I did not allow my resolution, with respect to the ParliamentaryDebates, to cool. It was one of the irons I began to heat immediately,and one of the irons I kept hot, and hammered at, with a perseveranceI may honestly admire. I bought an approved scheme of the noble art andmystery of stenography (which cost me ten and sixpence); and plungedinto a sea of perplexity that brought me, in a few weeks, to theconfines of distraction. The changes that were rung upon dots, whichin such a position meant such a thing, and in such another positionsomething else, entirely different; the wonderful vagaries that wereplayed by circles; the unaccountable consequences that resulted frommarks like flies' legs; the tremendous effects of a curve in a wrongplace; not only troubled my waking hours, but reappeared before me inmy sleep. When I had groped my way, blindly, through these difficulties,and had mastered the alphabet, which was an Egyptian Temple in itself,there then appeared a procession of new horrors, called arbitrarycharacters; the most despotic characters I have ever known; whoinsisted, for instance, that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb,meant expectation, and that a pen-and-ink sky-rocket, stood fordisadvantageous. When I had fixed these wretches in my mind, I foundthat they had driven everything else out of it; then, beginning again, Iforgot them; while I was picking them up, I dropped the other fragmentsof the system; in short, it was almost heart-breaking.

It might have been quite heart-breaking, but for Dora, who was the stayand anchor of my tempest-driven bark. Every scratch in the scheme wasa gnarled oak in the forest of difficulty, and I went on cutting themdown, one after another, with such vigour, that in three or four monthsI was in a condition to make an experiment on one of our crack speakersin the Commons. Shall I ever forget how the crack speaker walked offfrom me before I began, and left my imbecile pencil staggering about thepaper as if it were in a fit!

This would not do, it was quite clear. I was flying too high, and shouldnever get on, so. I resorted to Traddles for advice; who suggestedthat he should dictate speeches to me, at a pace, and with occasionalstoppages, adapted to my weakness. Very grateful for this friendly aid,I accepted the proposal; and night after night, almost every night, fora long time, we had a sort of Private Parliament in Buckingham Street,after I came home from the Doctor's.

I should like to see such a Parliament anywhere else! My aunt and Mr.Dick represented the Government or the Opposition (as the case mightbe), and Traddles, with the assistance of Enfield's Speakers, or avolume of parliamentary orations, thundered astonishing invectivesagainst them. Standing by the table, with his finger in the page to keepthe place, and his right arm flourishing above his head, Traddles, asMr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Lord Castlereagh, ViscountSidmouth, or Mr. Canning, would work himself into the most violentheats, and deliver the most withering denunciations of the profligacyand corruption of my aunt and Mr. Dick; while I used to sit, at a littledistance, with my notebook on my knee, fagging after him with all mymight and main. The inconsistency and recklessness of Traddles were notto be exceeded by any real politician. He was for any description ofpolicy, in the compass of a week; and nailed all sorts of colours toevery denomination of mast. My aunt, looking very like an immovableChancellor of the Exchequer, would occasionally throw in an interruptionor two, as 'Hear!' or 'No!' or 'Oh!' when the text seemed to require it:which was always a signal to Mr. Dick (a perfect country gentleman)to follow lustily with the same cry. But Mr. Dick got taxed withsuch things in the course of his Parliamentary career, and was maderesponsible for such awful consequences, that he became uncomfortable inhis mind sometimes. I believe he actually began to be afraid he reallyhad been doing something, tending to the annihilation of the Britishconstitution, and the ruin of the country.

Often and often we pursued these debates until the clock pointed tomidnight, and the candles were burning down. The result of so much goodpractice was, that by and by I began to keep pace with Traddles prettywell, and should have been quite triumphant if I had had the least ideawhat my notes were about. But, as to reading them after I had got them,I might as well have copied the Chinese inscriptions of an immensecollection of tea-chests, or the golden characters on all the great redand green bottles in the chemists' shops!

