспирация

constable – полицейский

constitution – конституция, телосложение

constraint – усилие; принуждение

consult – советоваться

consultation – консультация; совещание

contemplate – созерцать; рассматривать

contempt – презрение

contemptuous – презрительный; высокомерный

content – содержание, довольство

contention – спор; ссора

continual – постоянный, беспрерывный

continue – продолжать(ся)

contradict – противоречить

contrariwise – в противоположном направлении; наоборот, напротив

contrary – противоположный

contrive – затевать; замышлять; ухитряться, умудряться

convenient – удобный; подходящий

converse – разговаривать; беседовать

convict – осуждённый; заключённый

conviction – осуждение

convince – убеждать

coolly – спокойно; невозмутимо

copse – рощица; подлесок

cordial – искренний; радушный

cordially – сердечно; радушно

corpse – труп

correspond – соответствовать

correspondence – переписка

corrupt – портить(ся)

cough – кашель, кашлять

counsel – обсуждение; совещание

countenance – выражение лица

counterpart – копия

county – графство

courage – храбрость, смелость, мужество

course – ход, течение

court – суд

courtyard – двор

cousin – двоюродный брат; двоюродная сестра

cowardly – трусливый

crack – трещать

creak – скрипеть

creature – существо; человек

credit – доверие

creep (crept, crept) – ползать

crevice – щель

crisp – бодрящий, свежий

criticism – критика

crumple – комкать; мять

crunch – хрустеть

crush – давить; мять

crutch – костыль

cunning – хитрый

curb – обуздывать; сдерживать

curl – локон; завиток

curse – проклятие; проклинать

cushion – подушка

customary – обычный; привычный

D

dangle – свисать; качаться

dare – отваживаться; сметь

dart – метнуться

deal – иметь дело

dearly – очень; чрезвычайно

debt – долг

decanter – графин

decay – разложение, разрушение

deceitful – обманчивый, лживый

deceive – обманывать

deception – обман; трюк; хитрость

decidedly – решительно, несомненно, явно, бесспорно

decisive – окончательный, решающий; решительный

deck – украшать

declamation – декламация

declaration – заявление

declare – объявлять

decline – отклонять

decorum – внешнее приличие; этикет

deed – действие, поступок

default – отсутствие, недостаток

defend – защищать

deficiency – нехватка; недостаток

deficient – несовершенный; недостающий

defy – вызывать, вызвать

degradation – деградация; упадок

degrade – приходить в упадок; деградировать

degree – степень

delay – задержка, отсрочка, промедление

deliberate – преднамеренный; заведомый

deliberation – обдумывание, взвешивание

delicacy – утончённость, тонкость

delicate – изысканный

delicately – тонко, со вкусом; нежно; мягко; точно, тонко; деликатно, тактично

delight – радость; доставлять наслаждение

delighted – восхищенный

delightful – восхитительный, очаровательный

deliver – доставлять; произносить (речь)

demand – требование; требовать

denounce – осуждать; обвинять

deny – отрицать

depart – уезжать, покидать

department – отдел, ведомство

departure – отъезд, отправление

deposit – класть, положить

depreciation – обесценивание; умаление, уничижение

depress – подавлять, угнетать

depressed – подавленный, унылый

derive – извлекать

descend – спускаться

desert – оставлять, покидать

desirable – желательный; соблазнительный

desire – желание, стремление; желать

desirous – желающий, жаждущий

desolate – заброшенный, запущенный

despicably – презренно

despise – презирать

destined – предназначенный, предначертанный

destroy – разрушать; разбивать; истреблять; уничтожать

detach – отделять; разъединять

detain – задерживать

detection – обнаружение

determination – решительность

determine – определять, устанавливать

detest – ненавидеть

devastate – опустошать; разорять

devote – посвящать

devoted – преданный

devour – пожирать

dictatorial – диктаторский, повелительный, властный

diffidence – робость, застенчивость

dignify – облагораживать

dike – дамба; плотина

dim – тусклый

dine – обедать

dingy – тусклый; выцветший

dip – погружаться

direct – направлять

dirt – грязь

disagreeable – неприятный, непривлекательный

disagreement – разногласие

discern – разглядывать; рассматривать

discernment – проницательность

discharge – выплачивать

disclose – раскрывать, показывать

discomfit – приводить в замешательство

discomfiture – замешательство, растерянность

disconsolately – безутешно

discontent – возбуждать недовольство

discourage – обескураживать; приводить в уныние

discouragement – обескураживание

discourse – разговор, беседа

discredit – компрометировать

discrepancy – несоответствие, расхождение

discretion – рассудительность; благоразумие

disdain – презрение; пренебрежение; презирать

disdainful – презрительный; надменный

disembody – делать бесплотным

disengage – выпутывать, высвобождать

disfigure – обезображивать

disgrace – позор, бесчестье, позорить

disgraceful – позорный, постыдный, недостойный

disgust – отвращение; внушать отвращение

disinherit – лишать наследства

disinterestedness – бескорыстие

dismal – мрачный, унылый, гнетущий

dismay – испуг, тревога; пугаться, тревожиться

disorderly – неуправляемый

dispel – рассеивать

disperse – разгонять (толпу)

dispirited – удручённый, унылый

display – показывать, проявлять

dispose – расставлять; распоряжаться

disposition – нрав, характер; расположение

disregard – пренебрежение; пренебрегать

dissatisfy – не удовлетворять

dissipation – беспутство, разгул

dissolve – растворять(ся)

dissuade – отговаривать

distant – отдаленный

distinguish – различать

distress – огорчение; горе; изнемогать

disturbance – вмешательство; беспокойство

ditch – канава; ров

diversion – развлечение

divert – развлекать

divide – делить

divulge – разглашать, обнародовать

doleful – скорбный

double – удваивать

doubt – сомнение; сомневаться

downstairs – вниз

draw (drew, drawn) – рисовать; тащить

drawbridge – разводной мост

dread – ужасаться

dreadful – ужасный

dreary – мрачный, унылый

drift – плыть

drily – иронично

drive (drove, driven) – вести, тащить

drizzly – моросящий

ductility – податливость

due to – благодаря, из-за

dull – тусклый, скучный

during – в течение

dusk – сумерки

duty – долг, обязанность

E

eager – поспешный

eagerly – поспешно

eagerness – пыл, рвение, стремление

earnestly – серьезно

earthly – земной

ease – свобода, непринужденность

economy – экономия, бережливость

ecstasy – экстаз

educate – давать образование, воспитывать

education – образование, культура; воспитание

effect – результат

effort – усилие, попытка

either – любой; тот или другой

elate – поднимать настроение; подбодрять

elder – старший

elderly – пожилой

eldest – самый старший (в семье)

elegant – элегантный, изящный

eligible – желательный; подходящий

eloquent – красноречивый

embarrass – смущать, приводить в замешательство

embrace – обнимать

emphasis – придание особого значения

emphatically – выразительно

employ – занимать, задействовать

employment – занятость; (оплачиваемая) работа

empower – уполномочивать; давать возможность

enclose – окружать, огораживать

encounter – неожиданная встреча, столкновение; неожиданно встретиться, сталкиваться; наталкиваться

encourage – ободрять, поощрять; потворствовать; подстрекать

encouragement – ободрение

endeavor – пытаться

endure – переносить, терпеть

enforce – заставлять

engage – вовлекать; приглашать; объявлять помолвку

engagement – помолвка

enjoyment – развлечение

enlighten – просвещать, информировать

entail – влечь за собой

entangle – запутывать

entertain – развлекать; принимать (гостей)

