 CHAPTER 45 Mr. Dick fulfills my aunt's predictions. It was some time now since I had left the doctor. Living in his neighborhood, I saw him frequently, and we all went to his house on two or three occasions to dinner or tea. The old soldier was in permanent quarters under the doctor's roof. She was exactly the same as ever, and the same immortal butterflies hovered over her cap. Like some other mothers whom I have known in the course of my life, Mrs. Markillum was far more fond of pleasure than her daughter was. She required a great deal of amusement, and like a deep old soldier, pretended in consulting her own inclinations to be devoting herself to her child. The doctor's desire that Annie should be entertained was therefore particularly acceptable to this excellent parent who expressed unqualified approval of his discretion. I have no doubt indeed that she probed the doctor's wound without knowing it, meaning nothing but a certain matured frivolity and selfishness, not always inseparable from full-blown years. I think she confirmed him and his fear that he was a constraint upon his young wife, and that there was no congeniality of feeling between them by so strongly commending his design of lightning the load of her life. My dear soul, she said to him one day when I was present, you know there is no doubt it would be a little pokey for Annie to be always shut up here. The doctor nodded his benevolent head. When she comes to her mother's age, said Mrs. Markleham, with the flourish of her fan, then it will be another thing. You might put me into a jail with gentile society and a rubber, and I should never care to come out. But I am not Annie, you know, and Annie is not her mother. Surely, surely, said the doctor. You are the best of creatures. No, I beg your pardon for the documented gesture of deprecation. I must say before your face, as I always say behind your back, you are the best of creatures. But of course you don't, now do you, enter into the same pursuits and fancies as Annie. No, said the doctor in a sorrowful tone. No, of course not, retorted the old soldier. Take your dictionary, for example. What a useful work a dictionary is. What a necessary work. The meanings of words. Without Dr. Johnson or somebody of that sort, we might have been at this present moment calling an Italian iron a bedstead. But we can't expect a dictionary, especially when it's making, to interest Annie, can we? The doctor shook his head. And that's why I so much approve, said Mrs. Markleham, tapping him on the shoulder with a shut up fan, of your thoughtfulness. It shows that you don't expect, as many elderly people do expect, old heads on young shoulders. You have studied Annie's character and you understand it. That's what I find so charming. Even the calm and patient face of Dr. Strong expressed some little sense of pain, I thought, under the infliction of these compliments. Therefore, my dear doctor, said the old soldier, giving him several affectionate taps, you may command me at all times and seasons. Now, do understand that I am entirely at your service. I am ready to go with Annie to operas, concerts, exhibitions, all kinds of places, and you shall never find that I am tired. Duty, my dear doctor, before every consideration in the universe. She was as good as her word. She was one of those people who can bear a great deal of pleasure, and she never flinched in her perseverance in the cause. She seldom got hold of the newspaper, which she settled herself down in the softest chair in the house to read through an eyeglass every day for two hours. But she found out something that she was certain Annie would like to see. It was in vain for Annie to protest that she was weary of such things. Her mother's remonstrance always was, no, my dear Annie, I am sure you know better, and I must tell you, my love, that you are not making a proper return for the kindness of Dr. Strong. This was usually said in the doctor's presence and appeared to me to constitute Annie's principal inducement for withdrawing her objections when she made any. But in general she resigned herself to her mother and went with the old soldier would. It rarely happened now that Mr. Maldon accompanied them. Sometimes my aunt and Dora were invited to do so and accepted the invitation. Sometimes Dora only was asked. The time had been when I should have been uneasy in her going, but reflection on what had passed that former night in the doctor's study had made a change in my mistrust. I believed that the doctor was right and I had no worse suspicions. My aunt rubbed her nose sometimes when she happened to be alone with me and said she couldn't make it out. She wished they were happier. She didn't think our military friend, so she always called the old soldier, mended the matter at all. My aunt further expressed her opinion that if our military friend would cut off those butterflies and give them to the chimney sweepers for May Day it would look like the beginning of something sensible on her part. But her abiding reliance was on Mr. Dick. That man had evidently an idea in his head, she said, and if he could only once have penned up into a corner which was his great difficulty he would distinguish himself in some extraordinary manner. Unconscious of this prediction Mr. Dick continued to occupy precisely the same ground in reference to the doctor and to Mrs. Strong. He seemed neither to advance nor to recede. He appeared to have settled into his original foundation like a building, and I must confess that my faith in his ever moving was not much greater than if he had been a building. But one night when I had been married some months Mr. Dick put his head into the parlor where I was riding alone, Dora having gone out with my aunt to take tea with the two little birds, and said with a significant cough, you couldn't speak to me without inconveniencing yourself Trotwood, I am afraid. Certainly Mr. Dick said I come in. Trotwood said Mr. Dick laying his finger on the side of his nose after he had shaken hands with me. Before I sit down I wish to make an observation. You know your aunt, a little I replied. She is the most wonderful woman in the world sir. After the delivery of this communication which he shot out of himself as if he were loaded with it Mr. Dick sat down with greater gravity than usual and looked at me. Now boy said Mr. Dick, I am going to put a question to you. As many as you please said I. What do you consider me sir, asked Mr. Dick folding his arms. A dear old friend said I, thank you Trotwood, returned Mr. Dick laughing and reaching across in high glee to shake hands with me. But I mean boy, resuming his gravity, what do you consider me in this respect, touching his forehead? I was puzzled how to answer but he helped me with a word. Weak, said Mr. Dick. Well I replied dubiously, rather so. Exactly, cried Mr. Dick, who seemed quite enchanted by my reply. That is Trotwood, when they took some of the trouble out of you know who's head and put it you know where there was a, Mr. Dick made his two hands revolve very fast about each other a great number of times and then brought them into collision and rolled them over and over one another to express confusion. There was that sort of thing done to me somehow eh? I nodded at him and he nodded back again. In short boy, said Mr. Dick, dropping his voice to a whisper, I am simple. I would have qualified that conclusion but he stopped me. Yes I am. She pretends I am not, she won't hear of it but I am, I know I am. If she hadn't stood my friend sir I should have been shut up to lead a dismal life these many years but I'll provide for her. I never spend the copying money, I put it in a box. I have made a will, I'll leave it all to her. She shall be rich, noble. Mr. Dick took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He then folded it up with great care, pressed it smooth between his two hands, put it in his pocket and seemed to put my aunt away with it. Now you are a scholar, Trotwood, said Mr. Dick, you are a fine scholar. You know what a learned man, what a great man the doctor is. You know what honor he has always done me, not proud in his wisdom, humble, humble, condescending even to poor Dick who is simple and knows nothing. I have sent his name up on a scrap of paper to the kite along the string when it has been in the sky among the larks. The kite has been glad to receive it sir and the sky has been brighter with it. I delighted him by saying most heartily that the doctor was deserving of our best respect and highest esteem. And his beautiful wife is a star, said Mr. Dick, a shining star. I have seen her shine, sir, but bringing his chair nearer and laying one hand upon my knee clouds, sir, clouds. I answered the solicitude which his face expressed by conveying the same expression into my own and shaking my head. No clouds, said Mr. Dick. He looked so wistfully into my face and was so anxious to understand that I took great pains to answer him slowly and distinctly as I might have entered on an explanation to a child. There is some unfortunate division between them, I replied, some unhappy cause of separation, a secret. It may be inseparable from the discrepancy in their years. It may have grown up out of almost nothing. Mr. Dick, who had told off every sentence with a thoughtful nod, paused when I had done and sat considering with his eyes upon my face and his hand upon my knee. Dr. Not angry with her trotwood, he said after some time. No, devoted to her. Then I have got it, boy, said Mr. Dick. The sudden exultation with which he slapped me on the knee and leaned back in his chair with his eyebrows lifted up as high as he could possibly lift them made me think him farther out of his wits than ever. He became as suddenly grave again and leaning forward as before said, first respectfully taking out his pocket handkerchief as if it really did represent my aunt. Most wonderful woman in the world, trotwood, why has she done nothing to set things right? Too delicate and difficult a subject for such interference, I replied. Fine scholar, said Mr. Dick, touching me with his finger. Why has he done nothing? For the same reason, I returned. Then I have got it, boy, said Mr. Dick. And he stood up before me more exultingly than before, nodding his head and striking himself repeatedly upon the breast until one might have supposed that he had nearly nodded and struck all the breath out of his body. A poor fellow with a craze, sir, said Mr. Dick, a simpleton, a weak-minded person, present company, you know, striking himself again, may do what wonderful people may not