English
Mr.Pumblechook’spremisesintheHigh-streetofthemarkettown,wereofapeppercornyandfarinaceouscharacter,asthepremisesofacorn-chandlerandseedsmanshouldbe.
Itappearedtomethathemustbeaveryhappymanindeed,tohavesomanylittledrawersinhisshop;andIwonderedwhenIpeepedintooneortwoonthelowertiers,andsawthetied-upbrownpaperpacketsinside,whethertheflower-seedsandbulbseverwantedofafinedaytobreakoutofthosejails,andbloom.
ItwasintheearlymorningaftermyarrivalthatIentertainedthisspeculation.
Onthepreviousnight,Ihadbeensentstraighttobedinanatticwithaslopingroof,whichwassolowinthecornerwherethebedsteadwas,thatIcalculatedthetilesasbeingwithinafootofmyeyebrows.
Inthesameearlymorning,Idiscoveredasingularaffinitybetweenseedsandcorduroys.
Mr.Pumblechookworecorduroys,andsodidhisshopman;andsomehow,therewasageneralairandflavouraboutthecorduroys,somuchinthenatureofseeds,andageneralairandflavourabouttheseeds,somuchinthenatureofcorduroys,thatIhardlyknewwhichwaswhich.
ThesameopportunityservedmefornoticingthatMr.Pumblechookappearedtoconducthisbusinessbylookingacrossthestreetatthesaddler,whoappearedtotransacthisbusinessbykeepinghiseyeonthecoach-maker,whoappearedtogetoninlifebyputtinghishandsinhispocketsandcontemplatingthebaker,whoinhisturnfoldedhisarmsandstaredatthegrocer,whostoodathisdoorandyawnedatthechemist.
Thewatch-maker,alwaysporingoveralittledeskwithamagnifyingglassathiseye,andalwaysinspectedbyagroupofsmock-frocksporingoverhimthroughtheglassofhisshop-window,seemedtobeabouttheonlypersonintheHigh-streetwhosetradeengagedhisattention.
Mr.PumblechookandIbreakfastedateighto’clockintheparlourbehindtheshop,whiletheshopmantookhismugofteaandhunchofbread-and-butteronasackofpeasinthefrontpremises.
IconsideredMr.Pumblechookwretchedcompany.
Besidesbeingpossessedbymysister’sideathatamortifyingandpenitentialcharacteroughttobeimpartedtomydiet—besidesgivingmeasmuchcrumbaspossibleincombinationwithaslittlebutter,andputtingsuchaquantityofwarmwaterintomymilkthatitwouldhavebeenmorecandidtohaveleftthemilkoutaltogether—hisconversationconsistedofnothingbutarithmetic.
OnmypolitelybiddinghimGoodmorning,hesaid,pompously,“Seventimesnine,boy?”
AndhowshouldIbeabletoanswer,dodgedinthatway,inastrangeplace,onanemptystomach!
Iwashungry,butbeforeIhadswallowedamorsel,hebeganarunningsumthatlastedallthroughthebreakfast.“Seven?”
“Andfour?”
“Andeight?”
“Andsix?”
“Andtwo?”
“Andten?”
Andsoon.Andaftereachfigurewasdisposedof,itwasasmuchasIcoulddotogetabiteorasup,beforethenextcame;whilehesatathiseaseguessingnothing,andeatingbaconandhotroll,in(ifImaybeallowedtheexpression)agorgingandgormandisingmanner.
ForsuchreasonsIwasverygladwhenteno’clockcameandwestartedforMissHavisham’s;thoughIwasnotatallatmyeaseregardingthemannerinwhichIshouldacquitmyselfunderthatlady’sroof.
WithinaquarterofanhourwecametoMissHavisham’shouse,whichwasofoldbrick,anddismal,andhadagreatmanyironbarstoit.
Someofthewindowshadbeenwalledup;ofthosethatremained,allthelowerwererustilybarred.