entertainment – развлечение; прием гостей

entirely – полностью

entrap – обмануть; запутать

entreat – умолять, упрашивать

entreaty – мольба, просьба

envelope – конверт

envy – зависть; завидовать

equal – равный, одинаковый

errant – заблудший

error – ошибка, заблуждение

escape – избежать, выбраться

establish – учреждать; устанавливать

establishment – здание

estate – поместье, земельное владение

esteem – уважение

estimation – оценка, суждение

evident – очевидный, ясный

evidently – очевидно, ясно

evil – зло; злой

exact – точный

exactly – точно

examination – осмотр

examine – осматривать

exceedingly – чрезвычайно

except – исключать; кроме

excessively – чрезмерно

excited – возбужденный

exciting – волнующий, захватывающий

exclaim – восклицать

exclamation – восклицание

exclude – исключать

excuse – извинение, оправдание; извинять

execute – казнить

execution – выполнение, исполнение

exhort – убеждать; уговаривать

existence – существование

expect – ждать, ожидать

expectation – ожидание

expenditure – трата, расход; потребление

expenses – расходы, издержки

experience – опыт

experienced – опытный, знающий

expose – выставлять

expound – растолковывать, разъяснять

express – выражать

expression – выражение

expressively – выразительно

extend – простирать(ся)

extensive – пространный; обширный

extra – дополнительный

extract – выдержка, извлечение; вытаскивать, вытягивать; извлекать, получать

extraordinary – чрезвычайный, необычайный, выдающийся

extravagant – экстравагантный; расточительный

extreme – крайний

extremely – крайне

exultant – ликующий

exultation – ликование

F

fabulous – роскошный

fade – обесцвечивать(ся), угасать

fail – не удаваться

faint – падать в обморок

faintly – слабо

fair – прекрасный, красивый; справедливый

fairly – легонько

faithfully – преданно

falsehood – ложь, неправда

falter – спотыкаться, колебаться

fancier – любитель

fancy – воображать; желать

farden – фартинг

farewell – прощание

farther – более отдаленный; дальнейший; дальше, далее

fascinate – завораживать

fashion – манера

fashionable – модный

fasten – прикреплять

fate – судьба, рок

favour – благосклонность; расположение

favourable – благоприятный, благосклонный

favourite – любимый, излюбленный

fearful – страшный, ужасный

fearless – бесстрашный, неустрашимый

feast – пир, пиршество

feature – лицо; черта

feebly – слабо

felicity – блаженство

fellow – парень

felonious – преступный

felony – преступление

female – женщина

fender – решётка

ferocious – свирепый, лютый

ferociously – свирепо, люто

ferry(boat) – паром

festal – праздничный

festivity – празднество, торжество

festoon – гирлянда

fetch – приводить, приносить

fever – жар; высокая температура

few – немногие; немного; мало

fiction – вымысел, выдумка

fierce – свирепый, лютый

fiery – огненный, пламенный

file – напильник

filial – сыновний

fill – наполнять

firelight – свет от камина

fireside – место около камина

firm – твердый

fit – подходить, годиться

fitful – неровный, прерывистый

fix – закреплять; исправлять; поправлять

flabby – вялый, дряблый

flagstaff – флагшток

flaming – пылающий, горящий

flannel – фланель

flap – взмахивать

flash – сверкать

flat – плоский

flatter – льстить

flaxen – льняной

flighty – ветреный, взбалмошный, капризный

flirt – флиртовать

flirtation – флирт

flourish – процветать

flow – течение, поток, струя; течь, стекаться

flush – краснеть

fold – складывать

folly – безрассудство; причуда, каприз

forbear (forbore, forborne) – воздерживаться

forbearance – воздержанность, терпеливость, терпение

forbid (forbade, forbidden) – запрещать

force – сила; заставлять

foresee (foresaw, foreseen) – предвидеть

forewarn – предупреждать

forfeit – терять

forge – кузница

forgery – подделка, подлог

formal – официальный

formality – формальность

formation – образование, формирование

former – предшествующий

formerly – прежде, раньше

forth – вперёд, дальше

fortify – укреплять

fortnight – две недели

fortunate – счастливый, удачный

fortuneteller – гадалка

fortune – удача, счастье; имение, приданое

forward – вперед

found – основывать; past и p.p. от find

foundation – основание, учреждение

fowl – птица

frantic – неистовый, безумный

fraud – обман, мошенничество

freely – свободно

frenzy – неистовство, бешенство

frequent – частый

frequently – часто

frighten – пугать; устрашать

frightened – испуганный; устрашенный

frivolity – легкомыслие

front – передняя сторона; передний

frowzy – спёртый, затхлый

fugitive – беглец

furnish – обставлять

further – далее, дальше

G

gaily – весело

gain – приобретать

gallant – храбрый, доблестный

gallantry – галантность

galley – камбуз

gape – зевать, глазеть

gardener – садовник

garland – гирлянда

gasp – задыхаться

gather – собирать(ся)

generally – в общем

generous – великодушный

gentle – мягкий, тихий, деликатный

gentleness – воспитанность; мягкость, доброта

genuine – подлинный, настоящий

ghastly – страшный, кошмарный, ужасный

gild – золотить

glance – взгляд; взглянуть

glared – сверкать

glide – скользить

glimpse – проблеск

gloom – мрачность

gloomy – мрачный; гнетущий; хмурый; унылый

glory – слава

glow – светить, сиять

gnaw – грызть

godfather – крестный (отец)

godson – крестник

goldsmith – золотых дел мастер

goodness – доброта

governess – гувернантка

gracefully – грациозно; изящно

gracious – милостивый; любезный

grandeur – величие; великолепие

grateful – благодарный

gratify – доставлять удовольствие; ублажать; удовлетворять

gratitude – благодарность

grave – серьезный

gravely – серьёзно

gravity – серьёзность; важность

graze – пасти

greatly – очень, сильно, значительно

greedy – жадный; алчный

greenhouse – теплица

greet – приветствовать

grievance – претензия; недовольство

grieve – огорчать(ся); печалить(ся)

grievous – горестный; печальный

grim – мрачный; неумолимый

groan – стон; стонать

grope – идти ощупью

gross – грубый; вульгарный

growl – рычать

grudge – недоброжелательность

gruff – резкий, неприветливый

guardianship – попечительство

guess – полагать, угадывать

guidance – руководство

guinea – гинея (денежная единица)

gypsy – цыганский

H

habit – привычка

hail – приветствовать

hall – зал

hammer – молоток

handcuffs – наручники

handkerchief – носовой платок

handsome – симпатичный

handwriting – почерк

hang (hanged, hung) – висеть

hardly – едва (ли)

hardly – едва (ли)

harmonious – гармоничный

haste – спешка, торопливость

hasten – торопиться, спешить

hastily – поспешно; торопливо

hasty – поспешный; торопливый

haughty – высокомерный, надменный

haul – вытягиваться

haunt – неотвязно преследовать

hazard – опасность, риск

headquarters – штаб-квартира

headstrong – своевольный, упрямый, упорный

heartily – сердечно, искренне

hearty – сердечный

heaven – небо, небеса

heir – наследник

heiress – наследница

hence – отсюда, следовательно

hesitate – колебаться

hew – рубить

highly – весьма, очень; высоко

hindrance – помеха, препятствие

hint – намёк; намекать

hire – нанимать

hoist – поднимать (флаг, парус)