There was nothing for it, but to turn back and begin all over again. Itwas very hard, but I turned back, though with a heavy heart, and beganlaboriously and methodically to plod over the same tedious ground at asnail's pace; stopping to examine minutely every speck in the way, onall sides, and making the most desperate efforts to know these elusivecharacters by sight wherever I met them. I was always punctual atthe office; at the Doctor's too: and I really did work, as the commonexpression is, like a cart-horse. One day, when I went to the Commons asusual, I found Mr. Spenlow in the doorway looking extremely grave, andtalking to himself. As he was in the habit of complaining of pains inhis head--he had naturally a short throat, and I do seriously believehe over-starched himself--I was at first alarmed by the idea that he wasnot quite right in that direction; but he soon relieved my uneasiness.

Instead of returning my 'Good morning' with his usual affability, helooked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner, and coldly requested meto accompany him to a certain coffee-house, which, in those days, hada door opening into the Commons, just within the little archway in St.Paul's Churchyard. I complied, in a very uncomfortable state, and with awarm shooting all over me, as if my apprehensions were breaking out intobuds. When I allowed him to go on a little before, on account of thenarrowness of the way, I observed that he carried his head with a loftyair that was particularly unpromising; and my mind misgave me that hehad found out about my darling Dora.

If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I couldhardly have failed to know what was the matter when I followed himinto an upstairs room, and found Miss Murdstone there, supported bya background of sideboard, on which were several inverted tumblerssustaining lemons, and two of those extraordinary boxes, all corners andflutings, for sticking knives and forks in, which, happily for mankind,are now obsolete.

Miss Murdstone gave me her chilly finger-nails, and sat severely rigid.Mr. Spenlow shut the door, motioned me to a chair, and stood on thehearth-rug in front of the fireplace.

'Have the goodness to show Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow, what youhave in your reticule, Miss Murdstone.'

I believe it was the old identical steel-clasped reticule of mychildhood, that shut up like a bite. Compressing her lips, in sympathywith the snap, Miss Murdstone opened it--opening her mouth a littleat the same time--and produced my last letter to Dora, teeming withexpressions of devoted affection.

'I believe that is your writing, Mr. Copperfield?' said Mr. Spenlow.

I was very hot, and the voice I heard was very unlike mine, when I said,'It is, sir!'

'If I am not mistaken,' said Mr. Spenlow, as Miss Murdstone brought aparcel of letters out of her reticule, tied round with the dearest bitof blue ribbon, 'those are also from your pen, Mr. Copperfield?'

I took them from her with a most desolate sensation; and, glancing atsuch phrases at the top, as 'My ever dearest and own Dora,' 'My bestbeloved angel,' 'My blessed one for ever,' and the like, blushed deeply,and inclined my head.

'No, thank you!' said Mr. Spenlow, coldly, as I mechanically offeredthem back to him. 'I will not deprive you of them. Miss Murdstone, be sogood as to proceed!'

That gentle creature, after a moment's thoughtful survey of the carpet,delivered herself with much dry unction as follows.

'I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of Miss Spenlow, inreference to David Copperfield, for some time. I observed Miss Spenlowand David Copperfield, when they first met; and the impression made uponme then was not agreeable. The depravity of the human heart is such--'

'You will oblige me, ma'am,' interrupted Mr. Spenlow, 'by confiningyourself to facts.'

Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if protestingagainst this unseemly interruption, and with frowning dignity resumed:

'Since I am to confine myself to facts, I will state them as dryly as Ican. Perhaps that will be considered an acceptable course of proceeding.I have already said, sir, that I have had my suspicions of Miss Spenlow,in reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I have frequentlyendeavoured to find decisive corroboration of those suspicions, butwithout effect. I have therefore forborne to mention them to MissSpenlow's father'; looking severely at him--'knowing how littledisposition there usually is in such cases, to acknowledge theconscientious discharge of duty.'

Mr. Spenlow seemed quite cowed by the gentlemanly sternness of MissMurdstone's manner, and deprecated her severity with a conciliatorylittle wave of his hand.

'On my return to Norwood, after the period of absence occasioned by mybrother's marriage,' pursued Miss Murdstone in a disdainful voice, 'andon the return of Miss Spenlow from her visit to her friend Miss Mills,I imagined that the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion forsuspicion than before. Therefore I watched Miss Spenlow closely.'