Therewasacourt-yardinfront,andthatwasbarred;so,wehadtowait,afterringingthebell,untilsomeoneshouldcometoopenit.
Whilewewaitedatthegate,Ipeepedin(eventhenMr.Pumblechooksaid,“Andfourteen?”
butIpretendednottohearhim),andsawthatatthesideofthehousetherewasalargebrewery.
Nobrewingwasgoingoninit,andnoneseemedtohavegoneonforalonglongtime.
Awindowwasraised,andaclearvoicedemanded“Whatname?”
Towhichmyconductorreplied,“Pumblechook.”
Thevoicereturned,“Quiteright,”andthewindowwasshutagain,andayoungladycameacrossthecourt-yard,withkeysinherhand.
“This,”saidMr.Pumblechook,“isPip.”
“ThisisPip,isit?”returnedtheyounglady,whowasveryprettyandseemedveryproud;“comein,Pip.”
Mr.Pumblechookwascominginalso,whenshestoppedhimwiththegate.
“Oh!”shesaid.“DidyouwishtoseeMissHavisham?”
“IfMissHavishamwishedtoseeme,”returnedMr.Pumblechook,discomfited.
“Ah!”saidthegirl;“butyouseeshedon’t.”
Shesaiditsofinally,andinsuchanundiscussibleway,thatMr.Pumblechook,thoughinaconditionofruffleddignity,couldnotprotest.
Butheeyedmeseverely—asifIhaddoneanythingtohim!
—anddepartedwiththewordsreproachfullydelivered:“Boy!
Letyourbehaviourherebeacredituntothemwhichbroughtyouupbyhand!”
Iwasnotfreefromapprehensionthathewouldcomebacktopropoundthroughthegate,“Andsixteen?”Buthedidn’t.
Myyoungconductresslockedthegate,andwewentacrossthecourt-yard.
Itwaspavedandclean,butgrasswasgrowingineverycrevice.
Thebrewerybuildingshadalittlelaneofcommunicationwithit,andthewoodengatesofthatlanestoodopen,andallthebrewerybeyond,stoodopen,awaytothehighenclosingwall;andallwasemptyanddisused.
Thecoldwindseemedtoblowcolderthere,thanoutsidethegate;anditmadeashrillnoiseinhowlinginandoutattheopensidesofthebrewery,likethenoiseofwindintheriggingofashipatsea.
Shesawmelookingatit,andshesaid,“Youcoulddrinkwithouthurtallthestrongbeerthat’sbrewedtherenow,boy.”
“IshouldthinkIcould,miss,”saidI,inashyway.
“Betternottrytobrewbeertherenow,oritwouldturnoutsour,boy;don’tyouthinkso?”
“Itlookslikeit,miss.”
“Notthatanybodymeanstotry,”sheadded,“forthat’salldonewith,andtheplacewillstandasidleasitis,tillitfalls.
Astostrongbeer,there’senoughofitinthecellarsalready,todrowntheManorHouse.”
“Isthatthenameofthishouse,miss?”
“Oneofitsnames,boy.”
“Ithasmorethanone,then,miss?”
“Onemore.ItsothernamewasSatis;whichisGreek,orLatin,orHebrew,orallthree—orallonetome—forenough.”
“EnoughHouse,”saidI;“that’sacuriousname,miss.”
“Yes,”shereplied;“butitmeantmorethanitsaid.
Itmeant,whenitwasgiven,thatwhoeverhadthishouse,couldwantnothingelse.
Theymusthavebeeneasilysatisfiedinthosedays,Ishouldthink.Butdon’tloiter,boy.”
Thoughshecalledme“boy”sooften,andwithacarelessnessthatwasfarfromcomplimentary,shewasofaboutmyownage.
SheseemedmucholderthanI,ofcourse,beingagirl,andbeautifulandself-possessed;andshewasasscornfulofmeasifshehadbeenone-and-twenty,andaqueen.
Wewentintothehousebyasidedoor—thegreatfrontentrancehadtwochainsacrossitoutside—andthefirstthingInoticedwas,thatthepassageswerealldark,andthatshehadleftacandleburningthere.
