I feel as if it were not for me to record, even though this manuscriptis intended for no eyes but mine, how hard I worked at that tremendousshort-hand, and all improvement appertaining to it, in my sense ofresponsibility to Dora and her aunts. I will only add, to what I havealready written of my perseverance at this time of my life, and of apatient and continuous energy which then began to be matured within me,and which I know to be the strong part of my character, if it have anystrength at all, that there, on looking back, I find the source of mysuccess. I have been very fortunate in worldly matters; many men haveworked much harder, and not succeeded half so well; but I never couldhave done what I have done, without the habits of punctuality, order,and diligence, without the determination to concentrate myself on oneobject at a time, no matter how quickly its successor should come uponits heels, which I then formed. Heaven knows I write this, in no spiritof self-laudation. The man who reviews his own life, as I do mine,in going on here, from page to page, had need to have been a good manindeed, if he would be spared the sharp consciousness of many talentsneglected, many opportunities wasted, many erratic and pervertedfeelings constantly at war within his breast, and defeating him. Ido not hold one natural gift, I dare say, that I have not abused. Mymeaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I havetried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myselfto, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and insmall, I have always been thoroughly in earnest. I have never believedit possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immunity fromthe companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working qualities, andhope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfilment on thisearth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form thetwo sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of thatladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is nosubstitute for thorough-going, ardent, and sincere earnestness. Neverto put one hand to anything, on which I could throw my whole self; andnever to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was; I find, now,to have been my golden rules.

How much of the practice I have just reduced to precept, I owe to Agnes,I will not repeat here. My narrative proceeds to Agnes, with a thankfullove.

She came on a visit of a fortnight to the Doctor's. Mr. Wickfield wasthe Doctor's old friend, and the Doctor wished to talk with him, anddo him good. It had been matter of conversation with Agnes when she waslast in town, and this visit was the result. She and her father cametogether. I was not much surprised to hear from her that she had engagedto find a lodging in the neighbourhood for Mrs. Heep, whose rheumaticcomplaint required change of air, and who would be charmed to have it insuch company. Neither was I surprised when, on the very next day, Uriah,like a dutiful son, brought his worthy mother to take possession.

'You see, Master Copperfield,' said he, as he forced himself upon mycompany for a turn in the Doctor's garden, 'where a person loves, aperson is a little jealous--leastways, anxious to keep an eye on thebeloved one.'

'Of whom are you jealous, now?' said I.

'Thanks to you, Master Copperfield,' he returned, 'of no one inparticular just at present--no male person, at least.'

'Do you mean that you are jealous of a female person?'

He gave me a sidelong glance out of his sinister red eyes, and laughed.

'Really, Master Copperfield,' he said, '--I should say Mister, but Iknow you'll excuse the abit I've got into--you're so insinuating, thatyou draw me like a corkscrew! Well, I don't mind telling you,' puttinghis fish-like hand on mine, 'I'm not a lady's man in general, sir, and Inever was, with Mrs. Strong.'

His eyes looked green now, as they watched mine with a rascally cunning.

'What do you mean?' said I.

'Why, though I am a lawyer, Master Copperfield,' he replied, with a drygrin, 'I mean, just at present, what I say.'

'And what do you mean by your look?' I retorted, quietly.

'By my look? Dear me, Copperfield, that's sharp practice! What do I meanby my look?'

'Yes,' said I. 'By your look.'

He seemed very much amused, and laughed as heartily as it was in hisnature to laugh. After some scraping of his chin with his hand, he wenton to say, with his eyes cast downward--still scraping, very slowly:

'When I was but an umble clerk, she always looked down upon me. She wasfor ever having my Agnes backwards and forwards at her ouse, and she wasfor ever being a friend to you, Master Copperfield; but I was too farbeneath her, myself, to be noticed.'

'Well?' said I; 'suppose you were!'

'--And beneath him too,' pursued Uriah, very distinctly, and in ameditative tone of voice, as he continued to scrape his chin.

'Don't you know the Doctor better,' said I, 'than to suppose himconscious of your existence, when you were not before him?'

He directed his eyes at me in that sidelong glance again, and he madehis face very lantern-jawed, for the greater convenience of scraping, ashe answered:

'Oh dear, I am not referring to the Doctor! Oh no, poor man! I mean Mr.Maldon!'

My heart quite died within me. All my old doubts and apprehensions onthat subject, all the Doctor's happiness and peace, all the mingledpossibilities of innocence and compromise, that I could not unravel, Isaw, in a moment, at the mercy of this fellow's twisting.

'He never could come into the office, without ordering and shoving meabout,' said Uriah. 'One of your fine gentlemen he was! I was very meekand umble--and I am. But I didn't like that sort of thing--and I don't!'

He left off scraping his chin, and sucked in his cheeks until theyseemed to meet inside; keeping his sidelong glance upon me all thewhile.

