I must have been married, if I may trust to my imperfect memory fordates, about a year or so, when one evening, as I was returning from asolitary walk, thinking of the book I was then writing--for my successhad steadily increased with my steady application, and I was engaged atthat time upon my first work of fiction--I came past Mrs. Steerforth'shouse. I had often passed it before, during my residence in thatneighbourhood, though never when I could choose another road. Howbeit,it did sometimes happen that it was not easy to find another, withoutmaking a long circuit; and so I had passed that way, upon the whole,pretty often.

I had never done more than glance at the house, as I went by with aquickened step. It had been uniformly gloomy and dull. None of the bestrooms abutted on the road; and the narrow, heavily-framed old-fashionedwindows, never cheerful under any circumstances, looked very dismal,close shut, and with their blinds always drawn down. There was a coveredway across a little paved court, to an entrance that was never used; andthere was one round staircase window, at odds with all the rest, and theonly one unshaded by a blind, which had the same unoccupied blank look.I do not remember that I ever saw a light in all the house. If I hadbeen a casual passer-by, I should have probably supposed that somechildless person lay dead in it. If I had happily possessed no knowledgeof the place, and had seen it often in that changeless state, I shouldhave pleased my fancy with many ingenious speculations, I dare say.

As it was, I thought as little of it as I might. But my mind could notgo by it and leave it, as my body did; and it usually awakened a longtrain of meditations. Coming before me, on this particular evening thatI mention, mingled with the childish recollections and later fancies,the ghosts of half-formed hopes, the broken shadows of disappointmentsdimly seen and understood, the blending of experience and imagination,incidental to the occupation with which my thoughts had been busy, itwas more than commonly suggestive. I fell into a brown study as I walkedon, and a voice at my side made me start.

It was a woman's voice, too. I was not long in recollecting Mrs.Steerforth's little parlour-maid, who had formerly worn blue ribbons inher cap. She had taken them out now, to adapt herself, I suppose, tothe altered character of the house; and wore but one or two disconsolatebows of sober brown.

'If you please, sir, would you have the goodness to walk in, and speakto Miss Dartle?'

'Has Miss Dartle sent you for me?' I inquired.

'Not tonight, sir, but it's just the same. Miss Dartle saw you pass anight or two ago; and I was to sit at work on the staircase, and when Isaw you pass again, to ask you to step in and speak to her.'

I turned back, and inquired of my conductor, as we went along, how Mrs.Steerforth was. She said her lady was but poorly, and kept her own rooma good deal.

When we arrived at the house, I was directed to Miss Dartle in thegarden, and left to make my presence known to her myself. She wassitting on a seat at one end of a kind of terrace, overlooking the greatcity. It was a sombre evening, with a lurid light in the sky; and asI saw the prospect scowling in the distance, with here and there somelarger object starting up into the sullen glare, I fancied it was noinapt companion to the memory of this fierce woman.

She saw me as I advanced, and rose for a moment to receive me. I thoughther, then, still more colourless and thin than when I had seen her last;the flashing eyes still brighter, and the scar still plainer.

Our meeting was not cordial. We had parted angrily on the last occasion;and there was an air of disdain about her, which she took no pains toconceal.

'I am told you wish to speak to me, Miss Dartle,' said I, standing nearher, with my hand upon the back of the seat, and declining her gestureof invitation to sit down.

'If you please,' said she. 'Pray has this girl been found?'

'No.'

'And yet she has run away!'

I saw her thin lips working while she looked at me, as if they wereeager to load her with reproaches.

'Run away?' I repeated.

'Yes! From him,' she said, with a laugh. 'If she is not found, perhapsshe never will be found. She may be dead!'

The vaunting cruelty with which she met my glance, I never saw expressedin any other face that ever I have seen.

'To wish her dead,' said I, 'may be the kindest wish that one of her ownsex could bestow upon her. I am glad that time has softened you so much,Miss Dartle.'

She condescended to make no reply, but, turning on me with anotherscornful laugh, said:

'The friends of this excellent and much-injured young lady are friendsof yours. You are their champion, and assert their rights. Do you wishto know what is known of her?'

'Yes,' said I.

