Great Expectations - Charles Dickens (i want to read a book .txt) 📗

by the abject Pumblechook, who,

being behind me, persisted all the way as a delicate attention in

arranging my streaming hatband, and smoothing my cloak. My thoughts

were further distracted by the excessive pride of Mr. and Mrs.

Hubble, who were surpassingly conceited and vainglorious in being

members of so distinguished a procession.

And now the range of marshes lay clear before us, with the sails

of the ships on the river growing out of it; and we went into the

churchyard, close to the graves of my unknown parents, Philip

Pirrip, late of this parish, and Also Georgiana, Wife of the Above.

And there, my sister was laid quietly in the earth, while the larks

sang high above it, and the light wind strewed it with beautiful

shadows of clouds and trees.

Of the conduct of the worldly minded Pumblechook while this was

doing, I desire to say no more than it was all addressed to me; and

that even when those noble passages were read which remind humanity

how it brought nothing into the world and can take nothing out, and

how it fleeth like a shadow and never continueth long in one stay,

I heard him cough a reservation of the case of a young gentleman

who came unexpectedly into large property. When we got back, he had

the hardihood to tell me that he wished my sister could have known

I had done her so much honor, and to hint that she would have

considered it reasonably purchased at the price of her death. After

that, he drank all the rest of the sherry, and Mr. Hubble drank the

port, and the two talked (which I have since observed to be

customary in such cases) as if they were of quite another race from

the deceased, and were notoriously immortal. Finally, he went away

with Mr. and Mrs. Hubble,—to make an evening of it, I felt sure, and

to tell the Jolly Bargemen that he was the founder of my fortunes

and my earliest benefactor.

When they were all gone, and when Trabb and his men—but not his

Boy; I looked for him—had crammed their mummery into bags, and

were gone too, the house felt wholesomer. Soon afterwards, Biddy,

Joe, and I, had a cold dinner together; but we dined in the best

parlor, not in the old kitchen, and Joe was so exceedingly

particular what he did with his knife and fork and the saltcellar

and what not, that there was great restraint upon us. But after

dinner, when I made him take his pipe, and when I had loitered with

him about the forge, and when we sat down together on the great

block of stone outside it, we got on better. I noticed that after

the funeral Joe changed his clothes so far, as to make a compromise

between his Sunday dress and working dress; in which the dear

fellow looked natural, and like the Man he was.

He was very much pleased by my asking if I might sleep in my own

little room, and I was pleased too; for I felt that I had done

rather a great thing in making the request. When the shadows of

evening were closing in, I took an opportunity of getting into the

garden with Biddy for a little talk.

“Biddy,” said I, “I think you might have written to me about these

sad matters.”

“Do you, Mr. Pip?” said Biddy. “I should have written if I had

thought that.”

“Don’t suppose that I mean to be unkind, Biddy, when I say I

consider that you ought to have thought that.”

“Do you, Mr. Pip?”

She was so quiet, and had such an orderly, good, and pretty way

with her, that I did not like the thought of making her cry again.

After looking a little at her downcast eyes as she walked beside

me, I gave up that point.

“I suppose it will be difficult for you to remain here now, Biddy

dear?”

“Oh! I can’t do so, Mr. Pip,” said Biddy, in a tone of regret but

still of quiet conviction. “I have been speaking to Mrs. Hubble, and

I am going to her tomorrow. I hope we shall be able to take some

care of Mr. Gargery, together, until he settles down.”

“How are you going to live, Biddy? If you want any mo—”

“How am I going to live?” repeated Biddy, striking in, with a

momentary flush upon her face. “I’ll tell you, Mr. Pip. I am going

to try to get the place of mistress in the new school nearly

finished here. I can be well recommended by all the 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.”

“I think you would always improve, Biddy, under any circumstances.”

“Ah! Except in my bad side of human nature,” murmured Biddy.

It was not so much a reproach as an irresistible thinking aloud.

Well! I thought I would give up that point too. So, I walked a

little further with Biddy, looking silently at her downcast eyes.

“I have not heard the particulars of my sister’s death, Biddy.”