'She is one of your lovely women, she is,' he pursued, when he hadslowly restored his face to its natural form; 'and ready to be no friendto such as me, I know. She's just the person as would put my Agnes upto higher sort of game. Now, I ain't one of your lady's men, MasterCopperfield; but I've had eyes in my ed, a pretty long time back. Weumble ones have got eyes, mostly speaking--and we look out of 'em.'

I endeavoured to appear unconscious and not disquieted, but, I saw inhis face, with poor success.

'Now, I'm not a-going to let myself be run down, Copperfield,' hecontinued, raising that part of his countenance, where his red eyebrowswould have been if he had had any, with malignant triumph, 'and I shalldo what I can to put a stop to this friendship. I don't approve of it.I don't mind acknowledging to you that I've got rather a grudgingdisposition, and want to keep off all intruders. I ain't a-going, if Iknow it, to run the risk of being plotted against.'

'You are always plotting, and delude yourself into the belief thateverybody else is doing the like, I think,' said I.

'Perhaps so, Master Copperfield,' he replied. 'But I've got a motive, asmy fellow-partner used to say; and I go at it tooth and nail. I mustn'tbe put upon, as a numble person, too much. I can't allow people in myway. Really they must come out of the cart, Master Copperfield!'

'I don't understand you,' said I.

'Don't you, though?' he returned, with one of his jerks. 'I'm astonishedat that, Master Copperfield, you being usually so quick! I'll try to beplainer, another time.---Is that Mr. Maldon a-norseback, ringing at thegate, sir?'

'It looks like him,' I replied, as carelessly as I could.

Uriah stopped short, put his hands between his great knobs of knees, anddoubled himself up with laughter. With perfectly silent laughter. Nota sound escaped from him. I was so repelled by his odious behaviour,particularly by this concluding instance, that I turned away without anyceremony; and left him doubled up in the middle of the garden, like ascarecrow in want of support.

It was not on that evening; but, as I well remember, on the next eveningbut one, which was a Sunday; that I took Agnes to see Dora. I hadarranged the visit, beforehand, with Miss Lavinia; and Agnes wasexpected to tea.

I was in a flutter of pride and anxiety; pride in my dear littlebetrothed, and anxiety that Agnes should like her. All the way toPutney, Agnes being inside the stage-coach, and I outside, I picturedDora to myself in every one of the pretty looks I knew so well; nowmaking up my mind that I should like her to look exactly as she lookedat such a time, and then doubting whether I should not prefer herlooking as she looked at such another time; and almost worrying myselfinto a fever about it.

I was troubled by no doubt of her being very pretty, in any case; butit fell out that I had never seen her look so well. She was not in thedrawing-room when I presented Agnes to her little aunts, but was shylykeeping out of the way. I knew where to look for her, now; and sureenough I found her stopping her ears again, behind the same dull olddoor.

At first she wouldn't come at all; and then she pleaded for five minutesby my watch. When at length she put her arm through mine, to be takento the drawing-room, her charming little face was flushed, and had neverbeen so pretty. But, when we went into the room, and it turned pale, shewas ten thousand times prettier yet.

Dora was afraid of Agnes. She had told me that she knew Agnes was'too clever'. But when she saw her looking at once so cheerful and soearnest, and so thoughtful, and so good, she gave a faint little cry ofpleased surprise, and just put her affectionate arms round Agnes's neck,and laid her innocent cheek against her face.

I never was so happy. I never was so pleased as when I saw those two sitdown together, side by side. As when I saw my little darling looking upso naturally to those cordial eyes. As when I saw the tender, beautifulregard which Agnes cast upon her.

Miss Lavinia and Miss Clarissa partook, in their way, of my joy. It wasthe pleasantest tea-table in the world. Miss Clarissa presided. I cutand handed the sweet seed-cake--the little sisters had a bird-likefondness for picking up seeds and pecking at sugar; Miss Lavinia lookedon with benignant patronage, as if our happy love were all her work; andwe were perfectly contented with ourselves and one another.

The gentle cheerfulness of Agnes went to all their hearts. Her quietinterest in everything that interested Dora; her manner of makingacquaintance with Jip (who responded instantly); her pleasant way, whenDora was ashamed to come over to her usual seat by me; her modest graceand ease, eliciting a crowd of blushing little marks of confidence fromDora; seemed to make our circle quite complete.

'I am so glad,' said Dora, after tea, 'that you like me. I didn't thinkyou would; and I want, more than ever, to be liked, now Julia Mills isgone.'

I have omitted to mention it, by the by. Miss Mills had sailed, and Doraand I had gone aboard a great East Indiaman at Gravesend to see her;and we had had preserved ginger, and guava, and other delicacies of thatsort for lunch; and we had left Miss Mills weeping on a camp-stool onthe quarter-deck, with a large new diary under her arm, in which theoriginal reflections awakened by the contemplation of Ocean were to berecorded under lock and key.