Dear, tender little Dora, so unconscious of this Dragon's eye!

'Still,' resumed Miss Murdstone, 'I found no proof until last night.It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too many letters from herfriend Miss Mills; but Miss Mills being her friend with her father'sfull concurrence,' another telling blow at Mr. Spenlow, 'it was notfor me to interfere. If I may not be permitted to allude to the naturaldepravity of the human heart, at least I may--I must--be permitted, sofar to refer to misplaced confidence.'

Mr. Spenlow apologetically murmured his assent.

'Last evening after tea,' pursued Miss Murdstone, 'I observed the littledog starting, rolling, and growling about the drawing-room, worryingsomething. I said to Miss Spenlow, "Dora, what is that the dog has inhis mouth? It's paper." Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to herfrock, gave a sudden cry, and ran to the dog. I interposed, and said,"Dora, my love, you must permit me."'

Oh Jip, miserable Spaniel, this wretchedness, then, was your work!

'Miss Spenlow endeavoured,' said Miss Murdstone, 'to bribe me withkisses, work-boxes, and small articles of jewellery--that, of course,I pass over. The little dog retreated under the sofa on my approachinghim, and was with great difficulty dislodged by the fire-irons. Evenwhen dislodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth; and on myendeavouring to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being bitten,he kept it between his teeth so pertinaciously as to suffer himselfto be held suspended in the air by means of the document. At length Iobtained possession of it. After perusing it, I taxed Miss Spenlow withhaving many such letters in her possession; and ultimately obtained fromher the packet which is now in David Copperfield's hand.'

Here she ceased; and snapping her reticule again, and shutting hermouth, looked as if she might be broken, but could never be bent.

'You have heard Miss Murdstone,' said Mr. Spenlow, turning to me. 'I begto ask, Mr. Copperfield, if you have anything to say in reply?'

The picture I had before me, of the beautiful little treasure of myheart, sobbing and crying all night--of her being alone, frightened,and wretched, then--of her having so piteously begged and prayed thatstony-hearted woman to forgive her--of her having vainly offered herthose kisses, work-boxes, and trinkets--of her being in such grievousdistress, and all for me--very much impaired the little dignity I hadbeen able to muster. I am afraid I was in a tremulous state for a minuteor so, though I did my best to disguise it.

'There is nothing I can say, sir,' I returned, 'except that all theblame is mine. Dora--'

'Miss Spenlow, if you please,' said her father, majestically.

'--was induced and persuaded by me,' I went on, swallowing that colderdesignation, 'to consent to this concealment, and I bitterly regret it.'

'You are very much to blame, sir,' said Mr. Spenlow, walking to and froupon the hearth-rug, and emphasizing what he said with his whole bodyinstead of his head, on account of the stiffness of his cravat andspine. 'You have done a stealthy and unbecoming action, Mr. Copperfield.When I take a gentleman to my house, no matter whether he is nineteen,twenty-nine, or ninety, I take him there in a spirit of confidence.If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dishonourable action, Mr.Copperfield.'

'I feel it, sir, I assure you,' I returned. 'But I never thought so,before. Sincerely, honestly, indeed, Mr. Spenlow, I never thought so,before. I love Miss Spenlow to that extent--'

'Pooh! nonsense!' said Mr. Spenlow, reddening. 'Pray don't tell me to myface that you love my daughter, Mr. Copperfield!'

'Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir?' I returned, with allhumility.

'Can you defend your conduct if you do, sir?' said Mr. Spenlow, stoppingshort upon the hearth-rug. 'Have you considered your years, and mydaughter's years, Mr. Copperfield? Have you considered what it is toundermine the confidence that should subsist between my daughter andmyself? Have you considered my daughter's station in life, the projectsI may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary intentions Imay have with reference to her? Have you considered anything, Mr.Copperfield?'