hollow – впадина

homeward – домой; восвояси

honour – честь; почитать

honourable – честный, достойный

horrible – ужасный

horrid – ужасный

horror – ужас

hosiery – чулочные изделия; трикотаж

hospitality – гостеприимство

household – домашнее хозяйство

housekeeper – домохозяин, домохозяйка

housekeeping – домашнее хозяйство

hug – объятие, обнимать

hulk – баржа

humble – скромный; покорный, смиренный; смирять

humbly – покорно, смиренно

humiliate – унижать

humour – настроениe

hypocritical – лицемерный, неискренний

I

idle – праздный, ленивый

ignorant – невежественный

illiberal – непросвещенный; ограниченный, недалекий

illiterate – неграмотный

imaginary – воображаемый, вымышленный

immeasurably – неизмеримо

immovable – неподвижный

imp – дьяволёнок, чертёнок, бесёнок

impair – ухудшать, портить

impartial – беспристрастный, непредвзятый

impatience – нетерпение

impatient – нетерпеливый

impenetrably – непроницаемо

impertinence – дерзость, наглость

impertinent – дерзкий, наглый

imply – подразумевать, намекать

importune – докучать

imposing – внушительный, импозантный, представительный

impress – внушать; производить впечатление

impression – впечатление

impressive – внушительный, впечатляющий, сильный

improbable – неправдоподобный, невероятный

improper – неподходящий, несоответствующий; неуместный

improve – улучшать

impudent – дерзкий, нахальный

inch – дюйм

inclination – склонность

incline – полагать; склонять(ся)

income – доход, приход

inconsistency – несовместимость

inconvenience – неудобство, беспокойство

increase – увеличиваться, возрастать

incredulous – недоверчивый

indebted – в долгу, должный

indentures – договор между учеником и хозяином, договор ученичества

indicate – указывать

indigestible – неудобоваримый; трудно перевариваемый

indignant – возмущённый; негодующий

indignation – негодование, возмущение

induce – убеждать

industrious – усердный

inexplicable – необъяснимый

infamous – позорный, постыдный

infancy – младенчество

infer – заключать, делать вывод

infinitely – бесконечно

inflict – наносить

influence – влияние, воздействие; влиять

inform – информировать; сообщать

inherit – наследовать

injury – повреждение; вред

inmate – жилец, обитатель; заключенный

inn – гостиница, трактир; постоялый двор

inner – внутренний; скрытый

inquire – спрашивать; осведомляться

insignificant – незначительный, ничтожный

insinuate – намекать, внушать

insist – настаивать

insolence – высокомерие

insolent – высокомерный

instant – мгновение

instantly – немедленно

insufficient – недостаточный, ограниченный

insult – оскорбление; обида

insupportable – нестерпимый, невыносимый, несносный

integrity – честность, цельность

intelligence – известия, сведения

intelligent – умный, сообразительный

intelligible – понятный, внятный, вразумительный

intend – намереваться

intention – намерение; умысел

interchange – обменивать

interference – вмешательство, помеха

interior – внутренний

interrupt – прерывать

interruption – перерыв; помеха; нарушение; вторжение

interval – антракт

intimacy – интимность, близость

intimate – закадычный; близкий

intolerable – невыносимый

invest – вкладывать, инвестировать

inveterate – закоренелый

involuntarily – вынужденно, неохотно

irksome – раздражительный, надоедливый, докучливый

irresistible – неотразимый, непреодолимый

irritate – раздражать

J

jealous – ревнивый

join – соединять; присоединяться

joy – радость

judge – судья

judgment – мнение, суждение

K

keen – острый; пронизывающий

keenly – пристально

keeper – сторож

keyhole – замочная скважина

kick – пинать

knee – колено

knit – вязать

knob – ручка, кнопка

knock – стук; стучать, ударять

L

labour – труд

lace – кружево

lack – недоставать; нуждаться в (чем-л.)

laconic – неразговорчивый, немногословный

lad – парень

ladyship – (ее) милость

lament – сетование, причитание; сетовать

lamentation – сетование, причитание; плач, жалобы

landlord – хозяин (дома, гостиницы)

lane – дорожка, тропинка

lap – колено

latch – щеколда; защёлка

latter – последний

lavish – щедрый, расточительный

lead (led, led) – вести

lean – прислоняться, облокачиваться

least – наименьший

leave (left, left) – оставлять, уходить

leisurely – неспешно, неторопливо

lend (lent, lent) – давать взаймы; одалживать

less – меньший; меньше

liberal – щедрый, великодушный; свободомыслящий

liberty – свобода

lick – лизать

lift – поднимать

likely – вероятный; вероятно; скорее всего

likeness – сходство, подобие

limb – член; конечность

link – связь; связывать

lively – живой, оживленный

living – живой

llingerie – женское бельё

lock – замок; запирать на замок

lodge – домик; обитать

lofty – высокий; возвышенный

loiter – шататься, околачиваться, слоняться (без дела)