Agnes said she was afraid I must have given her an unpromisingcharacter; but Dora corrected that directly.

'Oh no!' she said, shaking her curls at me; 'it was all praise. Hethinks so much of your opinion, that I was quite afraid of it.'

'My good opinion cannot strengthen his attachment to some people whom heknows,' said Agnes, with a smile; 'it is not worth their having.'

'But please let me have it,' said Dora, in her coaxing way, 'if youcan!'

We made merry about Dora's wanting to be liked, and Dora said I was agoose, and she didn't like me at any rate, and the short evening flewaway on gossamer-wings. The time was at hand when the coach was to callfor us. I was standing alone before the fire, when Dora came stealingsoftly in, to give me that usual precious little kiss before I went.

'Don't you think, if I had had her for a friend a long time ago, Doady,'said Dora, her bright eyes shining very brightly, and her little righthand idly busying itself with one of the buttons of my coat, 'I mighthave been more clever perhaps?'

'My love!' said I, 'what nonsense!'

'Do you think it is nonsense?' returned Dora, without looking at me.'Are you sure it is?'

'Of course I am!' 'I have forgotten,' said Dora, still turning thebutton round and round, 'what relation Agnes is to you, you dear badboy.'

'No blood-relation,' I replied; 'but we were brought up together, likebrother and sister.'

'I wonder why you ever fell in love with me?' said Dora, beginning onanother button of my coat.

'Perhaps because I couldn't see you, and not love you, Dora!'

'Suppose you had never seen me at all,' said Dora, going to anotherbutton.

'Suppose we had never been born!' said I, gaily.

I wondered what she was thinking about, as I glanced in admiring silenceat the little soft hand travelling up the row of buttons on my coat, andat the clustering hair that lay against my breast, and at the lashes ofher downcast eyes, slightly rising as they followed her idle fingers. Atlength her eyes were lifted up to mine, and she stood on tiptoe togive me, more thoughtfully than usual, that precious little kiss--once,twice, three times--and went out of the room.

They all came back together within five minutes afterwards, and Dora'sunusual thoughtfulness was quite gone then. She was laughingly resolvedto put Jip through the whole of his performances, before the coach came.They took some time (not so much on account of their variety, as Jip'sreluctance), and were still unfinished when it was heard at the door.There was a hurried but affectionate parting between Agnes and herself;and Dora was to write to Agnes (who was not to mind her letters beingfoolish, she said), and Agnes was to write to Dora; and they had asecond parting at the coach door, and a third when Dora, in spite ofthe remonstrances of Miss Lavinia, would come running out once more toremind Agnes at the coach window about writing, and to shake her curlsat me on the box.

The stage-coach was to put us down near Covent Garden, where we wereto take another stage-coach for Highgate. I was impatient for the shortwalk in the interval, that Agnes might praise Dora to me. Ah! whatpraise it was! How lovingly and fervently did it commend the prettycreature I had won, with all her artless graces best displayed, to mymost gentle care! How thoughtfully remind me, yet with no pretence ofdoing so, of the trust in which I held the orphan child!

Never, never, had I loved Dora so deeply and truly, as I loved her thatnight. When we had again alighted, and were walking in the starlightalong the quiet road that led to the Doctor's house, I told Agnes it washer doing.

'When you were sitting by her,' said I, 'you seemed to be no less herguardian angel than mine; and you seem so now, Agnes.'

'A poor angel,' she returned, 'but faithful.'

The clear tone of her voice, going straight to my heart, made it naturalto me to say:

'The cheerfulness that belongs to you, Agnes (and to no one else thatever I have seen), is so restored, I have observed today, that I havebegun to hope you are happier at home?'

'I am happier in myself,' she said; 'I am quite cheerful andlight-hearted.'

I glanced at the serene face looking upward, and thought it was thestars that made it seem so noble.

'There has been no change at home,' said Agnes, after a few moments.

'No fresh reference,' said I, 'to--I wouldn't distress you, Agnes, but Icannot help asking--to what we spoke of, when we parted last?'

'No, none,' she answered.

'I have thought so much about it.'

'You must think less about it. Remember that I confide in simple loveand truth at last. Have no apprehensions for me, Trotwood,' she added,after a moment; 'the step you dread my taking, I shall never take.'

Although I think I had never really feared it, in any season of coolreflection, it was an unspeakable relief to me to have this assurancefrom her own truthful lips. I told her so, earnestly.

'And when this visit is over,' said I,--'for we may not be alone anothertime,--how long is it likely to be, my dear Agnes, before you come toLondon again?'

'Probably a long time,' she replied; 'I think it will be best--forpapa's sake--to remain at home. We are not likely to meet often, forsome time to come; but I shall be a good correspondent of Dora's, and weshall frequently hear of one another that way.'