She rose with an ill-favoured smile, and taking a few steps towardsa wall of holly that was near at hand, dividing the lawn from akitchen-garden, said, in a louder voice, 'Come here!'--as if she werecalling to some unclean beast.

'You will restrain any demonstrative championship or vengeance in thisplace, of course, Mr. Copperfield?' said she, looking over her shoulderat me with the same expression.

I inclined my head, without knowing what she meant; and she said, 'Comehere!' again; and returned, followed by the respectable Mr. Littimer,who, with undiminished respectability, made me a bow, and took up hisposition behind her. The air of wicked grace: of triumph, in which,strange to say, there was yet something feminine and alluring: withwhich she reclined upon the seat between us, and looked at me, wasworthy of a cruel Princess in a Legend.

'Now,' said she, imperiously, without glancing at him, and touchingthe old wound as it throbbed: perhaps, in this instance, with pleasurerather than pain. 'Tell Mr. Copperfield about the flight.'

'Mr. James and myself, ma'am--'

'Don't address yourself to me!' she interrupted with a frown.

'Mr. James and myself, sir--'

'Nor to me, if you please,' said I.

Mr. Littimer, without being at all discomposed, signified by a slightobeisance, that anything that was most agreeable to us was mostagreeable to him; and began again.

'Mr. James and myself have been abroad with the young woman, eversince she left Yarmouth under Mr. james's protection. We have been in avariety of places, and seen a deal of foreign country. We have been inFrance, Switzerland, Italy, in fact, almost all parts.'

He looked at the back of the seat, as if he were addressing himself tothat; and softly played upon it with his hands, as if he were strikingchords upon a dumb piano.

'Mr. James took quite uncommonly to the young woman; and was moresettled, for a length of time, than I have known him to be since I havebeen in his service. The young woman was very improvable, and spoke thelanguages; and wouldn't have been known for the same country-person. Inoticed that she was much admired wherever we went.'

Miss Dartle put her hand upon her side. I saw him steal a glance at her,and slightly smile to himself.

'Very much admired, indeed, the young woman was. What with her dress;what with the air and sun; what with being made so much of; what withthis, that, and the other; her merits really attracted general notice.'

He made a short pause. Her eyes wandered restlessly over the distantprospect, and she bit her nether lip to stop that busy mouth.

Taking his hands from the seat, and placing one of them within theother, as he settled himself on one leg, Mr. Littimer proceeded, withhis eyes cast down, and his respectable head a little advanced, and alittle on one side:

'The young woman went on in this manner for some time, beingoccasionally low in her spirits, until I think she began to weary Mr.James by giving way to her low spirits and tempers of that kind; andthings were not so comfortable. Mr. James he began to be restless again.The more restless he got, the worse she got; and I must say, for myself,that I had a very difficult time of it indeed between the two. Stillmatters were patched up here, and made good there, over and over again;and altogether lasted, I am sure, for a longer time than anybody couldhave expected.'

Recalling her eyes from the distance, she looked at me again now, withher former air. Mr. Littimer, clearing his throat behind his hand with arespectable short cough, changed legs, and went on:

'At last, when there had been, upon the whole, a good many words andreproaches, Mr. James he set off one morning, from the neighbourhood ofNaples, where we had a villa (the young woman being very partial tothe sea), and, under pretence of coming back in a day or so, left it incharge with me to break it out, that, for the general happiness of allconcerned, he was'--here an interruption of the short cough--'gone. ButMr. James, I must say, certainly did behave extremely honourable; forhe proposed that the young woman should marry a very respectable person,who was fully prepared to overlook the past, and who was, at least, asgood as anybody the young woman could have aspired to in a regular way:her connexions being very common.'

He changed legs again, and wetted his lips. I was convinced that thescoundrel spoke of himself, and I saw my conviction reflected in MissDartle's face.

'This I also had it in charge to communicate. I was willing to doanything to relieve Mr. James from his difficulty, and to restoreharmony between himself and an affectionate parent, who has undergoneso much on his account. Therefore I undertook the commission. Theyoung woman's violence when she came to, after I broke the fact of hisdeparture, was beyond all expectations. She was quite mad, and had tobe held by force; or, if she couldn't have got to a knife, or got to thesea, she'd have beaten her head against the marble floor.'

