On going down in the morning, I found my aunt musing so profoundly overthe breakfast table, with her elbow on the tray, that the contents ofthe urn had overflowed the teapot and were laying the whole table-clothunder water, when my entrance put her meditations to flight. I felt surethat I had been the subject of her reflections, and was more than everanxious to know her intentions towards me. Yet I dared not express myanxiety, lest it should give her offence.

My eyes, however, not being so much under control as my tongue, wereattracted towards my aunt very often during breakfast. I never couldlook at her for a few moments together but I found her looking at me--inan odd thoughtful manner, as if I were an immense way off, instead ofbeing on the other side of the small round table. When she had finishedher breakfast, my aunt very deliberately leaned back in her chair,knitted her brows, folded her arms, and contemplated me at her leisure,with such a fixedness of attention that I was quite overpowered byembarrassment. Not having as yet finished my own breakfast, I attemptedto hide my confusion by proceeding with it; but my knife tumbled over myfork, my fork tripped up my knife, I chipped bits of bacon a surprisingheight into the air instead of cutting them for my own eating, andchoked myself with my tea, which persisted in going the wrong wayinstead of the right one, until I gave in altogether, and sat blushingunder my aunt's close scrutiny.

'Hallo!' said my aunt, after a long time.

I looked up, and met her sharp bright glance respectfully.

'I have written to him,' said my aunt.

'To--?'

'To your father-in-law,' said my aunt. 'I have sent him a letter thatI'll trouble him to attend to, or he and I will fall out, I can tellhim!'

'Does he know where I am, aunt?' I inquired, alarmed.

'I have told him,' said my aunt, with a nod.

'Shall I--be--given up to him?' I faltered.

'I don't know,' said my aunt. 'We shall see.'

'Oh! I can't think what I shall do,' I exclaimed, 'if I have to go backto Mr. Murdstone!'

'I don't know anything about it,' said my aunt, shaking her head. 'Ican't say, I am sure. We shall see.'

My spirits sank under these words, and I became very downcast and heavyof heart. My aunt, without appearing to take much heed of me, put on acoarse apron with a bib, which she took out of the press; washed up theteacups with her own hands; and, when everything was washed and set inthe tray again, and the cloth folded and put on the top of the whole,rang for Janet to remove it. She next swept up the crumbs with a littlebroom (putting on a pair of gloves first), until there did not appearto be one microscopic speck left on the carpet; next dusted and arrangedthe room, which was dusted and arranged to a hair's breadth already.When all these tasks were performed to her satisfaction, she took offthe gloves and apron, folded them up, put them in the particular cornerof the press from which they had been taken, brought out her work-boxto her own table in the open window, and sat down, with the green fanbetween her and the light, to work.

'I wish you'd go upstairs,' said my aunt, as she threaded her needle,'and give my compliments to Mr. Dick, and I'll be glad to know how hegets on with his Memorial.'

I rose with all alacrity, to acquit myself of this commission.

'I suppose,' said my aunt, eyeing me as narrowly as she had eyed theneedle in threading it, 'you think Mr. Dick a short name, eh?'

'I thought it was rather a short name, yesterday,' I confessed.

'You are not to suppose that he hasn't got a longer name, if he choseto use it,' said my aunt, with a loftier air. 'Babley--Mr. RichardBabley--that's the gentleman's true name.'

I was going to suggest, with a modest sense of my youth and thefamiliarity I had been already guilty of, that I had better give him thefull benefit of that name, when my aunt went on to say:

'But don't you call him by it, whatever you do. He can't bear his name.That's a peculiarity of his. Though I don't know that it's much of apeculiarity, either; for he has been ill-used enough, by some that bearit, to have a mortal antipathy for it, Heaven knows. Mr. Dick is hisname here, and everywhere else, now--if he ever went anywhere else,which he don't. So take care, child, you don't call him anything BUT Mr.Dick.'

I promised to obey, and went upstairs with my message; thinking, as Iwent, that if Mr. Dick had been working at his Memorial long, at thesame rate as I had seen him working at it, through the open door, whenI came down, he was probably getting on very well indeed. I found himstill driving at it with a long pen, and his head almost laid upon thepaper. He was so intent upon it, that I had ample leisure to observe thelarge paper kite in a corner, the confusion of bundles of manuscript,the number of pens, and, above all, the quantity of ink (which he seemedto have in, in half-gallon jars by the dozen), before he observed mybeing present.