do. I'll bring them together, boy, I'll try. They'll not blame me, they'll not object to me. They'll not mind what I do if it's wrong. I'm only Mr. Dick, and who minds Dick? Dick's nobody, whew! He blew a slight contemptuous breath as if he blew himself away. It was fortunate he had proceeded so far with his mystery, for we heard the coach stop at the little garden gate which brought my aunt and Dora home. Not a word, boy, he pursued in a whisper. Leave all the blame with Dick, simple Dick, mad Dick. I have been thinking, sir, for some time that I was getting it, and now I have got it. After what you have said to me, I am sure I have got it. All right. Not another word did Mr. Dick utter on the subject, but he made a very telegraph of himself for the next half hour for the great disturbance of my aunt's mind to enjoin inviolable secrecy on me. To my surprise I heard no more about it for some two or three weeks, though I was sufficiently interested in the result of his endeavors, describing a strange gleam of good sense, I say nothing of good feeling. For that he always exhibited, in the conclusion to which he had come. At last I began to believe that in the flighty and unsettled state of his mind he had either forgotten his intention or abandoned it. One fair evening when Dora was not inclined to go out, my aunt and I strolled up to the doctor's cottage. It was autumn when there were no debates to vex the evening air, and I remember how the leaves smelt like our garden at Blunderstone as we trod them underfoot, and how the old unhappy feelings seemed to go by on the sighing wind. It was twilight when we reached the cottage. Mrs. Strong was just coming out of the garden where Mr. Dick yet lingered, busy with his knife, helping the gardener to point some stakes. The doctor was engaged with someone in his study, but the visitor would be gone directly, Mrs. Strong said, and begged us to remain and see him. We went into the drawing-room with her and sat down by the darkening window. There was never any ceremony about the visits of such old friends and neighbors as we were. We had not sat here many minutes when Mrs. Markleham, who usually contrived to be in a fuss about something, came bustling in with her newspaper in her hand and sad, out of breath. My goodness gracious, Annie, why didn't you tell me there was someone in the study? My dear mama, she quietly returned, how could I know that you desired the information? Desired the information, said Mrs. Markleham, sinking on the sofa. I never had such a turn in all my life. Have you been to the study then, mama? Asked Annie. Been to the study, my dear, she returned emphatically. Indeed I have. I came upon the amiable creature, if you'll imagine my feelings, Ms. Trotwood and David, in the act of making his will. Her daughter looked round from the window quickly. In the act, my dear Annie, repeated Mrs. Markleham, spreading the newspaper on her lap, like the tablecloth, and patting her hands upon it, of making his last will and testament. I must foresight and affection of the dear. I must tell you how it was. I really must, injustice to the darling, for he is nothing less. Tell you how it was. Perhaps you know, Ms. Trotwood, that there is never a candle lighted in this house, until one's eyes are literally falling out of one's head with being stretched to read the paper. And that there is not a chair in this house in which a paper can be what I call red, except one in the study. This took me to the study where I saw a light. I opened the door. And company with the dear doctor were two professional people, evidently connected with the law, and there were all three standing at the table, the darling doctor, pen in hand. This simply expresses then, said the doctor, Annie, my love, attend to the very words. This simply expresses then, gentlemen, the confidence I have in Mrs. Strong and gives her all unconditionally. One of the professional people replied and gives her all unconditionally. Upon that, with the natural feelings of a mother, I said, Good God, I beg your pardon, fell over the doorstep, and came away through the little back passage where the pantry is. Mrs. Strong opened the window and went out into the veranda, where she stood, leaning against a pillar. But now, isn't it, Ms. Trotwood, isn't it, David, invigorating, said Mrs. Markleham, mechanically following her with her eyes, to find a man at Dr. Strong's time of life with the strength of mind to do this kind of thing? It only shows how right I was. I said to Annie, when Dr. Strong paid a very flattering visit to myself and made her the subject of a declaration and an offer, I said, my dear, there is no doubt whatever, in my opinion, was referenced to a suitable provision for you, that Dr. Strong will do more than he binds himself to do. Here the bell rang, and we heard the sound of the visitors' feet as they went out. It's all over, no doubt, said the old soldier after listening. The dear creature has signed, sealed, and delivered, and his mind's at rest. Well, it may be, what a mind. Annie, my love, I am going to the study with my paper, for I am a poor creature without news. Ms. Trotwood, David, pray come and see the doctor. I was conscious of Mr. Dix standing in the shadow of the room, shutting up his knife, when we accompanied her to the study. And of my aunt's, rubbing her nose violently, by the way, as a mild vent for her intolerance of our military friend. But who got first into the study, or how Mrs. Markillum settled herself in a moment in her easy chair, or how my aunt and I came to be left together near the door, unless her eyes were quicker than mine, and she held me back, I have forgotten if I ever knew. But this I know, that we saw the doctor before he saw us, sitting at his table among the folio volumes in which he delighted, resting his head calmly on his hand, that in the same moment we saw Mrs. Strong glide in, pale and trembling, that Mr. Dix supported her on his arm, that he laid his other hand upon the doctor's arm, causing him to look up with an abstracted air. That as the doctor moved his head, his wife dropped down on one knee at his feet, and, with her hands imploringly lifted, fixed upon his face the memorable look I had never forgotten. That at this sight, Mrs. Markillum dropped the newspaper and stared, more like a figurehead, intended for a ship to be called the astonishment, than anything else I can think of. The gentleness of the doctor's manner and surprise, the dignity that mingled with the supplicating attitude of his wife, the amiable concern of Mr. Dix and the earnestness with which my aunt said to herself, that man mad, triumphantly expressive of the misery from which she had saved him, I see and hear rather than remember as I write about it. Doctor, said Mr. Dix, what is it that's amiss? Look here. Annie, cried the doctor, not at my feet, my dear. Yes, she said, I beg and pray that no one will leave the room. Oh, my husband and father, break this long silence. Let us both know what it is that has come between us. Mrs. Markillum, by this time recovering the power of speech and seeming to swell with family pride and motherly indignation, here exclaimed, Annie, get up immediately and don't disgrace everybody belonging to you by humbling yourself like that, unless you wish to see me go out of my mind on the spot. Mama, returned Annie, waste no words on me for my appeal is to my husband and even you are nothing here. Nothing, exclaimed Mrs. Markillum. Me, nothing, the child has taken a leave of her senses, pleased to get me a glass of water. I was too attentive to the doctor and his wife to give any heed to this request and it made no impression on anybody else. So Mrs. Markillum panted, stared and fanned herself. Annie, said the doctor, tenderly taking her in his hands. My dear, if any unavoidable change has come in the sequence of time upon our married life, you are not to blame, the fault is mine and only mine. There is no change in my affection, admiration and respect. I wish to make you happy. I truly love and honor you. Rise, Annie, pray. But she did not rise. After looking at him for a little while, she sank down closer to him, laid her arm across his knee and dropping her head upon it, said, if I have any friend here who can speak one word for me or for my husband in this matter, if I have any friend here who can give a voice to any suspicion that my heart has sometimes whispered to me, if I have any friend here who honors my husband or has ever cared for me and has anything within his knowledge, no matter what it is, that may help to mediate between us, I implore that friend to speak. There was a profound silence. After a few moments of painful hesitation, I broke the silence. Mrs. Strong, I said there is something within my knowledge which I have been earnestly entreated by Dr. Strong to conceal and have concealed until tonight. But I believe the time has come when it would be mistaken faith and delicacy to conceal it any longer. And when your appeal absolves me from his injunction. She turned her face towards me for a moment and I knew that I was right. I could not have resisted its entreaty if the assurance that it gave me had been less convincing. Our future peace, she said, may be in your hands. I trust it confidently to your not suppressing anything. I know beforehand that nothing you or anyone can tell me will show my husband's noble heart in any other light than one. Howsoever it may seem to you to touch me, disregard that, I will speak for myself before him and before God afterwards. Thus earnestly besought, I made no reference to the doctor for his permission. But without any other compromise of the truth than a little softening of the coarseness of Uriah Heap, related plainly what had passed in that same room that night. The staring of Mrs. Markleham during the whole narration and the shrill, sharp interjections with which she occasionally interrupted it defied description. When I had finished, Annie remained for some few moments silent with her head bent down as I have described. Then she took the doctor's hand. He was sitting in the same attitude as when we had entered the room and pressed it to her breast and kissed it. Mr. Dick softly raised her and she stood when she began to speak, leaning on him and looking down upon her husband from whom she never turned her eyes. All that has ever been in my mind since I was married, she said in a low, submissive, tender voice, I will lay bare before you. I could not live and have one reservation knowing what I know now. Nay, Annie, said the doctor mildly, I have never doubted