Shetookitup,andwewentthroughmorepassagesandupastaircase,andstillitwasalldark,andonlythecandlelightedus.
Atlastwecametothedoorofaroom,andshesaid,“Goin.”
Ianswered,moreinshynessthanpoliteness,“Afteryou,miss.”
Tothis,shereturned:“Don’tberidiculous,boy;Iamnotgoingin.”Andscornfullywalkedaway,and—whatwasworse—tookthecandlewithher.
Thiswasveryuncomfortable,andIwashalfafraid.
However,theonlythingtobedonebeingtoknockatthedoor,Iknocked,andwastoldfromwithintoenter.
Ientered,therefore,andfoundmyselfinaprettylargeroom,welllightedwithwaxcandles.
Noglimpseofdaylightwastobeseeninit.
Itwasadressing-room,asIsupposedfromthefurniture,thoughmuchofitwasofformsandusesthenquiteunknowntome.
Butprominentinitwasadrapedtablewithagildedlooking-glass,andthatImadeoutatfirstsighttobeafinelady’sdressing-table.
WhetherIshouldhavemadeoutthisobjectsosoon,iftherehadbeennofineladysittingatit,Icannotsay.
Inanarm-chair,withanelbowrestingonthetableandherheadleaningonthathand,satthestrangestladyIhaveeverseen,orshalleversee.
Shewasdressedinrichmaterials—satins,andlace,andsilks—allofwhite.Hershoeswerewhite.
Andshehadalongwhiteveildependentfromherhair,andshehadbridalflowersinherhair,butherhairwaswhite.
Somebrightjewelssparkledonherneckandonherhands,andsomeotherjewelslaysparklingonthetable.
Dresses,lesssplendidthanthedressshewore,andhalf-packedtrunks,werescatteredabout.
Shehadnotquitefinisheddressing,forshehadbutoneshoeon—theotherwasonthetablenearherhand—herveilwasbuthalfarranged,herwatchandchainwerenotputon,andsomelaceforherbosomlaywiththosetrinkets,andwithherhandkerchief,andgloves,andsomeflowers,andaprayer-book,allconfusedlyheapedaboutthelooking-glass.
ItwasnotinthefirstfewmomentsthatIsawallthesethings,thoughIsawmoreoftheminthefirstmomentsthanmightbesupposed.
But,Isawthateverythingwithinmyviewwhichoughttobewhite,hadbeenwhitelongago,andhadlostitslustre,andwasfadedandyellow.
Isawthatthebridewithinthebridaldresshadwitheredlikethedress,andliketheflowers,andhadnobrightnessleftbutthebrightnessofhersunkeneyes.
Isawthatthedresshadbeenputupontheroundedfigureofayoungwoman,andthatthefigureuponwhichitnowhungloose,hadshrunktoskinandbone.
Once,IhadbeentakentoseesomeghastlywaxworkattheFair,representingIknownotwhatimpossiblepersonagelyinginstate.
Once,Ihadbeentakentooneofouroldmarshchurchestoseeaskeletonintheashesofarichdress,thathadbeendugoutofavaultunderthechurchpavement.
Now,waxworkandskeletonseemedtohavedarkeyesthatmovedandlookedatme.Ishouldhavecriedout,ifIcould.
“Whoisit?”saidtheladyatthetable.
“Pip,ma’am.”
“Pip?”
“Mr.Pumblechook’sboy,ma’am.Come—toplay.”
“Comenearer;letmelookatyou.Comeclose.”
ItwaswhenIstoodbeforeher,avoidinghereyes,thatItooknoteofthesurroundingobjectsindetail,andsawthatherwatchhadstoppedattwentyminutestonine,andthataclockintheroomhadstoppedattwentyminutestonine.
“Lookatme,”saidMissHavisham.“Youarenotafraidofawomanwhohasneverseenthesunsinceyouwereborn?”