'Ha! Phoebus!' said Mr. Dick, laying down his pen. 'How does the worldgo? I'll tell you what,' he added, in a lower tone, 'I shouldn't wish itto be mentioned, but it's a--' here he beckoned to me, and put his lipsclose to my ear--'it's a mad world. Mad as Bedlam, boy!' said Mr. Dick,taking snuff from a round box on the table, and laughing heartily.

Without presuming to give my opinion on this question, I delivered mymessage.

'Well,' said Mr. Dick, in answer, 'my compliments to her, and I--Ibelieve I have made a start. I think I have made a start,' said Mr.Dick, passing his hand among his grey hair, and casting anything but aconfident look at his manuscript. 'You have been to school?'

'Yes, sir,' I answered; 'for a short time.'

'Do you recollect the date,' said Mr. Dick, looking earnestly at me, andtaking up his pen to note it down, 'when King Charles the First had hishead cut off?' I said I believed it happened in the year sixteen hundredand forty-nine.

'Well,' returned Mr. Dick, scratching his ear with his pen, and lookingdubiously at me. 'So the books say; but I don't see how that can be.Because, if it was so long ago, how could the people about him have madethat mistake of putting some of the trouble out of his head, after itwas taken off, into mine?'

I was very much surprised by the inquiry; but could give no informationon this point.

'It's very strange,' said Mr. Dick, with a despondent look upon hispapers, and with his hand among his hair again, 'that I never can getthat quite right. I never can make that perfectly clear. But no matter,no matter!' he said cheerfully, and rousing himself, 'there's timeenough! My compliments to Miss Trotwood, I am getting on very wellindeed.'

I was going away, when he directed my attention to the kite.

'What do you think of that for a kite?' he said.

I answered that it was a beautiful one. I should think it must have beenas much as seven feet high.

'I made it. We'll go and fly it, you and I,' said Mr. Dick. 'Do you seethis?'

He showed me that it was covered with manuscript, very closely andlaboriously written; but so plainly, that as I looked along the lines,I thought I saw some allusion to King Charles the First's head again, inone or two places.

'There's plenty of string,' said Mr. Dick, 'and when it flies high, ittakes the facts a long way. That's my manner of diffusing 'em. I don'tknow where they may come down. It's according to circumstances, and thewind, and so forth; but I take my chance of that.'

His face was so very mild and pleasant, and had something so reverend init, though it was hale and hearty, that I was not sure but that he washaving a good-humoured jest with me. So I laughed, and he laughed, andwe parted the best friends possible.

'Well, child,' said my aunt, when I went downstairs. 'And what of Mr.Dick, this morning?'

I informed her that he sent his compliments, and was getting on verywell indeed.

'What do you think of him?' said my aunt.

I had some shadowy idea of endeavouring to evade the question, byreplying that I thought him a very nice gentleman; but my aunt wasnot to be so put off, for she laid her work down in her lap, and said,folding her hands upon it:

'Come! Your sister Betsey Trotwood would have told me what she thoughtof anyone, directly. Be as like your sister as you can, and speak out!'

'Is he--is Mr. Dick--I ask because I don't know, aunt--is he at all outof his mind, then?' I stammered; for I felt I was on dangerous ground.

'Not a morsel,' said my aunt.

'Oh, indeed!' I observed faintly.

'If there is anything in the world,' said my aunt, with great decisionand force of manner, 'that Mr. Dick is not, it's that.'

I had nothing better to offer, than another timid, 'Oh, indeed!'

'He has been CALLED mad,' said my aunt. 'I have a selfish pleasure insaying he has been called mad, or I should not have had the benefit ofhis society and advice for these last ten years and upwards--in fact,ever since your sister, Betsey Trotwood, disappointed me.'

'So long as that?' I said.

'And nice people they were, who had the audacity to call him mad,'pursued my aunt. 'Mr. Dick is a sort of distant connexion of mine--itdoesn't matter how; I needn't enter into that. If it hadn't been for me,his own brother would have shut him up for life. That's all.'

I am afraid it was hypocritical in me, but seeing that my aunt feltstrongly on the subject, I tried to look as if I felt strongly too.

'A proud fool!' said my aunt. 'Because his brother was a littleeccentric--though he is not half so eccentric as a good many people--hedidn't like to have him visible about his house, and sent him away tosome private asylum-place: though he had been left to his particularcare by their deceased father, who thought him almost a natural. And awise man he must have been to think so! Mad himself, no doubt.'