you, my child, there is no need. Indeed, there is no need, my dear. There is great need, she answered in the same way that I should open my whole heart before the soul of generosity and truth whom year by year and day by day I have loved and venerated more and more as heaven knows. Willie, interrupted Mrs. Markleham, if I have any discretion at all, which you haven't, you marplot, observed my aunt in an indignant whisper, I must be permitted to observe that it cannot be requisite to enter into these details. No one but my husband can judge of that, mama, said Annie, without removing her eyes from his face, and he will hear me. If I say anything to give you pain, mama, forgive me, I have borne pain first, often and long, myself. Upon my word, guest, Mrs. Markleham, when I was very young, said Annie, quite a little child, my first associations with knowledge of any kind were inseparable from a patient friend and teacher, the friend of my dead father who was always dear to me. I can remember nothing that I know without remembering him. He stored my mind with its first treasures and stamped his character upon them all. They never could have been, I think, as good as they have been to me if I had taken them from any other hands. Makes her mother nothing, exclaimed Mrs. Markleham. Not so, mama, said Annie, but I make him what he was. I must do that. As I grew up he occupied the same place still. I was proud of his interest, deeply, fondly, gratefully attached to him. I looked up to him, I can hardly describe how, as a father, as a guide, as one whose praise was different from all other praise, as one in whom I could have trusted and confided if I had doubted all the world. You know, mama, how young and inexperienced I was when you presented him before me, of a sudden, as a lover. I have mentioned the fact 50 times at least to everybody here, said Mrs. Markleham. Then hold your tongue for the Lord's sake and don't mention it any more, muttered my aunt. It was so great a change, so great a loss, I felt it at first, said Annie, still preserving the same look and tone that I was agitated and distressed. I was but a girl and when so great a change came and the character in which I had so long looked up to him, I think I was sorry, but nothing could have made him what he used to be again and I was proud that he should think me so worthy and we were married. At St. Alfred's, Canterbury, observed Mrs. Markleham, confound the woman, said my aunt, she won't be quiet. I never thought, proceeded Annie with a heightened color, of any worldly gain that my husband would bring to me. My young heart had no room in its homage for any such poor reference. Mama, forgive me when I say that it was you who first presented to my mind the thought that anyone could wrong me and wrong him by such a cruel suspicion. Me, cried Mrs. Markleham. Ah, you to be sure, observed my aunt and you can't fan it away, my military friend. It was the first unhappiness of my new life, said Annie. It was the first occasion of every unhappy moment I have known. These moments have been more of late than I can count. But not, my generous husband, not for the reason you suppose, for in my heart there is not a thought, a recollection or a hope, that any power could separate from you. She raised her eyes and clasped her hands and looked as beautiful and true I thought as any spirit. The doctor looked on her henceforth as steadfastly as she on him. Mama is blameless, she went on, of having ever urged you for herself. And she is blameless in intention every way I am sure. But when I saw how many important claims were pressed upon you in my name, how you were traded on in my name, how generous you were and how Mr. Wickfield, who had your welfare very much at heart, resented it, the first sense of my exposure to the mean suspicion that my tenderness was bought and sold to you of all men on earth, fell upon me like unmerited disgrace in which I forced you to participate. I cannot tell you what it was. Mama cannot imagine what it was to have this dread and trouble always on my mind, yet no, in my own soul that on my marriage day, I crowned the love and honor of my life. A specimen of the thanks one gets, cried Mrs. Markleham in tears, for taking care of one's family. I wish I was a Turk. I wish you were with all my heart and in your native country, said my aunt. It was at that time that Mama was most solicitous about my cousin Maldon. I had liked him, she spoke softly, but without any hesitation, very much. We had been little lovers once. If circumstances had not happened otherwise, I might have come to persuade myself that I really loved him and might have married him and been most wretched. There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. I pondered on those words, even while I was studiously attending to what followed as if they had some particular interest or some strange application that I could not divine. There can be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. No disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose. There is nothing, said Annie, that we have in common. I have long found that there is nothing. If I were thankful to my husband for no more instead of for so much, I should be thankful to him for having saved me from the first mistaken impulse of my undisciplined heart. She stood quite still before the doctor and spoke with an earnestness that thrilled me, yet her voice was just as quiet as before. When he was waiting to be the object of your munificence, so freely bestowed for my sake, and when I was unhappy in the mercenary shape I was made to wear, I thought it would have become him better to have worked his own way on. I thought that if I had been he, I would have tried to do it at the cost of almost any hardship. But I thought no worse of him until the night of his departure for India. That night I knew he had a false and thankless heart. I saw a double meaning then in Mr. Whitfield's scrutiny of me. I perceived for the first time the dark suspicion that shattered my life. Suspicion, Annie, said the doctor. No, no, no. In your mind there was none. I know my husband, she returned. And when I came to you that night to lay down all my load of shame and grief and knew that I had to tell that underneath your roof, one of my own kindred, to whom you had been a benefactor for the love of me, had spoken to me words that should have found no utterance. Even if I had been the weak and mercenary wretch he thought me, my mind revolted from the taint the very tail conveyed. It died upon my lips and from that hour till now has never passed them. Mrs. Marklehem was a short grown leaned back in her easy chair and retired behind her fan as if she were never coming out anymore. I have never but in your presence interchanged a word with him from that time. Then only when it has been necessary for the avoidance of this explanation. Years have passed since he knew from me what his situation here was. The kindness as you have secretly done for his advancement and then disclosed to me for my surprise and pleasure have been, you will believe, but aggravations of the unhappiness and burden of my secret. She sunk down gently at the doctor's feet, though he did his utmost to prevent her and said looking up tearfully into his face, do not speak to me yet, let me say a little more. Right or wrong, if this were to be done again I think I should do just the same. You never can know what it was to be devoted to you with those old associations to find that anyone could be so hard as to suppose that the truth of my heart was barred away and to be surrounded by appearances confirming that belief. I was very young and had no advisor. Between mama and me and all relating to you, there was a wide division. If I shrunk into myself hiding the disrespect I had undergone, it was because I honored you so much and so much wish that you should honor me. Any, my pure heart, said the doctor, my dear girl, a little more, a very few words more. I used to think there were so many whom you might have married who would not have brought such charge and trouble on you and who would have made your home a worthier home. I used to be afraid that I had better have remained your pupil and almost your child. I used to fear that I was so unsuited to your learning and wisdom if all this made me shrink within myself, as indeed it did, when I had that to tell it was still because I honored you so much and hoped that you might one day honor me. That day has shown this long time, Annie, said the doctor, and can have but one long night, my dear. Another word I afterwards meant, steadfastly meant and purposed to myself to bear the whole weight of knowing the unworthiness of one to whom you had been so good. And now a last word, dearest and best of friends, the cause of the late change in you, which I have seen with so much pain and sorrow and have sometimes referred to my old apprehension at other times to lingering suppositions nearer to the truth, has been made clear tonight, and by an accident I have also come to know tonight the full measure of your noble trust in me, even under that mistake. I do not hope that any love and duty I may render in return will ever make me worthy of your priceless confidence. But with all this knowledge fresh upon me, I can lift my eyes to this dear face, revered as a father's, loved as a husband's, sacred to me and my childhood as a friend's, and solemnly declare that in my lightest thought I have never wronged you, never wavered in the love and the fidelity I owe you. She had her arms around the doctor's neck, and he lent his head down over her, mingling his gray hair with her dark brown tresses. Oh, hold me to your heart, my husband. Never cast me out. Do not think or speak of disparity between us for there is none, except in all my many imperfections. Every succeeding year I have known this better as I have esteemed you more and more. Oh, take me to your heart, my husband, for my love was founded on a rock and it endures. In the silence that ensued, my aunt walked gravely up to Mr. Dick without at all hurrying herself and gave him a hug and a sounding kiss. And it was very fortunate with a view to his credit that she did so, for I am confident that I detected him at that moment in the act of making preparations to stand on one leg as an appropriate expression of delight. You are a very remarkable man, Dick, said my aunt, with an air of unqualified approbation, and never pretend to be anything else for I know better. With that, my aunt pulled him by the sleeve and nodded to me, and we three stole quietly out of the room and came away. That's a settler for our military friend at any rate, said my aunt on the way home. I should sleep the better for that if there was nothing else to be glad of. She was quite overcome, I am afraid, said Mr. Dick, with great commiseration. What? Did you ever see a crocodile overcome, inquired my aunt? I don't think I ever saw a crocodile return to Mr. Dick mildly. There never would have been anything the matter if it hadn't been for that old animal, said my aunt, with strong emphasis. It's very much to be wished that some mothers would leave their daughters alone after marriage and not be so violently affectionate. They seemed to think the only return that could be made them for bringing an unfortunate young woman into the world, God bless my soul as if she asked to be brought or wanted to come, as full liberty to worry her out of it again. What are you thinking of, Trot? I was thinking of all that had been said. My mind was still running on some of the expressions used. There could be no disparity in marriage like unsuitability of mind and purpose, the first mistaken impulse of an undisciplined heart. My love was founded on a rock. But we were at home and the trodden leaves were lying underfoot and the autumn wind was blowing. End of chapter 45. Chapter 46 of David Copperfield. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Chapter 46. Intelligence. I must have been married if I may trust my imperfect memory for dates, about a year or so when one evening, as I was returning from a solitary walk, thinking of the book I was then writing, for my success had steadily increased with my steady application and I was engaged at that time upon my first work of fiction. I came past Mrs. Stirforth's house. I had often passed it before during my residence in that neighborhood, though never when I could choose another road. How be it, it did sometimes happen that it was not easy to find another without making a long circuit, and so I had passed that way upon the whole pretty often. I had never done more than glance at the house as I went by with a quicken step. It had been uniformly gloomy and dull. None of the best rooms abutted on the road and the narrow, heavily framed old-fashioned windows, never cheerful under any circumstances, looked very dismal, close shut, and with their blinds always drawn down. There was a covered way across a little paved court to an entrance that was never used, and there was one round staircase window at odds with all the rest and the only one unshaded by a blind which had the same unoccupied blank look. I do not remember that I ever saw a light in all the house. If I had been a casual passerby, I should have probably supposed that some childless person lay dead in it. If I had happily possessed no knowledge of the place and had seen it often in that changeless state, I should have pleased my fancy with many ingenious speculations, I dare say. As it was, I thought as little of it as I might, but my mind could not go by it and leave it as my body did, and it usually awakened a long train of meditations. Coming before me on this particular evening that I mentioned, mingled with the childish recollections and later fancies, the ghosts of half-formed hopes, the broken shadows of disappointments dimly seen and understood, the blending of experience and imagination incidental to the occupation with which my thoughts had been busy, it was more than commonly suggestive. I fell into a brown study as I walked on and a voice at my side made me start. It was a woman's voice, too. I was not long in recollecting Mrs. Steerforth's little parlor maid who had formerly worn blue ribbons in her cap. She had taken them out now to adapt herself, I suppose, to the altered character of the house and wore but one or two disconsolate bows of sober brown. If you please, sir, would you have the goodness to walk in and speak to Miss Dardle? Has Miss Dardle sent you for me, I inquired? Not tonight, sir, but it's just the same. Miss Dardle saw you pass a night or two ago and I was to sit at work on the staircase and when I saw you pass again to ask you to step in and speak to her. I turned back and inquired of my conductor as we went along how Mrs. Steerforth was. She said her lady was but poorly and kept her own room a good deal. When we arrived at the house, I was directed to Miss Dardle in the garden and left to make my presence known to her myself. She was sitting on a seat at one end of a kind of terrace overlooking the great city. It was a somber evening with a lurid light in the sky and as I saw the prospect scowling in the distance with here and there some larger objects starting up into the sullen glare, I fancied it was no inept companion to the memory of this fierce woman. She saw me as I advanced and rose for a moment to receive me. I thought her then still more colorless and thin than when I had seen her last, the flashing eyes still brighter and the scar still planer. Our meeting was not cordial. We had parted angrily on the last occasion and there was an air of disdain about her which she took no pains to conceal. I am told you wish to speak to me, Miss Dardle, said I, standing near her with my hand upon the back of the seat and declining her gesture of invitation to sit down. If you please, said she, pray has this girl been found? No. And yet she has run away. I saw her thin lips working while she looked at me as if they were eager to load her with reproaches. Run away, I repeated. Yes, from him, she said with a laugh. If she is not found, perhaps she never will be found. She may be dead. The daunting cruelty with which she met my glance I never saw expressed in any other face that ever I have seen. To wish her dead, said I, may be the kindest wish that one of her own sex could bestow upon her. I am glad that time has softened you so much, Miss Dardle. She kind ascended to make no reply, but turning on me with another scornful laugh said, the friends of this excellent and much injured young lady are friends of yours. You are their champion and assert their rights. Do you wish to know what is known of her? Yes, said I. She rose with an ill-favored smile and taking a few steps towards a wall of holly that was near at hand, dividing the lawn from a kitchen garden, said in a louder voice, come here, as if she were calling to some unclean beast. You will restrain any demonstrative championship or vengeance in this place. Of course, Mr. Copperfield, said she, looking over her shoulder at me with the same expression. I inclined my head without knowing what she meant, and she said, come here, again, and returned, followed by the respectable Mr. Littimer, who, with undiminished respectability, made me a bow and took up his position behind her. The air of wicked grace, of triumph, in which, strange to say, there was yet something feminine and alluring with which she reclined upon the seat between us and looked at me, was worthy of a cruel princess and a legend. Now, said she, imperiously, without glancing at him, and touching the old wound as it throbbed, perhaps in this instance with pleasure rather than pain, tell Mr. Copperfield about the flight. Mr. James and myself, ma'am, don't address yourself to me, she interrupted with a frown. Mr. James and myself, sir, nor to me, if you please, said I. Mr. Littimer, without being at all discomposed, signified by a slight obeisance that anything that was most agreeable to us was most agreeable to him and began again. Mr. James and myself have been abroad with the young woman ever since she left Yarmouth under Mr. James's protection. We have been in a variety of places and seen a deal of foreign country. We have been in France, Switzerland, Italy, in fact, almost all parts. He looked at the back of the seat as if he were addressing himself to that and softly played upon it with his hands as if he were striking chords upon a dumb piano. Mr. James took quite uncommonly to the young woman and was more settled for a length of time than I have known him to be since I have been in his service. The young woman was very improvable and spoke the languages and wouldn't have been known for the same country person. I noticed that she was much admired wherever we went. Miss Dardle put her hand upon her side. I saw him steal a glance at her and slightly smile to himself. Very much admired indeed the young woman was, what was her dress, what was the air and sun, what was being made so much of, what with this, that and the other, her merits really attracted general notice. He made a short pause. Her eyes wandered restlessly over the distant prospect and she bit her nether lip to stop that busy mouth. Taking his hands from the seat and placing one of them within the other as he settled himself on one leg, Mr. Littimer proceeded with his eyes cast down and his respectable head a little advanced and a little on one side. The young woman went on in this manner for some time, being occasionally low in her spirits until I think she began to weary Mr. James by giving way to her low spirits and tempers of that kind and things were not so comfortable. Mr. James he began to be restless again. The more restless he got the worse she got and I must say for myself that I had a very difficult time of it indeed between the two. Still matters were patched up here and made good there over and over again and altogether lasted I am sure for a longer time than anybody could have expected. Recalling her eyes from the distance she looked at me again now with her former air, Mr. Littimer clearing his throat behind his hand with a respectable short cough, changed legs and went on. At last when there had been upon the whole a good many words and reproaches, Mr. James he set off one morning from the neighborhood of Naples where we had a villa, the young woman being very partial to the sea and under pretense of coming back in a day or so left it in charge with me to break it out that for the general happiness of all concerned he was here in the interruption of the short cough gone. But Mr. James I must say certainly did behave extremely honorable for he proposed that the young woman should marry a very respectable person who was fully prepared to overlook the past and who was at least as good as anybody the young woman could have aspired to in a regular way, her connections being very common. He changed legs again and wedded his lips. I was convinced that the scoundrel spoke of himself and I saw my conviction reflected in Miss Dardle's face. This I also had it in charge to communicate. I was willing to do anything to relieve Mr. James from his difficulty