'Very little, sir, I am afraid;' I answered, speaking to him asrespectfully and sorrowfully as I felt; 'but pray believe me, I haveconsidered my own worldly position. When I explained it to you, we werealready engaged--'

'I BEG,' said Mr. Spenlow, more like Punch than I had ever seen him,as he energetically struck one hand upon the other--I could not helpnoticing that even in my despair; 'that YOU Will NOT talk to me ofengagements, Mr. Copperfield!'

The otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed contemptuously in oneshort syllable.

'When I explained my altered position to you, sir,' I began again,substituting a new form of expression for what was so unpalatable tohim, 'this concealment, into which I am so unhappy as to have led MissSpenlow, had begun. Since I have been in that altered position, I havestrained every nerve, I have exerted every energy, to improve it. I amsure I shall improve it in time. Will you grant me time--any length oftime? We are both so young, sir,--'

'You are right,' interrupted Mr. Spenlow, nodding his head a greatmany times, and frowning very much, 'you are both very young. It's allnonsense. Let there be an end of the nonsense. Take away those letters,and throw them in the fire. Give me Miss Spenlow's letters to throw inthe fire; and although our future intercourse must, you are aware, berestricted to the Commons here, we will agree to make no further mentionof the past. Come, Mr. Copperfield, you don't want sense; and this isthe sensible course.'

No. I couldn't think of agreeing to it. I was very sorry, but therewas a higher consideration than sense. Love was above all earthlyconsiderations, and I loved Dora to idolatry, and Dora loved me. Ididn't exactly say so; I softened it down as much as I could; but Iimplied it, and I was resolute upon it. I don't think I made myself veryridiculous, but I know I was resolute.

'Very well, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow, 'I must try my influencewith my daughter.'

Miss Murdstone, by an expressive sound, a long drawn respiration, whichwas neither a sigh nor a moan, but was like both, gave it as her opinionthat he should have done this at first.

'I must try,' said Mr. Spenlow, confirmed by this support, 'myinfluence with my daughter. Do you decline to take those letters, Mr.Copperfield?' For I had laid them on the table.

Yes. I told him I hoped he would not think it wrong, but I couldn'tpossibly take them from Miss Murdstone.

'Nor from me?' said Mr. Spenlow.

No, I replied with the profoundest respect; nor from him.

'Very well!' said Mr. Spenlow.

A silence succeeding, I was undecided whether to go or stay. At lengthI was moving quietly towards the door, with the intention of saying thatperhaps I should consult his feelings best by withdrawing: when he said,with his hands in his coat pockets, into which it was as much as hecould do to get them; and with what I should call, upon the whole, adecidedly pious air:

'You are probably aware, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not altogetherdestitute of worldly possessions, and that my daughter is my nearest anddearest relative?'

I hurriedly made him a reply to the effect, that I hoped the error intowhich I had been betrayed by the desperate nature of my love, did notinduce him to think me mercenary too?

'I don't allude to the matter in that light,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'Itwould be better for yourself, and all of us, if you WERE mercenary, Mr.Copperfield--I mean, if you were more discreet and less influenced byall this youthful nonsense. No. I merely say, with quite another view,you are probably aware I have some property to bequeath to my child?'

I certainly supposed so.

'And you can hardly think,' said Mr. Spenlow, 'having experience of whatwe see, in the Commons here, every day, of the various unaccountableand negligent proceedings of men, in respect of their testamentaryarrangements--of all subjects, the one on which perhaps the strangestrevelations of human inconsistency are to be met with--but that mine aremade?'

I inclined my head in acquiescence.

'I should not allow,' said Mr. Spenlow, with an evident increase ofpious sentiment, and slowly shaking his head as he poised himself uponhis toes and heels alternately, 'my suitable provision for my child tobe influenced by a piece of youthful folly like the present. It is merefolly. Mere nonsense. In a little while, it will weigh lighter thanany feather. But I might--I might--if this silly business were notcompletely relinquished altogether, be induced in some anxious momentto guard her from, and surround her with protections against, theconsequences of any foolish step in the way of marriage. Now, Mr.Copperfield, I hope that you will not render it necessary for me toopen, even for a quarter of an hour, that closed page in the book oflife, and unsettle, even for a quarter of an hour, grave affairs longsince composed.'