Again, as my aunt looked quite convinced, I endeavoured to look quiteconvinced also.

'So I stepped in,' said my aunt, 'and made him an offer. I said, "Yourbrother's sane--a great deal more sane than you are, or ever will be, itis to be hoped. Let him have his little income, and come and live withme. I am not afraid of him, I am not proud, I am ready to take careof him, and shall not ill-treat him as some people (besides theasylum-folks) have done." After a good deal of squabbling,' said myaunt, 'I got him; and he has been here ever since. He is the mostfriendly and amenable creature in existence; and as for advice!--Butnobody knows what that man's mind is, except myself.'

My aunt smoothed her dress and shook her head, as if she smootheddefiance of the whole world out of the one, and shook it out of theother.

'He had a favourite sister,' said my aunt, 'a good creature, and verykind to him. But she did what they all do--took a husband. And HE didwhat they all do--made her wretched. It had such an effect upon the mindof Mr. Dick (that's not madness, I hope!) that, combined with his fearof his brother, and his sense of his unkindness, it threw him into afever. That was before he came to me, but the recollection of it isoppressive to him even now. Did he say anything to you about KingCharles the First, child?'

'Yes, aunt.'

'Ah!' said my aunt, rubbing her nose as if she were a little vexed.'That's his allegorical way of expressing it. He connects his illnesswith great disturbance and agitation, naturally, and that's the figure,or the simile, or whatever it's called, which he chooses to use. And whyshouldn't he, if he thinks proper!'

I said: 'Certainly, aunt.'

'It's not a business-like way of speaking,' said my aunt, 'nor a worldlyway. I am aware of that; and that's the reason why I insist upon it,that there shan't be a word about it in his Memorial.'

'Is it a Memorial about his own history that he is writing, aunt?'

'Yes, child,' said my aunt, rubbing her nose again. 'He is memorializingthe Lord Chancellor, or the Lord Somebody or other--one of those people,at all events, who are paid to be memorialized--about his affairs. Isuppose it will go in, one of these days. He hasn't been able to drawit up yet, without introducing that mode of expressing himself; but itdon't signify; it keeps him employed.'

In fact, I found out afterwards that Mr. Dick had been for upwardsof ten years endeavouring to keep King Charles the First out of theMemorial; but he had been constantly getting into it, and was there now.

'I say again,' said my aunt, 'nobody knows what that man's mind isexcept myself; and he's the most amenable and friendly creature inexistence. If he likes to fly a kite sometimes, what of that! Franklinused to fly a kite. He was a Quaker, or something of that sort, if Iam not mistaken. And a Quaker flying a kite is a much more ridiculousobject than anybody else.'

If I could have supposed that my aunt had recounted these particularsfor my especial behoof, and as a piece of confidence in me, I shouldhave felt very much distinguished, and should have augured favourablyfrom such a mark of her good opinion. But I could hardly help observingthat she had launched into them, chiefly because the question was raisedin her own mind, and with very little reference to me, though she hadaddressed herself to me in the absence of anybody else.

At the same time, I must say that the generosity of her championshipof poor harmless Mr. Dick, not only inspired my young breast withsome selfish hope for myself, but warmed it unselfishly towards her.I believe that I began to know that there was something about my aunt,notwithstanding her many eccentricities and odd humours, to be honouredand trusted in. Though she was just as sharp that day as on the daybefore, and was in and out about the donkeys just as often, and wasthrown into a tremendous state of indignation, when a young man, goingby, ogled Janet at a window (which was one of the gravest misdemeanoursthat could be committed against my aunt's dignity), she seemed to me tocommand more of my respect, if not less of my fear.

The anxiety I underwent, in the interval which necessarily elapsedbefore a reply could be received to her letter to Mr. Murdstone, wasextreme; but I made an endeavour to suppress it, and to be as agreeableas I could in a quiet way, both to my aunt and Mr. Dick. The latter andI would have gone out to fly the great kite; but that I had still noother clothes than the anything but ornamental garments with which Ihad been decorated on the first day, and which confined me to the house,except for an hour after dark, when my aunt, for my health's sake,paraded me up and down on the cliff outside, before going to bed. Atlength the reply from Mr. Murdstone came, and my aunt informed me, to myinfinite terror, that he was coming to speak to her herself on the nextday. On the next day, still bundled up in my curious habiliments, I satcounting the time, flushed and heated by the conflict of sinking hopesand rising fears within me; and waiting to be startled by the sight ofthe gloomy face, whose non-arrival startled me every minute.

