My aunt, beginning, I imagine, to be made seriously uncomfortable by myprolonged dejection, made a pretence of being anxious that I should goto Dover, to see that all was working well at the cottage, which waslet; and to conclude an agreement, with the same tenant, for a longerterm of occupation. Janet was drafted into the service of Mrs. Strong,where I saw her every day. She had been undecided, on leaving Dover,whether or no to give the finishing touch to that renunciation ofmankind in which she had been educated, by marrying a pilot; but shedecided against that venture. Not so much for the sake of principle, Ibelieve, as because she happened not to like him.

Although it required an effort to leave Miss Mills, I fell ratherwillingly into my aunt's pretence, as a means of enabling me to pass afew tranquil hours with Agnes. I consulted the good Doctor relativeto an absence of three days; and the Doctor wishing me to take thatrelaxation,--he wished me to take more; but my energy could not bearthat,--I made up my mind to go.

As to the Commons, I had no great occasion to be particular about myduties in that quarter. To say the truth, we were getting in no verygood odour among the tip-top proctors, and were rapidly sliding downto but a doubtful position. The business had been indifferent under Mr.jorkins, before Mr. Spenlow's time; and although it had been quickenedby the infusion of new blood, and by the display which Mr. Spenlow made,still it was not established on a sufficiently strong basis to bear,without being shaken, such a blow as the sudden loss of its activemanager. It fell off very much. Mr. jorkins, notwithstanding hisreputation in the firm, was an easy-going, incapable sort of man, whosereputation out of doors was not calculated to back it up. I was turnedover to him now, and when I saw him take his snuff and let the businessgo, I regretted my aunt's thousand pounds more than ever.

But this was not the worst of it. There were a number of hangers-on andoutsiders about the Commons, who, without being proctors themselves,dabbled in common-form business, and got it done by real proctors, wholent their names in consideration of a share in the spoil;--and therewere a good many of these too. As our house now wanted business on anyterms, we joined this noble band; and threw out lures to the hangers-onand outsiders, to bring their business to us. Marriage licences andsmall probates were what we all looked for, and what paid us best;and the competition for these ran very high indeed. Kidnappers andinveiglers were planted in all the avenues of entrance to the Commons,with instructions to do their utmost to cut off all persons in mourning,and all gentlemen with anything bashful in their appearance, and enticethem to the offices in which their respective employers were interested;which instructions were so well observed, that I myself, before I wasknown by sight, was twice hustled into the premises of our principalopponent. The conflicting interests of these touting gentlemen being ofa nature to irritate their feelings, personal collisions took place;and the Commons was even scandalized by our principal inveigler (whohad formerly been in the wine trade, and afterwards in the sworn brokeryline) walking about for some days with a black eye. Any one of thesescouts used to think nothing of politely assisting an old lady inblack out of a vehicle, killing any proctor whom she inquired for,representing his employer as the lawful successor and representative ofthat proctor, and bearing the old lady off (sometimes greatly affected)to his employer's office. Many captives were brought to me in this way.As to marriage licences, the competition rose to such a pitch, that ashy gentleman in want of one, had nothing to do but submit himselfto the first inveigler, or be fought for, and become the prey of thestrongest. One of our clerks, who was an outsider, used, in the heightof this contest, to sit with his hat on, that he might be ready to rushout and swear before a surrogate any victim who was brought in. Thesystem of inveigling continues, I believe, to this day. The last time Iwas in the Commons, a civil able-bodied person in a white apron pouncedout upon me from a doorway, and whispering the word 'Marriage-licence'in my ear, was with great difficulty prevented from taking me up inhis arms and lifting me into a proctor's. From this digression, let meproceed to Dover.

I found everything in a satisfactory state at the cottage; and wasenabled to gratify my aunt exceedingly by reporting that the tenantinherited her feud, and waged incessant war against donkeys. Havingsettled the little business I had to transact there, and slept there onenight, I walked on to Canterbury early in the morning. It was nowwinter again; and the fresh, cold windy day, and the sweeping downland,brightened up my hopes a little.

Coming into Canterbury, I loitered through the old streets with a soberpleasure that calmed my spirits, and eased my heart. There were the oldsigns, the old names over the shops, the old people serving in them. Itappeared so long, since I had been a schoolboy there, that I wonderedthe place was so little changed, until I reflected how little Iwas changed myself. Strange to say, that quiet influence which wasinseparable in my mind from Agnes, seemed to pervade even the city whereshe dwelt. The venerable cathedral towers, and the old jackdaws androoks whose airy voices made them more retired than perfect silencewould have done; the battered gateways, one stuck full with statues,long thrown down, and crumbled away, like the reverential pilgrimswho had gazed upon them; the still nooks, where the ivied growth ofcenturies crept over gabled ends and ruined walls; the ancient houses,the pastoral landscape of field, orchard, and garden; everywhere--oneverything--I felt the same serener air, the same calm, thoughtful,softening spirit.