loop – делать петлю; закреплять петлёй

lord – господин, Господь

lose (lost, lost) – терять

loss – потеря

loveliness – красота

lovely – красивый, прекрасный; прелестный, миловидный

lover – ухажер, возлюбленный

low – низкий, тихий

lower – понижать

M

magistrate – судья

maid – дева, девица

maintain – поддерживать

male – мужчина

malice – злоба

manly – мужской

manner – манера, поведение

manuscript – рукопись

mark – метка, пятно; отмечать

marriage – свадьба

marry – жениться, выходить замуж

marsh – болото

massive – массивный

master – хозяин

match – ровня, пара

material – материал

matrimony – брак

matter – дело

meadow – луг

meanly – презрительно; подло, низко

means – средство, инструмент

meantime – между тем, тем временем

measure – степень

melancholy – грусть, печаль

melt – таять

memorable – памятный

mend – чинить, ремонтировать

mention – упомянуть, замечать

merchant – купец

merciful – милосердный

mercy – милосердие; пощада

mere – простой

merely – просто

merit – заслуга; достоинство

merry – веселый

mesh – канава

messenger – курьер, связной, посыльный

method – метод, способ

midday – полдень

midst – середина

mien – вид, наружность

mild – мягкий; кроткий, тихий

mile – миля

military – военный

mincemeat – начинка из рубленного изюма, миндаля

mind – ум; возражать

miniature – миниатюра

miserable – жалкий, несчастный

miserably – жалко

miserly – скупой, скаредный

misery – страдание; мучение

misfortune – беда, несчастье

mistress – хозяйка

misty – туманный

mixture – смесь

modest – скромный, застенчивый

modesty – скромность, застенчивость

monotonous – монотонный

mood – настроение

moody – унылый, угрюмый

morose – yгрюмый

mortal – смертный

mortification – обида, унижение, оскорбление

motive – повод, мотив, побуждение

mound – насыпь; холмик

mount – подниматься

murder – убивать

murmur – бормотать

mutter – бормотать

mutually – взаимно, обоюдно

N

nail – ноготь

nature – природа; характер, нрав

nearly – почти

neat – опрятный, аккуратный; изящный

neatly – искусно

neatness – опрятность, аккуратность

necessary – необходимый

necessity – неизбежность; необходимость

needless – ненужный; лишний; неуместный

needlework – рукоделие, шитье, вышивание

neglect – пренебрежение; пренебрегать

net – сеть

nevertheless – тем не менее

nimble – проворный; живой; шустрый; быстрый; ловкий

noble – благородный

nod – кивок; кивать

nonsense – бессмыслица

notify – извещать, уведомлять

notion – понятие; представление

nourish – питать

novelty – новизна

O

oar – весло

obedience – послушание

obey – подчиняться

object – предмет; возражать

objection – возражение, протест

oblige – обязывать

obsequiousness – подобострастность, раболепие

observation – замечание, наблюдение

observe – наблюдать, замечать

obstinate – упрямый; настойчивый; упорный

obtain – получать

occasion – случай

occupy – занимать

occur – происходить; приходить на ум

odd – странный

odious – ненавистный

offend – обижать

offensive – оскорбительный

omit – опускать; пропускать

openness – откровенность; открытость

opinion – мнение

opportunity – удобный случай; благоприятная возможность

oppose – противопоставлять

opposition – противопоставление

oppressive – гнетущий

organise – организовывать

otherwise – по-другому, другим способом, иначе

ought to – следовало бы

outer – внешний, наружный

outrun (outran, outrun) – опережать, перегонять

overcome (overcame, overcome) – победить, преодолеть

overjoyed – вне себя от радости; очень счастливый

overlook – выходить на

overpower – одолевать

overthrow (overthrew, overthrown) – ниспровергать

owe – быть должным

own – владеть

owner – собственник

P

painfully – болезненно, мучительно

pale – бледный

paltry – ничтожный

parcel – пакет, посылка

parental – родительский

parlour – гостиная

particular – особенный

particularly – особенно

pass – проходить, проезжать

passage – кусок, часть

pathetic – печальный, жалкий, трогательный

patience – терпение

patient – пациент

patronage – покровительство

patroness – покровительница, патронесса

pave – мостить

peculiar – особенный, своеобразный

peep – взглянуть

peer – всматриваться

peg – крючок; колышек

penalty – наказание; штраф

penitent – раскаивающийся

perceive – почувствовать

perform – выполнить, совершить, осуществить

permission – позволение, разрешение

perplex – смущать, озадачивать

persuade – убеждать

persuasion – убеждение

perturbation – встревоженность; волнение

phaeton – фаэтон

pianoforte – фортепьяно

pious – набожный

pitch – смола

placid – спокойный, безмятежный

plain – простой

plainly – прямо, откровенно

plank – доска

playfulness – игривость, шаловливость

plead – защищать

pledge – обещание; давать обещание

plot – участок земли

pluck – дёргать

point – точка; указывать

poker – покер

pompous – помпезный; напыщенный

possess – владеть, обладать

possession – владение, обладание

post – почта; посылать письмо

postscript – постскриптум

poultry – домашняя птица

pound – фунт

praise – похвала; хвалить

pray – молить(ся); умолять

prayer – молитва

precede – предшествовать

precisely – точно

prejudice – предубеждение, предрассудок

preparation – приготовление

prepare – готовить, приготавливать(ся)

prescription – предписывание; распоряжение

presence – присутствие

presently – вскоре

preserve – сохранять

press – нажимать; надавливать; убеждать, настаивать

presume – полагать, допускать

prevent – предотвращать

prey – добыча

pride – гордость

priest – священник, священнослужитель

principal – главный, основной

principally – главным образом; преимущественно

prior – первоочередной; предшествующий

probability – вероятность

probable – вероятный

proceed – продолжать; исходить

profess – открыто заявлять

proficient – умелый

profit – польза, выгода

profitable – полезный, выгодный

profound – глубокий; проницательный

prohibition – запрещение

prominent – заметный

promote – поощрять; поддерживать

prompt – быстрый, немедленный

promptly – сразу же

propensity – предрасположенность, склонность

proper – собственный

properly – подобающе; как следует; должным образом

property – собственность; имущество

proportion – пропорция, часть

proposal – предложение

propose – предлагать, делать предложение (руки и сердца)

proposition – предложение

prosper – процветать

prosperity – процветание

protest – возражать, протестовать

prove – доказывать

provide – обеспечивать; снабжать

provision – снабжение, обеспечение

provoke – вызывать; провоцировать

prowle – красться

prudence – благоразумие; предусмотрительность

puff – пыхтеть

punch – пунш

punctual – пунктуальный, точный

punish – наказывать

punishment – наказание

purport – смысл; суть; – подразумевать

purse – кошелек

pursue – преследовать

pursuit – преследование

Q

quadrille – кадриль (карточная игра)

queer – странный; чудаковатый

querulous – ворчливый

quick – быстрый

quiet – тихий

quit – оставлять, покидать

quite – совсем, вполне

quiver – дрожать; трепетать

R

radiant – лучистый

raise – поднимать

rap – слегка ударять

rapidly – быстро

rapture – восторг

rapturously – восторженно

rather – скорее, вернее

raw – сырой; необработанный

ray – луч

reach – дотягиваться, достигать

rear – воспитывать

reason – причина

reasonable – (благо)разумный

reassure – успокаивать

recall – вспоминать

receipt – расписка, квитанция

reception – прием

recital – изложение; повествование

reckon – считать, подсчитывать

recoil – отскочить, отпрянуть

recollect – вспоминать; припоминать

recollection – память; воспоминание

reconcile – мирить

recover – выздоравливать

recovery – выздоровление

reel – пошатываться

refer – осведомляться; ссылаться

refrain – сдерживаться

refusal – отказ

refuse – отказывать(ся)

regard – относиться, считать кого-либо кем-либо

regiment – полк

regret – сожаление; сожалеть

regular – регулярный, нормальный

regularly – регулярно

regulation – регулирование; упорядочение

reject – отвергать

rejoice – радоваться

relate – иметь отношение; рассказывать

release – освобождать, избавлять

relief – облегчение

relieve – облегчать, успокаивать

reluctantly – неохотно

remain – оставаться

remark – знак; замечание; отмечать; делать замечание

remarkable – удивительный; замечательный

removal – удаление

remove – убирать, передвигать

render – воздавать; возмещать

renowned – прославленный, известный

repay – выплачивать, возвращать (долг)

replenish – пополнять

repress – подавлять

reproach – упрек

request – просьба; просить

require – требовать

reread – перечитывать

resemblance – сходство

resentful – возмущенный, негодующий

resentment – возмущение; негодование

reserve – беречь; откладывать

reside – проживать

residence – проживание, пребывание, местожительство

resist – сопротивляться

resolutely – решительно

resolution – решение

resolve – решать

resort – прибежище

resource – запасы; ресурсы

respond – отвечать

restore – возвращать

restrain – сдерживать

restraint – сдержанность

resume – возобновлять

retain – удерживать

retire – уходить, удаляться

retirement – уединение

retort – отвечать резко; парировать

retreat – отступление

reveal – обнаруживать

revenge – месть; мстить

review – пересмотр, просмотр

revive – возрождать; оживлять

reward – награждать

rid – избавить

ride (rode, ridden) – ездить верхом

ridicule – осмеивать; поднимать на смех

ridiculous – смехотворный; нелепый

rightful – законный, правомерный

rinse – полоскать

riotous – безудержный, шумный

rise (rose, risen) – поднимать(ся)

roar – рёв, рык; реветь; рычать

rob – грабить, обворовывать

roll – катить(ся)

rough – шероховатый, неровный; грубый

routine – заведённый порядок, определённый режим

row – грести

rub – тереть

ruby – рубин

ruin – разрушать

rum – ром

rush – мчаться, броситься

rusty – ржавый

S

same – тот же (самый)