Miss Dartle, leaning back upon the seat, with a light of exultation inher face, seemed almost to caress the sounds this fellow had uttered.

'But when I came to the second part of what had been entrusted to me,'said Mr. Littimer, rubbing his hands uneasily, 'which anybody mighthave supposed would have been, at all events, appreciated as a kindintention, then the young woman came out in her true colours. A moreoutrageous person I never did see. Her conduct was surprisingly bad. Shehad no more gratitude, no more feeling, no more patience, no more reasonin her, than a stock or a stone. If I hadn't been upon my guard, I amconvinced she would have had my blood.'

'I think the better of her for it,' said I, indignantly.

Mr. Littimer bent his head, as much as to say, 'Indeed, sir? But you'reyoung!' and resumed his narrative.

'It was necessary, in short, for a time, to take away everything nighher, that she could do herself, or anybody else, an injury with, andto shut her up close. Notwithstanding which, she got out in the night;forced the lattice of a window, that I had nailed up myself; dropped ona vine that was trailed below; and never has been seen or heard of, tomy knowledge, since.'

'She is dead, perhaps,' said Miss Dartle, with a smile, as if she couldhave spurned the body of the ruined girl.

'She may have drowned herself, miss,' returned Mr. Littimer, catching atan excuse for addressing himself to somebody. 'It's very possible. Or,she may have had assistance from the boatmen, and the boatmen's wivesand children. Being given to low company, she was very much in thehabit of talking to them on the beach, Miss Dartle, and sitting by theirboats. I have known her do it, when Mr. James has been away, whole days.Mr. James was far from pleased to find out, once, that she had told thechildren she was a boatman's daughter, and that in her own country, longago, she had roamed about the beach, like them.'

Oh, Emily! Unhappy beauty! What a picture rose before me of her sittingon the far-off shore, among the children like herself when she wasinnocent, listening to little voices such as might have called herMother had she been a poor man's wife; and to the great voice of thesea, with its eternal 'Never more!'

'When it was clear that nothing could be done, Miss Dartle--'

'Did I tell you not to speak to me?' she said, with stern contempt.

'You spoke to me, miss,' he replied. 'I beg your pardon. But it is myservice to obey.'

'Do your service,' she returned. 'Finish your story, and go!'

'When it was clear,' he said, with infinite respectability and anobedient bow, 'that she was not to be found, I went to Mr. James, at theplace where it had been agreed that I should write to him, and informedhim of what had occurred. Words passed between us in consequence, andI felt it due to my character to leave him. I could bear, and I haveborne, a great deal from Mr. James; but he insulted me too far. He hurtme. Knowing the unfortunate difference between himself and his mother,and what her anxiety of mind was likely to be, I took the liberty ofcoming home to England, and relating--'

'For money which I paid him,' said Miss Dartle to me.

'Just so, ma'am--and relating what I knew. I am not aware,' said Mr.Littimer, after a moment's reflection, 'that there is anything else.I am at present out of employment, and should be happy to meet with arespectable situation.'

Miss Dartle glanced at me, as though she would inquire if there wereanything that I desired to ask. As there was something which hadoccurred to my mind, I said in reply:

'I could wish to know from this--creature,' I could not bring myselfto utter any more conciliatory word, 'whether they intercepted a letterthat was written to her from home, or whether he supposes that shereceived it.'

He remained calm and silent, with his eyes fixed on the ground, and thetip of every finger of his right hand delicately poised against the tipof every finger of his left.

Miss Dartle turned her head disdainfully towards him.

'I beg your pardon, miss,' he said, awakening from his abstraction,'but, however submissive to you, I have my position, though a servant.Mr. Copperfield and you, miss, are different people. If Mr. Copperfieldwishes to know anything from me, I take the liberty of reminding Mr.Copperfield that he can put a question to me. I have a character tomaintain.'

After a momentary struggle with myself, I turned my eyes upon him, andsaid, 'You have heard my question. Consider it addressed to yourself, ifyou choose. What answer do you make?'

'Sir,' he rejoined, with an occasional separation and reunion of thosedelicate tips, 'my answer must be qualified; because, to betray Mr.james's confidence to his mother, and to betray it to you, are twodifferent actions. It is not probable, I consider, that Mr. James wouldencourage the receipt of letters likely to increase low spirits andunpleasantness; but further than that, sir, I should wish to avoidgoing.'