Arrived at Mr. Wickfield's house, I found, in the little lower room onthe ground floor, where Uriah Heep had been of old accustomed to sit,Mr. Micawber plying his pen with great assiduity. He was dressed in alegal-looking suit of black, and loomed, burly and large, in that smalloffice.

Mr. Micawber was extremely glad to see me, but a little confused too.He would have conducted me immediately into the presence of Uriah, but Ideclined.

'I know the house of old, you recollect,' said I, 'and will find my wayupstairs. How do you like the law, Mr. Micawber?'

'My dear Copperfield,' he replied. 'To a man possessed of the higherimaginative powers, the objection to legal studies is the amount ofdetail which they involve. Even in our professional correspondence,'said Mr. Micawber, glancing at some letters he was writing, 'the mind isnot at liberty to soar to any exalted form of expression. Still, it is agreat pursuit. A great pursuit!'

He then told me that he had become the tenant of Uriah Heep's old house;and that Mrs. Micawber would be delighted to receive me, once more,under her own roof.

'It is humble,' said Mr. Micawber, '--to quote a favourite expressionof my friend Heep; but it may prove the stepping-stone to more ambitiousdomiciliary accommodation.'

I asked him whether he had reason, so far, to be satisfied with hisfriend Heep's treatment of him? He got up to ascertain if the door wereclose shut, before he replied, in a lower voice:

'My dear Copperfield, a man who labours under the pressure of pecuniaryembarrassments, is, with the generality of people, at a disadvantage.That disadvantage is not diminished, when that pressure necessitates thedrawing of stipendiary emoluments, before those emoluments are strictlydue and payable. All I can say is, that my friend Heep has respondedto appeals to which I need not more particularly refer, in a mannercalculated to redound equally to the honour of his head, and of hisheart.'

'I should not have supposed him to be very free with his money either,'I observed.

'Pardon me!' said Mr. Micawber, with an air of constraint, 'I speak ofmy friend Heep as I have experience.'

'I am glad your experience is so favourable,' I returned.

'You are very obliging, my dear Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber; andhummed a tune.

'Do you see much of Mr. Wickfield?' I asked, to change the subject.

'Not much,' said Mr. Micawber, slightingly. 'Mr. Wickfield is, I daresay, a man of very excellent intentions; but he is--in short, he isobsolete.'

'I am afraid his partner seeks to make him so,' said I.

'My dear Copperfield!' returned Mr. Micawber, after some uneasyevolutions on his stool, 'allow me to offer a remark! I am here, ina capacity of confidence. I am here, in a position of trust. Thediscussion of some topics, even with Mrs. Micawber herself (so long thepartner of my various vicissitudes, and a woman of a remarkable lucidityof intellect), is, I am led to consider, incompatible with the functionsnow devolving on me. I would therefore take the liberty of suggestingthat in our friendly intercourse--which I trust will never bedisturbed!--we draw a line. On one side of this line,' said Mr.Micawber, representing it on the desk with the office ruler, 'is thewhole range of the human intellect, with a trifling exception; onthe other, IS that exception; that is to say, the affairs of MessrsWickfield and Heep, with all belonging and appertaining thereunto. Itrust I give no offence to the companion of my youth, in submitting thisproposition to his cooler judgement?'

Though I saw an uneasy change in Mr. Micawber, which sat tightly onhim, as if his new duties were a misfit, I felt I had no right to beoffended. My telling him so, appeared to relieve him; and he shook handswith me.

'I am charmed, Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, 'let me assure you, withMiss Wickfield. She is a very superior young lady, of very remarkableattractions, graces, and virtues. Upon my honour,' said Mr. Micawber,indefinitely kissing his hand and bowing with his genteelest air, 'I doHomage to Miss Wickfield! Hem!' 'I am glad of that, at least,' said I.

'If you had not assured us, my dear Copperfield, on the occasion of thatagreeable afternoon we had the happiness of passing with you, that D.was your favourite letter,' said Mr. Micawber, 'I should unquestionablyhave supposed that A. had been so.'

We have all some experience of a feeling, that comes over usoccasionally, of what we are saying and doing having been said and donebefore, in a remote time--of our having been surrounded, dim ages ago,by the same faces, objects, and circumstances--of our knowing perfectlywhat will be said next, as if we suddenly remembered it! I never hadthis mysterious impression more strongly in my life, than before heuttered those words.