There was a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm sunset air about him, whichquite affected me. He was so peaceful and resigned--clearly had hisaffairs in such perfect train, and so systematically wound up--that hewas a man to feel touched in the contemplation of. I really think I sawtears rise to his eyes, from the depth of his own feeling of all this.

But what could I do? I could not deny Dora and my own heart. When hetold me I had better take a week to consider of what he had said, howcould I say I wouldn't take a week, yet how could I fail to know that noamount of weeks could influence such love as mine?

'In the meantime, confer with Miss Trotwood, or with any person withany knowledge of life,' said Mr. Spenlow, adjusting his cravat with bothhands. 'Take a week, Mr. Copperfield.'

I submitted; and, with a countenance as expressive as I was able tomake it of dejected and despairing constancy, came out of the room. MissMurdstone's heavy eyebrows followed me to the door--I say her eyebrowsrather than her eyes, because they were much more important in herface--and she looked so exactly as she used to look, at about thathour of the morning, in our parlour at Blunderstone, that I could havefancied I had been breaking down in my lessons again, and that thedead weight on my mind was that horrible old spelling-book, withoval woodcuts, shaped, to my youthful fancy, like the glasses out ofspectacles.

When I got to the office, and, shutting out old Tiffey and the rest ofthem with my hands, sat at my desk, in my own particular nook, thinkingof this earthquake that had taken place so unexpectedly, and in thebitterness of my spirit cursing Jip, I fell into such a state of tormentabout Dora, that I wonder I did not take up my hat and rush insanely toNorwood. The idea of their frightening her, and making her cry, and ofmy not being there to comfort her, was so excruciating, that it impelledme to write a wild letter to Mr. Spenlow, beseeching him not to visitupon her the consequences of my awful destiny. I implored him to spareher gentle nature--not to crush a fragile flower--and addressed himgenerally, to the best of my remembrance, as if, instead of being herfather, he had been an Ogre, or the Dragon of Wantley.3 This letter Isealed and laid upon his desk before he returned; and when he came in,I saw him, through the half-opened door of his room, take it up and readit.

He said nothing about it all the morning; but before he went away in theafternoon he called me in, and told me that I need not make myself atall uneasy about his daughter's happiness. He had assured her, he said,that it was all nonsense; and he had nothing more to say to her. Hebelieved he was an indulgent father (as indeed he was), and I mightspare myself any solicitude on her account.

'You may make it necessary, if you are foolish or obstinate, Mr.Copperfield,' he observed, 'for me to send my daughter abroad again,for a term; but I have a better opinion of you. I hope you will be wiserthan that, in a few days. As to Miss Murdstone,' for I had alluded toher in the letter, 'I respect that lady's vigilance, and feel obliged toher; but she has strict charge to avoid the subject. All I desire, Mr.Copperfield, is, that it should be forgotten. All you have got to do,Mr. Copperfield, is to forget it.'

All! In the note I wrote to Miss Mills, I bitterly quoted thissentiment. All I had to do, I said, with gloomy sarcasm, was to forgetDora. That was all, and what was that! I entreated Miss Mills to seeme, that evening. If it could not be done with Mr. Mills's sanctionand concurrence, I besought a clandestine interview in the back kitchenwhere the Mangle was. I informed her that my reason was tottering onits throne, and only she, Miss Mills, could prevent its being deposed.I signed myself, hers distractedly; and I couldn't help feeling, whileI read this composition over, before sending it by a porter, that it wassomething in the style of Mr. Micawber.

However, I sent it. At night I repaired to Miss Mills's street, andwalked up and down, until I was stealthily fetched in by Miss Mills'smaid, and taken the area way to the back kitchen. I have since seenreason to believe that there was nothing on earth to prevent my going inat the front door, and being shown up into the drawing-room, except MissMills's love of the romantic and mysterious.

In the back kitchen, I raved as became me. I went there, I suppose,to make a fool of myself, and I am quite sure I did it. Miss Mills hadreceived a hasty note from Dora, telling her that all was discovered,and saying. 'Oh pray come to me, Julia, do, do!' But Miss Mills,mistrusting the acceptability of her presence to the higher powers, hadnot yet gone; and we were all benighted in the Desert of Sahara.

