"Did I?" he replied. "Ah, I dare say I did. Deuce take me," headded, suddenly, "I know I did. I find I am not quite unscrewedyet."

"A wild beast tamed, you called her."

"And what do you call her?"

"The same. How did Mr. Jaggers tame her, Wemmick?"

"That's his secret. She has been with him many a long year."

"I wish you would tell me her story. I feel a particular interestin being acquainted with it. You know that what is said between youand me goes no further."

"Well!" Wemmick replied, "I don't know her story - that is, I don'tknow all of it. But what I do know, I'll tell you. We are in ourprivate and personal capacities, of course."

"Of course."

"A score or so of years ago, that woman was tried at the Old Baileyfor murder, and was acquitted. She was a very handsome young woman,and I believe had some gipsy blood in her. Anyhow, it was hot enoughwhen it was up, as you may suppose."

"But she was acquitted."

"Mr. Jaggers was for her," pursued Wemmick, with a look full ofmeaning, "and worked the case in a way quite astonishing. It was adesperate case, and it was comparatively early days with him then,and he worked it to general admiration; in fact, it may almost besaid to have made him. He worked it himself at the police-office,day after day for many days, contending against even a committal;and at the trial where he couldn't work it himself, sat underCounsel, and - every one knew - put in all the salt and pepper. Themurdered person was a woman; a woman, a good ten years older, verymuch larger, and very much stronger. It was a case of jealousy.They both led tramping lives, and this woman in Gerrard-street herehad been married very young, over the broomstick (as we say), to atramping man, and was a perfect fury in point of jealousy. Themurdered woman - more a match for the man, certainly, in point ofyears - was found dead in a barn near Hounslow Heath. There hadbeen a violent struggle, perhaps a fight. She was bruised andscratched and torn, and had been held by the throat at last andchoked. Now, there was no reasonable evidence to implicate anyperson but this woman, and, on the improbabilities of her havingbeen able to do it, Mr. Jaggers principally rested his case. You maybe sure," said Wemmick, touching me on the sleeve, "that he neverdwelt upon the strength of her hands then, though he sometimes doesnow."

I had told Wemmick of his showing us her wrists, that day of thedinner party.

"Well, sir!" Wemmick went on; "it happened - happened, don't yousee? - that this woman was so very artfully dressed from the timeof her apprehension, that she looked much slighter than she reallywas; in particular, her sleeves are always remembered to have beenso skilfully contrived that her arms had quite a delicate look. Shehad only a bruise or two about her - nothing for a tramp - but thebacks of her hands were lacerated, and the question was, was itwith finger-nails? Now, Mr. Jaggers showed that she had struggledthrough a great lot of brambles which were not as high as her face;but which she could not have got through and kept her hands out of;and bits of those brambles were actually found in her skin and putin evidence, as well as the fact that the brambles in question werefound on examination to have been broken through, and to havelittle shreds of her dress and little spots of blood upon them hereand there. But the boldest point he made, was this. It wasattempted to be set up in proof of her jealousy, that she was understrong suspicion of having, at about the time of the murder,frantically destroyed her child by this man - some three years old- to revenge herself upon him. Mr. Jaggers worked that, in this way."We say these are not marks of finger-nails, but marks of brambles,and we show you the brambles. You say they are marks offinger-nails, and you set up the hypothesis that she destroyed herchild. You must accept all consequences of that hypothesis. Foranything we know, she may have destroyed her child, and the childin clinging to her may have scratched her hands. What then? You arenot trying her for the murder of her child; why don't you? As tothis case, if you will have scratches, we say that, for anything weknow, you may have accounted for them, assuming for the sake ofargument that you have not invented them!" To sum up, sir," saidWemmick, "Mr. Jaggers was altogether too many for the Jury, and theygave in."

"Has she been in his service ever since?"

