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

Chapter LV

He was taken to the Police Court next day, and would have been

immediately committed for trial, but that it was necessary to send

down for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once

escaped, to speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but

Compeyson, who had meant to depose to it, was tumbling on the

tides, dead, and it happened that there was not at that time any

prison officer in London who could give the required evidence. I

had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his private house, on my arrival

over night, to retain his assistance, and Mr. Jaggers on the

prisoner’s behalf would admit nothing. It was the sole resource;

for he told me that the case must be over in five minutes when the

witness was there, and that no power on earth could prevent its

going against us.

I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of

the fate of his wealth. Mr. Jaggers was querulous and angry with me

for having “let it slip through my fingers,” and said we must

memorialize by and by, and try at all events for some of it. But

he did not conceal from me that, although there might be many cases

in which the forfeiture would not be exacted, there were no

circumstances in this case to make it one of them. I understood

that very well. I was not related to the outlaw, or connected with

him by any recognizable tie; he had put his hand to no writing or

settlement in my favor before his apprehension, and to do so now

would be idle. I had no claim, and I finally resolved, and ever

afterwards abided by the resolution, that my heart should never be

sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to establish one.

There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer

had hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture, and had obtained

some accurate knowledge of Magwitch’s affairs. When his body was

found, many miles from the scene of his death, and so horribly

disfigured that he was only recognizable by the contents of his

pockets, notes were still legible, folded in a case he carried.

Among these were the name of a banking-house in New South Wales,

where a sum of money was, and the designation of certain lands of

considerable value. Both these heads of information were in a list

that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr. Jaggers, of the

possessions he supposed I should inherit. His ignorance, poor

fellow, at last served him; he never mistrusted but that my

inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers’s aid.

After three days’ delay, during which the crown prosecution stood

over for the production of the witness from the prison-ship, the

witness came, and completed the easy case. He was committed to take

his trial at the next Sessions, which would come on in a month.

It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one

evening, a good deal cast down, and said,—

“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you.”

His partner having prepared me for that, I was less surprised than

he thought.

“We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo, and

I am very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me.”

“Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you;

but my need is no greater now than at another time.”

“You will be so lonely.”

“I have not leisure to think of that,” said I. “You know that I am

always with him to the full extent of the time allowed, and that I

should be with him all day long, if I could. And when I come away

from him, you know that my thoughts are with him.”

The dreadful condition to which he was brought, was so appalling to

both of us, that we could not refer to it in plainer words.

“My dear fellow,” said Herbert, “let the near prospect of our

separation—for, it is very near—be my justification for

troubling you about yourself. Have you thought of your future?”

“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.”

“But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed, my dear dear Handel, it

must not be dismissed. I wish you would enter on it now, as far as

a few friendly words go, with me.”

“I will,” said I.

“In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a—”

I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, “A

clerk.”

“A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand

(as a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now,

Handel,—in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?”

There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner

in which after saying “Now, Handel,” as if it were the grave

beginning of a portentous business exordium, he had suddenly given

up that tone, stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a

schoolboy.

“Clara and I have talked about it again and again,” Herbert

pursued, “and the dear little thing begged me only this evening,

with tears in her eyes, to say to you that, if you will live with us

when we come together, she will do her best to make you happy, and

to convince her husband’s friend that he is her friend too. We

should get on so well, Handel!”

I thanked her heartily, and I thanked him heartily, but said I

could not yet make sure of joining him as he so kindly offered.

Firstly, my mind was too preoccupied to be able to take in the

subject clearly. Secondly,—Yes! Secondly, there was a vague

something lingering in my thoughts that will come out very near the

end of this slight narrative.

“But if you thought, Herbert, that you could, without doing any

injury to your business, leave the question open for a little

while—”

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

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

Herbert was highly delighted when we shook hands on this

arrangement, and said he could now take courage to tell me that he

believed he must go away at the end of the week.

“And Clara?” said I.

“The dear little thing,” returned Herbert, “holds dutifully to her

father as long as he lasts; but he won’t last long. Mrs. Whimple

confides to me that he is certainly going.”

“Not to say an unfeeling thing,” said I, “he cannot do better than

go.”

“I am afraid that must be admitted,” said Herbert; “and then I

shall come back for the dear little thing, and the dear little

thing and I will walk quietly into the nearest church. Remember!

The blessed darling comes of no family, my dear Handel, and never

looked into the red book, and hasn’t a notion about her grandpapa.

What a fortune for the son of my mother!”

On the Saturday in that same week, I took my leave of Herbert,—

full of bright hope, but sad and sorry to leave me,—as he sat on

one of the seaport mail coaches. I went into a coffee-house to

write a little note to Clara, telling her he had gone off, sending

his love to her over and over again, and then went to my lonely

home,—if it deserved the name; for it was now no home to me, and I

had no home anywhere.

On the stairs I encountered Wemmick, who was coming down, after an

unsuccessful application of his knuckles to my door. I had not seen

him alone since the disastrous issue of the attempted flight; and

he had come, in his private and personal capacity, to say a few

words of explanation in reference to that failure.

“The late Compeyson,” said Wemmick, “had by little and little got

at the bottom of half of the regular business now transacted; and

it was from the talk of some of his people in trouble (some of his

people being always in trouble) that I heard what I did. I kept my

ears open, seeming to have them shut, until I heard that he was

absent, and I thought that would be the best time for making the

attempt. I can only suppose now, that it was a part of his policy,

as a very clever man, habitually to deceive his own instruments.

You don’t blame me, I hope, Mr. Pip? I 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, “and I assure you I haven’t been so cut up for

a long time. What I look at is the sacrifice of so much portable

property. Dear me!”

“What I think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property.”

“Yes, to be sure,” said Wemmick. “Of course, there can be no

objection to your being sorry for him, and I’d put down a

five-pound note myself to get him out of it. But what I look at is

this. The late Compeyson having been beforehand with him in

intelligence of his return, and being so determined to bring him to

book, I do not think he could have been saved. Whereas, the

portable property certainly could have been saved. That’s the

difference between the property and the owner, don’t you see?”

I invited Wemmick to come up stairs, and refresh himself with a

glass of grog before walking to Walworth. He accepted the

invitation. While he was drinking his moderate allowance, he said,

with nothing to lead up to it, and after having appeared rather

fidgety,—

“What do you think of my meaning to take a holiday on Monday, Mr.

Pip?”

“Why, I suppose you have not done such a thing these twelve

months.”

“These twelve years, more likely,” said Wemmick. “Yes. I’m going to

take a holiday. More than that; I’m going to take a walk. More than

that; I’m going to ask you to take a walk with me.”

I was about to excuse myself, as being but a bad companion