sarcastic – саркастический

satin – атлас; атласный

satisfaction – удовлетворение, удовлетворенность

satisfactory – удовлетворительный, хороший, приятный

satisfied – довольный

sauce – соус

savage – дикарь; дикий

scandalous – скандальный

scarcely – едва

scare – пугать

scatter – разбрасывать

scheme – план

score – счёт

scornfully – презрительно

scramble – карабкаться

scrape – скобление, чистка

scratch – царапать

screen – ширма

screw – винт; завинчивать

secondly – во-вторых

secrecy – тайна, секретность

secure – укреплять; оберегать

seed – семя

seminary – семинария

sensible – ощутимый; здравомыслящий

sentiment – чувство

sequence – последовательность; ряд; порядок

serenity – спокойствие; тишина; безмятежность

servant – слуга

service – служба

servility – раболепие; подобострастие

set (set, set) – размещать, устанавливать

settle – устанавливать, погружать; располагать(ся), поселять

severe – строгий, суровый

shabby – потрёпанный, поношенный

sharp – острый

shock – удар; шок; ударять; вызывать шок

shortly – вскоре

shrewish – сварливый

shriek – визжать, взвизгнуть; пронзительно кричать

shrill – пронзительный

shrink – ссыхаться; сокращаться

shrubbery – кустарник

shrug – пожимать плечами

sickly – болезненный

sideways – в сторону

sincere – искренний

sincerely – искренне

sincerity – искренность

singular – единственный

sink (sank, sunk) – погружаться

situate – помещать

situation – обстановка, положение, ситуация

skilful – искусный, умелый, ловкий, опытный

skill – искусство, мастерство

skylight – световой люк; слуховое окно

slap – шлёпать

slight – незначительный, легкий

slightly – легко, слегка

slip – скользить

slippery – скользкий

sly – хитрый

smash – разбивать

smear – размазывать

smooth – гладкий, ровный

sneer – усмехаться

soar – парить, высоко летать

solemn – торжественный; серьезный, важный

solemnity – торжественность

solicitor – присяжный, поверенный

solicitude – заботливость; беспокойство

solitary – одинокий

sonnet – сонет

sore – больной; болезненный

source – источник

span – перекрывать

spare – щадить, беречь

spareribs – свиные рёбрышки

sparkle – сверкать; искриться

specific – определённый, конкретный, особенный

spectre – привидение

speedily – быстро

splash – плеск; плескаться

spleen – раздражение, злоба

splendid – великолепный

spoil (spoilt, spoiled) – портить

spot – место

sprinkle – брызгать

squeeze – сжимать; давить

stammer – заикаться, запинаться

stamp – топать

stand (stood, stood) – стоять; выдерживать

stare – смотреть в упор

startle – тревожить; пугать

state – состояние

station – располагаться; размещать

steadily – постоянно

steady – прочный, устойчивый, твердый

steer – править; управлять

step – шаг; шагать

stern – строгий; суровый; непреклонный

sternly – строго; сурово; непреклонно

steward – стюард, управляющий, дворецкий

stiff – жёсткий

stiffly – туго

stiffness – жесткость

stimulate – побуждать

stir – взбалтывать; смешивать

stock – запас

stormy – штормовой

stout – отважный

stoutly – отважно

stray – заблудиться

stretch – вытягивать, вытянуть; растягивать

strict – строгий; точный

strike (struck, struck) – бить

string – веревка, бечевка

strip – полоска, лента

strive (strove, stroven) – стремиться

stroke – удар

stroll – гулять; прогуливаться

struck – шокированный

struggle – борьба; сражаться

stuff – набивать, начинять

stumble – спотыкаться

stun – оглушать; ошеломлять

submission – подчинение; покорность

subsist – существовать

successively – последовательно

suffer – испытывать страдания

sufficient – достаточный

sufficiently – достаточно

suffocate – душить

suggest – предполагать; предлагать

suit – устраивать, подходить; костюм

sullen – угрюмый; сердитый, мрачный

sum – сумма

superior – высший

superiority – старшинство; превосходство, преимущество

surely – надёжно

sureness – уверенность

surrender – сдаваться

survey – рассматривать

suspect – подозревать

suspicion – подозрение

swamp – болото

swell – раздуваться

swindle – обманывать

swing – качаться

sword – меч

sympathetic – сочувственный

sympathy – сочувствие

symptom – симптом

T

tailor – портной

tame – ручной; приручать; укрощать

tear – слеза; – рвать

tease – издеваться, дразнить

teatime – ранний вечер

temper – нрав

temporary – временный

tendency – тенденция

tenderly – нежно

term – условие; термин; называть

terrier – терьер

testimony – показания; признак, свидетельство

thence – оттуда, отсюда

therefore – поэтому, следовательно

thither – туда

thorn – колючка, шип

thorough – глубокий

though – все-таки, хотя

thoughtful – задумчивый

thoughtless – бездумный, неосмотрительный

throat – горло

throughout – везде; повсюду

throw (threw, thrown) – бросать

thus – следовательно, таким образом

thwart – мешать

tide – морской прилив

tie – связывать, завязывать

tight – плотный

timidly – робко, пугливо; застенчиво

tiresome – надоедливый, нудный

tolerable – терпимый

tolerably – терпимо

topic – тема; предмет обсуждения

topple – опрокидывать(ся)

toss – бросать

tour – путешествие, поездка; прогулка

toward(s) – к; по направлению

trace – след; выслеживать

trade – ремесло; профессия

train – тренировать

tramp – бродить

tranquil – спокойный, мирный

tranquillity – спокойствие

trap – капкан

traverse – пересекать

treat – обращаться, обходиться

tremble – дрожать

tremendous – громадный; страшный

trial – суд

triumph – торжество

triumphantly – победоносно; торжествующе, ликующе

trunk – тюк, чемодан

tumble – бросать(ся)

tutor – наставник

twirl – вертеть

twist – крутить

twitch – подёргиваться, дёргаться

U

unabashed – без смущения; не растерявшийся, невозмутимый

unaffected – непринужденный, естественный, непритворный

unassuming – непритязательный, скромный

uncivil – невежливый, грубый

uncommon – необычный

unconcern – беззаботность, беспечность; безразличие, равнодушие

uncouth – грубый, неотёсанный

undeserving – недостойный

undoubtedly – несомненно

undutiful – непокорный

uneasiness – беспокойство, тревожность

uneasy – беспокойный, тревожный

unexampled – беспримерный

unexpectedly – неожиданно, непредвиденно, внезапно

unfeeling – бесчувственный; жестокий

unfold – развёртывать

ungracious – невежливый, нелюбезный

unguarded – незащищенный; неохраняемый

unite – соединять(ся), объединять(ся)

universally – повсеместно

unjust – несправедливый

unless – если (только) не; пока не; разве (только)

