It was not difficult for me, on Peggotty's solicitation, to resolve tostay where I was, until after the remains of the poor carrier shouldhave made their last journey to Blunderstone. She had long ago bought,out of her own savings, a little piece of ground in our old churchyardnear the grave of 'her sweet girl', as she always called my mother; andthere they were to rest.

In keeping Peggotty company, and doing all I could for her (littleenough at the utmost), I was as grateful, I rejoice to think, as evennow I could wish myself to have been. But I am afraid I had a supremesatisfaction, of a personal and professional nature, in taking charge ofMr. Barkis's will, and expounding its contents.

I may claim the merit of having originated the suggestion that the willshould be looked for in the box. After some search, it was found in thebox, at the bottom of a horse's nose-bag; wherein (besides hay) therewas discovered an old gold watch, with chain and seals, which Mr. Barkishad worn on his wedding-day, and which had never been seen before orsince; a silver tobacco-stopper, in the form of a leg; an imitationlemon, full of minute cups and saucers, which I have some idea Mr.Barkis must have purchased to present to me when I was a child, andafterwards found himself unable to part with; eighty-seven guineas anda half, in guineas and half-guineas; two hundred and ten pounds, inperfectly clean Bank notes; certain receipts for Bank of Englandstock; an old horseshoe, a bad shilling, a piece of camphor, and anoyster-shell. From the circumstance of the latter article havingbeen much polished, and displaying prismatic colours on the inside,I conclude that Mr. Barkis had some general ideas about pearls, whichnever resolved themselves into anything definite.

For years and years, Mr. Barkis had carried this box, on all hisjourneys, every day. That it might the better escape notice, he hadinvented a fiction that it belonged to 'Mr. Blackboy', and was 'to beleft with Barkis till called for'; a fable he had elaborately written onthe lid, in characters now scarcely legible.

He had hoarded, all these years, I found, to good purpose. His propertyin money amounted to nearly three thousand pounds. Of this he bequeathedthe interest of one thousand to Mr. Peggotty for his life; on hisdecease, the principal to be equally divided between Peggotty, littleEmily, and me, or the survivor or survivors of us, share and sharealike. All the rest he died possessed of, he bequeathed to Peggotty;whom he left residuary legatee, and sole executrix of that his last willand testament.

I felt myself quite a proctor when I read this document aloud with allpossible ceremony, and set forth its provisions, any number of times,to those whom they concerned. I began to think there was more in theCommons than I had supposed. I examined the will with the deepestattention, pronounced it perfectly formal in all respects, made apencil-mark or so in the margin, and thought it rather extraordinarythat I knew so much.

In this abstruse pursuit; in making an account for Peggotty, of all theproperty into which she had come; in arranging all the affairs in anorderly manner; and in being her referee and adviser on every point, toour joint delight; I passed the week before the funeral. I did not seelittle Emily in that interval, but they told me she was to be quietlymarried in a fortnight.

I did not attend the funeral in character, if I may venture to say so.I mean I was not dressed up in a black coat and a streamer, to frightenthe birds; but I walked over to Blunderstone early in the morning, andwas in the churchyard when it came, attended only by Peggotty and herbrother. The mad gentleman looked on, out of my little window; Mr.Chillip's baby wagged its heavy head, and rolled its goggle eyes, atthe clergyman, over its nurse's shoulder; Mr. Omer breathed short inthe background; no one else was there; and it was very quiet. We walkedabout the churchyard for an hour, after all was over; and pulled someyoung leaves from the tree above my mother's grave.

A dread falls on me here. A cloud is lowering on the distant town,towards which I retraced my solitary steps. I fear to approach it. Icannot bear to think of what did come, upon that memorable night; ofwhat must come again, if I go on.

It is no worse, because I write of it. It would be no better, if Istopped my most unwilling hand. It is done. Nothing can undo it; nothingcan make it otherwise than as it was.

My old nurse was to go to London with me next day, on the business ofthe will. Little Emily was passing that day at Mr. Omer's. We were allto meet in the old boathouse that night. Ham would bring Emily at theusual hour. I would walk back at my leisure. The brother and sisterwould return as they had come, and be expecting us, when the day closedin, at the fireside.

I parted from them at the wicket-gate, where visionary Strap had restedwith Roderick Random's knapsack in the days of yore; and, instead ofgoing straight back, walked a little distance on the road to Lowestoft.Then I turned, and walked back towards Yarmouth. I stayed to dine ata decent alehouse, some mile or two from the Ferry I have mentionedbefore; and thus the day wore away, and it was evening when I reachedit. Rain was falling heavily by that time, and it was a wild night; butthere was a moon behind the clouds, and it was not dark.

