I got down to Yarmouth in the evening, and went to the inn. I knew thatPeggotty's spare room--my room--was likely to have occupation enoughin a little while, if that great Visitor, before whose presence allthe living must give place, were not already in the house; so I betookmyself to the inn, and dined there, and engaged my bed.

It was ten o'clock when I went out. Many of the shops were shut, and thetown was dull. When I came to Omer and Joram's, I found the shutters up,but the shop door standing open. As I could obtain a perspective viewof Mr. Omer inside, smoking his pipe by the parlour door, I entered, andasked him how he was.

'Why, bless my life and soul!' said Mr. Omer, 'how do you find yourself?Take a seat.---Smoke not disagreeable, I hope?'

'By no means,' said I. 'I like it--in somebody else's pipe.'

'What, not in your own, eh?' Mr. Omer returned, laughing. 'All thebetter, sir. Bad habit for a young man. Take a seat. I smoke, myself,for the asthma.'

Mr. Omer had made room for me, and placed a chair. He now sat down againvery much out of breath, gasping at his pipe as if it contained a supplyof that necessary, without which he must perish.

'I am sorry to have heard bad news of Mr. Barkis,' said I.

Mr. Omer looked at me, with a steady countenance, and shook his head.

'Do you know how he is tonight?' I asked.

'The very question I should have put to you, sir,' returned Mr. Omer,'but on account of delicacy. It's one of the drawbacks of our line ofbusiness. When a party's ill, we can't ask how the party is.'

The difficulty had not occurred to me; though I had had my apprehensionstoo, when I went in, of hearing the old tune. On its being mentioned, Irecognized it, however, and said as much.

'Yes, yes, you understand,' said Mr. Omer, nodding his head. 'We dursn'tdo it. Bless you, it would be a shock that the generality of partiesmightn't recover, to say "Omer and Joram's compliments, and how do youfind yourself this morning?"--or this afternoon--as it may be.'

Mr. Omer and I nodded at each other, and Mr. Omer recruited his wind bythe aid of his pipe.

'It's one of the things that cut the trade off from attentions theycould often wish to show,' said Mr. Omer. 'Take myself. If I have knownBarkis a year, to move to as he went by, I have known him forty years.But I can't go and say, "how is he?"'

I felt it was rather hard on Mr. Omer, and I told him so.

'I'm not more self-interested, I hope, than another man,' said Mr. Omer.'Look at me! My wind may fail me at any moment, and it ain'tlikely that, to my own knowledge, I'd be self-interested under suchcircumstances. I say it ain't likely, in a man who knows his wind willgo, when it DOES go, as if a pair of bellows was cut open; and that mana grandfather,' said Mr. Omer.

I said, 'Not at all.'

'It ain't that I complain of my line of business,' said Mr. Omer. 'Itain't that. Some good and some bad goes, no doubt, to all callings. WhatI wish is, that parties was brought up stronger-minded.'

Mr. Omer, with a very complacent and amiable face, took several puffs insilence; and then said, resuming his first point:

'Accordingly we're obleeged, in ascertaining how Barkis goes on, tolimit ourselves to Em'ly. She knows what our real objects are, and shedon't have any more alarms or suspicions about us, than if we was somany lambs. Minnie and Joram have just stepped down to the house, infact (she's there, after hours, helping her aunt a bit), to ask her howhe is tonight; and if you was to please to wait till they come back,they'd give you full partic'lers. Will you take something? A glass ofsrub and water, now? I smoke on srub and water, myself,' said Mr. Omer,taking up his glass, 'because it's considered softening to the passages,by which this troublesome breath of mine gets into action. But, Lordbless you,' said Mr. Omer, huskily, 'it ain't the passages that's out oforder! "Give me breath enough," said I to my daughter Minnie, "and I'llfind passages, my dear."'

He really had no breath to spare, and it was very alarming to see himlaugh. When he was again in a condition to be talked to, I thankedhim for the proffered refreshment, which I declined, as I had just haddinner; and, observing that I would wait, since he was so good as toinvite me, until his daughter and his son-in-law came back, I inquiredhow little Emily was?