MY aunt was a little more imperious and stern than usual, but I observedno other token of her preparing herself to receive the visitor so muchdreaded by me. She sat at work in the window, and I sat by, with mythoughts running astray on all possible and impossible results of Mr.Murdstone's visit, until pretty late in the afternoon. Our dinner hadbeen indefinitely postponed; but it was growing so late, that my aunthad ordered it to be got ready, when she gave a sudden alarm of donkeys,and to my consternation and amazement, I beheld Miss Murdstone, on aside-saddle, ride deliberately over the sacred piece of green, and stopin front of the house, looking about her.

'Go along with you!' cried my aunt, shaking her head and her fist at thewindow. 'You have no business there. How dare you trespass? Go along!Oh! you bold-faced thing!'

MY aunt was so exasperated by the coolness with which Miss Murdstonelooked about her, that I really believe she was motionless, and unablefor the moment to dart out according to custom. I seized the opportunityto inform her who it was; and that the gentleman now coming near theoffender (for the way up was very steep, and he had dropped behind), wasMr. Murdstone himself.

'I don't care who it is!' cried my aunt, still shaking her head andgesticulating anything but welcome from the bow-window. 'I won't betrespassed upon. I won't allow it. Go away! Janet, turn him round.Lead him off!' and I saw, from behind my aunt, a sort of hurriedbattle-piece, in which the donkey stood resisting everybody, with allhis four legs planted different ways, while Janet tried to pull himround by the bridle, Mr. Murdstone tried to lead him on, Miss Murdstonestruck at Janet with a parasol, and several boys, who had come to seethe engagement, shouted vigorously. But my aunt, suddenly descryingamong them the young malefactor who was the donkey's guardian, and whowas one of the most inveterate offenders against her, though hardly inhis teens, rushed out to the scene of action, pounced upon him, capturedhim, dragged him, with his jacket over his head, and his heels grindingthe ground, into the garden, and, calling upon Janet to fetch theconstables and justices, that he might be taken, tried, and executed onthe spot, held him at bay there. This part of the business, however, didnot last long; for the young rascal, being expert at a variety of feintsand dodges, of which my aunt had no conception, soon went whooping away,leaving some deep impressions of his nailed boots in the flower-beds,and taking his donkey in triumph with him.

Miss Murdstone, during the latter portion of the contest, haddismounted, and was now waiting with her brother at the bottom of thesteps, until my aunt should be at leisure to receive them. My aunt, alittle ruffled by the combat, marched past them into the house, withgreat dignity, and took no notice of their presence, until they wereannounced by Janet.

'Shall I go away, aunt?' I asked, trembling.

'No, sir,' said my aunt. 'Certainly not!' With which she pushed me intoa corner near her, and fenced Me in with a chair, as if it were a prisonor a bar of justice. This position I continued to occupy during thewhole interview, and from it I now saw Mr. and Miss Murdstone enter theroom.

'Oh!' said my aunt, 'I was not aware at first to whom I had the pleasureof objecting. But I don't allow anybody to ride over that turf. I makeno exceptions. I don't allow anybody to do it.'

'Your regulation is rather awkward to strangers,' said Miss Murdstone.

'Is it!' said my aunt.

Mr. Murdstone seemed afraid of a renewal of hostilities, and interposingbegan:

'Miss Trotwood!'

'I beg your pardon,' observed my aunt with a keen look. 'You are the Mr.Murdstone who married the widow of my late nephew, David Copperfield, ofBlunderstone Rookery!--Though why Rookery, I don't know!'

'I am,' said Mr. Murdstone.

'You'll excuse my saying, sir,' returned my aunt, 'that I think it wouldhave been a much better and happier thing if you had left that poorchild alone.'

'I so far agree with what Miss Trotwood has remarked,' observed MissMurdstone, bridling, 'that I consider our lamented Clara to have been,in all essential respects, a mere child.'

'It is a comfort to you and me, ma'am,' said my aunt, 'who are gettingon in life, and are not likely to be made unhappy by our personalattractions, that nobody can say the same of us.'

'No doubt!' returned Miss Murdstone, though, I thought, not with a veryready or gracious assent. 'And it certainly might have been, as you say,a better and happier thing for my brother if he had never entered intosuch a marriage. I have always been of that opinion.'