We were now within the little courtyard of the Doctor's cottage. It wasgrowing late. There was a light in the window of Mrs. Strong's chamber,and Agnes, pointing to it, bade me good night.

'Do not be troubled,' she said, giving me her hand, 'by our misfortunesand anxieties. I can be happier in nothing than in your happiness. Ifyou can ever give me help, rely upon it I will ask you for it. Godbless you always!' In her beaming smile, and in these last tones of hercheerful voice, I seemed again to see and hear my little Dora in hercompany. I stood awhile, looking through the porch at the stars, witha heart full of love and gratitude, and then walked slowly forth. I hadengaged a bed at a decent alehouse close by, and was going out at thegate, when, happening to turn my head, I saw a light in the Doctor'sstudy. A half-reproachful fancy came into my mind, that he had beenworking at the Dictionary without my help. With the view of seeing ifthis were so, and, in any case, of bidding him good night, if he wereyet sitting among his books, I turned back, and going softly across thehall, and gently opening the door, looked in.

The first person whom I saw, to my surprise, by the sober light of theshaded lamp, was Uriah. He was standing close beside it, with one ofhis skeleton hands over his mouth, and the other resting on the Doctor'stable. The Doctor sat in his study chair, covering his face with hishands. Mr. Wickfield, sorely troubled and distressed, was leaningforward, irresolutely touching the Doctor's arm.

For an instant, I supposed that the Doctor was ill. I hastily advanced astep under that impression, when I met Uriah's eye, and saw what was thematter. I would have withdrawn, but the Doctor made a gesture to detainme, and I remained.

'At any rate,' observed Uriah, with a writhe of his ungainly person, 'wemay keep the door shut. We needn't make it known to ALL the town.'

Saying which, he went on his toes to the door, which I had left open,and carefully closed it. He then came back, and took up his formerposition. There was an obtrusive show of compassionate zeal in his voiceand manner, more intolerable--at least to me--than any demeanour hecould have assumed.

'I have felt it incumbent upon me, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah, 'topoint out to Doctor Strong what you and me have already talked about.You didn't exactly understand me, though?'

I gave him a look, but no other answer; and, going to my good oldmaster, said a few words that I meant to be words of comfort andencouragement. He put his hand upon my shoulder, as it had been hiscustom to do when I was quite a little fellow, but did not lift his greyhead.

'As you didn't understand me, Master Copperfield,' resumed Uriah inthe same officious manner, 'I may take the liberty of umbly mentioning,being among friends, that I have called Doctor Strong's attention to thegoings-on of Mrs. Strong. It's much against the grain with me, I assureyou, Copperfield, to be concerned in anything so unpleasant; but really,as it is, we're all mixing ourselves up with what oughtn't to be. Thatwas what my meaning was, sir, when you didn't understand me.' I wondernow, when I recall his leer, that I did not collar him, and try to shakethe breath out of his body.

'I dare say I didn't make myself very clear,' he went on, 'nor youneither. Naturally, we was both of us inclined to give such a subjecta wide berth. Hows'ever, at last I have made up my mind to speak plain;and I have mentioned to Doctor Strong that--did you speak, sir?'

This was to the Doctor, who had moaned. The sound might have touched anyheart, I thought, but it had no effect upon Uriah's.

'--mentioned to Doctor Strong,' he proceeded, 'that anyone may see thatMr. Maldon, and the lovely and agreeable lady as is Doctor Strong'swife, are too sweet on one another. Really the time is come (we being atpresent all mixing ourselves up with what oughtn't to be), when DoctorStrong must be told that this was full as plain to everybody as the sun,before Mr. Maldon went to India; that Mr. Maldon made excuses to comeback, for nothing else; and that he's always here, for nothing else.When you come in, sir, I was just putting it to my fellow-partner,'towards whom he turned, 'to say to Doctor Strong upon his word andhonour, whether he'd ever been of this opinion long ago, or not. Come,Mr. Wickfield, sir! Would you be so good as tell us? Yes or no, sir?Come, partner!'

'For God's sake, my dear Doctor,' said Mr. Wickfield again laying hisirresolute hand upon the Doctor's arm, 'don't attach too much weight toany suspicions I may have entertained.'

'There!' cried Uriah, shaking his head. 'What a melancholy confirmation:ain't it? Him! Such an old friend! Bless your soul, when I was nothingbut a clerk in his office, Copperfield, I've seen him twenty times, ifI've seen him once, quite in a taking about it--quite put out, you know(and very proper in him as a father; I'm sure I can't blame him), tothink that Miss Agnes was mixing herself up with what oughtn't to be.'

'My dear Strong,' said Mr. Wickfield in a tremulous voice, 'my goodfriend, I needn't tell you that it has been my vice to look for some onemaster motive in everybody, and to try all actions by one narrow test. Imay have fallen into such doubts as I have had, through this mistake.'