Miss Mills had a wonderful flow of words, and liked to pour them out. Icould not help feeling, though she mingled her tears with mine, that shehad a dreadful luxury in our afflictions. She petted them, as I may say,and made the most of them. A deep gulf, she observed, had opened betweenDora and me, and Love could only span it with its rainbow. Love mustsuffer in this stern world; it ever had been so, it ever would be so. Nomatter, Miss Mills remarked. Hearts confined by cobwebs would burst atlast, and then Love was avenged.

This was small consolation, but Miss Mills wouldn't encourage fallacioushopes. She made me much more wretched than I was before, and I felt (andtold her with the deepest gratitude) that she was indeed a friend. Weresolved that she should go to Dora the first thing in the morning,and find some means of assuring her, either by looks or words, of mydevotion and misery. We parted, overwhelmed with grief; and I think MissMills enjoyed herself completely.

I confided all to my aunt when I got home; and in spite of all she couldsay to me, went to bed despairing. I got up despairing, and went outdespairing. It was Saturday morning, and I went straight to the Commons.

I was surprised, when I came within sight of our office-door, to see theticket-porters standing outside talking together, and some half-dozenstragglers gazing at the windows which were shut up. I quickened mypace, and, passing among them, wondering at their looks, went hurriedlyin.

The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything. Old Tiffey, forthe first time in his life I should think, was sitting on somebodyelse's stool, and had not hung up his hat.

'This is a dreadful calamity, Mr. Copperfield,' said he, as I entered.

'What is?' I exclaimed. 'What's the matter?'

'Don't you know?' cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, coming roundme.

'No!' said I, looking from face to face.

'Mr. Spenlow,' said Tiffey.

'What about him!'

'Dead!' I thought it was the office reeling, and not I, as one ofthe clerks caught hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, untied myneck-cloth, and brought me some water. I have no idea whether this tookany time.

'Dead?' said I.

'He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phaeton by himself,'said Tiffey, 'having sent his own groom home by the coach, as hesometimes did, you know--'

'Well?'

'The phaeton went home without him. The horses stopped at thestable-gate. The man went out with a lantern. Nobody in the carriage.'

'Had they run away?'

'They were not hot,' said Tiffey, putting on his glasses; 'no hotter, Iunderstand, than they would have been, going down at the usual pace. Thereins were broken, but they had been dragging on the ground. The housewas roused up directly, and three of them went out along the road. Theyfound him a mile off.'

'More than a mile off, Mr. Tiffey,' interposed a junior.

'Was it? I believe you are right,' said Tiffey,--'more than a mileoff--not far from the church--lying partly on the roadside, and partlyon the path, upon his face. Whether he fell out in a fit, or got out,feeling ill before the fit came on--or even whether he was quite deadthen, though there is no doubt he was quite insensible--no one appearsto know. If he breathed, certainly he never spoke. Medical assistancewas got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless.'

I cannot describe the state of mind into which I was thrown by thisintelligence. The shock of such an event happening so suddenly, andhappening to one with whom I had been in any respect at variance--theappalling vacancy in the room he had occupied so lately, where his chairand table seemed to wait for him, and his handwriting of yesterday waslike a ghost--the in--definable impossibility of separating him from theplace, and feeling, when the door opened, as if he might come in--thelazy hush and rest there was in the office, and the insatiable relishwith which our people talked about it, and other people came in andout all day, and gorged themselves with the subject--this is easilyintelligible to anyone. What I cannot describe is, how, in the innermostrecesses of my own heart, I had a lurking jealousy even of Death. HowI felt as if its might would push me from my ground in Dora's thoughts.How I was, in a grudging way I have no words for, envious of her grief.How it made me restless to think of her weeping to others, or beingconsoled by others. How I had a grasping, avaricious wish to shut outeverybody from her but myself, and to be all in all to her, at thatunseasonable time of all times.