'I have no doubt you have,' said my aunt. 'Janet,' ringing the bell, 'mycompliments to Mr. Dick, and beg him to come down.'

Until he came, my aunt sat perfectly upright and stiff, frowning at thewall. When he came, my aunt performed the ceremony of introduction.

'Mr. Dick. An old and intimate friend. On whose judgement,' said myaunt, with emphasis, as an admonition to Mr. Dick, who was biting hisforefinger and looking rather foolish, 'I rely.'

Mr. Dick took his finger out of his mouth, on this hint, and stood amongthe group, with a grave and attentive expression of face.

My aunt inclined her head to Mr. Murdstone, who went on:

'Miss Trotwood: on the receipt of your letter, I considered it an act ofgreater justice to myself, and perhaps of more respect to you-'

'Thank you,' said my aunt, still eyeing him keenly. 'You needn't mindme.'

'To answer it in person, however inconvenient the journey,' pursued Mr.Murdstone, 'rather than by letter. This unhappy boy who has run awayfrom his friends and his occupation--'

'And whose appearance,' interposed his sister, directing generalattention to me in my indefinable costume, 'is perfectly scandalous anddisgraceful.'

'Jane Murdstone,' said her brother, 'have the goodness not to interruptme. This unhappy boy, Miss Trotwood, has been the occasion of muchdomestic trouble and uneasiness; both during the lifetime of my latedear wife, and since. He has a sullen, rebellious spirit; a violenttemper; and an untoward, intractable disposition. Both my sister andmyself have endeavoured to correct his vices, but ineffectually. AndI have felt--we both have felt, I may say; my sister being fully inmy confidence--that it is right you should receive this grave anddispassionate assurance from our lips.'

'It can hardly be necessary for me to confirm anything stated by mybrother,' said Miss Murdstone; 'but I beg to observe, that, of all theboys in the world, I believe this is the worst boy.'

'Strong!' said my aunt, shortly.

'But not at all too strong for the facts,' returned Miss Murdstone.

'Ha!' said my aunt. 'Well, sir?'

'I have my own opinions,' resumed Mr. Murdstone, whose face darkenedmore and more, the more he and my aunt observed each other, which theydid very narrowly, 'as to the best mode of bringing him up; they arefounded, in part, on my knowledge of him, and in part on my knowledge ofmy own means and resources. I am responsible for them to myself, I actupon them, and I say no more about them. It is enough that I place thisboy under the eye of a friend of my own, in a respectable business;that it does not please him; that he runs away from it; makes himself acommon vagabond about the country; and comes here, in rags, to appealto you, Miss Trotwood. I wish to set before you, honourably, the exactconsequences--so far as they are within my knowledge--of your abettinghim in this appeal.'

'But about the respectable business first,' said my aunt. 'If he hadbeen your own boy, you would have put him to it, just the same, Isuppose?'

'If he had been my brother's own boy,' returned Miss Murdstone, strikingin, 'his character, I trust, would have been altogether different.'

'Or if the poor child, his mother, had been alive, he would still havegone into the respectable business, would he?' said my aunt.

'I believe,' said Mr. Murdstone, with an inclination of his head,'that Clara would have disputed nothing which myself and my sister JaneMurdstone were agreed was for the best.'

Miss Murdstone confirmed this with an audible murmur.

'Humph!' said my aunt. 'Unfortunate baby!'

Mr. Dick, who had been rattling his money all this time, was rattling itso loudly now, that my aunt felt it necessary to check him with a look,before saying:

'The poor child's annuity died with her?'

'Died with her,' replied Mr. Murdstone.

'And there was no settlement of the little property--the house andgarden--the what's-its-name Rookery without any rooks in it--upon herboy?'

'It had been left to her, unconditionally, by her first husband,'Mr. Murdstone began, when my aunt caught him up with the greatestirascibility and impatience.

'Good Lord, man, there's no occasion to say that. Left to herunconditionally! I think I see David Copperfield looking forward to anycondition of any sort or kind, though it stared him point-blank in theface! Of course it was left to her unconditionally. But when she marriedagain--when she took that most disastrous step of marrying you, inshort,' said my aunt, 'to be plain--did no one put in a word for the boyat that time?'

'My late wife loved her second husband, ma'am,' said Mr. Murdstone, 'andtrusted implicitly in him.'