'You have had doubts, Wickfield,' said the Doctor, without lifting uphis head. 'You have had doubts.'

'Speak up, fellow-partner,' urged Uriah.

'I had, at one time, certainly,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'I--God forgiveme--I thought YOU had.'

'No, no, no!' returned the Doctor, in a tone of most pathetic grief.'I thought, at one time,' said Mr. Wickfield, 'that you wished to sendMaldon abroad to effect a desirable separation.'

'No, no, no!' returned the Doctor. 'To give Annie pleasure, by makingsome provision for the companion of her childhood. Nothing else.'

'So I found,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'I couldn't doubt it, when you toldme so. But I thought--I implore you to remember the narrow constructionwhich has been my besetting sin--that, in a case where there was so muchdisparity in point of years--'

'That's the way to put it, you see, Master Copperfield!' observed Uriah,with fawning and offensive pity.

'--a lady of such youth, and such attractions, however real herrespect for you, might have been influenced in marrying, by worldlyconsiderations only. I make no allowance for innumerable feelingsand circumstances that may have all tended to good. For Heaven's sakeremember that!'

'How kind he puts it!' said Uriah, shaking his head.

'Always observing her from one point of view,' said Mr. Wickfield; 'butby all that is dear to you, my old friend, I entreat you to considerwhat it was; I am forced to confess now, having no escape-'

'No! There's no way out of it, Mr. Wickfield, sir,' observed Uriah,'when it's got to this.'

'--that I did,' said Mr. Wickfield, glancing helplessly and distractedlyat his partner, 'that I did doubt her, and think her wanting in herduty to you; and that I did sometimes, if I must say all, feel averseto Agnes being in such a familiar relation towards her, as to see what Isaw, or in my diseased theory fancied that I saw. I never mentionedthis to anyone. I never meant it to be known to anyone. And though itis terrible to you to hear,' said Mr. Wickfield, quite subdued, 'if youknew how terrible it is for me to tell, you would feel compassion forme!'

The Doctor, in the perfect goodness of his nature, put out his hand. Mr.Wickfield held it for a little while in his, with his head bowed down.

'I am sure,' said Uriah, writhing himself into the silence like aConger-eel, 'that this is a subject full of unpleasantness to everybody.But since we have got so far, I ought to take the liberty of mentioningthat Copperfield has noticed it too.'

I turned upon him, and asked him how he dared refer to me!

'Oh! it's very kind of you, Copperfield,' returned Uriah, undulating allover, 'and we all know what an amiable character yours is; but you knowthat the moment I spoke to you the other night, you knew what I meant.You know you knew what I meant, Copperfield. Don't deny it! You deny itwith the best intentions; but don't do it, Copperfield.'

I saw the mild eye of the good old Doctor turned upon me for a moment,and I felt that the confession of my old misgivings and remembranceswas too plainly written in my face to be overlooked. It was of no useraging. I could not undo that. Say what I would, I could not unsay it.

We were silent again, and remained so, until the Doctor rose and walkedtwice or thrice across the room. Presently he returned to where hischair stood; and, leaning on the back of it, and occasionally puttinghis handkerchief to his eyes, with a simple honesty that did him morehonour, to my thinking, than any disguise he could have effected, said:

'I have been much to blame. I believe I have been very much to blame.I have exposed one whom I hold in my heart, to trials and aspersions--Icall them aspersions, even to have been conceived in anybody's inmostmind--of which she never, but for me, could have been the object.'

Uriah Heep gave a kind of snivel. I think to express sympathy.

'Of which my Annie,' said the Doctor, 'never, but for me, could havebeen the object. Gentlemen, I am old now, as you know; I do not feel,tonight, that I have much to live for. But my life--my Life--upon thetruth and honour of the dear lady who has been the subject of thisconversation!'

I do not think that the best embodiment of chivalry, the realization ofthe handsomest and most romantic figure ever imagined by painter, couldhave said this, with a more impressive and affecting dignity than theplain old Doctor did.

'But I am not prepared,' he went on, 'to deny--perhaps I may have been,without knowing it, in some degree prepared to admit--that I may haveunwittingly ensnared that lady into an unhappy marriage. I am a manquite unaccustomed to observe; and I cannot but believe that theobservation of several people, of different ages and positions, all tooplainly tending in one direction (and that so natural), is better thanmine.'

I had often admired, as I have elsewhere described, his benignant mannertowards his youthful wife; but the respectful tenderness he manifestedin every reference to her on this occasion, and the almost reverentialmanner in which he put away from him the lightest doubt of herintegrity, exalted him, in my eyes, beyond description.

