"Until you spoke to her the other day, and until I saw in you alooking-glass that showed me what I once felt myself, I did notknow what I had done. What have I done! What have I done!" And soagain, twenty, fifty times over, What had she done!

"Miss Havisham," I said, when her cry had died away, "you maydismiss me from your mind and conscience. But Estella is adifferent case, and if you can ever undo any scrap of what you havedone amiss in keeping a part of her right nature away from her, itwill be better to do that, than to bemoan the past through ahundred years."

"Yes, yes, I know it. But, Pip - my Dear!" There was an earnestwomanly compassion for me in her new affection. "My Dear! Believethis: when she first came to me, I meant to save her from miserylike my own. At first I meant no more."

"Well, well!" said I. "I hope so."

"But as she grew, and promised to be very beautiful, I graduallydid worse, and with my praises, and with my jewels, and with myteachings, and with this figure of myself always before her awarning to back and point my lessons, I stole her heart away andput ice in its place."

"Better," I could not help saying, "to have left her a naturalheart, even to be bruised or broken."

With that, Miss Havisham looked distractedly at me for a while, andthen burst out again, What had she done!

"If you knew all my story," she pleaded, "you would have somecompassion for me and a better understanding of me."

"Miss Havisham," I answered, as delicately as I could, "I believe Imay say that I do know your story, and have known it ever since Ifirst left this neighbourhood. It has inspired me with greatcommiseration, and I hope I understand it and its influences. Doeswhat has passed between us give me any excuse for asking you aquestion relative to Estella? Not as she is, but as she was whenshe first came here?"

She was seated on the ground, with her arms on the ragged chair,and her head leaning on them. She looked full at me when I saidthis, and replied, "Go on."

"Whose child was Estella?"

She shook her head.

"You don't know?"

She shook her head again.

"But Mr. Jaggers brought her here, or sent her here?"

"Brought her here."

"Will you tell me how that came about?"

She answered in a low whisper and with caution: "I had been shut upin these rooms a long time (I don't know how long; you know whattime the clocks keep here), when I told him that I wanted a littlegirl to rear and love, and save from my fate. I had first seen himwhen I sent for him to lay this place waste for me; having read ofhim in the newspapers, before I and the world parted. He told methat he would look about him for such an orphan child. One night hebrought her here asleep, and I called her Estella."

"Might I ask her age then?"

"Two or three. She herself knows nothing, but that she was left anorphan and I adopted her."

So convinced I was of that woman's being her mother, that I wantedno evidence to establish the fact in my own mind. But, to any mind,I thought, the connection here was clear and straight.

What more could I hope to do by prolonging the interview? I hadsucceeded on behalf of Herbert, Miss Havisham had told me all sheknew of Estella, I had said and done what I could to ease her mind.No matter with what other words we parted; we parted.

Twilight was closing in when I went down stairs into the naturalair. I called to the woman who had opened the gate when I entered,that I would not trouble her just yet, but would walk round theplace before leaving. For, I had a presentiment that I should neverbe there again, and I felt that the dying light was suited to mylast view of it.

By the wilderness of casks that I had walked on long ago, and onwhich the rain of years had fallen since, rotting them in manyplaces, and leaving miniature swamps and pools of water upon thosethat stood on end, I made my way to the ruined garden. I went allround it; round by the corner where Herbert and I had fought ourbattle; round by the paths where Estella and I had walked. So cold,so lonely, so dreary all!

Taking the brewery on my way back, I raised the rusty latch of alittle door at the garden end of it, and walked through. I wasgoing out at the opposite door - not easy to open now, for the dampwood had started and swelled, and the hinges were yielding, and thethreshold was encumbered with a growth of fungus - when I turned myhead to look back. A childish association revived with wonderfulforce in the moment of the slight action, and I fancied that I sawMiss Havisham hanging to the beam. So strong was the impression,that I stood under the beam shuddering from head to foot before Iknew it was a fancy - though to be sure I was there in an instant.