I was soon within sight of Mr. Peggotty's house, and of the light withinit shining through the window. A little floundering across the sand,which was heavy, brought me to the door, and I went in.

It looked very comfortable indeed. Mr. Peggotty had smoked his eveningpipe and there were preparations for some supper by and by. The fire wasbright, the ashes were thrown up, the locker was ready for little Emilyin her old place. In her own old place sat Peggotty, once more, looking(but for her dress) as if she had never left it. She had fallen back,already, on the society of the work-box with St. Paul's upon the lid,the yard-measure in the cottage, and the bit of wax-candle; and therethey all were, just as if they had never been disturbed. Mrs. Gummidgeappeared to be fretting a little, in her old corner; and consequentlylooked quite natural, too.

'You're first of the lot, Mas'r Davy!' said Mr. Peggotty with a happyface. 'Doen't keep in that coat, sir, if it's wet.'

'Thank you, Mr. Peggotty,' said I, giving him my outer coat to hang up.'It's quite dry.'

'So 'tis!' said Mr. Peggotty, feeling my shoulders. 'As a chip! Sit yedown, sir. It ain't o' no use saying welcome to you, but you're welcome,kind and hearty.'

'Thank you, Mr. Peggotty, I am sure of that. Well, Peggotty!' said I,giving her a kiss. 'And how are you, old woman?'

'Ha, ha!' laughed Mr. Peggotty, sitting down beside us, and rubbing hishands in his sense of relief from recent trouble, and in the genuineheartiness of his nature; 'there's not a woman in the wureld, sir--as Itell her--that need to feel more easy in her mind than her! She done herdooty by the departed, and the departed know'd it; and the departeddone what was right by her, as she done what was right by thedeparted;--and--and--and it's all right!'

Mrs. Gummidge groaned.

'Cheer up, my pritty mawther!' said Mr. Peggotty. (But he shook his headaside at us, evidently sensible of the tendency of the late occurrencesto recall the memory of the old one.) 'Doen't be down! Cheer up, foryour own self, on'y a little bit, and see if a good deal more doen'tcome nat'ral!'

'Not to me, Dan'l,' returned Mrs. Gummidge. 'Nothink's nat'ral to me butto be lone and lorn.'

'No, no,' said Mr. Peggotty, soothing her sorrows.

'Yes, yes, Dan'l!' said Mrs. Gummidge. 'I ain't a person to live withthem as has had money left. Thinks go too contrary with me. I had betterbe a riddance.'

'Why, how should I ever spend it without you?' said Mr. Peggotty, withan air of serious remonstrance. 'What are you a talking on? Doen't Iwant you more now, than ever I did?'

'I know'd I was never wanted before!' cried Mrs. Gummidge, with apitiable whimper, 'and now I'm told so! How could I expect to be wanted,being so lone and lorn, and so contrary!'

Mr. Peggotty seemed very much shocked at himself for having made aspeech capable of this unfeeling construction, but was prevented fromreplying, by Peggotty's pulling his sleeve, and shaking her head. Afterlooking at Mrs. Gummidge for some moments, in sore distress of mind, heglanced at the Dutch clock, rose, snuffed the candle, and put it in thewindow.

'Theer!'said Mr. Peggotty, cheerily.'Theer we are, Missis Gummidge!'Mrs. Gummidge slightly groaned. 'Lighted up, accordin' to custom! You'rea wonderin' what that's fur, sir! Well, it's fur our little Em'ly. Yousee, the path ain't over light or cheerful arter dark; and when I'mhere at the hour as she's a comin' home, I puts the light in the winder.That, you see,' said Mr. Peggotty, bending over me with great glee,'meets two objects. She says, says Em'ly, "Theer's home!" she says. Andlikewise, says Em'ly, "My uncle's theer!" Fur if I ain't theer, I neverhave no light showed.'

'You're a baby!' said Peggotty; very fond of him for it, if she thoughtso.

'Well,' returned Mr. Peggotty, standing with his legs pretty wide apart,and rubbing his hands up and down them in his comfortable satisfaction,as he looked alternately at us and at the fire. 'I doen't know but I am.Not, you see, to look at.'

'Not azackly,' observed Peggotty.

'No,' laughed Mr. Peggotty, 'not to look at, but to--to consider on, youknow. I doen't care, bless you! Now I tell you. When I go a looking andlooking about that theer pritty house of our Em'ly's, I'm--I'm Gormed,'said Mr. Peggotty, with sudden emphasis--'theer! I can't say more--ifI doen't feel as if the littlest things was her, a'most. I takes 'em upand I put 'em down, and I touches of 'em as delicate as if they was ourEm'ly. So 'tis with her little bonnets and that. I couldn't see one on'em rough used a purpose--not fur the whole wureld. There's a babby furyou, in the form of a great Sea Porkypine!' said Mr. Peggotty, relievinghis earnestness with a roar of laughter.