I took my leave of Mr. Micawber, for the time, charging him with my bestremembrances to all at home. As I left him, resuming his stool and hispen, and rolling his head in his stock, to get it into easier writingorder, I clearly perceived that there was something interposed betweenhim and me, since he had come into his new functions, which preventedour getting at each other as we used to do, and quite altered thecharacter of our intercourse.

There was no one in the quaint old drawing-room, though it presentedtokens of Mrs. Heep's whereabouts. I looked into the room stillbelonging to Agnes, and saw her sitting by the fire, at a prettyold-fashioned desk she had, writing.

My darkening the light made her look up. What a pleasure to be the causeof that bright change in her attentive face, and the object of thatsweet regard and welcome!

'Ah, Agnes!' said I, when we were sitting together, side by side; 'Ihave missed you so much, lately!'

'Indeed?' she replied. 'Again! And so soon?'

I shook my head.

'I don't know how it is, Agnes; I seem to want some faculty of mind thatI ought to have. You were so much in the habit of thinking for me, inthe happy old days here, and I came so naturally to you for counsel andsupport, that I really think I have missed acquiring it.'

'And what is it?' said Agnes, cheerfully.

'I don't know what to call it,' I replied. 'I think I am earnest andpersevering?'

'I am sure of it,' said Agnes.

'And patient, Agnes?' I inquired, with a little hesitation.

'Yes,' returned Agnes, laughing. 'Pretty well.'

'And yet,' said I, 'I get so miserable and worried, and am so unsteadyand irresolute in my power of assuring myself, that I know I mustwant--shall I call it--reliance, of some kind?'

'Call it so, if you will,' said Agnes.

'Well!' I returned. 'See here! You come to London, I rely on you, and Ihave an object and a course at once. I am driven out of it, I comehere, and in a moment I feel an altered person. The circumstances thatdistressed me are not changed, since I came into this room; but aninfluence comes over me in that short interval that alters me, oh, howmuch for the better! What is it? What is your secret, Agnes?'

Her head was bent down, looking at the fire.

'It's the old story,' said I. 'Don't laugh, when I say it was alwaysthe same in little things as it is in greater ones. My old troubles werenonsense, and now they are serious; but whenever I have gone away frommy adopted sister--'

Agnes looked up--with such a Heavenly face!--and gave me her hand, whichI kissed.

'Whenever I have not had you, Agnes, to advise and approve in thebeginning, I have seemed to go wild, and to get into all sorts ofdifficulty. When I have come to you, at last (as I have always done),I have come to peace and happiness. I come home, now, like a tiredtraveller, and find such a blessed sense of rest!'

I felt so deeply what I said, it affected me so sincerely, that my voicefailed, and I covered my face with my hand, and broke into tears. Iwrite the truth. Whatever contradictions and inconsistencies there werewithin me, as there are within so many of us; whatever might have beenso different, and so much better; whatever I had done, in which I hadperversely wandered away from the voice of my own heart; I knew nothingof. I only knew that I was fervently in earnest, when I felt the restand peace of having Agnes near me.

In her placid sisterly manner; with her beaming eyes; with her tendervoice; and with that sweet composure, which had long ago made the housethat held her quite a sacred place to me; she soon won me from thisweakness, and led me on to tell all that had happened since our lastmeeting.

'And there is not another word to tell, Agnes,' said I, when I had madean end of my confidence. 'Now, my reliance is on you.'

'But it must not be on me, Trotwood,' returned Agnes, with a pleasantsmile. 'It must be on someone else.'

'On Dora?' said I.

'Assuredly.'

'Why, I have not mentioned, Agnes,' said I, a little embarrassed, 'thatDora is rather difficult to--I would not, for the world, say, to relyupon, because she is the soul of purity and truth--but rather difficultto--I hardly know how to express it, really, Agnes. She is a timidlittle thing, and easily disturbed and frightened. Some time ago, beforeher father's death, when I thought it right to mention to her--but I'lltell you, if you will bear with me, how it was.'

Accordingly, I told Agnes about my declaration of poverty, about thecookery-book, the housekeeping accounts, and all the rest of it.

'Oh, Trotwood!' she remonstrated, with a smile. 'Just your old headlongway! You might have been in earnest in striving to get on in the world,without being so very sudden with a timid, loving, inexperienced girl.Poor Dora!'

I never heard such sweet forbearing kindness expressed in a voice,as she expressed in making this reply. It was as if I had seen heradmiringly and tenderly embracing Dora, and tacitly reproving me, byher considerate protection, for my hot haste in fluttering that littleheart. It was as if I had seen Dora, in all her fascinating artlessness,caressing Agnes, and thanking her, and coaxingly appealing against me,and loving me with all her childish innocence.

I felt so grateful to Agnes, and admired her so! I saw those twotogether, in a bright perspective, such well-associated friends, eachadorning the other so much!