and to restore harmony between himself and an affectionate parent who has undergone so much on his account. Therefore I undertook the commission. The young woman's violence when she came to after I broke the fact of his departure was beyond all expectations. She was quite mad and had to be held by force or if she couldn't have got to a knife or got to the sea she'd have beaten her head against the marble floor. Miss Dardle leaning back upon the seat with a light of exaltation in her face seemed almost to caress the sounds this fellow had uttered. But when I came to the second part of what had been entrusted to me, said Mr. Littimer rubbing his hands uneasily which anybody might have supposed would have been at all events appreciated as a kind intention. Then the young woman came out in her true colors. A more outrageous person I never did see. Her conduct was surprisingly bad. She had no more gratitude, no more feeling, no more patience, no more reason in her than a stock or a stone. If I hadn't been upon my guard I am convinced she would have had my blood. I think the better of her force said I indignantly. Mr. Littimer bent his head as much as to say indeed sir, but you're young and resumed his narrative. It was necessary in short for a time to take away everything nigh her that she could do herself or anybody else an injury with and to shut her up close. Notwithstanding which she got out in the night forced the lattice of a window that I had nailed up myself dropped on a vine that was trailed below and never has been seen or heard of to my knowledge since. She is dead perhaps, said Miss Dardle with a smile as if she could have spurned of the body of the ruined girl. She may have drowned herself, Miss, returned Mr. Littimer, catching at an excuse for addressing himself to somebody. It's very possible. Or she may have had assistance from the boatman and the boatman's wives and children. Being given to low company she was very much in the habit of talking to them on the beach, Miss Dardle, and sitting by their boats. I have known her do it when Mr. James has been away whole days. Mr. James was far from pleased to find out once that she had told the children she was a boatman's daughter and that in her own country, long ago, she had roamed about the beach like them. Oh, Emily, unhappy beauty. What a picture rose before me of her sitting on the far-off shore among the children like herself when she was innocent, listening to little voices such as might have called her mother had she been a poor man's wife and to the great voice of the sea with its eternal nevermore. When it was clear that nothing could be done, Miss Dardle, did I tell you not to speak to me? As she said with stern contempt. You spoke to me, Miss, he replied. I beg your pardon, but it is my service to obey. Do your service, she returned. Finish your story and go. When it was clear, he said, with infinite respectability and an obedient bow, that she was not to be found, I went to Mr. James at the place where it had been agreed that I should write to him and informed him of what had occurred. Words passed between us in consequence and I felt it due to my character to leave him. I could bear and have borne a great deal from Mr. James, but he insulted me too far. He hurt me. Knowing the unfortunate difference between himself and his mother and what her anxiety of mind was likely to be, I took the liberty of coming home to England and relating, for money which I paid him, said Miss Dardle to me, just so, ma'am, and relating what I knew. I am not aware, said Mr. Littimer, after a moment's reflection, that there is anything else. I am at present out of employment and should be happy to meet with a respectable situation. Miss Dardle glanced at me as though she would inquire if there were anything that I desired to ask, as there was something which had occurred to my mind, I said in reply. I could wish to know from this creature, I could not bring myself to utter any more conciliatory word, whether they intercepted a letter that was written to her from home or whether he supposes that she received it. He remained calm and silent with his eyes fixed on the ground and the tip of every finger of his right hand delicately poised against the tip of every finger of his left. Miss Dardle turned her head disdainfully towards him. I beg your pardon, Miss, he said, awakening from his abstraction, but however submissive to you, I have my position, though a servant. Mr. Copperfield and you, Miss, are different people. If Mr. Copperfield wishes to know anything from me, I take the liberty of reminding Mr. Copperfield that he can put a question to me. I have a character to maintain. After a momentary struggle with myself, I turned my eyes upon him and said, you have heard my question. Consider it addressed to yourself if you choose. What answer do you make? Sir, he rejoined with an occasional separation and reunion of those delicate tips. My answer must be qualified, because to betray Mr. James's confidence to his mother and to betray it to you are two different actions. It is not probable, I consider, that Mr. James would encourage the receipt of letters likely to increase low spirits and unpleasantness. But further than that, sir, I should wish to avoid going. Is that all, inquired Miss Dardle of me? I indicated that I had nothing more to say, except, I added, as I saw him moving off, that I understand this fellow's part in the wicked story, and that, as I shall make it known to the honest man who has been her father from her childhood, I would recommend him to avoid going too much into public. He had stopped the moment I began and had listened with his usual repose of manner. Thank you, sir, but you'll excuse me if I say, sir, that there are neither slaves nor slave-drivers in this country, and that people are not allowed to take the law into their own hands. If they do, it is more to their own peril, I believe, than to other peoples. Consequently speaking, I am not at all afraid of going wherever I may wish, sir. With that he made a polite bow, and with another to Miss Dardle, went away through the arch in the wall of Holly, by which he had come. Miss Dardle and I regarded each other for a little while in silence, her manner being exactly what it was when she had produced the man. He says, besides, she observed, with a slow curling of her lip, that his master, as he hears, is coasting Spain, and this done is a way to gratify his seafaring taste till he is weary. But this is of no interest to you. Between these two proud persons, mother and son, there is a wider breach than before, and little hope of its healing, for they are one at heart, and time makes each more obstinate and imperious. Neither is this of any interest to you, but it introduces what I wish to say. This devil whom you make an angel of, I mean this low girl whom he picked out of the tide mud, with her black eyes full upon me and her passionate finger up, may be alive, for I believe some common things are hard to die. If she is, you will desire to have a pearl of such price found and taken care of. We desire that, too, that he may not, by any chance, be made her prey again. So far we are united in one interest, and that is why I, who would do her any mischief that so coarse a wretch is capable of feeling, have sent for you to hear what you have heard. I saw by the change in her face that someone was advancing behind me. It was Mrs. Steerforth who gave me her hand more coldly than of yore, and was an augmentation of her former stateliness of manner, but still, I perceived, and I was touched by it, was an ineffasible remembrance of my old love for her son. She was greatly altered. Her fine figure was far less upright. Her handsome face was deeply marked, and her hair was almost white. But when she sat down on the seat, she was a handsome lady still, and well I knew the bright eye was its lofty look that had been a light in my very dreams at school. Is Mr. Copperfield informed of everything, Rosa? Yes. And has he heard Littimer himself? Yes, I have told him why you wished it. You are a good girl. I have had some slight correspondence with your former friend, sir, addressing me, but it has not restored his sense of duty or natural obligation. Therefore I have no other object in this than what Rosa has mentioned, if by the course which may relieve the mind of the decent man you brought here, for whom I am sorry I can say no more. My son may be saved from again falling into the snares of a designing enemy, well. She drew herself up and sat looking straight before her, far away. Madam, I said respectfully, I understand. I assure you I am in no danger putting any strange construction on your motives. But I must say, even to you, having known this injured family from childhood, that if you suppose the girl so deeply wronged has not been cruelly deluded and would not rather die a hundred deaths than take a cup of water from your son's hand now, you cherish a terrible mistake. Well, Rosa, well, said Mrs. Dearforth, as the other was about to interpose, it is no matter, let it be. You are married, sir, I am told. I answered that I had been some time married, and are doing well. I hear little in the quiet life I lead, but I understand you are beginning to be famous. I have been very fortunate, I said, and find my name connected with some praise. You have no mother and a softened voice? No. It is a pity, she returned. She would have been proud of you. Good night. I took the hand she held out with a dignified, unbending air, and it was as calm in mind as if her breast had been at peace. Her pride could still its very pulse as it appeared and draw the placid veil before her face, through which she sat looking straight before her on the far distance. As I moved away from them along the terrace, I could not help observing how steadily they both sat gazing on the prospect and how it thickened and closed around them. Here and there some early lamps were seen to twinkle in the distant city, and in the eastern quarter of the sky the lurid light still hovered. But from the greater part of the broad valley interposed, a mist was rising like a sea which, mingling with the darkness, made it seem as if the gathering waters would encompass them. I have reason to remember this and think of it with awe, for before I looked upon those two again, a stormy sea had risen to their feet. Reflecting on what had been thus told me, I felt it right that it should be communicated to Mr. Pegatee. On the following evening I went into London in quest of him. He was always wandering about from place to