IregrettostatethatIwasnotafraidoftellingtheenormousliecomprehendedintheanswer“No.”
“DoyouknowwhatItouchhere?”shesaid,layingherhands,oneupontheother,onherleftside.
“Yes,ma’am.”(Itmademethinkoftheyoungman.)
“WhatdoItouch?”
“Yourheart.”
“Broken!”
Sheutteredthewordwithaneagerlook,andwithstrongemphasis,andwithaweirdsmilethathadakindofboastinit.
Afterwards,shekeptherhandsthereforalittlewhile,andslowlytookthemawayasiftheywereheavy.
“Iamtired,”saidMissHavisham.“Iwantdiversion,andIhavedonewithmenandwomen.Play.”
Ithinkitwillbeconcededbymymostdisputatiousreader,thatshecouldhardlyhavedirectedanunfortunateboytodoanythinginthewideworldmoredifficulttobedoneunderthecircumstances.
“Isometimeshavesickfancies,”shewenton,“andIhaveasickfancythatIwanttoseesomeplay.Therethere!”withanimpatientmovementofthefingersofherrighthand;“play,play,play!”
Foramoment,withthefearofmysister’sworkingmebeforemyeyes,IhadadesperateideaofstartingroundtheroomintheassumedcharacterofMr.Pumblechook’schaise-cart.
But,IfeltmyselfsounequaltotheperformancethatIgaveitup,andstoodlookingatMissHavishaminwhatIsupposeshetookforadoggedmanner,inasmuchasshesaid,whenwehadtakenagoodlookateachother:
“Areyousullenandobstinate?”
“No,ma’am,Iamverysorryforyou,andverysorryIcan’tplayjustnow.
IfyoucomplainofmeIshallgetintotroublewithmysister,soIwoulddoitifIcould;butit’ssonewhere,andsostrange,andsofine—andmelancholy—.”
Istopped,fearingImightsaytoomuch,orhadalreadysaidit,andwetookanotherlookateachother.
Beforeshespokeagain,sheturnedhereyesfromme,andlookedatthedressshewore,andatthedressing-table,andfinallyatherselfinthelooking-glass.
“Sonewtohim,”shemuttered,“sooldtome;sostrangetohim,sofamiliartome;somelancholytobothofus!CallEstella.”
Asshewasstilllookingatthereflectionofherself,Ithoughtshewasstilltalkingtoherself,andkeptquiet.
“CallEstella,”sherepeated,flashingalookatme.“Youcandothat.CallEstella.Atthedoor.”
Tostandinthedarkinamysteriouspassageofanunknownhouse,bawlingEstellatoascornfulyoungladyneithervisiblenorresponsive,andfeelingitadreadfullibertysotoroarouthername,wasalmostasbadasplayingtoorder.
But,sheansweredatlast,andherlightcamealongthedarkpassagelikeastar.
MissHavishambeckonedhertocomeclose,andtookupajewelfromthetable,andtrieditseffectuponherfairyoungbosomandagainstherprettybrownhair.
“Yourown,oneday,mydear,andyouwilluseitwell.
Letmeseeyouplaycardswiththisboy.”
“Withthisboy?Why,heisacommonlabouring-boy!”
IthoughtIoverheardMissHavishamanswer—onlyitseemedsounlikely—”Well?Youcanbreakhisheart.”
“Whatdoyouplay,boy?”askedEstellaofmyself,withthegreatestdisdain.
“Nothingbutbeggarmyneighbour,miss.”
“Beggarhim,”saidMissHavishamtoEstella.Sowesatdowntocards.
ItwasthenIbegantounderstandthateverythingintheroomhadstopped,likethewatchandtheclock,alongtimeago.
InoticedthatMissHavishamputdownthejewelexactlyonthespotfromwhichshehadtakenitup.
AsEstelladealtthecards,Iglancedatthedressing-tableagain,andsawthattheshoeuponit,oncewhite,nowyellow,hadneverbeenworn.