'Is that all?' inquired Miss Dartle of me.

I indicated that I had nothing more to say. 'Except,' I added, as Isaw him moving off, 'that I understand this fellow's part in the wickedstory, and that, as I shall make it known to the honest man who has beenher father from her childhood, I would recommend him to avoid going toomuch into public.'

He had stopped the moment I began, and had listened with his usualrepose of manner.

'Thank you, sir. But you'll excuse me if I say, sir, that there areneither slaves nor slave-drivers in this country, and that people arenot allowed to take the law into their own hands. If they do, it ismore to their own peril, I believe, than to other people's. Consequentlyspeaking, I am not at all afraid of going wherever I may wish, sir.'

With that, he made a polite bow; and, with another to Miss Dartle, wentaway through the arch in the wall of holly by which he had come. MissDartle and I regarded each other for a little while in silence; hermanner being exactly what it was, when she had produced the man.

'He says besides,' she observed, with a slow curling of her lip, 'thathis master, as he hears, is coasting Spain; and this done, is awayto gratify his seafaring tastes till he is weary. But this is of nointerest to you. Between these two proud persons, mother and son, thereis a wider breach than before, and little hope of its healing, for theyare one at heart, and time makes each more obstinate and imperious.Neither is this of any interest to you; but it introduces what I wish tosay. This devil whom you make an angel of. I mean this low girl whom hepicked out of the tide-mud,' with her black eyes full upon me, and herpassionate finger up, 'may be alive,--for I believe some common thingsare hard to die. If she is, you will desire to have a pearl of suchprice found and taken care of. We desire that, too; that he may notby any chance be made her prey again. So far, we are united in oneinterest; and that is why I, who would do her any mischief that socoarse a wretch is capable of feeling, have sent for you to hear whatyou have heard.'

I saw, by the change in her face, that someone was advancing behind me.It was Mrs. Steerforth, who gave me her hand more coldly than of yore,and with an augmentation of her former stateliness of manner, but still,I perceived--and I was touched by it--with an ineffaceable remembranceof my old love for her son. She was greatly altered. Her fine figure wasfar less upright, her handsome face was deeply marked, and her hair wasalmost white. But when she sat down on the seat, she was a handsome ladystill; and well I knew the bright eye with its lofty look, that had beena light in my very dreams at school.

'Is Mr. Copperfield informed of everything, Rosa?'

'Yes.'

'And has he heard Littimer himself?'

'Yes; I have told him why you wished it.' 'You are a good girl. I havehad some slight correspondence with your former friend, sir,' addressingme, 'but it has not restored his sense of duty or natural obligation.Therefore I have no other object in this, than what Rosa has mentioned.If, by the course which may relieve the mind of the decent man youbrought here (for whom I am sorry--I can say no more), my son may besaved from again falling into the snares of a designing enemy, well!'

She drew herself up, and sat looking straight before her, far away.

'Madam,' I said respectfully, 'I understand. I assure you I am in nodanger of putting any strained construction on your motives. But I mustsay, even to you, having known this injured family from childhood,that if you suppose the girl, so deeply wronged, has not been cruellydeluded, and would not rather die a hundred deaths than take a cup ofwater from your son's hand now, you cherish a terrible mistake.'

'Well, Rosa, well!' said Mrs. Steerforth, as the other was about tointerpose, 'it is no matter. Let it be. You are married, sir, I amtold?'

I answered that I had been some time married.

'And are doing well? I hear little in the quiet life I lead, but Iunderstand you are beginning to be famous.'

'I have been very fortunate,' I said, 'and find my name connected withsome praise.'

'You have no mother?'--in a softened voice.

'No.'

'It is a pity,' she returned. 'She would have been proud of you. Goodnight!'

I took the hand she held out with a dignified, unbending air, and itwas as calm in mine as if her breast had been at peace. Her pride couldstill its very pulses, it appeared, and draw the placid veil beforeher face, through which she sat looking straight before her on the fardistance.