Peggotty and I both laughed, but not so loud.

'It's my opinion, you see,' said Mr. Peggotty, with a delighted face,after some further rubbing of his legs, 'as this is along of my havin'played with her so much, and made believe as we was Turks, and French,and sharks, and every wariety of forinners--bless you, yes; and lionsand whales, and I doen't know what all!--when she warn't no higher thanmy knee. I've got into the way on it, you know. Why, this here candle,now!' said Mr. Peggotty, gleefully holding out his hand towards it,'I know wery well that arter she's married and gone, I shall put thatcandle theer, just the same as now. I know wery well that when I'mhere o' nights (and where else should I live, bless your arts, whateverfortun' I come into!) and she ain't here or I ain't theer, I shallput the candle in the winder, and sit afore the fire, pretending I'mexpecting of her, like I'm a doing now. THERE'S a babby for you,' saidMr. Peggotty, with another roar, 'in the form of a Sea Porkypine! Why,at the present minute, when I see the candle sparkle up, I says tomyself, "She's a looking at it! Em'ly's a coming!" THERE'S a babbyfor you, in the form of a Sea Porkypine! Right for all that,' said Mr.Peggotty, stopping in his roar, and smiting his hands together; 'furhere she is!'

It was only Ham. The night should have turned more wet since I came in,for he had a large sou'wester hat on, slouched over his face.

'Wheer's Em'ly?' said Mr. Peggotty.

Ham made a motion with his head, as if she were outside. Mr. Peggottytook the light from the window, trimmed it, put it on the table, and wasbusily stirring the fire, when Ham, who had not moved, said:

'Mas'r Davy, will you come out a minute, and see what Em'ly and me hasgot to show you?'

We went out. As I passed him at the door, I saw, to my astonishment andfright, that he was deadly pale. He pushed me hastily into the open air,and closed the door upon us. Only upon us two.

'Ham! what's the matter?'

'Mas'r Davy!--' Oh, for his broken heart, how dreadfully he wept!

I was paralysed by the sight of such grief. I don't know what I thought,or what I dreaded. I could only look at him.

'Ham! Poor good fellow! For Heaven's sake, tell me what's the matter!'

'My love, Mas'r Davy--the pride and hope of my art--her that I'd havedied for, and would die for now--she's gone!'

'Gone!'

'Em'ly's run away! Oh, Mas'r Davy, think HOW she's run away, when Ipray my good and gracious God to kill her (her that is so dear above allthings) sooner than let her come to ruin and disgrace!'

The face he turned up to the troubled sky, the quivering of his claspedhands, the agony of his figure, remain associated with the lonely waste,in my remembrance, to this hour. It is always night there, and he is theonly object in the scene.

'You're a scholar,' he said, hurriedly, 'and know what's right andbest. What am I to say, indoors? How am I ever to break it to him, Mas'rDavy?'

I saw the door move, and instinctively tried to hold the latch on theoutside, to gain a moment's time. It was too late. Mr. Peggotty thrustforth his face; and never could I forget the change that came upon itwhen he saw us, if I were to live five hundred years.

I remember a great wail and cry, and the women hanging about him, and weall standing in the room; I with a paper in my hand, which Ham had givenme; Mr. Peggotty, with his vest torn open, his hair wild, his face andlips quite white, and blood trickling down his bosom (it had sprung fromhis mouth, I think), looking fixedly at me.

'Read it, sir,' he said, in a low shivering voice. 'Slow, please. Idoen't know as I can understand.'

In the midst of the silence of death, I read thus, from a blottedletter:

'"When you, who love me so much better than I ever have deserved, evenwhen my mind was innocent, see this, I shall be far away."'

'I shall be fur away,' he repeated slowly. 'Stop! Em'ly fur away. Well!'

'"When I leave my dear home--my dear home--oh, my dear home!--in themorning,"'

the letter bore date on the previous night:

'"--it will be never to come back, unless he brings me back a lady. Thiswill be found at night, many hours after, instead of me. Oh, if you knewhow my heart is torn. If even you, that I have wronged so much, thatnever can forgive me, could only know what I suffer! I am too wicked towrite about myself! Oh, take comfort in thinking that I am so bad. Oh,for mercy's sake, tell uncle that I never loved him half so dear asnow. Oh, don't remember how affectionate and kind you have all been tome--don't remember we were ever to be married--but try to think as if Idied when I was little, and was buried somewhere. Pray Heaven that Iam going away from, have compassion on my uncle! Tell him that I neverloved him half so dear. Be his comfort. Love some good girl that willbe what I was once to uncle, and be true to you, and worthy of you, andknow no shame but me. God bless all! I'll pray for all, often, on myknees. If he don't bring me back a lady, and I don't pray for my ownself, I'll pray for all. My parting love to uncle. My last tears, and mylast thanks, for uncle!"'