'Well, sir,' said Mr. Omer, removing his pipe, that he might rub hischin: 'I tell you truly, I shall be glad when her marriage has takenplace.'

'Why so?' I inquired.

'Well, she's unsettled at present,' said Mr. Omer. 'It ain't that she'snot as pretty as ever, for she's prettier--I do assure you, she isprettier. It ain't that she don't work as well as ever, for she does.She WAS worth any six, and she IS worth any six. But somehow she wantsheart. If you understand,' said Mr. Omer, after rubbing his chin again,and smoking a little, 'what I mean in a general way by the expression,"A long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether, my hearties,hurrah!" I should say to you, that that was--in a general way--what Imiss in Em'ly.'

Mr. Omer's face and manner went for so much, that I couldconscientiously nod my head, as divining his meaning. My quickness ofapprehension seemed to please him, and he went on: 'Now I consider thisis principally on account of her being in an unsettled state, yousee. We have talked it over a good deal, her uncle and myself, and hersweetheart and myself, after business; and I consider it is principallyon account of her being unsettled. You must always recollect of Em'ly,'said Mr. Omer, shaking his head gently, 'that she's a most extraordinaryaffectionate little thing. The proverb says, "You can't make a silkpurse out of a sow's ear." Well, I don't know about that. I rather thinkyou may, if you begin early in life. She has made a home out of that oldboat, sir, that stone and marble couldn't beat.'

'I am sure she has!' said I.

'To see the clinging of that pretty little thing to her uncle,' saidMr. Omer; 'to see the way she holds on to him, tighter and tighter, andcloser and closer, every day, is to see a sight. Now, you know, there'sa struggle going on when that's the case. Why should it be made a longerone than is needful?'

I listened attentively to the good old fellow, and acquiesced, with allmy heart, in what he said.

'Therefore, I mentioned to them,' said Mr. Omer, in a comfortable,easy-going tone, 'this. I said, "Now, don't consider Em'ly nailed downin point of time, at all. Make it your own time. Her services have beenmore valuable than was supposed; her learning has been quicker than wassupposed; Omer and Joram can run their pen through what remains; andshe's free when you wish. If she likes to make any little arrangement,afterwards, in the way of doing any little thing for us at home,very well. If she don't, very well still. We're no losers, anyhow."For--don't you see,' said Mr. Omer, touching me with his pipe, 'it ain'tlikely that a man so short of breath as myself, and a grandfather too,would go and strain points with a little bit of a blue-eyed blossom,like her?'

'Not at all, I am certain,' said I.

'Not at all! You're right!' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir, her cousin--youknow it's a cousin she's going to be married to?'

'Oh yes,' I replied. 'I know him well.'

'Of course you do,' said Mr. Omer. 'Well, sir! Her cousin being, as itappears, in good work, and well to do, thanked me in a very manly sortof manner for this (conducting himself altogether, I must say, in a waythat gives me a high opinion of him), and went and took as comfortablea little house as you or I could wish to clap eyes on. That littlehouse is now furnished right through, as neat and complete as a doll'sparlour; and but for Barkis's illness having taken this bad turn, poorfellow, they would have been man and wife--I dare say, by this time. Asit is, there's a postponement.'

'And Emily, Mr. Omer?' I inquired. 'Has she become more settled?'

'Why that, you know,' he returned, rubbing his double chin again, 'can'tnaturally be expected. The prospect of the change and separation, andall that, is, as one may say, close to her and far away from her, bothat once. Barkis's death needn't put it off much, but his lingeringmight. Anyway, it's an uncertain state of matters, you see.'

'I see,' said I.

'Consequently,' pursued Mr. Omer, 'Em'ly's still a little down, and alittle fluttered; perhaps, upon the whole, she's more so than she was.Every day she seems to get fonder and fonder of her uncle, and more lothto part from all of us. A kind word from me brings the tears into hereyes; and if you was to see her with my daughter Minnie's little girl,you'd never forget it. Bless my heart alive!' said Mr. Omer, pondering,'how she loves that child!'