unlock – отпирать

unluckily – к несчастью

unlucky – неудачный, невезучий; несчастный

unmoved – равнодушный

unpardonable – непростительный

unreserved – откровенный, открытый

untamed – неприрученный

unwilling – несклонный, нерасположенный

unworthy – недостойный (кого-л./чего-л.); подлый, низкий

urgent – срочный, безотлагательный

utmost – крайний; предельный

utter – издать (звук), произнести; полный, абсолютный, совершенный

V

vaguely – неопределённо, смутно, неясно

vain – тщетный, напрасный

vanish – исчезать, пропадать

vanity – тщеславие

variety – разнообразие

various – различный, разный, разнообразный

vary – менять, изменять

veal – телятина

veil – вуаль; закрывать вуалью

velvet – бархат

veneration – почтение, благоговение

vent – развеять; излить, выразить

venture – рискнуть; отважиться

verify – проверять

verse – строка; строфа; стих

vessel – сосуд

vestibule – вестибюль

vex – досаждать; раздражать

vexation – досада; огорчение

vicious – порочный; злобный

vigour – сила, мощь

vile – гнусный, низкий, мерзкий

villain – злодей, негодяй

violence – насилие

violent – неистовый, яростный; ожесточенный

virtue – добродетель

volatility – непостоянство, изменчивость, капризность

volume – том

voluntarily – добровольно

voluntary – добровольный

W

waiter – разносчик еды; официант

wander – бродить, странствовать

warn – предупреждать

waste – тратить впустую

watchfully – внимательно

wave – махать

weaken – ослаблять

weakness – слабость

weary – усталый; утомительный

wedding – свадьба

weep (wept, wept) – плакать

weigh – взвешивать

weighty – важный, веский

weird – таинственный, сверхъестественный; странный, жуткий

whence – откуда

whether – ли

whim – прихоть, каприз

wicked – злой, злобный

widow – вдова

wilful – своенравный, упрямый

witch – ведьма

worth – стоящий

worthless – ничего не стоящий; никудышный; ничтожный, никчемный

worthy – достойный

wound – рана; ранить

wrap – об(в)ёртывать

wrath – гнев

wretch – негодяй

wretched – несчастный, жалкий

wring (wrung; wrung) – скручивать; выжимать

Y

yard – ярд; двор

yawn – зевать

Примечания

1

Pirrip – Пиррип

2

Philip – Филип

3

Pip – Пип

4

Joe Gargery – Джо Гарджери

5

Keep still! – Замолчи!

6

wittles – жратва

7

Or I’ll have your heart and liver out. – А не то я вырву у тебя сердце с печёнкой.

8

tear him open – зарежет его

9

she had brought me up “by hand” – она воспитала меня «своими руками»

10

fellow-sufferers – товарищи по несчастью

11

old chap – старина

12

There was a convict off last night. – Вчера вечером один арестант дал тягу.

13

Lord bless the boy! – Наказание с этим мальчишкой!

14

prison-ships – плавучая тюрьма

15

I’ll pull him down. – Я выслежу его.

16

to take me up – чтобы взять меня под стражу

17

Wopsle – Уопсл

18

Hubble – Хабл

19

Pumblechook – Памблчук

20

theatrical declamation – театральная декламация

21

will you throw your eye over them? – не будете ли вы так добры взглянуть на них?

22

It may prevent some persons laying under suspicion alonger me. – Это для того, чтобы подозрение не пало на кого другого.

23

it was a drawback on my learning – моему ученью это здорово мешало

24

a fine figure of a woman – видная женщина

25

Never mind me. – Ну что говорить обо мне.

26

Your sister a master-mind. – Твоя сестра – ума палата.

27

Havisham – Хэвишем

28

I considered Mr. Pumblechook wretched company. – В обществе мистера Памблчука я чувствовал себя отвратительно.

29

Seven times nine, boy? – Сколько будет семью девять, мальчик?

30

on an empty stomach – на пустой желудок

31

math = mathematics – математика

32

Estella – Эстелла

33

playing to order – игра по заказу

34

a common laboring boy – самый обыкновенный деревенский мальчишка

35

Nothing but beggar my neighbor. – Ни во что другое, как кроме в «дурачка».

36

Beggar him. – Оставь его в дураках.

37

Play the game out. – Доиграй до конца.

38

the chair of honor – почётное место

39

How did you get on up town?” – Как ты провёл время в городе?

40

Forty-three pence? – Сколько составят сорок три пенса?

41

for instance – например

42

What like is Miss Havisham? – Какая из себя мисс Хэвишем?

43

This is the way to have him. – Вот как надо с ним обращаться.

44

in the name of gracious – боже милостивый

45

sedan-chair – портшез (лёгкое переносное кресло, в котором можно сидеть полулёжа; паланкин)

46

handsome premium – щедрая плата

47

were far above the level of such common doings – были намного выше такой обыкновенной жизни

48

public-house – трактир, харчевня

49

Three Jolly Bargemen – “Три Весёлых матроса” (название трактира)

50

At my expense? – За мой счёт?

51

but a runaway convict now and then – разве что беглого арестанта

52

A bad one. – Фальшивый.

53

You are to come this way today. – Сегодня ты пойдёшь вот сюда.

54

you little coarse monster – ты, заморыш несчастный

55

you little wretch – ты, маленький гадёныш

56

You behave yourself! – Веди себя хорошо!

57

There, there, there! – Не надо! Не надо!

58

Walk me, walk me! – Веди меня! Веди меня!

59

Matthew – Мэтью

60

Sarah Pocket – Сара Покет

61

Georgiana’s – Джорджиана

62

when you come to feast upon me – когда вы придёте пировать надо мной

63

I don’t want it to be spoken of. – Я не разрешаю об этом говорить.

64

so much the better if it is done on this day! – хорошо бы и это случилось в день моего рождения!

65

Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to? – Это к нему ты должен был идти в подмастерья?

66

This is very liberal on your part. – Это очень щедро с твоей стороны.

67

may we do our duty! – будем исполнять свой долг!

68

I had liked it once, but once was not now. – Когда-то оно мне нравилось, но сейчас – другое дело.

69

on any account – когда-либо

70

virtue of industry – трудолюбие

71

What is any visit made for? – Зачем люди вообще ходят в гости?

72

the Bow Street men from London – лондонские сущики с Боу-стрит

73

her speech was unintelligible – её речь была бессвязной

74

on her account – из-за неё

75

to spite her or to gain her over? – чтобы досадить ей или чтобы добиться её?

76

that would be the thing for me – всё было бы хорошо для меня

77

Jaggers – Джеггерс

78

he will come into a handsome property – он унаследует изрядное состояние

79

present possessor of that property – настоящий обладатель данной собственности

80

to make my fortune on a grand scale – сделать меня богачом

81

I am empowered to mention – я уполномочен заявить

82

Matthew Pocket – Мэтью Покет

83

village idiot – деревенский дурачок

84

Let it stand for this day week. – Пусть это будет через неделю.

85

won’t his manners do then? – разве его манеры недостаточно хороши?

86

a higher sphere – более высокие круги

87

pride is not all of one kind – гордость не у всех одинаковая

88

Trabb – Трэбб

89

coach-office – контора дилижансов

90

you would kindly not mind – вы не сочтёте за дерзость

91

the first stage of expectations – первая пора надежд

92

Little Britain – Литл-Бритен

93

just out of Smithfield – не доезжая Смитфилда

94

Barnard’s Inn – «Подворье Барнарда»

95

Wemmick – Уэммик

96

for the sake – ради

97

Hammersmith – Хэммерсмит

98

Return shortly. – Скоро вернусь.

99

Covent Garden Market – Ковент-Гарденский рынок

100

from our coffee-house here – из ближайшего трактира

101

at your expense – за ваш счёт

102

Herbert Pocket – Герберт Покет

103

Tartar – тиран

104

to wreak revenge on all the male sex – отомстить всей мужской половине рода человеческого

105

he was so obliging – он был так любезен

106

Handel – Гендель

107

Harmonious Blacksmith – «Гармонический кузнец» (название пьесы немецкого и английского композитора эпохи барокко Г.Ф. Генделя)

108

the spoon is not generally used over-hand, but under – ложку лучше захватывать пальцами не сверху, а снизу

109

denied her nothing – ни в чём ей не отказывал

110

a half-brother – сводный брат

111

Miss Havisham was now an heiress. – Мисс Хэвишем стала теперь наследницей.