'Your late wife, sir, was a most unworldly, most unhappy, mostunfortunate baby,' returned my aunt, shaking her head at him. 'That'swhat she was. And now, what have you got to say next?'

'Merely this, Miss Trotwood,' he returned. 'I am here to take Davidback--to take him back unconditionally, to dispose of him as I thinkproper, and to deal with him as I think right. I am not here to make anypromise, or give any pledge to anybody. You may possibly have someidea, Miss Trotwood, of abetting him in his running away, and in hiscomplaints to you. Your manner, which I must say does not seem intendedto propitiate, induces me to think it possible. Now I must caution youthat if you abet him once, you abet him for good and all; if you stepin between him and me, now, you must step in, Miss Trotwood, for ever.I cannot trifle, or be trifled with. I am here, for the first and lasttime, to take him away. Is he ready to go? If he is not--and you tell mehe is not; on any pretence; it is indifferent to me what--my doors areshut against him henceforth, and yours, I take it for granted, are opento him.'

To this address, my aunt had listened with the closest attention,sitting perfectly upright, with her hands folded on one knee, andlooking grimly on the speaker. When he had finished, she turned hereyes so as to command Miss Murdstone, without otherwise disturbing herattitude, and said:

'Well, ma'am, have YOU got anything to remark?'

'Indeed, Miss Trotwood,' said Miss Murdstone, 'all that I could say hasbeen so well said by my brother, and all that I know to be the facthas been so plainly stated by him, that I have nothing to add except mythanks for your politeness. For your very great politeness, I am sure,'said Miss Murdstone; with an irony which no more affected my aunt, thanit discomposed the cannon I had slept by at Chatham.

'And what does the boy say?' said my aunt. 'Are you ready to go, David?'

I answered no, and entreated her not to let me go. I said that neitherMr. nor Miss Murdstone had ever liked me, or had ever been kind to me.That they had made my mama, who always loved me dearly, unhappy aboutme, and that I knew it well, and that Peggotty knew it. I said that Ihad been more miserable than I thought anybody could believe, who onlyknew how young I was. And I begged and prayed my aunt--I forget inwhat terms now, but I remember that they affected me very much then--tobefriend and protect me, for my father's sake.

'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt, 'what shall I do with this child?'

Mr. Dick considered, hesitated, brightened, and rejoined, 'Have himmeasured for a suit of clothes directly.'

'Mr. Dick,' said my aunt triumphantly, 'give me your hand, for yourcommon sense is invaluable.' Having shaken it with great cordiality, shepulled me towards her and said to Mr. Murdstone:

'You can go when you like; I'll take my chance with the boy. If he's allyou say he is, at least I can do as much for him then, as you have done.But I don't believe a word of it.'

'Miss Trotwood,' rejoined Mr. Murdstone, shrugging his shoulders, as herose, 'if you were a gentleman--'

'Bah! Stuff and nonsense!' said my aunt. 'Don't talk to me!'

'How exquisitely polite!' exclaimed Miss Murdstone, rising.'Overpowering, really!'

'Do you think I don't know,' said my aunt, turning a deaf ear to thesister, and continuing to address the brother, and to shake her head athim with infinite expression, 'what kind of life you must have led thatpoor, unhappy, misdirected baby? Do you think I don't know what a woefulday it was for the soft little creature when you first came in herway--smirking and making great eyes at her, I'll be bound, as if youcouldn't say boh! to a goose!'

'I never heard anything so elegant!' said Miss Murdstone.

'Do you think I can't understand you as well as if I had seen you,'pursued my aunt, 'now that I DO see and hear you--which, I tell youcandidly, is anything but a pleasure to me? Oh yes, bless us! who sosmooth and silky as Mr. Murdstone at first! The poor, benighted innocenthad never seen such a man. He was made of sweetness. He worshipped her.He doted on her boy--tenderly doted on him! He was to be another fatherto him, and they were all to live together in a garden of roses, weren'tthey? Ugh! Get along with you, do!' said my aunt.

'I never heard anything like this person in my life!' exclaimed MissMurdstone.

'And when you had made sure of the poor little fool,' said my aunt--'Godforgive me that I should call her so, and she gone where YOU won't go ina hurry--because you had not done wrong enough to her and hers, youmust begin to train her, must you? begin to break her, like a poorcaged bird, and wear her deluded life away, in teaching her to sing YOURnotes?'

'This is either insanity or intoxication,' said Miss Murdstone, in aperfect agony at not being able to turn the current of my aunt's addresstowards herself; 'and my suspicion is that it's intoxication.'