'I married that lady,' said the Doctor, 'when she was extremely young. Itook her to myself when her character was scarcely formed. So far as itwas developed, it had been my happiness to form it. I knew her fatherwell. I knew her well. I had taught her what I could, for the love ofall her beautiful and virtuous qualities. If I did her wrong; as I fearI did, in taking advantage (but I never meant it) of her gratitude andher affection; I ask pardon of that lady, in my heart!'

He walked across the room, and came back to the same place; holdingthe chair with a grasp that trembled, like his subdued voice, in itsearnestness.

'I regarded myself as a refuge, for her, from the dangers andvicissitudes of life. I persuaded myself that, unequal though we were inyears, she would live tranquilly and contentedly with me. I did not shutout of my consideration the time when I should leave her free, and stillyoung and still beautiful, but with her judgement more matured--no,gentlemen--upon my truth!'

His homely figure seemed to be lightened up by his fidelity andgenerosity. Every word he uttered had a force that no other grace couldhave imparted to it.

'My life with this lady has been very happy. Until tonight, I havehad uninterrupted occasion to bless the day on which I did her greatinjustice.'

His voice, more and more faltering in the utterance of these words,stopped for a few moments; then he went on:

'Once awakened from my dream--I have been a poor dreamer, in one way orother, all my life--I see how natural it is that she should have someregretful feeling towards her old companion and her equal. That she doesregard him with some innocent regret, with some blameless thoughts ofwhat might have been, but for me, is, I fear, too true. Much that I haveseen, but not noted, has come back upon me with new meaning, duringthis last trying hour. But, beyond this, gentlemen, the dear lady's namenever must be coupled with a word, a breath, of doubt.'

For a little while, his eye kindled and his voice was firm; for a littlewhile he was again silent. Presently, he proceeded as before:

'It only remains for me, to bear the knowledge of the unhappiness I haveoccasioned, as submissively as I can. It is she who should reproach; notI. To save her from misconstruction, cruel misconstruction, that even myfriends have not been able to avoid, becomes my duty. The more retiredwe live, the better I shall discharge it. And when the time comes--mayit come soon, if it be His merciful pleasure!--when my death shallrelease her from constraint, I shall close my eyes upon her honouredface, with unbounded confidence and love; and leave her, with no sorrowthen, to happier and brighter days.'

I could not see him for the tears which his earnestness and goodness,so adorned by, and so adorning, the perfect simplicity of his manner,brought into my eyes. He had moved to the door, when he added:

'Gentlemen, I have shown you my heart. I am sure you will respect it.What we have said tonight is never to be said more. Wickfield, give mean old friend's arm upstairs!'

Mr. Wickfield hastened to him. Without interchanging a word they wentslowly out of the room together, Uriah looking after them.

'Well, Master Copperfield!' said Uriah, meekly turning to me. 'The thinghasn't took quite the turn that might have been expected, for the oldScholar--what an excellent man!--is as blind as a brickbat; but thisfamily's out of the cart, I think!'

I needed but the sound of his voice to be so madly enraged as I neverwas before, and never have been since.

'You villain,' said I, 'what do you mean by entrapping me into yourschemes? How dare you appeal to me just now, you false rascal, as if wehad been in discussion together?'

As we stood, front to front, I saw so plainly, in the stealthyexultation of his face, what I already so plainly knew; I mean that heforced his confidence upon me, expressly to make me miserable, and hadset a deliberate trap for me in this very matter; that I couldn't bearit. The whole of his lank cheek was invitingly before me, and I struckit with my open hand with that force that my fingers tingled as if I hadburnt them.

He caught the hand in his, and we stood in that connexion, looking ateach other. We stood so, a long time; long enough for me to see thewhite marks of my fingers die out of the deep red of his cheek, andleave it a deeper red.

'Copperfield,' he said at length, in a breathless voice, 'have you takenleave of your senses?'

'I have taken leave of you,' said I, wresting my hand away. 'You dog,I'll know no more of you.'

'Won't you?' said he, constrained by the pain of his cheek to put hishand there. 'Perhaps you won't be able to help it. Isn't this ungratefulof you, now?'

'I have shown you often enough,' said I, 'that I despise you. I haveshown you now, more plainly, that I do. Why should I dread your doingyour worst to all about you? What else do you ever do?'

He perfectly understood this allusion to the considerations that hadhitherto restrained me in my communications with him. I rather thinkthat neither the blow, nor the allusion, would have escaped me, but forthe assurance I had had from Agnes that night. It is no matter.

There was another long pause. His eyes, as he looked at me, seemed totake every shade of colour that could make eyes ugly.

'Copperfield,' he said, removing his hand from his cheek, 'you havealways gone against me. I know you always used to be against me at Mr.Wickfield's.'

'You may think what you like,' said I, still in a towering rage. 'If itis not true, so much the worthier you.'

'And yet I always liked you, Copperfield!' he rejoined.