As I moved away from them along the terrace, I could not help observinghow steadily they both sat gazing on the prospect, and how it thickenedand closed around them. Here and there, some early lamps were seen totwinkle in the distant city; and in the eastern quarter of the skythe lurid light still hovered. But, from the greater part of the broadvalley interposed, a mist was rising like a sea, which, mingling withthe darkness, made it seem as if the gathering waters would encompassthem. I have reason to remember this, and think of it with awe; forbefore I looked upon those two again, a stormy sea had risen to theirfeet.

Reflecting on what had been thus told me, I felt it right that it shouldbe communicated to Mr. Peggotty. On the following evening I went intoLondon in quest of him. He was always wandering about from place toplace, with his one object of recovering his niece before him; but wasmore in London than elsewhere. Often and often, now, had I seen him inthe dead of night passing along the streets, searching, among the fewwho loitered out of doors at those untimely hours, for what he dreadedto find.

He kept a lodging over the little chandler's shop in Hungerford Market,which I have had occasion to mention more than once, and from which hefirst went forth upon his errand of mercy. Hither I directed my walk. Onmaking inquiry for him, I learned from the people of the house that hehad not gone out yet, and I should find him in his room upstairs.

He was sitting reading by a window in which he kept a few plants. Theroom was very neat and orderly. I saw in a moment that it was alwayskept prepared for her reception, and that he never went out but hethought it possible he might bring her home. He had not heard my tapat the door, and only raised his eyes when I laid my hand upon hisshoulder.

'Mas'r Davy! Thankee, sir! thankee hearty, for this visit! Sit ye down.You're kindly welcome, sir!'

'Mr. Peggotty,' said I, taking the chair he handed me, 'don't expectmuch! I have heard some news.'

'Of Em'ly!'

He put his hand, in a nervous manner, on his mouth, and turned pale, ashe fixed his eyes on mine.

'It gives no clue to where she is; but she is not with him.'

He sat down, looking intently at me, and listened in profound silenceto all I had to tell. I well remember the sense of dignity, beauty even,with which the patient gravity of his face impressed me, when, havinggradually removed his eyes from mine, he sat looking downward, leaninghis forehead on his hand. He offered no interruption, but remainedthroughout perfectly still. He seemed to pursue her figure throughthe narrative, and to let every other shape go by him, as if it werenothing.

When I had done, he shaded his face, and continued silent. I looked outof the window for a little while, and occupied myself with the plants.

'How do you fare to feel about it, Mas'r Davy?' he inquired at length.

'I think that she is living,' I replied.

'I doen't know. Maybe the first shock was too rough, and in the wildnessof her art--! That there blue water as she used to speak on. Could shehave thowt o' that so many year, because it was to be her grave!'

He said this, musing, in a low, frightened voice; and walked across thelittle room.

'And yet,' he added, 'Mas'r Davy, I have felt so sure as she wasliving--I have know'd, awake and sleeping, as it was so trew that Ishould find her--I have been so led on by it, and held up by it--that Idoen't believe I can have been deceived. No! Em'ly's alive!'

He put his hand down firmly on the table, and set his sunburnt face intoa resolute expression.

'My niece, Em'ly, is alive, sir!' he said, steadfastly. 'I doen't knowwheer it comes from, or how 'tis, but I am told as she's alive!'

He looked almost like a man inspired, as he said it. I waited for afew moments, until he could give me his undivided attention; and thenproceeded to explain the precaution, that, it had occurred to me lastnight, it would be wise to take.

'Now, my dear friend--'I began.

'Thankee, thankee, kind sir,' he said, grasping my hand in both of his.

'If she should make her way to London, which is likely--for where couldshe lose herself so readily as in this vast city; and what would shewish to do, but lose and hide herself, if she does not go home?--'

'And she won't go home,' he interposed, shaking his head mournfully. 'Ifshe had left of her own accord, she might; not as It was, sir.'

'If she should come here,' said I, 'I believe there is one person,here, more likely to discover her than any other in the world. Doyou remember--hear what I say, with fortitude--think of your greatobject!--do you remember Martha?'

'Of our town?'

I needed no other answer than his face.

'Do you know that she is in London?'

'I have seen her in the streets,' he answered, with a shiver.