'What ought I to do then, Agnes?' I inquired, after looking at the firea little while. 'What would it be right to do?'

'I think,' said Agnes, 'that the honourable course to take, would be towrite to those two ladies. Don't you think that any secret course is anunworthy one?'

'Yes. If YOU think so,' said I.

'I am poorly qualified to judge of such matters,' replied Agnes, witha modest hesitation, 'but I certainly feel--in short, I feel that yourbeing secret and clandestine, is not being like yourself.'

'Like myself, in the too high opinion you have of me, Agnes, I amafraid,' said I.

'Like yourself, in the candour of your nature,' she returned; 'andtherefore I would write to those two ladies. I would relate, as plainlyand as openly as possible, all that has taken place; and I would asktheir permission to visit sometimes, at their house. Considering thatyou are young, and striving for a place in life, I think it would bewell to say that you would readily abide by any conditions they mightimpose upon you. I would entreat them not to dismiss your request,without a reference to Dora; and to discuss it with her when they shouldthink the time suitable. I would not be too vehement,' said Agnes,gently, 'or propose too much. I would trust to my fidelity andperseverance--and to Dora.'

'But if they were to frighten Dora again, Agnes, by speaking to her,'said I. 'And if Dora were to cry, and say nothing about me!'

'Is that likely?' inquired Agnes, with the same sweet consideration inher face.

'God bless her, she is as easily scared as a bird,' said I. 'It mightbe! Or if the two Miss Spenlows (elderly ladies of that sort are oddcharacters sometimes) should not be likely persons to address in thatway!'

'I don't think, Trotwood,' returned Agnes, raising her soft eyesto mine, 'I would consider that. Perhaps it would be better only toconsider whether it is right to do this; and, if it is, to do it.'

I had no longer any doubt on the subject. With a lightened heart, thoughwith a profound sense of the weighty importance of my task, I devotedthe whole afternoon to the composition of the draft of this letter; forwhich great purpose, Agnes relinquished her desk to me. But first I wentdownstairs to see Mr. Wickfield and Uriah Heep.

I found Uriah in possession of a new, plaster-smelling office, built outin the garden; looking extraordinarily mean, in the midst of a quantityof books and papers. He received me in his usual fawning way, andpretended not to have heard of my arrival from Mr. Micawber; apretence I took the liberty of disbelieving. He accompanied me into Mr.Wickfield's room, which was the shadow of its former self--having beendivested of a variety of conveniences, for the accommodation of the newpartner--and stood before the fire, warming his back, and shaving hischin with his bony hand, while Mr. Wickfield and I exchanged greetings.

'You stay with us, Trotwood, while you remain in Canterbury?' said Mr.Wickfield, not without a glance at Uriah for his approval.

'Is there room for me?' said I.

'I am sure, Master Copperfield--I should say Mister, but the othercomes so natural,' said Uriah,--'I would turn out of your old room withpleasure, if it would be agreeable.'

'No, no,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'Why should you be inconvenienced? There'sanother room. There's another room.' 'Oh, but you know,' returned Uriah,with a grin, 'I should really be delighted!'

To cut the matter short, I said I would have the other room or none atall; so it was settled that I should have the other room; and, taking myleave of the firm until dinner, I went upstairs again.

I had hoped to have no other companion than Agnes. But Mrs. Heep hadasked permission to bring herself and her knitting near the fire, inthat room; on pretence of its having an aspect more favourable forher rheumatics, as the wind then was, than the drawing-room ordining-parlour. Though I could almost have consigned her to the merciesof the wind on the topmost pinnacle of the Cathedral, without remorse, Imade a virtue of necessity, and gave her a friendly salutation.

'I'm umbly thankful to you, sir,' said Mrs. Heep, in acknowledgement ofmy inquiries concerning her health, 'but I'm only pretty well. I haven'tmuch to boast of. If I could see my Uriah well settled in life, Icouldn't expect much more I think. How do you think my Ury looking,sir?'

I thought him looking as villainous as ever, and I replied that I saw nochange in him.

'Oh, don't you think he's changed?' said Mrs. Heep. 'There I must umblybeg leave to differ from you. Don't you see a thinness in him?'

'Not more than usual,' I replied.

'Don't you though!' said Mrs. Heep. 'But you don't take notice of himwith a mother's eye!'

His mother's eye was an evil eye to the rest of the world, I thought asit met mine, howsoever affectionate to him; and I believe she and herson were devoted to one another. It passed me, and went on to Agnes.

'Don't YOU see a wasting and a wearing in him, Miss Wickfield?' inquiredMrs. Heep.

'No,' said Agnes, quietly pursuing the work on which she was engaged.'You are too solicitous about him. He is very well.'

Mrs. Heep, with a prodigious sniff, resumed her knitting.

