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| 1 | there's no more story.'
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| 2 | Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath. Her colour
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| 3 | still came and went, but she breathed more freely. I thought I
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| 4 | knew why. I thought she had had some fear that her unhappy father
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| 5 | might be in some way to blame for what had happened. My aunt took
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| 6 | her hand in hers, and laughed.
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| 7 | 'Is that all?' repeated my aunt. 'Why, yes, that's all, except,
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| 8 | "And she lived happy ever afterwards." Perhaps I may add that of
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| 9 | Betsey yet, one of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head.
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| 10 | So have you, Trot, in some things, though I can't compliment you
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| 11 | always'; and here my aunt shook her own at me, with an energy
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| 12 | peculiar to herself. 'What's to be done? Here's the cottage,
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| 13 | taking one time with another, will produce say seventy pounds a
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| 14 | year. I think we may safely put it down at that. Well! - That's
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| 15 | all we've got,' said my aunt; with whom it was an idiosyncrasy, as
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| 16 | it is with some horses, to stop very short when she appeared to be
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| 17 | in a fair way of going on for a long while.
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| 18 | 'Then,' said my aunt, after a rest, 'there's Dick. He's good for
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| 19 | a hundred a-year, but of course that must be expended on himself.
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| 20 | I would sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person
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| 21 | who appreciates him, than have him, and not spend his money on
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| 22 | himself. How can Trot and I do best, upon our means? What do you
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| 23 | say, Agnes?'
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| 24 | 'I say, aunt,' I interposed, 'that I must do something!'
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| 25 | 'Go for a soldier, do you mean?' returned my aunt, alarmed; 'or go
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| 26 | to sea? I won't hear of it. You are to be a proctor. We're not
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| 27 | going to have any knockings on the head in THIS family, if you
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| 28 | please, sir.'
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| 29 | I was about to explain that I was not desirous of introducing that
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| 30 | mode of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms
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| 31 | were held for any long term?
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| 32 | 'You come to the point, my dear,' said my aunt. 'They are not to
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| 33 | be got rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be
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| 34 | underlet, and that I don't believe. The last man died here. Five
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| 35 | people out of six would die - of course - of that woman in nankeen
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| 36 | with the flannel petticoat. I have a little ready money; and I
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| 37 | agree with you, the best thing we can do, is, to live the term out
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| 38 | here, and get a bedroom hard by.'
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| 39 | I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would
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| 40 | sustain, from living in a continual state of guerilla warfare with
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| 41 | Mrs. Crupp; but she disposed of that objection summarily by
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| 42 | declaring that, on the first demonstration of hostilities, she was
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| 43 | prepared to astonish Mrs. Crupp for the whole remainder of her
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| 44 | natural life.
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| 45 | 'I have been thinking, Trotwood,' said Agnes, diffidently, 'that if
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| 46 | you had time -'
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| 47 | 'I have a good deal of time, Agnes. I am always disengaged after
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| 48 | four or five o'clock, and I have time early in the morning. In one
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| 49 | way and another,' said I, conscious of reddening a little as I
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| 50 | thought of the hours and hours I had devoted to fagging about town,
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| 51 | and to and fro upon the Norwood Road, 'I have abundance of time.'
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| 52 | 'I know you would not mind,' said Agnes, coming to me, and speaking
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| 53 | in a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I
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| 54 | hear it now, 'the duties of a secretary.'
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| 55 | 'Mind, my dear Agnes?'
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| 56 | 'Because,' continued Agnes, 'Doctor Strong has acted on his
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| 57 | intention of retiring, and has come to live in London; and he asked
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| 58 | papa, I know, if he could recommend him one. Don't you think he
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| 59 | would rather have his favourite old pupil near him, than anybody
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| 60 | else?'
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| 61 | 'Dear Agnes!' said I. 'What should I do without you! You are
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| 62 | always my good angel. I told you so. I never think of you in any
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| 63 | other light.'