place with his one object of recovering his knees before him, but was more in London than elsewhere. Often and often now had I seen him in the dead of night, passing along the streets, searching among the few who loitered out of doors at those untimely hours for what he dreaded to find. He kept a lodging over the little Chandler shop in Hungerford Market, which I have had occasion to mention more than once, and from which he first went forth upon his errand of mercy. Hither I directed my walk. On making inquiry for him, I learned from the people of the house that he had not gone out yet, and I should find him in his room upstairs. He was sitting reading by a window in which he kept a few plants. The room was very neat and orderly. I saw in a moment that it was always kept prepared for her reception and that he never went out, but he thought it possible he might bring her home. He had not heard my tap at the door and only raised his eyes when I laid my hand upon his shoulder. Master Davy, thank you, sir. Thank you, hearty, for this visit. Sit you down, you're kindly welcome, sir. Mr. Pagedy said I, taking the chair he handed me. Don't expect much. I have heard some news. Of Emily? He put his hand in a nervous manner on his mouth and turned pale as he fixed his eyes on mine. It gives no clue to where she is, but she is not with him. He sat down looking intently at me and listened in profound silence to all I had to tell. I well remember the sense of dignity, beauty even, with which the patient gravity of his face impressed me when, having gradually removed his eyes from mine, he sat looking downward, leaning his forehead on his hand. He offered no interruption but remained throughout perfectly still. He seemed to pursue her figure through the narrative and to let every other shape go by him as if it were nothing. When I had done, he shaded his face and continued silent. I looked out of the window for a little while and occupied myself with the plants. How do you fair to feel about it, Master Davy? He inquired at length. I think that she is living, I replied. I don't know. Maybe the first shock was too rough and in the wildness of her art that there blue water as she was to speak on. Could she have thought of that so many years because it was to be her grave? He said this music in a low frightened voice and walked across the little room. And yet he added, Master Davy, I have felt so sure as she was living. I have no awake and sleeping as it was so true that I should find her. I have been so led on by it and held up by it that I don't believe I can have been deceived. No, Emily's alive. He put his hand down firmly on the table and set his sunburnt face into a resolute expression. My niece Emily is alive, sir, he said steadfastly. I don't know where it comes from or how it is, but I'm told as she's alive. He looked almost like a man inspired as he said it. I waited for a few moments until he could give me his undivided attention and then proceeded to explain the precaution that it had occurred to me last night that would be wise to take. Now, my dear friend, I began. Thank ye, thank ye kind, sir, he said, grasping my hand in both of his. If she should make her way to London, which is likely, for where could she lose herself so readily as in this vast city and what would she wish to do but lose and hide herself if she does not go home? When she won't go home, he interposed, shaking his head mournfully. If she had left of her own accord, she might, not as it was, sir. If she should come here, said I, I believe there is one person here more likely to discover her than any other in the world. Do you remember, here what I say with fortitude, think of your great object? Do you remember, Martha, of our town? I needed no other answer than his face. Do you know that she is in London? I have seen her in the streets, he answered with a shiver. But you don't know, said I, that Emily was charitable to her with Ham's help long before she fled from home, nor that when we met one night and spoke together in the room yonder over the way, she listened at the door. Nessar, Davy, he replied in astonishment, that night when it snu so hard? That night, I have never seen her since. I went back after parting from you to speak to her but she was gone. I was unwilling to mention her to you then and I am now, but she is the person of whom I speak and with whom I think we should communicate. Do you understand? Too well, sir, he replied. We had sunk our voices almost to a whisper and continued to speak in that tone. You say you have seen her. Do you think that you could find her? I could only hope to do so by chance. I think, Master Davy, I know we're to look. It is dark. Being together, shall we go out now and try to find her tonight? He assented and prepared to accompany me. Without appearing to observe what he was doing, I saw how carefully he adjusted the little room, put a candle ready and the means of lighting it, arranged the bed, and finally took out of a drawer one of her dresses, I remember to have seen her wear it, neatly folded with some other garments in a bonnet which he placed upon a chair. He made no allusion to these clothes, neither did I. There they had been waiting for her many and many a night, no doubt. The time was, Master Davy, he said, as we came downstairs. When I thought this girl Martha almost like the dirt underneath my Emily's feet. God forgive me, there's a difference now. As we went along, partly to hold him in conversation and partly to satisfy myself, I asked him about ham. He said, almost in the same words as formerly, that ham was just the same. Wearing away his life with kinder, no care, no how for it, but never murmuring and liked by all. I asked him what he thought ham's state of mind was in reference to the cause of their misfortunes, whether he believed it was dangerous. What he supposed, for example, ham would do if he and Steerforth ever should encounter. I don't know, sir, he replied. I have thought of it oftentimes, but I can't advise myself of it, no matters. I recalled to his remembrance the morning after her departure when we were all three on the beach. Do you recollect, said I, a certain wild way in which he looked out to sea and spoke about the end of it? Sure I do, said he. What do you suppose he meant? Master Davy, he replied, I put the question to myself a more to times and never found no answer. And there's one curious thing, that though he is so pleasant, I wouldn't fare to feel comfortable to try and get his mind upon. He never said a word to me as warn't as dutiful as dutiful could be, and it ain't likely as he'd begin to speak any other ways now, but it's fur from being fleet water in his mind where them thoughts lays. It's deep, sir, and I can't see down. You are right, said I, and that has sometimes made me anxious. And me too, Master Davy, he rejoined. Even more so, I do assure you, than his vendors some ways, though both belongs to the alteration in him. I don't know as he'd do violence under any circumstances, but I hope as them too may be kept asunders. We had come through Temple Bar into the city, conversing no more now, and walking at my side, he yielded himself up to the one aim of his devoted life, and went on with that hushed concentration of his faculties, which would have made his figure solitary in a multitude. We were not far from Blackfriars Bridge when he turned his head and pointed to a solitary female figure flitting along the opposite side of the street. I knew it readily to be the figure that we sought. We crossed the road and were pressing on towards her when it occurred to me that she might be more disposed to feel a woman's interest in the lost girl if we spoke to her in a quieter place, aloof from the crowd, and where we should be less observed. I advised my companion, therefore, that we should not address her yet, but follow her, consulting in this likewise an indistinct desire I had to know where she went. He acquiescing we followed at a distance, never losing sight of her, but never caring to come very near as she frequently looked about. Once she stopped to listen to a band of music, and then we stopped too. She went on a long way. Still we went on. It was evident from the manner in which she held her course that she was going to some fixed destination, and this and her keeping in the busy streets, and I suppose the strange fascination and the secrecy and mystery of so following any one, made me adhere to my first purpose. At length she turned into a dull dark street where the noise and crowd were lost, and I said, We may speak to her now, and mending our pace we went after her. CHAPTER 47 MARTHA We were now down in Westminster. We had turned back to follow her, having encountered her coming towards us, and Westminster Abbey was the point at which she passed from the lights and noise of the leading streets. She proceeded so quickly, when she got free of the two currents of passengers setting towards and from the bridge, that between this and the advance she had of us when she struck off, we were in the narrow waterside street by Millbank before we came up with her. At that moment she crossed the road as if to avoid the footsteps that she heard so close behind, and without looking back passed on even more rapidly. A glimpse of the river through a dull gateway where some wagons were housed for the night seemed to arrest my feet. I touched my companion without speaking, and we both forebode to cross after her, and both followed on that opposite side of the way, keeping as quietly as we could in the shadow of the houses, but keeping very near her. There was, and is when I write, at the end of that low lying street, a dilapidated little wooden building, probably an obsolete old fairy house. Its position is just at the point where the street ceases, and the road begins to lie between a row of houses and the river. As soon as she came here and saw the water, she stopped as if she had come to her destination, and presently went slowly along by the brink of the river, looking intently at it. All the way here I had supposed that she was going to some house, indeed I had vaguely entertained the hope that the house might be in some way associated with the lost girl, but that one dark glimpse of the river through the gateway had instinctively prepared me for her going no farther. The neighborhood was a jury one at that time, as oppressive, sad, and solitary by night, as any about London. There were neither whores nor houses on the bell and collie waste of road near the great blank prison. A sluggish ditch deposited its mud at the