112

a showy man – видный мужчина

113

acted throughout in concert – действовал заодно

114

Belinda – Белинда

115

you have welcomed Mr. Pip – ты познакомилась с мистером Пипом

116

Harrow – Хэрроу (одна из известнейших и старейших британских публичных школ для мальчиков)

117

Cambridge – Кембридж

118

Dying Gladiator – умирающий гладиатор

119

Go it! – Что ж, действуйте!

120

We don’t run much into clerks. – Много клерков держать нам нет смысла.

121

something between a publican and a rat-catcher – некая помесь трактирщика с крысоловом

122

a high-shouldered man – сутулый человек

123

Walworth – Уолворт

124

I am fond of – я очень люблю

125

Camilla – Камилла

126

gothic windows – готические окна

127

Greenwich time – по гринвичскому времени

128

Jack of all Trades – мастер на все руки

129

he was in great spirits – он совсем развеселился

130

by degrees – постепенно

131

Gerrard Street, Soho – Джеррард-стрит, Сохо

132

Bentley Drummle – Бентли Драмл

133

Startop – Стартоп

134

Macbeth – «Макбет» (одна из наиболее известных трагедий Уильяма Шекспира)

135

Witches’ caldron – котёл ведьм

136

was much disfigured – было сильно обезображено

137

There’s power here. – Вот где сила.

138

That’ll do, Molly. – Достаточно, Молли.

139

we must break up – мы должны разойтись

140

Pray make the best use of your time. – Пожалуйста, не теряйте времени.

141

Pepper – Пеппер

142

went into the playacting – подался в актёры

143

but I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself – но я бы и свинью не стал бы здесь держать

144

Blacking Ware’us – фабрика ваксы

145

too architectooralooral – слишком архитектуритуритурна

146

Blue Boar – «Синий кабан» (название гостиницы)

147

Cross Keys – «Скрещённые ключи»

148

she lured me on – она меня завлекала

149

I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. – Я никого не одарила своей благосклонностью.

150

at any rate – в любом случае

151

you will be my Page – вы будете моим пажом

152

How does she use you? – Как она с тобой обходится?

153

time enough – времени достаточно

154

Then you are? – Значит, и ты тоже?

155

how do you find yourself? – как поживаете?

156

bought his discharge – выкупился с военной службы

157

of you’ve no further use for them – если вам они больше не нужны

158

they shall be taken care of – о них позаботятся

159

a coiner – фальшивомонетчик

160

a pair of pigeons are portable property all the same – парочка голубей – это всё-таки движимое имущество

161

Richmond – Ричмонд

162

Surrey – Сэррэй

163

Yorkshire – Йоркшир

164

A carriage will have to be sent for. – За каретой придётся послать.

165

I have every reason to say so. – У меня есть все основания это утверждать.

166

The mother is a lady of some station. – Мать занимает в обществе довольно высокое положение.

167

The Finches of the Grove – «Зяблики в роще» (название клуба)

168

we are getting on badly – дела наши идут плохо

169

What a fellow of resource you are! – Ты просто чудо как находчив!

170

Trabb & Co. – «Трэбб и K°»

171

coattails – фалды сюртука

172

What do you suppose you are living at the rate of? – Как вы думаете, сколько вы проживаете в год?

173

blew his nose – высморкался

174

in earnest of your expectations – задаток в счёт ваших надежд

175

to carry your words to any one – чтобы я передавал ваши слова кому-либо

176

is trying to get on in commercial life – пытается посвятить себя коммерческой деятельности

177

to get rid of the friend – избавиться от друга

178

I have heard that my son is a wonderful hand at his business. – Я слышал, что мой сын – дока по своей части.

179

to keep him in good hope and heart – для поддержания в нём бодрости духа

180

This is devilish good of you. – С вашей стороны это чёрт знает как хорошо.

181

Skiffins – Скиффинс

182

I’ll look him up and go to work for you. – Я с ним потолкую, и мы для вас что-нибудь придумаем.

183

Clarriker – Кларрикер

184

Mrs. Brandley – миссис Брэндли

185

the daughter liked theology – дочери нравилось богословие

186

fête days – праздники

187

How does she use you? – Как она с тобой обращается?

188

I am what you have made me. – Я такая, какой вы меня сделали.

189

Look at her so hard and thankless! – Посмотрите на неё – жестокую и неблагодарную!

190

toasted a lady – провозгласил тост за здоровье дамы

191

to follow her closely – ухаживать за ней

192

Garden-court – Гарден-корт

193

Marseilles – Марсель

194

You acted noble. – Ты поступил благородно.

195

I hope you have done well? – Надеюсь, вы преуспели в жизни?

196

I’ve made a gentleman on you! – Я сделал из тебя джентльмена!

197

I was sent for life. – Меня выслали пожизненно.

198

It’s death to come back. – Вернуться – значит смерть.

199

Provis – Провис

200

Abel Magwitch – Абель Мэгвич

201

Were you tried? – Вас судили?

202

Jaggers was for me. – Джеггерс меня защищал.

203

Don’t commit yourself. – Не ставьте себя в затруднительное положение.

204

Told would seem to imply verbal communication. – «Мне сказали» подразумевает личное общение.

205

New South Wales – Новый Южный Уэльс

206

he was not at all likely to obtain a pardon – у него нет никаких шансов на помилование

207

the extreme penalty of the law – наивысшая мера наказания

208

Essex Street – Эссекс-стрит

209

He is intent upon various new expenses. – Он уже носится с новыми тратами.

210

I am fit for nothing. – Я ни на что не годен.

211

to go for a soldier – пойти в солдаты

212

thieving – воровство

213

travelling Giant – странствующий великан

214

at Epsom races – на скачках в Эпсоне

215

Compeyson – Компесон

216

and such like – и тому подобное

217

Arthur – Артур

218

and they’d made a pot of money by it – и нажили на этом кучу денег

219

You address nothing in my breast. – Вы ничего не пробуждаете в моей груди.

220

Hummums – «Хаммамс» (название гостиницы)

221

on the chance – на всякий случай

222

I wouldn’t go into that. – Я предпочитаю в это не вдаваться.

223

between Limehouse and Greenwich – между Лаймхаусом и Гринвичем

224

Lay hold of his portable property. – Обеспечьте за собой его движимое имущество.

225

for I have not made up my mind – потому что я ещё не решил

226

He has won the pool. – Он сорвал банк.

227

Old Bailey – Олд-Бейли

228

Has she been in his service ever since? – И с тех пор она у него служит?

229

I should have loved her under any circumstances. – Я полюбил бы её несмотря ни на что.

230

Assistance was sent for. – Послали за помощью.

231

it would hardly serve her to establish her parentage – вряд ли это поспособствует установлению её происхождения

232

What item was it you were at when Mr. Pip came in? – На чём мы остановились перед тем, как вошёл мистер Пип?

233

you might do what you know of – вы можете сделать то, о чём вам известно

234

Hamburg, Rotterdam, Antwerp – Гамбург, Роттердам, Антверпен

235

Any foreign steamer that would take us up would do. – Подошёл бы любой инсторанный пароход, котрый согласится нас взять.

236

at Mill Pond Bank – на берегу Мельничнго пруда

237

oarsmen – гребцы

238

You have a returned Transport there. – Среди вас имеется самовольно вернувшийся ссыльный.