The mournfulness of the place and time, and the great terror ofthis illusion, though it was but momentary, caused me to feel anindescribable awe as I came out between the open wooden gates whereI had once wrung my hair after Estella had wrung my heart. Passingon into the front court-yard, I hesitated whether to call the womanto let me out at the locked gate of which she had the key, or firstto go up-stairs and assure myself that Miss Havisham was as safeand well as I had left her. I took the latter course and went up.

I looked into the room where I had left her, and I saw her seatedin the ragged chair upon the hearth close to the fire, with herback towards me. In the moment when I was withdrawing my head to goquietly away, I saw a great flaming light spring up. In the samemoment, I saw her running at me, shrieking, with a whirl of fireblazing all about her, and soaring at least as many feet above herhead as she was high.

I had a double-caped great-coat on, and over my arm another thickcoat. That I got them off, closed with her, threw her down, and gotthem over her; that I dragged the great cloth from the table forthe same purpose, and with it dragged down the heap of rottennessin the midst, and all the ugly things that sheltered there; that wewere on the ground struggling like desperate enemies, and that thecloser I covered her, the more wildly she shrieked and tried tofree herself; that this occurred I knew through the result, but notthrough anything I felt, or thought, or knew I did. I knew nothinguntil I knew that we were on the floor by the great table, and thatpatches of tinder yet alight were floating in the smoky air, which,a moment ago, had been her faded bridal dress.

Then, I looked round and saw the disturbed beetles and spidersrunning away over the floor, and the servants coming in withbreathless cries at the door. I still held her forcibly down withall my strength, like a prisoner who might escape; and I doubt if Ieven knew who she was, or why we had struggled, or that she hadbeen in flames, or that the flames were out, until I saw thepatches of tinder that had been her garments, no longer alight butfalling in a black shower around us.

She was insensible, and I was afraid to have her moved, or eventouched. Assistance was sent for and I held her until it came, asif I unreasonably fancied (I think I did) that if I let her go, thefire would break out again and consume her. When I got up, on thesurgeon's coming to her with other aid, I was astonished to seethat both my hands were burnt; for, I had no knowledge of itthrough the sense of feeling.

On examination it was pronounced that she had received serioushurts, but that they of themselves were far from hopeless; thedanger lay mainly in the nervous shock. By the surgeon'sdirections, her bed was carried into that room and laid upon thegreat table: which happened to be well suited to the dressing ofher injuries. When I saw her again, an hour afterwards, she layindeed where I had seen her strike her stick, and had heard her saythat she would lie one day.

Though every vestige of her dress was burnt, as they told me, shestill had something of her old ghastly bridal appearance; for, theyhad covered her to the throat with white cotton-wool, and as shelay with a white sheet loosely overlying that, the phantom air ofsomething that had been and was changed, was still upon her.

I found, on questioning the servants, that Estella was in Paris,and I got a promise from the surgeon that he would write to her bythe next post. Miss Havisham's family I took upon myself; intendingto communicate with Mr. Matthew Pocket only, and leave him to do ashe liked about informing the rest. This I did next day, throughHerbert, as soon as I returned to town.

There was a stage, that evening, when she spoke collectedly of whathad happened, though with a certain terrible vivacity. Towardsmidnight she began to wander in her speech, and after that itgradually set in that she said innumerable times in a low solemnvoice, "What have I done!" And then, "When she first came, I meantto save her from misery like mine." And then, "Take the pencil andwrite under my name, 'I forgive her!'" She never changed the orderof these three sentences, but she sometimes left out a word in oneor other of them; never putting in another word, but always leavinga blank and going on to the next word.

As I could do no service there, and as I had, nearer home, thatpressing reason for anxiety and fear which even her wanderingscould not drive out of my mind, I decided in the course of thenight that I would return by the early morning coach: walking on amile or so, and being taken up clear of the town. At about sixo'clock of the morning, therefore, I leaned over her and touchedher lips with mine, just as they said, not stopping for beingtouched, "Take the pencil and write under my name, 'I forgiveher.'"