She never left off, or left us for a moment. I had arrived early in theday, and we had still three or four hours before dinner; but she satthere, plying her knitting-needles as monotonously as an hour-glassmight have poured out its sands. She sat on one side of the fire; I satat the desk in front of it; a little beyond me, on the other side, satAgnes. Whensoever, slowly pondering over my letter, I lifted up myeyes, and meeting the thoughtful face of Agnes, saw it clear, and beamencouragement upon me, with its own angelic expression, I was consciouspresently of the evil eye passing me, and going on to her, and comingback to me again, and dropping furtively upon the knitting. What theknitting was, I don't know, not being learned in that art; but it lookedlike a net; and as she worked away with those Chinese chopsticks ofknitting-needles, she showed in the firelight like an ill-lookingenchantress, baulked as yet by the radiant goodness opposite, butgetting ready for a cast of her net by and by.

At dinner she maintained her watch, with the same unwinking eyes. Afterdinner, her son took his turn; and when Mr. Wickfield, himself, and Iwere left alone together, leered at me, and writhed until I could hardlybear it. In the drawing-room, there was the mother knitting and watchingagain. All the time that Agnes sang and played, the mother sat at thepiano. Once she asked for a particular ballad, which she said her Ury(who was yawning in a great chair) doted on; and at intervals she lookedround at him, and reported to Agnes that he was in raptures with themusic. But she hardly ever spoke--I question if she ever did--withoutmaking some mention of him. It was evident to me that this was the dutyassigned to her.

This lasted until bedtime. To have seen the mother and son, like twogreat bats hanging over the whole house, and darkening it with theirugly forms, made me so uncomfortable, that I would rather have remaineddownstairs, knitting and all, than gone to bed. I hardly got any sleep.Next day the knitting and watching began again, and lasted all day.

I had not an opportunity of speaking to Agnes, for ten minutes. I couldbarely show her my letter. I proposed to her to walk out with me; butMrs. Heep repeatedly complaining that she was worse, Agnes charitablyremained within, to bear her company. Towards the twilight I went outby myself, musing on what I ought to do, and whether I was justifiedin withholding from Agnes, any longer, what Uriah Heep had told me inLondon; for that began to trouble me again, very much.

I had not walked out far enough to be quite clear of the town, upon theRamsgate road, where there was a good path, when I was hailed, throughthe dust, by somebody behind me. The shambling figure, and the scantygreat-coat, were not to be mistaken. I stopped, and Uriah Heep came up.

'Well?' said I.

'How fast you walk!' said he. 'My legs are pretty long, but you've given'em quite a job.'

'Where are you going?' said I.

'I am going with you, Master Copperfield, if you'll allow me thepleasure of a walk with an old acquaintance.' Saying this, with a jerkof his body, which might have been either propitiatory or derisive, hefell into step beside me.

'Uriah!' said I, as civilly as I could, after a silence.

'Master Copperfield!' said Uriah.

'To tell you the truth (at which you will not be offended), I came Outto walk alone, because I have had so much company.'

He looked at me sideways, and said with his hardest grin, 'You meanmother.'

'Why yes, I do,' said I.

'Ah! But you know we're so very umble,' he returned. 'And having such aknowledge of our own umbleness, we must really take care that we're notpushed to the wall by them as isn't umble. All stratagems are fair inlove, sir.'

Raising his great hands until they touched his chin, he rubbed themsoftly, and softly chuckled; looking as like a malevolent baboon, Ithought, as anything human could look.

'You see,' he said, still hugging himself in that unpleasant way,and shaking his head at me, 'you're quite a dangerous rival, MasterCopperfield. You always was, you know.'

'Do you set a watch upon Miss Wickfield, and make her home no home,because of me?' said I.

'Oh! Master Copperfield! Those are very arsh words,' he replied.

'Put my meaning into any words you like,' said I. 'You know what it is,Uriah, as well as I do.'

'Oh no! You must put it into words,' he said. 'Oh, really! I couldn'tmyself.'

'Do you suppose,' said I, constraining myself to be very temperateand quiet with him, on account of Agnes, 'that I regard Miss Wickfieldotherwise than as a very dear sister?'

'Well, Master Copperfield,' he replied, 'you perceive I am not boundto answer that question. You may not, you know. But then, you see, youmay!'

Anything to equal the low cunning of his visage, and of his shadowlesseyes without the ghost of an eyelash, I never saw.

'Come then!' said I. 'For the sake of Miss Wickfield--'

'My Agnes!' he exclaimed, with a sickly, angular contortion of himself.'Would you be so good as call her Agnes, Master Copperfield!'

'For the sake of Agnes Wickfield--Heaven bless her!'

'Thank you for that blessing, Master Copperfield!'he interposed.