Iglanceddownatthefootfromwhichtheshoewasabsent,andsawthatthesilkstockingonit,oncewhite,nowyellow,hadbeentroddenragged.
Withoutthisarrestofeverything,thisstandingstillofallthepaledecayedobjects,noteventhewitheredbridaldressonthecollapsedfromcouldhavelookedsolikegrave-clothes,orthelongveilsolikeashroud.
Soshesat,corpse-like,asweplayedatcards;thefrillingsandtrimmingsonherbridaldress,lookinglikeearthypaper.
Iknewnothingthen,ofthediscoveriesthatareoccasionallymadeofbodiesburiedinancienttimes,whichfalltopowderinthemomentofbeingdistinctlyseen;but,Ihaveoftenthoughtsince,thatshemusthavelookedasiftheadmissionofthenaturallightofdaywouldhavestruckhertodust.
“Hecallstheknaves,Jacks,thisboy!”saidEstellawithdisdain,beforeourfirstgamewasout.“Andwhatcoarsehandshehas!Andwhatthickboots!”
Ihadneverthoughtofbeingashamedofmyhandsbefore;butIbegantoconsiderthemaveryindifferentpair.Hercontemptformewassostrong,thatitbecameinfectious,andIcaughtit.
Shewonthegame,andIdealt.Imisdealt,aswasonlynatural,whenIknewshewaslyinginwaitformetodowrong;andshedenouncedmeforastupid,clumsylabouring-boy.
“Yousaynothingofher,”remarkedMissHavishamtome,asshelookedon.“Shesaysmanyhardthingsofyou,butyousaynothingofher.Whatdoyouthinkofher?”
“Idon’tliketosay,”Istammered.
“Tellmeinmyear,”saidMissHavisham,bendingdown.
“Ithinksheisveryproud,”Ireplied,inawhisper.
“Anythingelse?”
“Ithinksheisverypretty.”
“Anythingelse?”
“Ithinksheisveryinsulting.”(Shewaslookingatmethenwithalookofsupremeaversion.)
“Anythingelse?”
“IthinkIshouldliketogohome.”
“Andneverseeheragain,thoughsheissopretty?”
“IamnotsurethatIshouldn’tliketoseeheragain,butIshouldliketogohomenow.”
“Youshallgosoon,”saidMissHavisham,aloud.“Playthegameout.”
Savingfortheoneweirdsmileatfirst,IshouldhavefeltalmostsurethatMissHavisham’sfacecouldnotsmile.
Ithaddroppedintoawatchfulandbroodingexpression—mostlikelywhenallthethingsaboutherhadbecometransfixed—anditlookedasifnothingcouldeverliftitupagain.
Herchesthaddropped,sothatshestooped;andhervoicehaddropped,sothatshespokelow,andwithadeadlulluponher;altogether,shehadtheappearanceofhavingdropped,bodyandsoul,withinandwithout,undertheweightofacrushingblow.
IplayedthegametoanendwithEstella,andshebeggaredme.Shethrewthecardsdownonthetablewhenshehadwonthemall,asifshedespisedthemforhavingbeenwonofme.
“WhenshallIhaveyouhereagain?”saidmissHavisham.“Letmethink.”
Iwasbeginningtoremindherthatto-daywasWednesday,whenshecheckedmewithherformerimpatientmovementofthefingersofherrighthand.
“There,there!Iknownothingofdaysoftheweek;Iknownothingofweeksoftheyear.Comeagainaftersixdays.Youhear?”
“Yes,ma’am.”
“Estella,takehimdown.Lethimhavesomethingtoeat,andlethimroamandlookabouthimwhileheeats.Go,Pip.”
Ifollowedthecandledown,asIhadfollowedthecandleup,andshestooditintheplacewherewehadfoundit.
Untilsheopenedthesideentrance,Ihadfancied,withoutthinkingaboutit,thatitmustnecessarilybenight-time.
Therushofthedaylightquiteconfoundedme,andmademefeelasifIhadbeeninthecandlelightofthestrangeroommanyhours.