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| 64 | Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good Angel
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| 65 | (meaning Dora) was enough; and went on to remind me that the Doctor
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| 66 | had been used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning,
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| 67 | and in the evening - and that probably my leisure would suit his
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| 68 | requirements very well. I was scarcely more delighted with the
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| 69 | prospect of earning my own bread, than with the hope of earning it
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| 70 | under my old master; in short, acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat
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| 71 | down and wrote a letter to the Doctor, stating my object, and
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| 72 | appointing to call on him next day at ten in the forenoon. This I
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| 73 | addressed to Highgate - for in that place, so memorable to me, he
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| 74 | lived - and went and posted, myself, without losing a minute.
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| 75 | Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence
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| 76 | seemed inseparable from the place. When I came back, I found my
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| 77 | aunt's birds hanging, just as they had hung so long in the parlour
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| 78 | window of the cottage; and my easy-chair imitating my aunt's much
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| 79 | easier chair in its position at the open window; and even the round
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| 80 | green fan, which my aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to
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| 81 | the window-sill. I knew who had done all this, by its seeming to
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| 82 | have quietly done itself; and I should have known in a moment who
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| 83 | had arranged my neglected books in the old order of my school days,
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| 84 | even if I had supposed Agnes to be miles away, instead of seeing
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| 85 | her busy with them, and smiling at the disorder into which they had
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| 86 | fallen.
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| 87 | My aunt was quite gracious on the subject of the Thames (it really
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| 88 | did look very well with the sun upon it, though not like the sea
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| 89 | before the cottage), but she could not relent towards the London
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| 90 | smoke, which, she said, 'peppered everything'. A complete
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| 91 | revolution, in which Peggotty bore a prominent part, was being
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| 92 | effected in every corner of my rooms, in regard of this pepper; and
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| 93 | I was looking on, thinking how little even Peggotty seemed to do
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| 94 | with a good deal of bustle, and how much Agnes did without any
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| 95 | bustle at all, when a knock came at the door.
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| 96 | 'I think,' said Agnes, turning pale, 'it's papa. He promised me
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| 97 | that he would come.'
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| 98 | I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr. Wickfield, but Uriah
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| 99 | Heep. I had not seen Mr. Wickfield for some time. I was prepared
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| 100 | for a great change in him, after what I had heard from Agnes, but
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| 101 | his appearance shocked me.
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| 102 | It was not that he looked many years older, though still dressed
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| 103 | with the old scrupulous cleanliness; or that there was an
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| 104 | unwholesome ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes were full and
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| 105 | bloodshot; or that there was a nervous trembling in his hand, the
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| 106 | cause of which I knew, and had for some years seen at work. It was
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| 107 | not that he had lost his good looks, or his old bearing of a
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| 108 | gentleman - for that he had not - but the thing that struck me
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| 109 | most, was, that with the evidences of his native superiority still
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| 110 | upon him, he should submit himself to that crawling impersonation
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| 111 | of meanness, Uriah Heep. The reversal of the two natures, in their
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| 112 | relative positions, Uriah's of power and Mr. Wickfield's of
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| 113 | dependence, was a sight more painful to me than I can express. If
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| 114 | I had seen an Ape taking command of a Man, I should hardly have
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| 115 | thought it a more degrading spectacle.
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| 116 | He appeared to be only too conscious of it himself. When he came
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| 117 | in, he stood still; and with his head bowed, as if he felt it.
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| 118 | This was only for a moment; for Agnes softly said to him, 'Papa!
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| 119 | Here is Miss Trotwood - and Trotwood, whom you have not seen for a
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| 120 | long while!' and then he approached, and constrainedly gave my aunt
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| 121 | his hand, and shook hands more cordially with me. In the moment's
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| 122 | pause I speak of, I saw Uriah's countenance form itself into a most
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| 123 | ill-favoured smile. Agnes saw it too, I think, for she shrank from
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| 124 | him.
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| 125 | What my aunt saw, or did not see, I defy the science of physiognomy
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| 126 | to have made out, without her own consent. I believe there never
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| 127 | was anybody with such an imperturbable countenance when she chose.