239

on board the steamer – на борту парохода

240

That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope. – Я не надеялся, что к нему проявят снисхождение.

241

would be forfeited to the Crown – отойдёт в казну

242

O Lord, be merciful to him a sinner! – Боже! Будь милостив к нему, грешнику!

243

I hope I am a little worthier of you that I was. – Я надеюсь, что сумею быть немного достойнее тебя, чем раньше.

244

I am sorry to see you brought low. – Я сожалею, что вас постигло несчастье.

245

great thankfulness – величайшая благодарность

246

for your sake – в твою честь

247

who had used her with great cruelty – который обращался с ней очень жестоко

248

I wonder you know me. – Удивительно, как вы меня узнали.

249

in possession of a good fortune – располагающий средствами

250

I am thinking of his marrying one of them – я думаю о его женитьбе на одной из них

251

woman of mean understanding – невежественная женщина

252

uncertain temper – неустойчивое настроение

253

to get her daughters married – выдать своих дочерей замуж

254

lady of deep reflection – рассудительная девушка

255

to be fond of dancing – любить танцы

256

I shall have nothing to wish for – мне бы тогда было больше нечего желать

257

ten thousand a year – десять тысяч годового дохода

258

he was looked at – на него смотрели

259

character was decided – характер все осудили

260

upon my honour – клянусь честью

261

Elizabeth felt Jane’s pleasure. – Элизабет радовалась за Джейн.

262

You have liked many a stupider person. – Тебе не раз нравился кое-кто и поглупее.

263

as to Miss Bennet – что касается мисс Беннет

264

a pack of dogs – свора собак

265

was found to be intolerable – была признана невыносимой

266

and the younger sisters not worth speaking to – а о младших сестрах не стоило и говорить

267

had not thought her handsome enough to dance with – не считал ее достаточно красивой, чтобы с ней танцевать

268

Mr. Darcy is all politeness. – Мистер Дарси – сама любезность.

269

was entailed, in default of heirs male on a distant relation – должно было перейти – при отсутствии наследника мужского пола – к дальнему родственнику

270

you had better go on horseback – тебе лучше поехать верхом

271

She will be taken good care of. – О ней хорошо позаботятся.

272

she had no conversation – у нее не было вкуса

273

a certain something in her air – определенное своеобразие во внешности

274

I consider myself as quite fixed here. – Мне кажется, что я устроился здесь основательно.

275

envied me Jane’s beauty – завидовала красоте моей Джейн

276

he wrote some verses on her – он посвятил ей стихи

277

by your desire – по вашему желанию

278

it is not for me to determine – не мне судить

279

if they were carried on – если бы они проводились

280

take a turn about the room – немного пройтись по комнате

281

she could spare them very well – она смогла бы без них прекрасно обойтись

282

pool of quadrille in the evening – вечерняя игра в кадриль

283

her ladyship’s residence – резиденция ее светлости

284

Fordyce’s Sermons – «Проповеди Фордайса»

285

was greatly in his favour – вполне располагала в его пользу

286

upon my word – честное слово

287

the best living – лучший приход

288

promise of providing for me – обещание обеспечить мое будущее

289

will have a very large fortune – получит огромное состояние

290

he was universally liked – он пользовался всеобщей симпатией

291

he has been so unlucky as to lose – он имел несчастье потерять

292

steward – дворецкий

293

for as to Mr. Darcy’s using him ill – о плохом обращении с ним мистера Дарси

294

but you must excuse my not being convinced by assurances only – но ты должна извинить меня, если я не удовлетворюсь общими фразами

295

made his declaration in form – сделал формальное предложение

296

on that head – по этому поводу

297

on an affair of importance – ради важного дела

298

were engaged to dine – были приглашены отобедать

299

could not help crying out – не могла удержаться от того, чтобы не вскрикнуть

300

had more command over herself – сдерживала бы себя

301

the effect of a common and transient liking – следствие легкого и преходящего увлечения

302

general unreserved – полная откровенность

303

he must always be her model – он навсегда останется для нее образцом

304

Parsonage – приходский домик

305

every such entertainment was the counterpart of the first – каждый последующий обед ничем не отличался от первого

306

Colonel Fitzwilliam – полковник Фицуильям

307

but in person and address – но по обращению и внешности

308

the subject was pursued no farther – больше об этом не говорилось

309

professing opinions – высказывать мнения

310

good notion of fingering – хорошая беглость пальцев

311

did a great deal to it – немало в нем потрудилась

312

nor did she give herself the trouble – она тоже не утруждала себя

313

forcing a smile – заставляя себя улыбнуться

314

put it off – откладывать

315

in my rank of life – моего круга

316

very much indebted to him – в большом долгу перед ним

317

a country attorney – провинциальный стряпчий

318

It will not do. – Ничего не выходит.

319

to think ill of you – составить о вас дурное мнение

320

whose condition in life is beneath my own – кто находится ниже меня на общественной лестнице

321

I demand it of your justice – я возлагаю надежды на вашу справедливость

322

two offenses – два обвинения

323

you last night laid to my charge – вы предъявили мне вчера вечером

324

was scarcely the work of a moment – было делом одной минуты

325

intended to provide for him in it – хотел помочь его продвижению на этом поприще

326

a valuable family living – подходящий церковный приход

327

he was thinking of revenging himself on me – он думал о том, как бы мне отомстить

328

to take leave – попрощаться

329

on Jane’s behalf – со стороны Джейн

330

you could not treat the matter as you do now – ты не смогла смотреть на вещи так, как сейчас

331

undeserving young man – никчемный молодой человек

332

in the world – в обществе

333

too poor to be an object of prey to anybody – слишком бедна, чтобы привлекать к себе охотников за приданым

334

better worth their notice – больше заслуживающих их внимания

335

from such as are given – из того, что есть

336

might be something – кое-что значит

337

on applying to see the place – после того как они попросили разрешения осмотреть дом

338

I might have been mistress! – Я чуть было не стала хозяйкой!

339

he has turned out very wild – из него вышел совсем никудышный человек

340

She is grown so brown and coarse! – Она ужасно погрубела и подурнела!

341

she was gone off to Scotland – она уехала в Шотландию

342

to step forward – чтобы защитить ее

343

assured her of her being perfectly well – уверила ее, что чувствует себя вполне хорошо

344

St. Clement’s, – церковь святого Клемента

345

But gracious me! – Но боже мой!

346

I thought him – он показался мне

347

so much the better – тем лучше

348

was in remarkably good spirits – находился в превосходном настроении

349

if I could but see you as happy – как бы мне хотелось видеть тебя такой же счастливой

350

in time – со временем

351

I wonder you took the trouble of coming so far. – Мне непонятно, зачем вы обременили себя столь дальней поездкой.

352

if such a report is in existence – если подобный слух и существует

353

you may have drawn him in – вы могли заманить его в сеть

354

I have not been accustomed to such language as this. – Я не привыкла, чтобы со мной так разговаривали.

355

I will make no promise of the kind. – Я не дам подобного обещания.

356

and there will be an end of the matter – и с делом будет покончено

Content

Джейн Остин. Гордость и предубеждение / Jane Austen "Pride and Prejudice"
Чарльз Диккенс. Большие надежды / Charles Dickens "Great Expectations"

Чарльз Диккенс. Большие надежды / Charles Dickens. Great Expectations

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Джейн Остин. Гордость и предубеждение / Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Vocabulary

А

B

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D

E

F

G

H

I

J

K

L

M

N

O

P

Q

R

S

T

U

V

W

Y

Примечания