'But you don't know,' said I, 'that Emily was charitable to her, withHam's help, long before she fled from home. Nor, that, when we met onenight, and spoke together in the room yonder, over the way, she listenedat the door.'

'Mas'r Davy!' he replied in astonishment. 'That night when it snew sohard?'

'That night. I have never seen her since. I went back, after partingfrom you, to speak to her, but she was gone. I was unwilling to mentionher to you then, and I am now; but she is the person of whom I speak,and with whom I think we should communicate. Do you understand?'

'Too well, sir,' he replied. We had sunk our voices, almost to awhisper, and continued to speak in that tone.

'You say you have seen her. Do you think that you could find her? Icould only hope to do so by chance.'

'I think, Mas'r Davy, I know wheer to look.'

'It is dark. Being together, shall we go out now, and try to find hertonight?'

He assented, and prepared to accompany me. Without appearing to observewhat he was doing, I saw how carefully he adjusted the little room,put a candle ready and the means of lighting it, arranged the bed, andfinally took out of a drawer one of her dresses (I remember to haveseen her wear it), neatly folded with some other garments, and a bonnet,which he placed upon a chair. He made no allusion to these clothes,neither did I. There they had been waiting for her, many and many anight, no doubt.

'The time was, Mas'r Davy,' he said, as we came downstairs, 'when Ithowt this girl, Martha, a'most like the dirt underneath my Em'ly'sfeet. God forgive me, theer's a difference now!'

As we went along, partly to hold him in conversation, and partly tosatisfy myself, I asked him about Ham. He said, almost in the same wordsas formerly, that Ham was just the same, 'wearing away his life withkiender no care nohow for 't; but never murmuring, and liked by all'.

I asked him what he thought Ham's state of mind was, in reference to thecause of their misfortunes? Whether he believed it was dangerous? Whathe supposed, for example, Ham would do, if he and Steerforth ever shouldencounter?

'I doen't know, sir,' he replied. 'I have thowt of it oftentimes, but Ican't awize myself of it, no matters.'

I recalled to his remembrance the morning after her departure, when wewere all three on the beach. 'Do you recollect,' said I, 'a certain wildway in which he looked out to sea, and spoke about "the end of it"?'

'Sure I do!' said he.

'What do you suppose he meant?'

'Mas'r Davy,' he replied, 'I've put the question to myself a mort o'times, and never found no answer. And theer's one curious thing--that,though he is so pleasant, I wouldn't fare to feel comfortable to try andget his mind upon 't. He never said a wured to me as warn't as dootifulas dootiful could be, and it ain't likely as he'd begin to speak anyother ways now; but it's fur from being fleet water in his mind, wherethem thowts lays. It's deep, sir, and I can't see down.'

'You are right,' said I, 'and that has sometimes made me anxious.'

'And me too, Mas'r Davy,' he rejoined. 'Even more so, I do assure you,than his ventersome ways, though both belongs to the alteration in him.I doen't know as he'd do violence under any circumstances, but I hope asthem two may be kep asunders.'

We had come, through Temple Bar, into the city. Conversing no more now,and walking at my side, he yielded himself up to the one aim of hisdevoted life, and went on, with that hushed concentration of hisfaculties which would have made his figure solitary in a multitude.We were not far from Blackfriars Bridge, when he turned his head andpointed to a solitary female figure flitting along the opposite side ofthe street. I knew it, readily, to be the figure that we sought.

We crossed the road, and were pressing on towards her, when it occurredto me that she might be more disposed to feel a woman's interest in thelost girl, if we spoke to her in a quieter place, aloof from the crowd,and where we should be less observed. I advised my companion, therefore,that we should not address her yet, but follow her; consulting in this,likewise, an indistinct desire I had, to know where she went.

He acquiescing, we followed at a distance: never losing sight of her,but never caring to come very near, as she frequently looked about.Once, she stopped to listen to a band of music; and then we stopped too.

She went on a long way. Still we went on. It was evident, from themanner in which she held her course, that she was going to some fixeddestination; and this, and her keeping in the busy streets, and Isuppose the strange fascination in the secrecy and mystery of sofollowing anyone, made me adhere to my first purpose. At length sheturned into a dull, dark street, where the noise and crowd were lost;and I said, 'We may speak to her now'; and, mending our pace, we wentafter her.