Having so favourable an opportunity, it occurred to me to ask Mr. Omer,before our conversation should be interrupted by the return of hisdaughter and her husband, whether he knew anything of Martha.

'Ah!' he rejoined, shaking his head, and looking very much dejected.'No good. A sad story, sir, however you come to know it. I never thoughtthere was harm in the girl. I wouldn't wish to mention it before mydaughter Minnie--for she'd take me up directly--but I never did. None ofus ever did.'

Mr. Omer, hearing his daughter's footstep before I heard it, touched mewith his pipe, and shut up one eye, as a caution. She and her husbandcame in immediately afterwards.

Their report was, that Mr. Barkis was 'as bad as bad could be'; that hewas quite unconscious; and that Mr. Chillip had mournfully said in thekitchen, on going away just now, that the College of Physicians, theCollege of Surgeons, and Apothecaries' Hall, if they were all calledin together, couldn't help him. He was past both Colleges, Mr. Chillipsaid, and the Hall could only poison him.

Hearing this, and learning that Mr. Peggotty was there, I determined togo to the house at once. I bade good night to Mr. Omer, and to Mr. andMrs. Joram; and directed my steps thither, with a solemn feeling, whichmade Mr. Barkis quite a new and different creature.

My low tap at the door was answered by Mr. Peggotty. He was not so muchsurprised to see me as I had expected. I remarked this in Peggotty,too, when she came down; and I have seen it since; and I think, in theexpectation of that dread surprise, all other changes and surprisesdwindle into nothing.

I shook hands with Mr. Peggotty, and passed into the kitchen, while hesoftly closed the door. Little Emily was sitting by the fire, with herhands before her face. Ham was standing near her.

We spoke in whispers; listening, between whiles, for any sound in theroom above. I had not thought of it on the occasion of my last visit,but how strange it was to me, now, to miss Mr. Barkis out of thekitchen!

'This is very kind of you, Mas'r Davy,' said Mr. Peggotty.

'It's oncommon kind,' said Ham.

'Em'ly, my dear,' cried Mr. Peggotty. 'See here! Here's Mas'r Davy come!What, cheer up, pretty! Not a wured to Mas'r Davy?'

There was a trembling upon her, that I can see now. The coldness of herhand when I touched it, I can feel yet. Its only sign of animation wasto shrink from mine; and then she glided from the chair, and creepingto the other side of her uncle, bowed herself, silently and tremblingstill, upon his breast.

'It's such a loving art,' said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her rich hairwith his great hard hand, 'that it can't abear the sorrer of this.It's nat'ral in young folk, Mas'r Davy, when they're new to these heretrials, and timid, like my little bird,--it's nat'ral.'

She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, nor spoke aword.

'It's getting late, my dear,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'and here's Ham comefur to take you home. Theer! Go along with t'other loving art! What'Em'ly? Eh, my pretty?'

The sound of her voice had not reached me, but he bent his head as if helistened to her, and then said:

'Let you stay with your uncle? Why, you doen't mean to ask me that! Staywith your uncle, Moppet? When your husband that'll be so soon, is herefur to take you home? Now a person wouldn't think it, fur to see thislittle thing alongside a rough-weather chap like me,' said Mr. Peggotty,looking round at both of us, with infinite pride; 'but the sea ain'tmore salt in it than she has fondness in her for her uncle--a foolishlittle Em'ly!'

'Em'ly's in the right in that, Mas'r Davy!' said Ham. 'Lookee here! AsEm'ly wishes of it, and as she's hurried and frightened, like, besides,I'll leave her till morning. Let me stay too!'

'No, no,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'You doen't ought--a married man likeyou--or what's as good--to take and hull away a day's work. And youdoen't ought to watch and work both. That won't do. You go home and turnin. You ain't afeerd of Em'ly not being took good care on, I know.'

