الفصل الفصل 52 · From Little Britain I went, with my check in my pocket, to Miss

. From Little Britain I went, with my check in my pocket, to Miss

Skiffins’s brother, the accountant; and Miss Skiffins’s brother, the

accountant, going straight to Clarriker’s and bringing Clarriker to me,

I had the great satisfaction of concluding that arrangement. It was the

only good thing I had done, and the only completed thing I had done,

since I was first apprised of my great expectations.

Clarriker informing me on that occasion that the affairs of the House

were steadily progressing, that he would now be able to establish a

small branch-house in the East which was much wanted for the extension

of the business, and that Herbert in his new partnership capacity would

go out and take charge of it, I found that I must have prepared for a

separation from my friend, even though my own affairs had been more

settled. And now, indeed, I felt as if my last anchor were loosening

its hold, and I should soon be driving with the winds and waves.

But there was recompense in the joy with which Herbert would come home

of a night and tell me of these changes, little imagining that he told

me no news, and would sketch airy pictures of himself conducting Clara

Barley to the land of the Arabian Nights, and of me going out to join

them (with a caravan of camels, I believe), and of our all going up the

Nile and seeing wonders. Without being sanguine as to my own part in

those bright plans, I felt that Herbert’s way was clearing fast, and

that old Bill Barley had but to stick to his pepper and rum, and his

daughter would soon be happily provided for.

We had now got into the month of March. My left arm, though it

presented no bad symptoms, took, in the natural course, so long to heal

that I was still unable to get a coat on. My right arm was tolerably

restored; disfigured, but fairly serviceable.

On a Monday morning, when Herbert and I were at breakfast, I received

the following letter from Wemmick by the post.

“Walworth. Burn this as soon as read. Early in the week, or say

Wednesday, you might do what you know of, if you felt disposed to try

it. Now burn.”

When I had shown this to Herbert and had put it in the fire—but not

before we had both got it by heart—we considered what to do. For, of

course my being disabled could now be no longer kept out of view.

“I have thought it over again and again,” said Herbert, “and I think I

know a better course than taking a Thames waterman. Take Startop. A

good fellow, a skilled hand, fond of us, and enthusiastic and

honourable.”

I had thought of him more than once.

“But how much would you tell him, Herbert?”

“It is necessary to tell him very little. Let him suppose it a mere

freak, but a secret one, until the morning comes: then let him know

that there is urgent reason for your getting Provis aboard and away.

You go with him?”

“No doubt.”

“Where?”

It had seemed to me, in the many anxious considerations I had given the

point, almost indifferent what port we made for,—Hamburg, Rotterdam,

Antwerp,—the place signified little, so that he was out of England. Any

foreign steamer that fell in our way and would take us up would do. I

had always proposed to myself to get him well down the river in the

boat; certainly well beyond Gravesend, which was a critical place for

search or inquiry if suspicion were afoot. As foreign steamers would

leave London at about the time of high-water, our plan would be to get

down the river by a previous ebb-tide, and lie by in some quiet spot

until we could pull off to one. The time when one would be due where we

lay, wherever that might be, could be calculated pretty nearly, if we

made inquiries beforehand.

Herbert assented to all this, and we went out immediately after

breakfast to pursue our investigations. We found that a steamer for

Hamburg was likely to suit our purpose best, and we directed our

thoughts chiefly to that vessel. But we noted down what other foreign

steamers would leave London with the same tide, and we satisfied

ourselves that we knew the build and colour of each. We then separated

for a few hours: I, to get at once such passports as were necessary;

Herbert, to see Startop at his lodgings. We both did what we had to do

without any hindrance, and when we met again at one o’clock reported it

done. I, for my part, was prepared with passports; Herbert had seen

Startop, and he was more than ready to join.

Those two should pull a pair of oars, we settled, and I would steer;

our charge would be sitter, and keep quiet; as speed was not our

object, we should make way enough. We arranged that Herbert should not

come home to dinner before going to Mill Pond Bank that evening; that

he should not go there at all to-morrow evening, Tuesday; that he

should prepare Provis to come down to some stairs hard by the house, on

Wednesday, when he saw us approach, and not sooner; that all the

arrangements with him should be concluded that Monday night; and that

he should be communicated with no more in any way, until we took him on

board.

These precautions well understood by both of us, I went home.

On opening the outer door of our chambers with my key, I found a letter

in the box, directed to me; a very dirty letter, though not

ill-written. It had been delivered by hand (of course, since I left

home), and its contents were these:—

“If you are not afraid to come to the old marshes to-night or to-morrow

night at nine, and to come to the little sluice-house by the limekiln,

you had better come. If you want information regarding _your uncle

Provis_, you had much better come and tell no one, and lose no time.