"Yes; but not only that," said Wemmick. "She went into his serviceimmediately after her acquittal, tamed as she is now. She has sincebeen taught one thing and another in the way of her duties, but shewas tamed from the beginning."

"Do you remember the sex of the child?"

"Said to have been a girl."

"You have nothing more to say to me to-night?"

"Nothing. I got your letter and destroyed it. Nothing."

We exchanged a cordial Good Night, and I went home, with new matterfor my thoughts, though with no relief from the old.

Chapter 49

Putting Miss Havisham's note in my pocket, that it might serve asmy credentials for so soon reappearing at Satis House, in case herwaywardness should lead her to express any surprise at seeing me, Iwent down again by the coach next day. But I alighted at theHalfway House, and breakfasted there, and walked the rest of thedistance; for, I sought to get into the town quietly by theunfrequented ways, and to leave it in the same manner.

The best light of the day was gone when I passed along the quietechoing courts behind the High-street. The nooks of ruin where theold monks had once had their refectories and gardens, and where thestrong walls were now pressed into the service of humble sheds andstables, were almost as silent as the old monks in their graves.The cathedral chimes had at once a sadder and a more remote soundto me, as I hurried on avoiding observation, than they had ever hadbefore; so, the swell of the old organ was borne to my ears likefuneral music; and the rooks, as they hovered about the grey towerand swung in the bare high trees of the priory-garden, seemed tocall to me that the place was changed, and that Estella was goneout of it for ever.

An elderly woman whom I had seen before as one of the servants wholived in the supplementary house across the back court-yard, openedthe gate. The lighted candle stood in the dark passage within, asof old, and I took it up and ascended the staircase alone. MissHavisham was not in her own room, but was in the larger room acrossthe landing. Looking in at the door, after knocking in vain, I sawher sitting on the hearth in a ragged chair, close before, and lostin the contemplation of, the ashy fire.

Doing as I had often done, I went in, and stood, touching the oldchimney-piece, where she could see me when she raised her eyes.There was an air or utter loneliness upon her, that would havemoved me to pity though she had wilfully done me a deeper injurythan I could charge her with. As I stood compassionating her, andthinking how in the progress of time I too had come to be a part ofthe wrecked fortunes of that house, her eyes rested on me. Shestared, and said in a low voice, "Is it real?"

"It is I, Pip. Mr. Jaggers gave me your note yesterday, and I havelost no time."

"Thank you. Thank you."

As I brought another of the ragged chairs to the hearth and satdown, I remarked a new expression on her face, as if she wereafraid of me.

"I want," she said, "to pursue that subject you mentioned to mewhen you were last here, and to show you that I am not all stone.But perhaps you can never believe, now, that there is anythinghuman in my heart?"

When I said some reassuring words, she stretched out her tremulousright hand, as though she was going to touch me; but she recalledit again before I understood the action, or knew how to receive it.

"You said, speaking for your friend, that you could tell me how todo something useful and good. Something that you would like done,is it not?"

"Something that I would like done very much."

"What is it?"

I began explaining to her that secret history of the partnership. Ihad not got far into it, when I judged from her looks that she wasthinking in a discursive way of me, rather than of what I said. Itseemed to be so, for, when I stopped speaking, many moments passedbefore she showed that she was conscious of the fact.

"Do you break off," she asked then, with her former air of beingafraid of me, "because you hate me too much to bear to speak tome?"

"No, no," I answered, "how can you think so, Miss Havisham! Istopped because I thought you were not following what I said."

"Perhaps I was not," she answered, putting a hand to her head."Begin again, and let me look at something else. Stay! Now tellme."

She set her hand upon her stick, in the resolute way that sometimeswas habitual to her, and looked at the fire with a strongexpression of forcing herself to attend. I went on with myexplanation, and told her how I had hoped to complete thetransaction out of my means, but how in this I was disappointed.That part of the subject (I reminded her) involved matters whichcould form no part of my explanation, for they were the weightysecrets of another.