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| 128 | Her face might have been a dead-wall on the occasion in question,
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| 129 | for any light it threw upon her thoughts; until she broke silence
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| 130 | with her usual abruptness.
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| 131 | 'Well, Wickfield!' said my aunt; and he looked up at her for the
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| 132 | first time. 'I have been telling your daughter how well I have
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| 133 | been disposing of my money for myself, because I couldn't trust it
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| 134 | to you, as you were growing rusty in business matters. We have
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| 135 | been taking counsel together, and getting on very well, all things
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| 136 | considered. Agnes is worth the whole firm, in my opinion.'
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| 137 | 'If I may umbly make the remark,' said Uriah Heep, with a writhe,
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| 138 | 'I fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too
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| 139 | appy if Miss Agnes was a partner.'
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| 140 | 'You're a partner yourself, you know,' returned my aunt, 'and
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| 141 | that's about enough for you, I expect. How do you find yourself,
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| 142 | sir?'
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| 143 | In acknowledgement of this question, addressed to him with
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| 144 | extraordinary curtness, Mr. Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue
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| 145 | bag he carried, replied that he was pretty well, he thanked my
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| 146 | aunt, and hoped she was the same.
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| 147 | 'And you, Master - I should say, Mister Copperfield,' pursued
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| 148 | Uriah. 'I hope I see you well! I am rejoiced to see you, Mister
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| 149 | Copperfield, even under present circumstances.' I believed that;
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| 150 | for he seemed to relish them very much. 'Present circumstances is
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| 151 | not what your friends would wish for you, Mister Copperfield, but
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| 152 | it isn't money makes the man: it's - I am really unequal with my
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| 153 | umble powers to express what it is,' said Uriah, with a fawning
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| 154 | jerk, 'but it isn't money!'
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| 155 | Here he shook hands with me: not in the common way, but standing at
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| 156 | a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a
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| 157 | pump handle, that he was a little afraid of.
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| 158 | 'And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield, - I
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| 159 | should say, Mister?' fawned Uriah. 'Don't you find Mr. Wickfield
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| 160 | blooming, sir? Years don't tell much in our firm, Master
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| 161 | Copperfield, except in raising up the umble, namely, mother and
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| 162 | self - and in developing,' he added, as an afterthought, 'the
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| 163 | beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.'
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| 164 | He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an
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| 165 | intolerable manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at
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| 166 | him, lost all patience.
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| 167 | 'Deuce take the man!' said my aunt, sternly, 'what's he about?
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| 168 | Don't be galvanic, sir!'
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| 169 | 'I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,' returned Uriah; 'I'm aware
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| 170 | you're nervous.'
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| 171 | 'Go along with you, sir!' said my aunt, anything but appeased.
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| 172 | 'Don't presume to say so! I am nothing of the sort. If you're an
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| 173 | eel, sir, conduct yourself like one. If you're a man, control your
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| 174 | limbs, sir! Good God!' said my aunt, with great indignation, 'I am
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| 175 | not going to be serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!'
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| 176 | Mr. Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been, by
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| 177 | this explosion; which derived great additional force from the
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| 178 | indignant manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair,
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| 179 | and shook her head as if she were making snaps or bounces at him.
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| 180 | But he said to me aside in a meek voice:
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| 181 | 'I am well aware, Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, though an
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| 182 | excellent lady, has a quick temper (indeed I think I had the
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| 183 | pleasure of knowing her, when I was a numble clerk, before you did,
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| 184 | Master Copperfield), and it's only natural, I am sure, that it
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| 185 | should be made quicker by present circumstances. The wonder is,
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| 186 | that it isn't much worse! I only called to say that if there was
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| 187 | anything we could do, in present circumstances, mother or self, or
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| 188 | Wickfield and Heep, -we should be really glad. I may go so far?'
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| 189 | said Uriah, with a sickly smile at his partner.