“They are very slight, poor thing. She had been in one of her bad

states—though they had got better of late, rather than worse—

for four days, when she came out of it in the evening, just at

tea-time, and said quite plainly, ‘Joe.’ As she had never said any

word for a long while, I ran and fetched in Mr. Gargery from the

forge. She made signs to me that she wanted him to sit down close

to her, and wanted me to put her arms round his neck. So I put them

round his neck, and she laid her head down on his shoulder quite

content and satisfied. And so she presently said ‘Joe’ again, and

once ‘Pardon,’ and once ‘Pip.’ And so she never lifted her head up

any more, and it was just an hour later when we laid it down on her

own bed, because we found she was gone.”

Biddy cried; the darkening garden, and the lane, and the stars that

were coming out, were blurred in my own sight.

“Nothing was ever discovered, Biddy?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you know what is become of Orlick?”

“I should think from the color of his clothes that he is working

in the quarries.”

“Of course you have seen him then?—Why are you looking at that

dark tree in the lane?”

“I saw him there, on the night she died.”

“That was not the last time either, Biddy?”

“No; I have seen him there, since we have been walking here.—It

is of no use,” said Biddy, laying her hand upon my arm, as I was

for running out, “you know I would not deceive you; he was not

there a minute, and he is gone.”

It revived my utmost indignation to find that she was still pursued

by this fellow, and I felt inveterate against him. I told her so,

and told her that I would spend any money or take any pains to

drive him out of that country. By degrees she led me into more

temperate talk, and she told me how Joe loved me, and how Joe never

complained of anything,—she didn’t say, of me; she had no need; I

knew what she meant,—but ever did his duty in his way of life,

with a strong hand, a quiet tongue, and a gentle heart.

“Indeed, it would be hard to say too much for him,” said I; “and

Biddy, we must often speak of these things, for of course I shall

be often down here now. I am not going to leave poor Joe alone.”

Biddy said never a single word.

“Biddy, don’t you hear me?”

“Yes, Mr. Pip.”

“Not to mention your calling me Mr. Pip,—which appears to me to be

in bad taste, Biddy,—what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” asked Biddy, timidly.

“Biddy,” said I, in a virtuously self-asserting manner, “I must

request to know what you mean by this?”

“By this?” said Biddy.

“Now, don’t echo,” I retorted. “You used not to echo, Biddy.”

“Used not!” said Biddy. “O Mr. Pip! Used!”

Well! I rather thought I would give up that point too. After

another silent turn in the garden, I fell back on the main

position.

“Biddy,” said I, “I made a remark respecting my coming down here

often, to see Joe, which you received with a marked silence. Have

the goodness, Biddy, to tell me why.”

“Are you quite sure, then, that you WILL come to see him often?”

asked Biddy, stopping in the narrow garden walk, and looking at me

under the stars with a clear and honest eye.

“O dear me!” said I, as if I found myself compelled to give up

Biddy in despair. “This really is a very bad side of human

nature! Don’t say any more, if you please, Biddy. This shocks me

very much.”

For which cogent reason I kept Biddy at a distance during supper,

and when I went up to my own old little room, took as stately a

leave of her as I could, in my murmuring soul, deem reconcilable

with the churchyard and the event of the day. As often as I was

restless in the night, and that was every quarter of an hour, I

reflected what an unkindness, what an injury, what an injustice,

Biddy had done me.

Early in the morning I was to go. Early in the morning I was out,

and looking in, unseen, at one of the wooden windows of the forge.

There I stood, for minutes, looking at Joe, already at work with a

glow of health and strength upon his face that made it show as if

the bright sun of the life in store for him were shining on it.

“Good by, dear Joe!—No, don’t wipe it off—for God’s sake, give

me your blackened hand!—I shall be down soon and often.”

“Never too soon, sir,” said Joe, “and never too often, Pip!”

Biddy was waiting for me at the kitchen door, with a mug of new

milk and a crust of bread. “Biddy,” said I, when I gave her my hand

at parting, “I am not angry, but I am hurt.”

“No, don’t be hurt,” she pleaded quite pathetically; “let only me

be hurt, if I have been ungenerous.”

Once more, the mists were rising as I walked away. If they

disclosed to me, as I suspect they did, that I should not come

back, and that Biddy was quite right, all I can say is,—they were

quite right too.