'I will tell you what I should, under any other circumstances, as soonhave thought of telling to--Jack Ketch.'

'To who, sir?' said Uriah, stretching out his neck, and shading his earwith his hand.

'To the hangman,' I returned. 'The most unlikely person I could thinkof,'--though his own face had suggested the allusion quite as a naturalsequence. 'I am engaged to another young lady. I hope that contentsyou.'

'Upon your soul?' said Uriah.

I was about indignantly to give my assertion the confirmation herequired, when he caught hold of my hand, and gave it a squeeze.

'Oh, Master Copperfield!' he said. 'If you had only had thecondescension to return my confidence when I poured out the fulness ofmy art, the night I put you so much out of the way by sleeping beforeyour sitting-room fire, I never should have doubted you. As it is, I'msure I'll take off mother directly, and only too appy. I know you'llexcuse the precautions of affection, won't you? What a pity, MasterCopperfield, that you didn't condescend to return my confidence! I'msure I gave you every opportunity. But you never have condescended tome, as much as I could have wished. I know you have never liked me, as Ihave liked you!'

All this time he was squeezing my hand with his damp fishy fingers,while I made every effort I decently could to get it away. But I wasquite unsuccessful. He drew it under the sleeve of his mulberry-colouredgreat-coat, and I walked on, almost upon compulsion, arm-in-arm withhim.

'Shall we turn?' said Uriah, by and by wheeling me face about towardsthe town, on which the early moon was now shining, silvering the distantwindows.

'Before we leave the subject, you ought to understand,' said I, breakinga pretty long silence, 'that I believe Agnes Wickfield to be as farabove you, and as far removed from all your aspirations, as that moonherself!'

'Peaceful! Ain't she!' said Uriah. 'Very! Now confess, MasterCopperfield, that you haven't liked me quite as I have liked you. Allalong you've thought me too umble now, I shouldn't wonder?'

'I am not fond of professions of humility,' I returned, 'or professionsof anything else.' 'There now!' said Uriah, looking flabby andlead-coloured in the moonlight. 'Didn't I know it! But how littleyou think of the rightful umbleness of a person in my station, MasterCopperfield! Father and me was both brought up at a foundation schoolfor boys; and mother, she was likewise brought up at a public, sort ofcharitable, establishment. They taught us all a deal of umbleness--notmuch else that I know of, from morning to night. We was to be umble tothis person, and umble to that; and to pull off our caps here, andto make bows there; and always to know our place, and abase ourselvesbefore our betters. And we had such a lot of betters! Father got themonitor-medal by being umble. So did I. Father got made a sexton bybeing umble. He had the character, among the gentlefolks, of beingsuch a well-behaved man, that they were determined to bring him in. "Beumble, Uriah," says father to me, "and you'll get on. It was what wasalways being dinned into you and me at school; it's what goes down best.Be umble," says father, "and you'll do!" And really it ain't done bad!'

It was the first time it had ever occurred to me, that this detestablecant of false humility might have originated out of the Heep family. Ihad seen the harvest, but had never thought of the seed.

'When I was quite a young boy,' said Uriah, 'I got to know whatumbleness did, and I took to it. I ate umble pie with an appetite. Istopped at the umble point of my learning, and says I, "Hold hard!" Whenyou offered to teach me Latin, I knew better. "People like to be aboveyou," says father, "keep yourself down." I am very umble to the presentmoment, Master Copperfield, but I've got a little power!'

And he said all this--I knew, as I saw his face in the moonlight--thatI might understand he was resolved to recompense himself by using hispower. I had never doubted his meanness, his craft and malice; but Ifully comprehended now, for the first time, what a base, unrelenting,and revengeful spirit, must have been engendered by this early, and thislong, suppression.

His account of himself was so far attended with an agreeable result,that it led to his withdrawing his hand in order that he might haveanother hug of himself under the chin. Once apart from him, I wasdetermined to keep apart; and we walked back, side by side, sayingvery little more by the way. Whether his spirits were elevated by thecommunication I had made to him, or by his having indulged in thisretrospect, I don't know; but they were raised by some influence. Hetalked more at dinner than was usual with him; asked his mother (offduty, from the moment of our re-entering the house) whether he was notgrowing too old for a bachelor; and once looked at Agnes so, that Iwould have given all I had, for leave to knock him down.

When we three males were left alone after dinner, he got into a moreadventurous state. He had taken little or no wine; and I presume it wasthe mere insolence of triumph that was upon him, flushed perhaps by thetemptation my presence furnished to its exhibition.

I had observed yesterday, that he tried to entice Mr. Wickfield todrink; and, interpreting the look which Agnes had given me as she wentout, had limited myself to one glass, and then proposed that we shouldfollow her. I would have done so again today; but Uriah was too quickfor me.