In the trouble of this state of mind--not exclusively my own, I hope,but known to others--I went down to Norwood that night; and finding fromone of the servants, when I made my inquiries at the door, that MissMills was there, got my aunt to direct a letter to her, which I wrote.I deplored the untimely death of Mr. Spenlow, most sincerely, and shedtears in doing so. I entreated her to tell Dora, if Dora were in astate to hear it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost kindness andconsideration; and had coupled nothing but tenderness, not a single orreproachful word, with her name. I know I did this selfishly, to have myname brought before her; but I tried to believe it was an act of justiceto his memory. Perhaps I did believe it.

My aunt received a few lines next day in reply; addressed, outside, toher; within, to me. Dora was overcome by grief; and when her friend hadasked her should she send her love to me, had only cried, as she wasalways crying, 'Oh, dear papa! oh, poor papa!' But she had not said No,and that I made the most of.

Mr. jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the occurrence, came to theoffice a few days afterwards. He and Tiffey were closeted together forsome few moments, and then Tiffey looked out at the door and beckoned mein.

'Oh!' said Mr. jorkins. 'Mr. Tiffey and myself, Mr. Copperfield, areabout to examine the desks, the drawers, and other such repositoriesof the deceased, with the view of sealing up his private papers, andsearching for a Will. There is no trace of any, elsewhere. It may be aswell for you to assist us, if you please.'

I had been in agony to obtain some knowledge of the circumstancesin which my Dora would be placed--as, in whose guardianship, and soforth--and this was something towards it. We began the search at once;Mr. jorkins unlocking the drawers and desks, and we all taking out thepapers. The office-papers we placed on one side, and the private papers(which were not numerous) on the other. We were very grave; and when wecame to a stray seal, or pencil-case, or ring, or any little article ofthat kind which we associated personally with him, we spoke very low.

We had sealed up several packets; and were still going on dustily andquietly, when Mr. jorkins said to us, applying exactly the same words tohis late partner as his late partner had applied to him:

'Mr. Spenlow was very difficult to move from the beaten track. You knowwhat he was! I am disposed to think he had made no will.'

'Oh, I know he had!' said I.

They both stopped and looked at me. 'On the very day when I last sawhim,' said I, 'he told me that he had, and that his affairs were longsince settled.'

Mr. jorkins and old Tiffey shook their heads with one accord.

'That looks unpromising,' said Tiffey.

'Very unpromising,' said Mr. jorkins.

'Surely you don't doubt--' I began.

'My good Mr. Copperfield!' said Tiffey, laying his hand upon my arm, andshutting up both his eyes as he shook his head: 'if you had been in theCommons as long as I have, you would know that there is no subject onwhich men are so inconsistent, and so little to be trusted.'

'Why, bless my soul, he made that very remark!' I replied persistently.

'I should call that almost final,' observed Tiffey. 'My opinion is--nowill.'

It appeared a wonderful thing to me, but it turned out that there wasno will. He had never so much as thought of making one, so far as hispapers afforded any evidence; for there was no kind of hint, sketch, ormemorandum, of any testamentary intention whatever. What was scarcelyless astonishing to me, was, that his affairs were in a most disorderedstate. It was extremely difficult, I heard, to make out what he owed, orwhat he had paid, or of what he died possessed. It was considered likelythat for years he could have had no clear opinion on these subjectshimself. By little and little it came out, that, in the competition onall points of appearance and gentility then running high in the Commons,he had spent more than his professional income, which was not a verylarge one, and had reduced his private means, if they ever had beengreat (which was exceedingly doubtful), to a very low ebb indeed. Therewas a sale of the furniture and lease, at Norwood; and Tiffey told me,little thinking how interested I was in the story, that, paying all thejust debts of the deceased, and deducting his share of outstanding badand doubtful debts due to the firm, he wouldn't give a thousand poundsfor all the assets remaining.