Chapter 50

My hands had been dressed twice or thrice in the night, and againin the morning. My left arm was a good deal burned to the elbow,and, less severely, as high as the shoulder; it was very painful,but the flames had set in that direction, and I felt thankful itwas no worse. My right hand was not so badly burnt but that I couldmove the fingers. It was bandaged, of course, but much lessinconveniently than my left hand and arm; those I carried in asling; and I could only wear my coat like a cloak, loose over myshoulders and fastened at the neck. My hair had been caught by thefire, but not my head or face.

When Herbert had been down to Hammersmith and seen his father, hecame back to me at our chambers, and devoted the day to attending onme. He was the kindest of nurses, and at stated times took off thebandages, and steeped them in the cooling liquid that was keptready, and put them on again, with a patient tenderness that I wasdeeply grateful for.

At first, as I lay quiet on the sofa, I found it painfullydifficult, I might say impossible, to get rid of the impression ofthe glare of the flames, their hurry and noise, and the fierceburning smell. If I dozed for a minute, I was awakened by MissHavisham's cries, and by her running at me with all that height offire above her head. This pain of the mind was much harder tostrive against than any bodily pain I suffered; and Herbert, seeingthat, did his utmost to hold my attention engaged.

Neither of us spoke of the boat, but we both thought of it. Thatwas made apparent by our avoidance of the subject, and by ouragreeing - without agreement - to make my recovery of the use of myhands, a question of so many hours, not of so many weeks.

My first question when I saw Herbert had been of course, whetherall was well down the river? As he replied in the affirmative, withperfect confidence and cheerfulness, we did not resume the subjectuntil the day was wearing away. But then, as Herbert changed thebandages, more by the light of the fire than by the outer light, hewent back to it spontaneously.

"I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two good hours."

"Where was Clara?"

"Dear little thing!" said Herbert. "She was up and down withGruffandgrim all the evening. He was perpetually pegging at thefloor, the moment she left his sight. I doubt if he can hold outlong though. What with rum and pepper - and pepper and rum - Ishould think his pegging must be nearly over."

"And then you will be married, Herbert?"

"How can I take care of the dear child otherwise? - Lay your armout upon the back of the sofa, my dear boy, and I'll sit down here,and get the bandage off so gradually that you shall not know whenit comes. I was speaking of Provis. Do you know, Handel, heimproves?"

"I said to you I thought he was softened when I last saw him."

"So you did. And so he is. He was very communicative last night,and told me more of his life. You remember his breaking off hereabout some woman that he had had great trouble with. - Did I hurtyou?"

I had started, but not under his touch. His words had given me astart.

"I had forgotten that, Herbert, but I remember it now you speak ofit."

"Well! He went into that part of his life, and a dark wild part itis. Shall I tell you? Or would it worry you just now?"

"Tell me by all means. Every word."

Herbert bent forward to look at me more nearly, as if my reply hadbeen rather more hurried or more eager than he could quite accountfor. "Your head is cool?" he said, touching it.

"Quite," said I. "Tell me what Provis said, my dear Herbert."

"It seems," said Herbert, " - there's a bandage off mostcharmingly, and now comes the cool one - makes you shrink at first,my poor dear fellow, don't it? but it will be comfortable presently- it seems that the woman was a young woman, and a jealous woman,and a revengeful woman; revengeful, Handel, to the last degree."

"To what last degree?"

"Murder. - Does it strike too cold on that sensitive place?"

"I don't feel it. How did she murder? Whom did she murder?" "Why,the deed may not have merited quite so terrible a name," saidHerbert, "but, she was tried for it, and Mr. Jaggers defended her,and the reputation of that defence first made his name known toProvis. It was another and a stronger woman who was the victim, andthere had been a struggle - in a barn. Who began it, or how fair itwas, or how unfair, may be doubtful; but how it ended, is certainlynot doubtful, for the victim was found throttled."

Title: Great Expectations
Author: Charles Dickens
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