I deigned to make him no reply; and, taking up my hat, was going out tobed, when he came between me and the door.

'Copperfield,' he said, 'there must be two parties to a quarrel. I won'tbe one.'

'You may go to the devil!' said I.

'Don't say that!' he replied. 'I know you'll be sorry afterwards. Howcan you make yourself so inferior to me, as to show such a bad spirit?But I forgive you.'

'You forgive me!' I repeated disdainfully.

'I do, and you can't help yourself,' replied Uriah. 'To think of yourgoing and attacking me, that have always been a friend to you! But therecan't be a quarrel without two parties, and I won't be one. I will bea friend to you, in spite of you. So now you know what you've got toexpect.'

The necessity of carrying on this dialogue (his part in which wasvery slow; mine very quick) in a low tone, that the house might not bedisturbed at an unseasonable hour, did not improve my temper; though mypassion was cooling down. Merely telling him that I should expect fromhim what I always had expected, and had never yet been disappointed in,I opened the door upon him, as if he had been a great walnut put thereto be cracked, and went out of the house. But he slept out of the housetoo, at his mother's lodging; and before I had gone many hundred yards,came up with me.

'You know, Copperfield,' he said, in my ear (I did not turn my head),'you're in quite a wrong position'; which I felt to be true, and thatmade me chafe the more; 'you can't make this a brave thing, and youcan't help being forgiven. I don't intend to mention it to mother, norto any living soul. I'm determined to forgive you. But I do wonderthat you should lift your hand against a person that you knew to be soumble!'

I felt only less mean than he. He knew me better than I knew myself. Ifhe had retorted or openly exasperated me, it would have been a reliefand a justification; but he had put me on a slow fire, on which I laytormented half the night.

In the morning, when I came out, the early church-bell was ringing,and he was walking up and down with his mother. He addressed me as ifnothing had happened, and I could do no less than reply. I had struckhim hard enough to give him the toothache, I suppose. At all eventshis face was tied up in a black silk handkerchief, which, with his hatperched on the top of it, was far from improving his appearance. I heardthat he went to a dentist's in London on the Monday morning, and had atooth out. I hope it was a double one.

The Doctor gave out that he was not quite well; and remained alone, fora considerable part of every day, during the remainder of the visit.Agnes and her father had been gone a week, before we resumed our usualwork. On the day preceding its resumption, the Doctor gave me with hisown hands a folded note not sealed. It was addressed to myself; and laidan injunction on me, in a few affectionate words, never to refer to thesubject of that evening. I had confided it to my aunt, but to noone else. It was not a subject I could discuss with Agnes, and Agnescertainly had not the least suspicion of what had passed.

Neither, I felt convinced, had Mrs. Strong then. Several weeks elapsedbefore I saw the least change in her. It came on slowly, like a cloudwhen there is no wind. At first, she seemed to wonder at the gentlecompassion with which the Doctor spoke to her, and at his wish that sheshould have her mother with her, to relieve the dull monotony of herlife. Often, when we were at work, and she was sitting by, I would seeher pausing and looking at him with that memorable face. Afterwards, Isometimes observed her rise, with her eyes full of tears, and go outof the room. Gradually, an unhappy shadow fell upon her beauty, anddeepened every day. Mrs. Markleham was a regular inmate of the cottagethen; but she talked and talked, and saw nothing.

As this change stole on Annie, once like sunshine in the Doctor's house,the Doctor became older in appearance, and more grave; but the sweetnessof his temper, the placid kindness of his manner, and his benevolentsolicitude for her, if they were capable of any increase, wereincreased. I saw him once, early on the morning of her birthday, whenshe came to sit in the window while we were at work (which she hadalways done, but now began to do with a timid and uncertain air that Ithought very touching), take her forehead between his hands, kiss it,and go hurriedly away, too much moved to remain. I saw her stand wherehe had left her, like a statue; and then bend down her head, and claspher hands, and weep, I cannot say how sorrowfully.

Sometimes, after that, I fancied that she tried to speak even to me,in intervals when we were left alone. But she never uttered a word. TheDoctor always had some new project for her participating in amusementsaway from home, with her mother; and Mrs. Markleham, who was very fondof amusements, and very easily dissatisfied with anything else, enteredinto them with great good-will, and was loud in her commendations. ButAnnie, in a spiritless unhappy way, only went whither she was led, andseemed to have no care for anything.

I did not know what to think. Neither did my aunt; who must have walked,at various times, a hundred miles in her uncertainty. What was strangestof all was, that the only real relief which seemed to make its way intothe secret region of this domestic unhappiness, made its way there inthe person of Mr. Dick.