prison walls. Corsed grass and rank weeds straggled over all the marshy land in the vicinity. In one part, carcasses of houses and auspiciously begun and never finished rotted away. In another, the ground was covered with rusty iron monsters of steam boilers, wheels, cranks, pipes, furnaces, paddles, anchors, diving bells, windmill sails, and I know not what strange objects accumulated by some spectacular and groveling in the dust underneath which, having sunk into the soil of their own weight in wet weather, they had the appearance of vainly trying to hide themselves. The clank and glare of sundry fiery works upon the riverside arose by night to disturb everything except the heavy and unbroken smoke that poured out of their chimneys. Slimy gaps and causeways winding among old wooden piles with a sickly substance clinging to the ladder, like green hair and the rags of last year's handbills offering rewards for drowned men fluttering above high water mark, led down through the ooze and slushed to the ebb tide. There was a story that one of the pits dug for the dead at the time of the Great Plague was here about and a blighting influence seemed to have proceeded from it over the whole place or else it looked as if it had gradually decomposed into that nightmare condition. Out of the overflowing of the polluted stream. As if she were a part of the refuse it had cast out and left to corruption and decay the girl we had followed strayed down to the river's brink and stood in the midst of this night picture lonely and still looking at the water. There were some boats and barges astrand in the mud and these enabled us to come within a few yards of her without being seen. I then signed Mr. Pegatee to remain where he was and emerged from their shade to speak to her. I did not approach her solitary figure without trembling where this gloomy end to her determined walk and the way in which she stood almost with the cavernous shadow of the iron bridge looked at the lights crookedly reflected in the strong tide inspired a dread with me. I think she was talking to herself. I am sure although absorbed and gazing at the water that her shawl was off her shoulders and that she was muffled her hands in it in an unsettled and bewildered way more like the action of a sleepwalker than a waking person. I know and never can forget that there was that in her wild manner which gave me no assurance but that she would sink before my eyes until I had her arm within my grasp. At that moment I said, Martha. She uttered a terrified scream and struggled with me with such strength that I doubt if I could have held her alone but a stronger hand than mine was laid upon her and when she raised her frightened eyes and saw whose it was she made but one more effort and dropped down between us. We carried her away from the water to where there were some dry stones and there later down crying and moaning. In a little while she sat among the stones holding her wretched head with both her hands. Oh, the river, she cried passionately. Oh, the river. Hush, hush, that I, calm yourself. But she still repeated the same words continually exclaiming, oh, the river over and over again. I know it's like me, she exclaimed. I know that I belong to it. I know that it's the natural company of such as I am. It comes from country places where there was once no harm in it and it creeps through the dismal streets defiled and miserable and it goes away like my life to a great sea that is always troubled and I feel that I must go with it. I would never know what despair was except in the tone of those words. I can't keep away from it. I can't forget it. It haunts me day and night. It's the only thing in all the world that I am fit for or that's fit for me. Oh, the dreadful river. The thought passed through my mind that in the face of my companion as he looked upon her without speech or motion I might have read his niece's history. If I had known nothing of it, I never saw in any painting or reality horror and compassion so impressively blended. He shook as if he would have fallen and his hand I touched it with my own where his appearance alarmed me was deadly cold. She is in a state of frenzy I whisper to him. She will speak differently in the little time. I don't know what he would have said an answer. He made some motion with his mouth and seemed to think he had spoken but he had only pointed to her with his outstretched hand. A new burst of crying came upon her now and what she once more hit her face among the stones and lay before us, a prostrate image of humiliation and ruin knowing that the state must pass before he could speak to her with any hope I ventured to restrain him when he would have raised her and we stood by in silence until she became more tranquil. Martha said I then leaning down and helping her to rise. She seemed to want to rise as if with the intention of going away but she was weak and leaned against a boat. Do you know who this is? Who is with me? She said faintly, yes. Do you know we have followed you a long way tonight? She shook her head. She looked neither at him nor at me but stood in a humble attitude holding her bonnet and shawl in one hand without appearing conscious of time and pressing the other clenched against her forehead. Are you composed enough said I to speak on the subject which so interested you? I hope heaven may remember it, that snowy night. Her sobs broke out afresh and she murmured some in our articulate thanks to me for not having driven her away from the door. I want to say nothing for myself. She said after a few moments, I am bad. I am lost, I have no hope at all. But tell him sir, she had shrunk away from him. If you don't feel too hard to me to do it that I never wasn't any of the cause of this misfortune. It has never been attributed to you. I returned earnestly responding to her earnestness. It was you, if I don't deceive myself she said in a broken voice that came into the kitchen the night she took such pity on me was so gentle to me didn't shrink away from me like all the rest and gave me such kind help. Was it you sir? It was said I. I should have been in the river long ago she said glancing at it with a terrible expression. If any wrong to her had been upon my mind I never could have kept out of it a single winter's night if I had not been free of any share in that. The cause of her flight is too well at her stood I said. You are innocent of any part in it. We thoroughly believe we know. Oh I might have been much better for her if I had a better heart exclaimed the girl with most forlorn regret. For she was always good to me. She never spoke a word to me but what was pleasant and right. It is likely I would try to make her what I am myself knowing what I am myself so well. When I lost everything that makes life dear the worst of all my thoughts was that I was parted forever for her. Mr. Pegatee standing with one hand in the gun whale of the boat and his eyes cast down put his disengaged hand before his face. And when I heard what had happened before that snowy night from some belonging to our town cried Martha the bitterest thought in all my mind was that people will remember she once kept company with me and would say I had corrupted her when heaven knows I would have died to have brought back her good name. Long unused to any self control the piercing agony of her remorse and grief was terrible. To have died would not have been much. What can I say? I would have lived she cried. I would have lived to be old in the wretched streets and to wonder about avoided in the dark and to see the daybreak on the ghastly line of houses and remember how the same sun used to shine into my room and wake me once I would have done that to save her. Sinking on the stones she took some in each hand and clenched them up as if she would have ground them. She writhed into some new posture constantly stiffening her arms twisting them before her face and then to shut out from her eyes the little light there was and drooping her head as if it were heavy with insupportable recollections. Whatever shall I do? She said fighting thus with her despair. How can I go on as I am a solitary curse to myself a living disgrace to everyone I come near? Suddenly she turned to my companion. Stamp upon me kill me. When she was your pride you would have thought I had done her harm if I had brushed against her in the streets. You can't believe why should you? A syllable that comes out of my lips it would be burning shame upon you even now if she and I exchanged a word. I don't complain. I don't say she and I were alike. I know there is a long, long way between us. I only say with all my guilt and wretchedness upon my head that I am grateful to her for my soul and love her. Oh, don't think that all the power I had of loving anything is quite worn out. Throw me away as all the world does. Kill me for being what I am and having ever known her. But don't think that of me. He looked upon her while she made that his supplication in a wild, distracted manner. And when she was silent gently raised her. Martha said, Mr. Piketty, God forbid as I should judge you forbid as I of all men should do that, my girl. You don't know half the change that's come in course of time upon me when you think it likely. Well, he paused a moment then went on. You don't understand how Tiz that this here gentleman in me has wished to speak to you. You don't understand what Tiz we has before us. Listen now. His influence upon her was complete. She stood trinketly before him as if she were afraid to meet his eyes. But her passionate sorrow was quite hushed and mute. If you hear, said Mr. Piketty, out of what passed between Master Davy and me the night when it's new so hard, you know it as I have been we're not referred to see my dear niece, my dear niece, he repeated steadily. For she's more dear to me now, Martha than she was dearer for. She put her hands before her face, but otherwise remained quiet. I have heared her tale, said Mr. Piketty, as you was early left fatherless and motherless with no friend for to take in a rough seafaring way their place. Maybe you can guess that if you had such a friend you'd have gotten to a way of being fond of him in course of time and that my niece was kinder daughter like to me. As she was silently trembling, he put a shawl carefully about her, taking it up from the ground for that purpose. Whereby, said he, I know both that she would go to the world's furthest end with me if she could once see me again and that she would fly to the world's furthest end to keep off seeing me. For though she ain't no call to doubt