“Youaretowaithere,youboy,”saidEstella;anddisappearedandclosedthedoor.
Itooktheopportunityofbeingaloneinthecourt-yard,tolookatmycoarsehandsandmycommonboots.
Myopinionofthoseaccessorieswasnotfavourable.
Theyhadnevertroubledmebefore,buttheytroubledmenow,asvulgarappendages.
IdeterminedtoaskJoewhyhehadevertaughtmetocallthosepicture-cards,Jacks,whichoughttobecalledknaves.
IwishedJoehadbeenrathermoregenteellybroughtup,andthenIshouldhavebeensotoo.
Shecameback,withsomebreadandmeatandalittlemugofbeer.
Sheputthemugdownonthestonesoftheyard,andgavemethebreadandmeatwithoutlookingatme,asinsolentlyasifIwereadogindisgrace.
Iwassohumiliated,hurt,spurned,offended,angry,sorry—Icannothitupontherightnameforthesmart—Godknowswhatitsnamewas—thattearsstartedtomyeyes.
Themomenttheysprangthere,thegirllookedatmewithaquickdelightinhavingbeenthecauseofthem.
Thisgavemepowertokeepthembackandtolookather:so,shegaveacontemptuoustoss—butwithasense,Ithought,ofhavingmadetoosurethatIwassowounded—andleftme.
But,whenshewasgone,Ilookedaboutmeforaplacetohidemyfacein,andgotbehindoneofthegatesinthebrewery-lane,andleanedmysleeveagainstthewallthere,andleanedmyforeheadonitandcried.
AsIcried,Ikickedthewall,andtookahardtwistatmyhair;sobitterweremyfeelings,andsosharpwasthesmartwithoutaname,thatneededcounteraction.
Mysister’sbringinguphadmademesensitive.
Inthelittleworldinwhichchildrenhavetheirexistencewhosoeverbringsthemup,thereisnothingsofinelyperceivedandsofinelyfelt,asinjustice.
Itmaybeonlysmallinjusticethatthechildcanbeexposedto;butthechildissmall,anditsworldissmall,anditsrocking-horsestandsasmanyhandshigh,accordingtoscale,asabig-bonedIrishhunter.
Withinmyself,Ihadsustained,frommybabyhood,aperpetualconflictwithinjustice.
Ihadknown,fromthetimewhenIcouldspeak,thatmysister,inhercapriciousandviolentcoercion,wasunjusttome.
Ihadcherishedaprofoundconvictionthatherbringingmeupbyhand,gavehernorighttobringmeupbyjerks.
Throughallmypunishments,disgraces,fastsandvigils,andotherpenitentialperformances,Ihadnursedthisassurance;andtomycommuningsomuchwithit,inasolitaryandunprotectedway,IingreatpartreferthefactthatIwasmorallytimidandverysensitive.
Igotridofmyinjuredfeelingsforthetime,bykickingthemintothebrewerywall,andtwistingthemoutofmyhair,andthenIsmoothedmyfacewithmysleeve,andcamefrombehindthegate.
Thebreadandmeatwereacceptable,andthebeerwaswarmingandtingling,andIwassooninspiritstolookaboutme.
Tobesure,itwasadesertedplace,downtothepigeon-houseinthebrewery-yard,whichhadbeenblowncrookedonitspolebysomehighwind,andwouldhavemadethepigeonsthinkthemselvesatsea,iftherehadbeenanypigeonstheretoberockedbyit.
But,therewerenopigeonsinthedove-cot,nohorsesinthestable,nopigsinthesty,nomaltinthestore-house,nosmellsofgrainsandbeerinthecopperorthevat.
Alltheusesandscentsofthebrewerymighthaveevaporatedwithitslastreekofsmoke.
Inaby-yard,therewasawildernessofemptycasks,whichhadacertainsourremembranceofbetterdayslingeringaboutthem;butitwastoosourtobeacceptedasasampleofthebeerthatwasgone—andinthisrespectIrememberthosereclusesasbeinglikemostothers.