"So!" said she, assenting with her head, but not looking at me."And how much money is wanting to complete the purchase?"

I was rather afraid of stating it, for it sounded a large sum."Nine hundred pounds."

"If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep my secretas you have kept your own?"

"Quite as faithfully."

"And your mind will be more at rest?"

"Much more at rest."

"Are you very unhappy now?"

She asked this question, still without looking at me, but in anunwonted tone of sympathy. I could not reply at the moment, for myvoice failed me. She put her left arm across the head of her stick,and softly laid her forehead on it.

"I am far from happy, Miss Havisham; but I have other causes ofdisquiet than any you know of. They are the secrets I havementioned."

After a little while, she raised her head and looked at the fireagain.

"It is noble in you to tell me that you have other causes ofunhappiness, Is it true?"

"Too true."

"Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend? Regarding thatas done, is there nothing I can do for you yourself?"

"Nothing. I thank you for the question. I thank you even more forthe tone of the question. But, there is nothing."

She presently rose from her seat, and looked about the blightedroom for the means of writing. There were non there, and she tookfrom her pocket a yellow set of ivory tablets, mounted in tarnishedgold, and wrote upon them with a pencil in a case of tarnished goldthat hung from her neck.

"You are still on friendly terms with Mr. Jaggers?"

"Quite. I dined with him yesterday."

"This is an authority to him to pay you that money, to lay out atyour irresponsible discretion for your friend. I keep no moneyhere; but if you would rather Mr. Jaggers knew nothing of thematter, I will send it to you."

"Thank you, Miss Havisham; I have not the least objection toreceiving it from him."

She read me what she had written, and it was direct and clear, andevidently intended to absolve me from any suspicion of profiting bythe receipt of the money. I took the tablets from her hand, and ittrembled again, and it trembled more as she took off the chain towhich the pencil was attached, and put it in mine. All this shedid, without looking at me.

"My name is on the first leaf. If you can ever write under my name,"I forgive her," though ever so long after my broken heart is dust- pray do it!"

"O Miss Havisham," said I, "I can do it now. There have been soremistakes; and my life has been a blind and thankless one; and Iwant forgiveness and direction far too much, to be bitter withyou."

She turned her face to me for the first time since she had avertedit, and, to my amazement, I may even add to my terror, dropped onher knees at my feet; with her folded hands raised to me in themanner in which, when her poor heart was young and fresh and whole,they must often have been raised to heaven from her mother's side.

To see her with her white hair and her worn face kneeling at myfeet, gave me a shock through all my frame. I entreated her torise, and got my arms about her to help her up; but she onlypressed that hand of mine which was nearest to her grasp, and hungher head over it and wept. I had never seen her shed a tear before,and, in the hope that the relief might do her good, I bent over herwithout speaking. She was not kneeling now, but was down upon theground.

"O!" she cried, despairingly. "What have I done! What have I done!"

"If you mean, Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me, letme answer. Very little. I should have loved her under anycircumstances. - Is she married?"

"Yes."

It was a needless question, for a new desolation in the desolatehouse had told me so.

"What have I done! What have I done!" She wrung her hands, andcrushed her white hair, and returned to this cry over and overagain. "What have I done!"

I knew not how to answer, or how to comfort her. That she had donea grievous thing in taking an impressionable child to mould intothe form that her wild resentment, spurned affection, and woundedpride, found vengeance in, I knew full well. But that, in shuttingout the light of day, she had shut out infinitely more; that, inseclusion, she had secluded herself from a thousand natural andhealing influences; that, her mind, brooding solitary, had growndiseased, as all minds do and must and will that reverse theappointed order of their Maker; I knew equally well. And could Ilook upon her without compassion, seeing her punishment in the ruinshe was, in her profound unfitness for this earth on which she wasplaced, in the vanity of sorrow which had become a master mania,like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, the vanity ofunworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that have been curses inthis world?

Title: Great Expectations
Author: Charles Dickens
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