This was at the expiration of about six weeks. I had suffered torturesall the time; and thought I really must have laid violent hands uponmyself, when Miss Mills still reported to me, that my broken-heartedlittle Dora would say nothing, when I was mentioned, but 'Oh, poor papa!Oh, dear papa!' Also, that she had no other relations than two aunts,maiden sisters of Mr. Spenlow, who lived at Putney, and who had not heldany other than chance communication with their brother for many years.Not that they had ever quarrelled (Miss Mills informed me); but thathaving been, on the occasion of Dora's christening, invited to tea, whenthey considered themselves privileged to be invited to dinner, theyhad expressed their opinion in writing, that it was 'better for thehappiness of all parties' that they should stay away. Since which theyhad gone their road, and their brother had gone his.

These two ladies now emerged from their retirement, and proposed totake Dora to live at Putney. Dora, clinging to them both, and weeping,exclaimed, 'O yes, aunts! Please take Julia Mills and me and Jip toPutney!' So they went, very soon after the funeral.

How I found time to haunt Putney, I am sure I don't know; but Icontrived, by some means or other, to prowl about the neighbourhoodpretty often. Miss Mills, for the more exact discharge of the duties offriendship, kept a journal; and she used to meet me sometimes, on theCommon, and read it, or (if she had not time to do that) lend it to me.How I treasured up the entries, of which I subjoin a sample--!

'Monday. My sweet D. still much depressed. Headache. Called attention toJ. as being beautifully sleek. D. fondled J. Associations thus awakened,opened floodgates of sorrow. Rush of grief admitted. (Are tears thedewdrops of the heart? J. M.)

'Tuesday. D. weak and nervous. Beautiful in pallor. (Do we not remarkthis in moon likewise? J. M.) D., J. M. and J. took airing in carriage.J. looking out of window, and barking violently at dustman, occasionedsmile to overspread features of D. (Of such slight links is chain oflife composed! J. M.)

'Wednesday. D. comparatively cheerful. Sang to her, as congenial melody,"Evening Bells". Effect not soothing, but reverse. D. inexpressiblyaffected. Found sobbing afterwards, in own room. Quoted versesrespecting self and young Gazelle. Ineffectually. Also referred toPatience on Monument. (Qy. Why on monument? J. M.)

'Thursday. D. certainly improved. Better night. Slight tinge of damaskrevisiting cheek. Resolved to mention name of D. C. Introduced same,cautiously, in course of airing. D. immediately overcome. "Oh, dear,dear Julia! Oh, I have been a naughty and undutiful child!" Soothedand caressed. Drew ideal picture of D. C. on verge of tomb. D. againovercome. "Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do? Oh, take me somewhere!"Much alarmed. Fainting of D. and glass of water from public-house.(Poetical affinity. Chequered sign on door-post; chequered human life.Alas! J. M.)

'Friday. Day of incident. Man appears in kitchen, with blue bag, "forlady's boots left out to heel". Cook replies, "No such orders." Manargues point. Cook withdraws to inquire, leaving man alone with J. OnCook's return, man still argues point, but ultimately goes. J. missing.D. distracted. Information sent to police. Man to be identified bybroad nose, and legs like balustrades of bridge. Search made inevery direction. No J. D. weeping bitterly, and inconsolable. Renewedreference to young Gazelle. Appropriate, but unavailing. Towardsevening, strange boy calls. Brought into parlour. Broad nose, but nobalustrades. Says he wants a pound, and knows a dog. Declines to explainfurther, though much pressed. Pound being produced by D. takes Cookto little house, where J. alone tied up to leg of table. Joy of D.who dances round J. while he eats his supper. Emboldened by this happychange, mention D. C. upstairs. D. weeps afresh, cries piteously, "Oh,don't, don't, don't! It is so wicked to think of anything but poorpapa!"--embraces J. and sobs herself to sleep. (Must not D. C. confinehimself to the broad pinions of Time? J. M.)'

Miss Mills and her journal were my sole consolation at this period.To see her, who had seen Dora but a little while before--to trace theinitial letter of Dora's name through her sympathetic pages--to be mademore and more miserable by her--were my only comforts. I felt as if Ihad been living in a palace of cards, which had tumbled down, leavingonly Miss Mills and me among the ruins; I felt as if some grim enchanterhad drawn a magic circle round the innocent goddess of my heart, whichnothing indeed but those same strong pinions, capable of carrying somany people over so much, would enable me to enter!