Behindthefurthestendofthebrewery,wasarankgardenwithanoldwall:notsohighbutthatIcouldstruggleupandholdonlongenoughtolookoverit,andseethattherankgardenwasthegardenofthehouse,andthatitwasovergrownwithtangledweeds,butthattherewasatrackuponthegreenandyellowpaths,asifsomeonesometimeswalkedthere,andthatEstellawaswalkingawayfrommeeventhen.
Butsheseemedtobeeverywhere.
For,whenIyieldedtothetemptationpresentedbythecasks,andbegantowalkonthem.
Isawherwalkingonthemattheendoftheyardofcasks.
Shehadherbacktowardsme,andheldherprettybrownhairspreadoutinhertwohands,andneverlookedround,andpassedoutofmyviewdirectly.
So,inthebreweryitself—bywhichImeanthelargepavedloftyplaceinwhichtheyusedtomakethebeer,andwherethebrewingutensilsstillwere.
WhenIfirstwentintoit,and,ratheroppressedbyitsgloom,stoodnearthedoorlookingaboutme,Isawherpassamongtheextinguishedfires,andascendsomelightironstairs,andgooutbyagalleryhighoverhead,asifsheweregoingoutintothesky.
Itwasinthisplace,andatthismoment,thatastrangethinghappenedtomyfancy.
Ithoughtitastrangethingthen,andIthoughtitastrangerthinglongafterwards.
Iturnedmyeyes—alittledimmedbylookingupatthefrostylight—towardsagreatwoodenbeaminalownookofthebuildingnearmeonmyrighthand,andIsawafigurehangingtherebytheneck.
Afigureallinyellowwhite,withbutoneshoetothefeet;andithungso,thatIcouldseethatthefadedtrimmingsofthedresswerelikeearthypaper,andthatthefacewasMissHavisham’s,withamovementgoingoverthewholecountenanceasifsheweretryingtocalltome.
Intheterrorofseeingthefigure,andintheterrorofbeingcertainthatithadnotbeenthereamomentbefore,Iatfirstranfromit,andthenrantowardsit.
Andmyterrorwasgreatestofall,whenIfoundnofigurethere.
Nothinglessthanthefrostylightofthecheerfulsky,thesightofpeoplepassingbeyondthebarsofthecourt-yardgate,andtherevivinginfluenceoftherestofthebreadandmeatandbeer,wouldhavebroughtmeround.
Evenwiththoseaids,ImightnothavecometomyselfassoonasIdid,butthatIsawEstellaapproachingwiththekeys,toletmeout.
Shewouldhavesomefairreasonforlookingdownuponme,Ithought,ifshesawmefrightened;andshewouldhavenofairreason.
Shegavemeatriumphantglanceinpassingme,asifsherejoicedthatmyhandsweresocoarseandmybootsweresothick,andsheopenedthegate,andstoodholdingit.
Iwaspassingoutwithoutlookingather,whenshetouchedmewithatauntinghand.
“Whydon’tyoucry?”
“BecauseIdon’twantto.”
“Youdo,”saidshe.“Youhavebeencryingtillyouarehalfblind,andyouarenearcryingagainnow.”
Shelaughedcontemptuously,pushedmeout,andlockedthegateuponme.
IwentstraighttoMr.Pumblechook’s,andwasimmenselyrelievedtofindhimnotathome.
So,leavingwordwiththeshopmanonwhatdayIwaswantedatMissHavisham’sagain,Isetoffonthefour-milewalktoourforge;pondering,asIwentalong,onallIhadseen,anddeeplyrevolvingthatIwasacommonlabouring-boy;thatmyhandswerecoarse;thatmybootswerethick;thatIhadfallenintoadespicablehabitofcallingknavesJacks;thatIwasmuchmoreignorantthanIhadconsideredmyselflastnight,andgenerallythatIwasinalow-livedbadway.
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