'We seldom see our present visitor, sir,' he said, addressing Mr.Wickfield, sitting, such a contrast to him, at the end of the table,'and I should propose to give him welcome in another glass or twoof wine, if you have no objections. Mr. Copperfield, your elth andappiness!'

I was obliged to make a show of taking the hand he stretched acrossto me; and then, with very different emotions, I took the hand of thebroken gentleman, his partner.

'Come, fellow-partner,' said Uriah, 'if I may take the liberty,--now,suppose you give us something or another appropriate to Copperfield!'

I pass over Mr. Wickfield's proposing my aunt, his proposing Mr. Dick,his proposing Doctors' Commons, his proposing Uriah, his drinkingeverything twice; his consciousness of his own weakness, the ineffectualeffort that he made against it; the struggle between his shame inUriah's deportment, and his desire to conciliate him; the manifestexultation with which Uriah twisted and turned, and held him up beforeme. It made me sick at heart to see, and my hand recoils from writingit.

'Come, fellow-partner!' said Uriah, at last, 'I'll give you another one,and I umbly ask for bumpers, seeing I intend to make it the divinest ofher sex.'

Her father had his empty glass in his hand. I saw him set it down, lookat the picture she was so like, put his hand to his forehead, and shrinkback in his elbow-chair.

'I'm an umble individual to give you her elth,' proceeded Uriah, 'but Iadmire--adore her.'

No physical pain that her father's grey head could have borne, I think,could have been more terrible to me, than the mental endurance I sawcompressed now within both his hands.

'Agnes,' said Uriah, either not regarding him, or not knowing what thenature of his action was, 'Agnes Wickfield is, I am safe to say, thedivinest of her sex. May I speak out, among friends? To be her father isa proud distinction, but to be her usband--'

Spare me from ever again hearing such a cry, as that with which herfather rose up from the table! 'What's the matter?' said Uriah, turningof a deadly colour. 'You are not gone mad, after all, Mr. Wickfield, Ihope? If I say I've an ambition to make your Agnes my Agnes, I have asgood a right to it as another man. I have a better right to it than anyother man!'

I had my arms round Mr. Wickfield, imploring him by everything that Icould think of, oftenest of all by his love for Agnes, to calm himselfa little. He was mad for the moment; tearing out his hair, beating hishead, trying to force me from him, and to force himself from me, notanswering a word, not looking at or seeing anyone; blindly strivingfor he knew not what, his face all staring and distorted--a frightfulspectacle.

I conjured him, incoherently, but in the most impassioned manner, notto abandon himself to this wildness, but to hear me. I besought him tothink of Agnes, to connect me with Agnes, to recollect how Agnes and Ihad grown up together, how I honoured her and loved her, how she was hispride and joy. I tried to bring her idea before him in any form; I evenreproached him with not having firmness to spare her the knowledge ofsuch a scene as this. I may have effected something, or his wildness mayhave spent itself; but by degrees he struggled less, and began to lookat me--strangely at first, then with recognition in his eyes. At lengthhe said, 'I know, Trotwood! My darling child and you--I know! But lookat him!'

He pointed to Uriah, pale and glowering in a corner, evidently very muchout in his calculations, and taken by surprise.

'Look at my torturer,' he replied. 'Before him I have step by stepabandoned name and reputation, peace and quiet, house and home.'

'I have kept your name and reputation for you, and your peace andquiet, and your house and home too,' said Uriah, with a sulky, hurried,defeated air of compromise. 'Don't be foolish, Mr. Wickfield. If Ihave gone a little beyond what you were prepared for, I can go back, Isuppose? There's no harm done.'

'I looked for single motives in everyone,' said Mr. Wickfield, and I wassatisfied I had bound him to me by motives of interest. But see what heis--oh, see what he is!'

'You had better stop him, Copperfield, if you can,' cried Uriah,with his long forefinger pointing towards me. 'He'll say somethingpresently--mind you!--he'll be sorry to have said afterwards, and you'llbe sorry to have heard!'

'I'll say anything!' cried Mr. Wickfield, with a desperate air. 'Whyshould I not be in all the world's power if I am in yours?'

'Mind! I tell you!' said Uriah, continuing to warn me. 'If you don'tstop his mouth, you're not his friend! Why shouldn't you be in all theworld's power, Mr. Wickfield? Because you have got a daughter. You andme know what we know, don't we? Let sleeping dogs lie--who wants torouse 'em? I don't. Can't you see I am as umble as I can be? I tell you,if I've gone too far, I'm sorry. What would you have, sir?'