What his thoughts were on the subject, or what his observation was, I amas unable to explain, as I dare say he would have been to assist me inthe task. But, as I have recorded in the narrative of my school days,his veneration for the Doctor was unbounded; and there is a subtlety ofperception in real attachment, even when it is borne towards man by oneof the lower animals, which leaves the highest intellect behind. To thismind of the heart, if I may call it so, in Mr. Dick, some bright ray ofthe truth shot straight.

He had proudly resumed his privilege, in many of his spare hours,of walking up and down the garden with the Doctor; as he had beenaccustomed to pace up and down The Doctor's Walk at Canterbury. Butmatters were no sooner in this state, than he devoted all his spare time(and got up earlier to make it more) to these perambulations. If he hadnever been so happy as when the Doctor read that marvellous performance,the Dictionary, to him; he was now quite miserable unless the Doctorpulled it out of his pocket, and began. When the Doctor and I wereengaged, he now fell into the custom of walking up and down with Mrs.Strong, and helping her to trim her favourite flowers, or weed thebeds. I dare say he rarely spoke a dozen words in an hour: but his quietinterest, and his wistful face, found immediate response in both theirbreasts; each knew that the other liked him, and that he loved both; andhe became what no one else could be--a link between them.

When I think of him, with his impenetrably wise face, walking up anddown with the Doctor, delighted to be battered by the hard words in theDictionary; when I think of him carrying huge watering-pots after Annie;kneeling down, in very paws of gloves, at patient microscopic work amongthe little leaves; expressing as no philosopher could have expressed,in everything he did, a delicate desire to be her friend; showeringsympathy, trustfulness, and affection, out of every hole in thewatering-pot; when I think of him never wandering in that better mindof his to which unhappiness addressed itself, never bringing theunfortunate King Charles into the garden, never wavering in his gratefulservice, never diverted from his knowledge that there was somethingwrong, or from his wish to set it right--I really feel almost ashamedof having known that he was not quite in his wits, taking account of theutmost I have done with mine.

'Nobody but myself, Trot, knows what that man is!' my aunt would proudlyremark, when we conversed about it. 'Dick will distinguish himself yet!'

I must refer to one other topic before I close this chapter. While thevisit at the Doctor's was still in progress, I observed that the postmanbrought two or three letters every morning for Uriah Heep, who remainedat Highgate until the rest went back, it being a leisure time; and thatthese were always directed in a business-like manner by Mr. Micawber,who now assumed a round legal hand. I was glad to infer, from theseslight premises, that Mr. Micawber was doing well; and consequently wasmuch surprised to receive, about this time, the following letter fromhis amiable wife.

'CANTERBURY, Monday Evening.

'You will doubtless be surprised, my dear Mr. Copperfield, to receivethis communication. Still more so, by its contents. Still more so, bythe stipulation of implicit confidence which I beg to impose. But myfeelings as a wife and mother require relief; and as I do not wish toconsult my family (already obnoxious to the feelings of Mr. Micawber),I know no one of whom I can better ask advice than my friend and formerlodger.

'You may be aware, my dear Mr. Copperfield, that between myself and Mr.Micawber (whom I will never desert), there has always been preserved aspirit of mutual confidence. Mr. Micawber may have occasionally givena bill without consulting me, or he may have misled me as to the periodwhen that obligation would become due. This has actually happened.But, in general, Mr. Micawber has had no secrets from the bosom ofaffection--I allude to his wife--and has invariably, on our retirementto rest, recalled the events of the day.

'You will picture to yourself, my dear Mr. Copperfield, what thepoignancy of my feelings must be, when I inform you that Mr. Micawber isentirely changed. He is reserved. He is secret. His life is a mystery tothe partner of his joys and sorrows--I again allude to his wife--and ifI should assure you that beyond knowing that it is passed from morningto night at the office, I now know less of it than I do of the man inthe south, connected with whose mouth the thoughtless children repeatan idle tale respecting cold plum porridge, I should adopt a popularfallacy to express an actual fact.

'But this is not all. Mr. Micawber is morose. He is severe. He isestranged from our eldest son and daughter, he has no pride in histwins, he looks with an eye of coldness even on the unoffending strangerwho last became a member of our circle. The pecuniary means of meetingour expenses, kept down to the utmost farthing, are obtained from himwith great difficulty, and even under fearful threats that he willSettle himself (the exact expression); and he inexorably refuses to giveany explanation whatever of this distracting policy.

'This is hard to bear. This is heart-breaking. If you will advise me,knowing my feeble powers such as they are, how you think it will be bestto exert them in a dilemma so unwonted, you will add another friendlyobligation to the many you have already rendered me. With loves from thechildren, and a smile from the happily-unconscious stranger, I remain,dear Mr. Copperfield,

Your afflicted,

'EMMA MICAWBER.'

I did not feel justified in giving a wife of Mrs. Micawber's experienceany other recommendation, than that she should try to reclaim Mr.Micawber by patience and kindness (as I knew she would in any case); butthe letter set me thinking about him very much.