第 82 页

quicker by present circumstances. The wonder is, that it isn’t much

worse! I only called to say that if there was anything we could do, in

present circumstances, mother or self, or Wickfield and Heep,--we should

be really glad. I may go so far?’ said Uriah, with a sickly smile at his

partner.

‘Uriah Heep,’ said Mr. Wickfield, in a monotonous forced way, ‘is active

in the business, Trotwood. What he says, I quite concur in. You know

I had an old interest in you. Apart from that, what Uriah says I quite

concur in!’

‘Oh, what a reward it is,’ said Uriah, drawing up one leg, at the risk

of bringing down upon himself another visitation from my aunt, ‘to be so

trusted in! But I hope I am able to do something to relieve him from the

fatigues of business, Master Copperfield!’

‘Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,’ said Mr. Wickfield, in the same

dull voice. ‘It’s a load off my mind, Trotwood, to have such a partner.’

The red fox made him say all this, I knew, to exhibit him to me in the

light he had indicated on the night when he poisoned my rest. I saw the

same ill-favoured smile upon his face again, and saw how he watched me.

‘You are not going, papa?’ said Agnes, anxiously. ‘Will you not walk

back with Trotwood and me?’

He would have looked to Uriah, I believe, before replying, if that

worthy had not anticipated him.

‘I am bespoke myself,’ said Uriah, ‘on business; otherwise I should

have been appy to have kept with my friends. But I leave my partner to

represent the firm. Miss Agnes, ever yours! I wish you good-day, Master

Copperfield, and leave my umble respects for Miss Betsey Trotwood.’

With those words, he retired, kissing his great hand, and leering at us

like a mask.

We sat there, talking about our pleasant old Canterbury days, an hour

or two. Mr. Wickfield, left to Agnes, soon became more like his former

self; though there was a settled depression upon him, which he never

shook off. For all that, he brightened; and had an evident pleasure in

hearing us recall the little incidents of our old life, many of which he

remembered very well. He said it was like those times, to be alone with

Agnes and me again; and he wished to Heaven they had never changed. I am

sure there was an influence in the placid face of Agnes, and in the very

touch of her hand upon his arm, that did wonders for him.

My aunt (who was busy nearly all this while with Peggotty, in the inner

room) would not accompany us to the place where they were staying, but

insisted on my going; and I went. We dined together. After dinner, Agnes

sat beside him, as of old, and poured out his wine. He took what she

gave him, and no more--like a child--and we all three sat together at a

window as the evening gathered in. When it was almost dark, he lay down

on a sofa, Agnes pillowing his head and bending over him a little while;

and when she came back to the window, it was not so dark but I could see

tears glittering in her eyes.

I pray Heaven that I never may forget the dear girl in her love and

truth, at that time of my life; for if I should, I must be drawing near

the end, and then I would desire to remember her best! She filled my

heart with such good resolutions, strengthened my weakness so, by her

example, so directed--I know not how, she was too modest and gentle

to advise me in many words--the wandering ardour and unsettled purpose

within me, that all the little good I have done, and all the harm I have

forborne, I solemnly believe I may refer to her.

And how she spoke to me of Dora, sitting at the window in the dark;

listened to my praises of her; praised again; and round the little

fairy-figure shed some glimpses of her own pure light, that made it yet

more precious and more innocent to me! Oh, Agnes, sister of my boyhood,

if I had known then, what I knew long afterwards--!

There was a beggar in the street, when I went down; and as I turned my

head towards the window, thinking of her calm seraphic eyes, he made me

start by muttering, as if he were an echo of the morning: ‘Blind! Blind!

Blind!’

CHAPTER 36. ENTHUSIASM

I began the next day with another dive into the Roman bath, and then

started for Highgate. I was not dispirited now. I was not afraid of the

shabby coat, and had no yearnings after gallant greys. My whole manner

of thinking of our late misfortune was changed. What I had to do, was,

to show my aunt that her past goodness to me had not been thrown away

on an insensible, ungrateful object. What I had to do, was, to turn the

painful discipline of my younger days to account, by going to work with

a resolute and steady heart. What I had to do, was, to take my woodman’s

axe in my hand, and clear my own way through the forest of difficulty,

by cutting down the trees until I came to Dora. And I went on at a

mighty rate, as if it could be done by walking.

When I found myself on the familiar Highgate road, pursuing such a

different errand from that old one of pleasure, with which it was

associated, it seemed as if a complete change had come on my whole life.

But that did not discourage me. With the new life, came new purpose,

new intention. Great was the labour; priceless the reward. Dora was the

reward, and Dora must be won.

I got into such a transport, that I felt quite sorry my coat was not

a little shabby already. I wanted to be cutting at those trees in the

forest of difficulty, under circumstances that should prove my strength.

I had a good mind to ask an old man, in wire spectacles, who was

breaking stones upon the road, to lend me his hammer for a little while,

and let me begin to beat a path to Dora out of granite. I stimulated

myself into such a heat, and got so out of breath, that I felt as if I

had been earning I don’t know how much.