'Oh, Trotwood, Trotwood!'exclaimed Mr. Wickfield, wringing his hands.'What I have come down to be, since I first saw you in this house! I wason my downward way then, but the dreary, dreary road I have traversedsince! Weak indulgence has ruined me. Indulgence in remembrance, andindulgence in forgetfulness. My natural grief for my child's motherturned to disease; my natural love for my child turned to disease. Ihave infected everything I touched. I have brought misery on what Idearly love, I know--you know! I thought it possible that I could trulylove one creature in the world, and not love the rest; I thought itpossible that I could truly mourn for one creature gone out of theworld, and not have some part in the grief of all who mourned. Thus thelessons of my life have been perverted! I have preyed on my own morbidcoward heart, and it has preyed on me. Sordid in my grief, sordid in mylove, sordid in my miserable escape from the darker side of both, oh seethe ruin I am, and hate me, shun me!'

He dropped into a chair, and weakly sobbed. The excitement into which hehad been roused was leaving him. Uriah came out of his corner.

'I don't know all I have done, in my fatuity,' said Mr. Wickfield,putting out his hands, as if to deprecate my condemnation. 'He knowsbest,' meaning Uriah Heep, 'for he has always been at my elbow,whispering me. You see the millstone that he is about my neck. Youfind him in my house, you find him in my business. You heard him, but alittle time ago. What need have I to say more!'

'You haven't need to say so much, nor half so much, nor anything atall,' observed Uriah, half defiant, and half fawning. 'You wouldn't havetook it up so, if it hadn't been for the wine. You'll think better ofit tomorrow, sir. If I have said too much, or more than I meant, what ofit? I haven't stood by it!'

The door opened, and Agnes, gliding in, without a vestige of colour inher face, put her arm round his neck, and steadily said, 'Papa, you arenot well. Come with me!'

He laid his head upon her shoulder, as if he were oppressed with heavyshame, and went out with her. Her eyes met mine for but an instant, yetI saw how much she knew of what had passed.

'I didn't expect he'd cut up so rough, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah.'But it's nothing. I'll be friends with him tomorrow. It's for his good.I'm umbly anxious for his good.'

I gave him no answer, and went upstairs into the quiet room where Agneshad so often sat beside me at my books. Nobody came near me until lateat night. I took up a book, and tried to read. I heard the clocks striketwelve, and was still reading, without knowing what I read, when Agnestouched me.

'You will be going early in the morning, Trotwood! Let us say good-bye,now!'

She had been weeping, but her face then was so calm and beautiful!

'Heaven bless you!' she said, giving me her hand.

'Dearest Agnes!' I returned, 'I see you ask me not to speak oftonight--but is there nothing to be done?'

'There is God to trust in!' she replied.

'Can I do nothing--I, who come to you with my poor sorrows?'

'And make mine so much lighter,' she replied. 'Dear Trotwood, no!'

'Dear Agnes,' I said, 'it is presumptuous for me, who am so poor in allin which you are so rich--goodness, resolution, all noble qualities--todoubt or direct you; but you know how much I love you, and how much Iowe you. You will never sacrifice yourself to a mistaken sense of duty,Agnes?'

More agitated for a moment than I had ever seen her, she took her handsfrom me, and moved a step back.

'Say you have no such thought, dear Agnes! Much more than sister!Think of the priceless gift of such a heart as yours, of such a love asyours!'

Oh! long, long afterwards, I saw that face rise up before me, with itsmomentary look, not wondering, not accusing, not regretting. Oh, long,long afterwards, I saw that look subside, as it did now, into the lovelysmile, with which she told me she had no fear for herself--I need havenone for her--and parted from me by the name of Brother, and was gone!

It was dark in the morning, when I got upon the coach at the inn door.The day was just breaking when we were about to start, and then, asI sat thinking of her, came struggling up the coach side, through themingled day and night, Uriah's head.

'Copperfield!' said he, in a croaking whisper, as he hung by the ironon the roof, 'I thought you'd be glad to hear before you went off, thatthere are no squares broke between us. I've been into his room already,and we've made it all smooth. Why, though I'm umble, I'm useful to him,you know; and he understands his interest when he isn't in liquor! Whatan agreeable man he is, after all, Master Copperfield!'

I obliged myself to say that I was glad he had made his apology.

'Oh, to be sure!' said Uriah. 'When a person's umble, you know, what'san apology? So easy! I say! I suppose,' with a jerk, 'you have sometimesplucked a pear before it was ripe, Master Copperfield?'

'I suppose I have,' I replied.

'I did that last night,' said Uriah; 'but it'll ripen yet! It only wantsattending to. I can wait!'

Profuse in his farewells, he got down again as the coachman got up. Foranything I know, he was eating something to keep the raw morningair out; but he made motions with his mouth as if the pear were ripealready, and he were smacking his lips over it.