That was all.

He stood, long after I had ceased to read, still looking at me. Atlength I ventured to take his hand, and to entreat him, as well asI could, to endeavour to get some command of himself. He replied, 'Ithankee, sir, I thankee!' without moving.

Ham spoke to him. Mr. Peggotty was so far sensible of HIS affliction,that he wrung his hand; but, otherwise, he remained in the same state,and no one dared to disturb him.

Slowly, at last, he moved his eyes from my face, as if he were wakingfrom a vision, and cast them round the room. Then he said, in a lowvoice:

'Who's the man? I want to know his name.'

Ham glanced at me, and suddenly I felt a shock that struck me back.

'There's a man suspected,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'Who is it?'

'Mas'r Davy!' implored Ham. 'Go out a bit, and let me tell him what Imust. You doen't ought to hear it, sir.'

I felt the shock again. I sank down in a chair, and tried to utter somereply; but my tongue was fettered, and my sight was weak.

'I want to know his name!' I heard said once more.

'For some time past,' Ham faltered, 'there's been a servant about here,at odd times. There's been a gen'lm'n too. Both of 'em belonged to oneanother.'

Mr. Peggotty stood fixed as before, but now looking at him.

'The servant,' pursued Ham, 'was seen along with--our poor girl--lastnight. He's been in hiding about here, this week or over. He was thoughtto have gone, but he was hiding. Doen't stay, Mas'r Davy, doen't!'

I felt Peggotty's arm round my neck, but I could not have moved if thehouse had been about to fall upon me.

'A strange chay and hosses was outside town, this morning, on theNorwich road, a'most afore the day broke,' Ham went on. 'The servantwent to it, and come from it, and went to it again. When he went to itagain, Em'ly was nigh him. The t'other was inside. He's the man.'

'For the Lord's love,' said Mr. Peggotty, falling back, and putting outhis hand, as if to keep off what he dreaded. 'Doen't tell me his name'sSteerforth!'

'Mas'r Davy,' exclaimed Ham, in a broken voice, 'it ain't no faultof yourn--and I am far from laying of it to you--but his name isSteerforth, and he's a damned villain!'

Mr. Peggotty uttered no cry, and shed no tear, and moved no more, untilhe seemed to wake again, all at once, and pulled down his rough coatfrom its peg in a corner.

'Bear a hand with this! I'm struck of a heap, and can't do it,' he said,impatiently. 'Bear a hand and help me. Well!' when somebody had done so.'Now give me that theer hat!'

Ham asked him whither he was going.

'I'm a going to seek my niece. I'm a going to seek my Em'ly. I'm agoing, first, to stave in that theer boat, and sink it where I wouldhave drownded him, as I'm a living soul, if I had had one thought ofwhat was in him! As he sat afore me,' he said, wildly, holding out hisclenched right hand, 'as he sat afore me, face to face, strike me downdead, but I'd have drownded him, and thought it right!--I'm a going toseek my niece.'

'Where?' cried Ham, interposing himself before the door.

'Anywhere! I'm a going to seek my niece through the wureld. I'm a goingto find my poor niece in her shame, and bring her back. No one stop me!I tell you I'm a going to seek my niece!'

'No, no!' cried Mrs. Gummidge, coming between them, in a fit of crying.'No, no, Dan'l, not as you are now. Seek her in a little while, my lonelorn Dan'l, and that'll be but right! but not as you are now. Sit yedown, and give me your forgiveness for having ever been a worrit to you,Dan'l--what have my contraries ever been to this!--and let us speak aword about them times when she was first an orphan, and when Ham wastoo, and when I was a poor widder woman, and you took me in. It'llsoften your poor heart, Dan'l,' laying her head upon his shoulder, 'andyou'll bear your sorrow better; for you know the promise, Dan'l, "Asyou have done it unto one of the least of these, you have done it untome",--and that can never fail under this roof, that's been our shelterfor so many, many year!'

He was quite passive now; and when I heard him crying, the impulse thathad been upon me to go down upon my knees, and ask their pardon for thedesolation I had caused, and curse Steer--forth, yielded to a betterfeeling, My overcharged heart found the same relief, and I cried too.