my love and do it and do it, he repeated with quiet assurance of the truth of what he said. Their shame steps in and keeps betwixt us. I read in every word of his plain impressive way of delivering himself, new evidence of his having thought of this one topic in every feature it presented. According to our reckoning, he proceeded, Master Davies here and mine, she is like one day to make her own poor solitary course to London. We believe, Master Davies, me and all of us, that you are as innocent as everything that has befell her as the unborn child. You spoke of her being pleasant, kind and gentle to you. Bless her. I knew she was. I knew she always was to all. You're thankful to her and you love her. Keep us all you can to find her and may heaven reward you. She looked at him hastily. And for the first time, as if she were doubtful of what he had said. Will you trust me? She asked in a low voice of astonishment. Full and free, said Mr. Pegaty. To speak her, if I should ever find her, shelter her. If I have any shelter to divide with her and then without her knowledge, come to you and bring you to her, she asked hurriedly. We both replied together, yes. She lifted up her eyes and solemnly declared that she would devote herself to this task, fervently and faithfully, that she would never waver in it, never be diverted from it, never relinquish it, while there was any chance of hope. If she were not true to it, might the object she now had in life, which bound her to something devoid of evil in its passing away from her, leave her more forlorn and more despairing. If that were possible, then she had been upon the river's brink that night and then might all help human and divine renounce her evermore. She did not raise her voice above her breath or address us, but said this to the night sky, then stood profoundly quiet, looking at the gloomy water. We judged it expedient now to tell her all we knew which I recounted at length. She listened with great attention and with a face that often changed, but had the same purpose in all its varying expressions. It seemed as if her spirit were quite altered and she could not be too quiet. She asked when all was told where we were to be communicated with if occasion should arise. Under a dull lamp in the road, I wrote our two addresses on a leaf of my pocketbook which I tore out and gave to her and what she put in her poor bosom. I asked her where she lived herself. She said after a pause in no place long there were better not to know. Mr. Pegate suggested to me in a whisper what had already occurred to myself and I took out my purse, but I could not prevail upon her to accept any money nor could I exact any promise from her that she would do so at another time. I represented to her that Mr. Pegate could not be called for one in his condition, poor, and that the idea of engaging in this search while depending on her own resources shocked us both. She continued steadfast and this particular his influence upon her was equally powerless with mine. She gratefully thanked him, but remained inexorable. There may be work to be got, she said, I'll try. At least take some assistance I returned until you have tried. I could not do what I have promised for money, she replied. I could not take it if I was starving to give me money would be to take away your trust, to take away the object that you have given me, to take away from the only certain thing that saves me from the river. In the name of the great judge that I, before whom you all of us must stand at his dread time, dismiss that terrible idea. We can all do some good if we will. She trembled and her lips shook and her face was paler as she answered. It has been put into your hearts perhaps to save a wretched creature for repentance. I'm afraid to think so, it seems too bold. If any good should come of me, I might begin to hope for nothing but harm has ever come of my deeds yet. I am to be trusted for the first time in a long while with my miserable life on account of what you have given me to try for. I know no more and I can say no more. Again, she repressed the tears that had begun to flow and putting out her trembling hand and touching Mr. Pegatee as if there was some healing virtue in him, went away along the desolate road. She had been ill probably for a long time. I observed upon that closer opportunity of observation that she was worn and haggard and that her sunken eyes expressed privation and endurance. We followed her at a short distance, our way lying in the same direction until we came back into the lighted and populous streets. I had such implicit confidence in her declaration that I then put it to Mr. Pegatee whether it would not seem in the onset like distrusting her to follow her any farther. He, being of the same mind and equally reliant on her, we suffered her to take her own road and took ours, which was toward Highgate. He accompanied me a good part of the way and when we parted with a prayer for the success of this fresh effort, there was a new and thoughtful compassion in him that I was at no loss to interpret. It was midnight when I arrived at home. I had reached my own gate and it was standing listening for the deep bell of St. Paul's, the sound of which I thought had been born towards me among the multitude of striking clocks when I was rather surprised to see that the door of my aunt's cottage was open and that a faint light in the entry was shining out across the road. Thinking that my aunt might have relapsed into one of her old alarms and might be watching the progress of some imaginary conflagration in the distance, I went to speak to her. It was with very great surprise that I saw a man standing in her little garden. He had a glass and bottle in his hand and was in the act of drinking. I stopped short among the thick foliage outside for the moon was up now, though obscured, and I recognized the man who I had once supposed to be a delusion of Mr. Dix and had once encountered with my aunt in the streets of the city. He was eating as well as drinking and seemed to eat with a hungry appetite. He seemed curious regarding this cottage too as if it were the first time he had seen it. After stooping to put the bottle on the ground, he looked up at the windows and looked about, though with a covert and impatient air as if he were anxious to be gone. The light in the passage was obscured for a moment and my aunt came out. She was agitated and told some money into his hand. I heard it chink. What's the use of this, he demanded? I could spare no more, returned my aunt. Then I can't go, said he. Here, you may take it back. You bad man, returned my aunt with great emotion. How can you use me so? But why do I ask? It is because you know how weak I am. What have I to do to free myself forever of your visits but to abandon you to your deserts? And why don't you abandon me to my desert, said he. You ask me why, returned my aunt, what a heart you must have. He stood mootily, rattling the money and shaking his hand until at length he said, is this all you mean to give me then? It is all I can give you, said my aunt. You know I have losses and I'm poorer than I used to be. I have told you so. Having got it, why do you give me the pain of look get you for another moment and seeing what you have become? I have become shabby enough if you mean that, he said. I lead the life of an owl. You stripped me of the greater part of all I ever had, said my aunt. You closed my heart against the whole world, years and years. You treated me falsely, ungratefully and cruelly. Go and repent of it. Don't add new injuries to the long, long list of injuries you have done to me. I, he returned, it's all very fine. Well, I must do the best I can for the present, I suppose. In spite of himself, he appeared abashed by my aunt's indigent tears and came slouching out of the garden. Taking two or three steps as if I had just come up, I met him at the gate and went in as he came out. We eyed one another narrowly in passing and with no favor. Aunt, said I hurriedly, this man alarming you again, let me speak to him, who is he? Child, returned my aunt, taking my arm. Come in and don't speak to me for 10 minutes. We sat down in her little parlor. My aunt retired behind the round green fan of former days, which was screwed onto the back of a chair and occasionally wiped her eyes for about a quarter of an hour. Then she came out and took a seat beside me. Trot, said my aunt calmly, it's my husband. Your husband, aunt? I thought he had been dead. Dead to me, returned my aunt, but living. I sat in silent amazement. Betsy Trot would don't look like likely subject for the tender passion, said my aunt, composedly. But the time was, Trot, when she believed in that man most entirely. When she loved him, Trot, right well. When there was no roof of attachment and affection that she would not have given him. He repaid her by breaking her fortune and nearly breaking her heart. So she put all that sort of sentiment once and forever in a grave and filled it up and flattened it down. My dear good aunt, I left him, my aunt proceeded, laying her hand as usual on the back of mine, generously. I may say at the distance of time, Trot, that I left him generously. He had been so cruel to me that I might have affected a separation on easy terms for myself, but I did not. He soon made ducks and drakes of what I gave him, sank lower and lower, married another woman, I believe, became an adventurer, a gambler, and a cheat. What he is now, you see. But he was a fine-looking man when I married him, said my aunt, with an echo of her old pride and admiration and her tone. And when I believed him, I was a fool to be the soul of honor. She gave my hand a squeeze and shook her head. He has nothing to me now, Trot, less than nothing, but sooner than have him punished for his offenses as he would be if he had filed a bout in this country. I gave him more money than I can afford at intervals when he reappears to go away. I was a fool when I married him and I am so far an incurable fool on that subject that for the sake of what I once believed him to be, I wouldn't have even the shadow of my idle fancy hardly dealt with, for I was an earnest Trot if ever a woman was. My aunt dismissed the matter with a heavy sigh and soothed her dress. There, my dear, she said. Now you know the beginning, middle, and end and all about it. We won't mention the subject to one another any more. Neither, of course, will you mention it to anybody else. This is my grumpy, frumpy story and we'll keep it to ourselves, Trot. End of chapter 47, recording by Michael Bradford.