_You must come alone_. Bring this with you.”

I had had load enough upon my mind before the receipt of this strange

letter. What to do now, I could not tell. And the worst was, that I

must decide quickly, or I should miss the afternoon coach, which would

take me down in time for to-night. To-morrow night I could not think of

going, for it would be too close upon the time of the flight. And

again, for anything I knew, the proffered information might have some

important bearing on the flight itself.

If I had had ample time for consideration, I believe I should still

have gone. Having hardly any time for consideration,—my watch showing

me that the coach started within half an hour,—I resolved to go. I

should certainly not have gone, but for the reference to my Uncle

Provis. That, coming on Wemmick’s letter and the morning’s busy

preparation, turned the scale.

It is so difficult to become clearly possessed of the contents of

almost any letter, in a violent hurry, that I had to read this

mysterious epistle again twice, before its injunction to me to be

secret got mechanically into my mind. Yielding to it in the same

mechanical kind of way, I left a note in pencil for Herbert, telling

him that as I should be so soon going away, I knew not for how long, I

had decided to hurry down and back, to ascertain for myself how Miss

Havisham was faring. I had then barely time to get my great-coat, lock

up the chambers, and make for the coach-office by the short by-ways. If

I had taken a hackney-chariot and gone by the streets, I should have

missed my aim; going as I did, I caught the coach just as it came out

of the yard. I was the only inside passenger, jolting away knee-deep in

straw, when I came to myself.

For I really had not been myself since the receipt of the letter; it

had so bewildered me, ensuing on the hurry of the morning. The morning

hurry and flutter had been great; for, long and anxiously as I had

waited for Wemmick, his hint had come like a surprise at last. And now

I began to wonder at myself for being in the coach, and to doubt

whether I had sufficient reason for being there, and to consider

whether I should get out presently and go back, and to argue against

ever heeding an anonymous communication, and, in short, to pass through

all those phases of contradiction and indecision to which I suppose

very few hurried people are strangers. Still, the reference to Provis

by name mastered everything. I reasoned as I had reasoned already

without knowing it,—if that be reasoning,—in case any harm should

befall him through my not going, how could I ever forgive myself!

It was dark before we got down, and the journey seemed long and dreary

to me, who could see little of it inside, and who could not go outside

in my disabled state. Avoiding the Blue Boar, I put up at an inn of

minor reputation down the town, and ordered some dinner. While it was

preparing, I went to Satis House and inquired for Miss Havisham; she

was still very ill, though considered something better.

My inn had once been a part of an ancient ecclesiastical house, and I

dined in a little octagonal common-room, like a font. As I was not able

to cut my dinner, the old landlord with a shining bald head did it for

me. This bringing us into conversation, he was so good as to entertain

me with my own story,—of course with the popular feature that

Pumblechook was my earliest benefactor and the founder of my fortunes.

“Do you know the young man?” said I.

“Know him!” repeated the landlord. “Ever since he was—no height at

all.”

“Does he ever come back to this neighbourhood?”

“Ay, he comes back,” said the landlord, “to his great friends, now and

again, and gives the cold shoulder to the man that made him.”

“What man is that?”

“Him that I speak of,” said the landlord. “Mr. Pumblechook.”

“Is he ungrateful to no one else?”

“No doubt he would be, if he could,” returned the landlord, “but he

can’t. And why? Because Pumblechook done everything for him.”

“Does Pumblechook say so?”

“Say so!” replied the landlord. “He han’t no call to say so.”

“But does he say so?”

“It would turn a man’s blood to white wine winegar to hear him tell of

it, sir,” said the landlord.

I thought, “Yet Joe, dear Joe, _you_ never tell of it. Long-suffering

and loving Joe, _you_ never complain. Nor you, sweet-tempered Biddy!”

“Your appetite’s been touched like by your accident,” said the

landlord, glancing at the bandaged arm under my coat. “Try a tenderer

bit.”

“No, thank you,” I replied, turning from the table to brood over the

fire. “I can eat no more. Please take it away.”

I had never been struck at so keenly, for my thanklessness to Joe, as

through the brazen impostor Pumblechook. The falser he, the truer Joe;

the meaner he, the nobler Joe.

My heart was deeply and most deservedly humbled as I mused over the

fire for an hour or more. The striking of the clock aroused me, but not

from my dejection or remorse, and I got up and had my coat fastened

round my neck, and went out. I had previously sought in my pockets for

the letter, that I might refer to it again; but I could not find it,

and was uneasy to think that it must have been dropped in the straw of

the coach. I knew very well, however, that the appointed place was the

little sluice-house by the limekiln on the marshes, and the hour nine.

Towards the marshes I now went straight, having no time to spare.

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