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| 190 | 'Uriah Heep,' said Mr. Wickfield, in a monotonous forced way, 'is
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| 191 | active in the business, Trotwood. What he says, I quite concur in.
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| 192 | You know I had an old interest in you. Apart from that, what Uriah
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| 193 | says I quite concur in!'
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| 194 | 'Oh, what a reward it is,' said Uriah, drawing up one leg, at the
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| 195 | risk of bringing down upon himself another visitation from my aunt,
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| 196 | 'to be so trusted in! But I hope I am able to do something to
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| 197 | relieve him from the fatigues of business, Master Copperfield!'
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| 198 | 'Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,' said Mr. Wickfield, in the
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| 199 | same dull voice. 'It's a load off my mind, Trotwood, to have such
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| 200 | a partner.'
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| 201 | The red fox made him say all this, I knew, to exhibit him to me in
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| 202 | the light he had indicated on the night when he poisoned my rest.
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| 203 | I saw the same ill-favoured smile upon his face again, and saw how
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| 204 | he watched me.
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| 205 | 'You are not going, papa?' said Agnes, anxiously. 'Will you not
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| 206 | walk back with Trotwood and me?'
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| 207 | He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, if that
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| 208 | worthy had not anticipated him.
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| 209 | 'I am bespoke myself,' said Uriah, 'on business; otherwise I should
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| 210 | have been appy to have kept with my friends. But I leave my
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| 211 | partner to represent the firm. Miss Agnes, ever yours! I wish you
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| 212 | good-day, Master Copperfield, and leave my umble respects for Miss
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| 213 | Betsey Trotwood.'
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| 214 | With those words, he retired, kissing his great hand, and leering
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| 215 | at us like a mask.
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| 216 | We sat there, talking about our pleasant old Canterbury days, an
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| 217 | hour or two. Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon became more like
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| 218 | his former self; though there was a settled depression upon him,
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| 219 | which he never shook off. For all that, he brightened; and had an
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| 220 | evident pleasure in hearing us recall the little incidents of our
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| 221 | old life, many of which he remembered very well. He said it was
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| 222 | like those times, to be alone with Agnes and me again; and he
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| 223 | wished to Heaven they had never changed. I am sure there was an
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| 224 | influence in the placid face of Agnes, and in the very touch of her
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| 225 | hand upon his arm, that did wonders for him.
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| 226 | My aunt (who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty, in the
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| 227 | inner room) would not accompany us to the place where they were
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| 228 | staying, but insisted on my going; and I went. We dined together.
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| 229 | After dinner, Agnes sat beside him, as of old, and poured out his
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| 230 | wine. He took what she gave him, and no more - like a child - and
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| 231 | we all three sat together at a window as the evening gathered in.
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| 232 | When it was almost dark, he lay down on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his
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| 233 | head and bending over him a little while; and when she came back to
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| 234 | the window, it was not so dark but I could see tears glittering in
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| 235 | her eyes.
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| 236 | I pray Heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her love and
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| 237 | truth, at that time of my life; for if I should, I must be drawing
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| 238 | near the end, and then I would desire to remember her best! She
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| 239 | filled my heart with such good resolutions, strengthened my
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| 240 | weakness so, by her example, so directed - I know not how, she was
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| 241 | too modest and gentle to advise me in many words - the wandering
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| 242 | ardour and unsettled purpose within me, that all the little good I
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| 243 | have done, and all the harm I have forborne, I solemnly believe I
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| 244 | may refer to her.
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| 245 | And how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in the dark;
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| 246 | listened to my praises of her; praised again; and round the little
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| 247 | fairy-figure shed some glimpses of her own pure light, that made it
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| 248 | yet more precious and more innocent to me! Oh, Agnes, sister of my
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| 249 | boyhood, if I had known then, what I knew long afterwards! -
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| 250 | There was a beggar in the street, when I went down; and as I turned
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| 251 | my head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he
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| 252 | made me start by muttering, as if he were an echo of the morning:
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| 253 | 'Blind! Blind! Blind!'
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