Miss Betsey, without taking the least notice of the interruption,continued to address herself to Mr. Murdstone as if there had been nosuch thing.

'Mr. Murdstone,' she said, shaking her finger at him, 'you were a tyrantto the simple baby, and you broke her heart. She was a loving baby--Iknow that; I knew it, years before you ever saw her--and through thebest part of her weakness you gave her the wounds she died of. Thereis the truth for your comfort, however you like it. And you and yourinstruments may make the most of it.'

'Allow me to inquire, Miss Trotwood,' interposed Miss Murdstone,'whom you are pleased to call, in a choice of words in which I am notexperienced, my brother's instruments?'

'It was clear enough, as I have told you, years before YOU ever sawher--and why, in the mysterious dispensations of Providence, you everdid see her, is more than humanity can comprehend--it was clear enoughthat the poor soft little thing would marry somebody, at some time orother; but I did hope it wouldn't have been as bad as it has turned out.That was the time, Mr. Murdstone, when she gave birth to her boy here,'said my aunt; 'to the poor child you sometimes tormented her throughafterwards, which is a disagreeable remembrance and makes the sight ofhim odious now. Aye, aye! you needn't wince!' said my aunt. 'I know it'strue without that.'

He had stood by the door, all this while, observant of her with a smileupon his face, though his black eyebrows were heavily contracted. Iremarked now, that, though the smile was on his face still, his colourhad gone in a moment, and he seemed to breathe as if he had beenrunning.

'Good day, sir,' said my aunt, 'and good-bye! Good day to you, too,ma'am,' said my aunt, turning suddenly upon his sister. 'Let me see youride a donkey over my green again, and as sure as you have a head uponyour shoulders, I'll knock your bonnet off, and tread upon it!'

It would require a painter, and no common painter too, to depict myaunt's face as she delivered herself of this very unexpected sentiment,and Miss Murdstone's face as she heard it. But the manner of the speech,no less than the matter, was so fiery, that Miss Murdstone, without aword in answer, discreetly put her arm through her brother's, and walkedhaughtily out of the cottage; my aunt remaining in the window lookingafter them; prepared, I have no doubt, in case of the donkey'sreappearance, to carry her threat into instant execution.

No attempt at defiance being made, however, her face gradually relaxed,and became so pleasant, that I was emboldened to kiss and thank her;which I did with great heartiness, and with both my arms clasped roundher neck. I then shook hands with Mr. Dick, who shook hands with me agreat many times, and hailed this happy close of the proceedings withrepeated bursts of laughter.

'You'll consider yourself guardian, jointly with me, of this child, Mr.Dick,' said my aunt.

'I shall be delighted,' said Mr. Dick, 'to be the guardian of David'sson.'

'Very good,' returned my aunt, 'that's settled. I have been thinking, doyou know, Mr. Dick, that I might call him Trotwood?'

'Certainly, certainly. Call him Trotwood, certainly,' said Mr. Dick.'David's son's Trotwood.'

'Trotwood Copperfield, you mean,' returned my aunt.

'Yes, to be sure. Yes. Trotwood Copperfield,' said Mr. Dick, a littleabashed.

My aunt took so kindly to the notion, that some ready-made clothes,which were purchased for me that afternoon, were marked 'TrotwoodCopperfield', in her own handwriting, and in indelible marking-ink,before I put them on; and it was settled that all the other clotheswhich were ordered to be made for me (a complete outfit was bespoke thatafternoon) should be marked in the same way.

Thus I began my new life, in a new name, and with everything new aboutme. Now that the state of doubt was over, I felt, for many days,like one in a dream. I never thought that I had a curious couple ofguardians, in my aunt and Mr. Dick. I never thought of anything aboutmyself, distinctly. The two things clearest in my mind were, that aremoteness had come upon the old Blunderstone life--which seemed to liein the haze of an immeasurable distance; and that a curtain had for everfallen on my life at Murdstone and Grinby's. No one has ever raised thatcurtain since. I have lifted it for a moment, even in this narrative,with a reluctant hand, and dropped it gladly. The remembrance of thatlife is fraught with so much pain to me, with so much mental sufferingand want of hope, that I have never had the courage even to examine howlong I was doomed to lead it. Whether it lasted for a year, or more, orless, I do not know. I only know that it was, and ceased to be; and thatI have written, and there I leave it.