Ham yielded to this persuasion, and took his hat to go. Even when hekissed her--and I never saw him approach her, but I felt that naturehad given him the soul of a gentleman--she seemed to cling closer toher uncle, even to the avoidance of her chosen husband. I shut thedoor after him, that it might cause no disturbance of the quiet thatprevailed; and when I turned back, I found Mr. Peggotty still talking toher.

'Now, I'm a going upstairs to tell your aunt as Mas'r Davy's here, andthat'll cheer her up a bit,' he said. 'Sit ye down by the fire, thewhile, my dear, and warm those mortal cold hands. You doen't need to beso fearsome, and take on so much. What? You'll go along with me?--Well!come along with me--come! If her uncle was turned out of house and home,and forced to lay down in a dyke, Mas'r Davy,' said Mr. Peggotty, withno less pride than before, 'it's my belief she'd go along with him, now!But there'll be someone else, soon,--someone else, soon, Em'ly!'

Afterwards, when I went upstairs, as I passed the door of my littlechamber, which was dark, I had an indistinct impression of her beingwithin it, cast down upon the floor. But, whether it was really she, orwhether it was a confusion of the shadows in the room, I don't know now.

I had leisure to think, before the kitchen fire, of pretty littleEmily's dread of death--which, added to what Mr. Omer had told me, Itook to be the cause of her being so unlike herself--and I had leisure,before Peggotty came down, even to think more leniently of the weaknessof it: as I sat counting the ticking of the clock, and deepening mysense of the solemn hush around me. Peggotty took me in her arms, andblessed and thanked me over and over again for being such a comfort toher (that was what she said) in her distress. She then entreated me tocome upstairs, sobbing that Mr. Barkis had always liked me and admiredme; that he had often talked of me, before he fell into a stupor; andthat she believed, in case of his coming to himself again, he wouldbrighten up at sight of me, if he could brighten up at any earthlything.

The probability of his ever doing so, appeared to me, when I saw him, tobe very small. He was lying with his head and shoulders out of bed, inan uncomfortable attitude, half resting on the box which had cost him somuch pain and trouble. I learned, that, when he was past creeping out ofbed to open it, and past assuring himself of its safety by means of thedivining rod I had seen him use, he had required to have it placed onthe chair at the bed-side, where he had ever since embraced it, nightand day. His arm lay on it now. Time and the world were slipping frombeneath him, but the box was there; and the last words he had utteredwere (in an explanatory tone) 'Old clothes!'

'Barkis, my dear!' said Peggotty, almost cheerfully: bending over him,while her brother and I stood at the bed's foot. 'Here's my dear boy--mydear boy, Master Davy, who brought us together, Barkis! That you sentmessages by, you know! Won't you speak to Master Davy?'

He was as mute and senseless as the box, from which his form derived theonly expression it had.

'He's a going out with the tide,' said Mr. Peggotty to me, behind hishand.

My eyes were dim and so were Mr. Peggotty's; but I repeated in awhisper, 'With the tide?'

'People can't die, along the coast,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'except whenthe tide's pretty nigh out. They can't be born, unless it's pretty nighin--not properly born, till flood. He's a going out with the tide. It'sebb at half-arter three, slack water half an hour. If he lives till itturns, he'll hold his own till past the flood, and go out with the nexttide.'

We remained there, watching him, a long time--hours. What mysteriousinfluence my presence had upon him in that state of his senses, I shallnot pretend to say; but when he at last began to wander feebly, it iscertain he was muttering about driving me to school.

'He's coming to himself,' said Peggotty.

Mr. Peggotty touched me, and whispered with much awe and reverence.'They are both a-going out fast.'

'Barkis, my dear!' said Peggotty.

'C. P. Barkis,' he cried faintly. 'No better woman anywhere!'

'Look! Here's Master Davy!' said Peggotty. For he now opened his eyes.

I was on the point of asking him if he knew me, when he tried to stretchout his arm, and said to me, distinctly, with a pleasant smile:

'Barkis is willin'!'

And, it being low water, he went out with the tide.