In this state, I went into a cottage that I saw was to let, and examined

it narrowly,--for I felt it necessary to be practical. It would do for

me and Dora admirably: with a little front garden for Jip to run about

in, and bark at the tradespeople through the railings, and a capital

room upstairs for my aunt. I came out again, hotter and faster than

ever, and dashed up to Highgate, at such a rate that I was there an

hour too early; and, though I had not been, should have been obliged to

stroll about to cool myself, before I was at all presentable.

My first care, after putting myself under this necessary course of

preparation, was to find the Doctor’s house. It was not in that part of

Highgate where Mrs. Steerforth lived, but quite on the opposite side

of the little town. When I had made this discovery, I went back, in

an attraction I could not resist, to a lane by Mrs. Steerforth’s, and

looked over the corner of the garden wall. His room was shut up close.

The conservatory doors were standing open, and Rosa Dartle was walking,

bareheaded, with a quick, impetuous step, up and down a gravel walk on

one side of the lawn. She gave me the idea of some fierce thing, that

was dragging the length of its chain to and fro upon a beaten track, and

wearing its heart out.

I came softly away from my place of observation, and avoiding that part

of the neighbourhood, and wishing I had not gone near it, strolled about

until it was ten o’clock. The church with the slender spire, that stands

on the top of the hill now, was not there then to tell me the time. An

old red-brick mansion, used as a school, was in its place; and a fine

old house it must have been to go to school at, as I recollect it.

When I approached the Doctor’s cottage--a pretty old place, on which

he seemed to have expended some money, if I might judge from the

embellishments and repairs that had the look of being just completed--I

saw him walking in the garden at the side, gaiters and all, as if he

had never left off walking since the days of my pupilage. He had his old

companions about him, too; for there were plenty of high trees in the

neighbourhood, and two or three rooks were on the grass, looking after

him, as if they had been written to about him by the Canterbury rooks,

and were observing him closely in consequence.

Knowing the utter hopelessness of attracting his attention from that

distance, I made bold to open the gate, and walk after him, so as to

meet him when he should turn round. When he did, and came towards me, he

looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, evidently without thinking

about me at all; and then his benevolent face expressed extraordinary

pleasure, and he took me by both hands.

‘Why, my dear Copperfield,’ said the Doctor, ‘you are a man! How do you

do? I am delighted to see you. My dear Copperfield, how very much you

have improved! You are quite--yes--dear me!’

I hoped he was well, and Mrs. Strong too.

‘Oh dear, yes!’ said the Doctor; ‘Annie’s quite well, and she’ll be

delighted to see you. You were always her favourite. She said so,

last night, when I showed her your letter. And--yes, to be sure--you

recollect Mr. Jack Maldon, Copperfield?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

‘Of course,’ said the Doctor. ‘To be sure. He’s pretty well, too.’

‘Has he come home, sir?’ I inquired.

‘From India?’ said the Doctor. ‘Yes. Mr. Jack Maldon couldn’t bear

the climate, my dear. Mrs. Markleham--you have not forgotten Mrs.

Markleham?’

Forgotten the Old Soldier! And in that short time!

‘Mrs. Markleham,’ said the Doctor, ‘was quite vexed about him, poor

thing; so we have got him at home again; and we have bought him a little

Patent place, which agrees with him much better.’ I knew enough of Mr.

Jack Maldon to suspect from this account that it was a place where there

was not much to do, and which was pretty well paid. The Doctor, walking

up and down with his hand on my shoulder, and his kind face turned

encouragingly to mine, went on:

‘Now, my dear Copperfield, in reference to this proposal of yours. It’s

very gratifying and agreeable to me, I am sure; but don’t you think you

could do better? You achieved distinction, you know, when you were with

us. You are qualified for many good things. You have laid a foundation

that any edifice may be raised upon; and is it not a pity that you

should devote the spring-time of your life to such a poor pursuit as I

can offer?’

I became very glowing again, and, expressing myself in a rhapsodical

style, I am afraid, urged my request strongly; reminding the Doctor that

I had already a profession.

‘Well, well,’ said the Doctor, ‘that’s true. Certainly, your having

a profession, and being actually engaged in studying it, makes a

difference. But, my good young friend, what’s seventy pounds a year?’

‘It doubles our income, Doctor Strong,’ said I.

‘Dear me!’ replied the Doctor. ‘To think of that! Not that I mean to

say it’s rigidly limited to seventy pounds a-year, because I have always

contemplated making any young friend I might thus employ, a present too.

Undoubtedly,’ said the Doctor, still walking me up and down with

his hand on my shoulder. ‘I have always taken an annual present into

account.’

‘My dear tutor,’ said I (now, really, without any nonsense), ‘to whom I

owe more obligations already than I ever can acknowledge--’

‘No, no,’ interposed the Doctor. ‘Pardon me!’

‘If you will take such time as I have, and that is my mornings and

evenings, and can think it worth seventy pounds a year, you will do me

such a service as I cannot express.’

‘Dear me!’ said the Doctor, innocently. ‘To think that so little should

go for so much! Dear, dear! And when you can do better, you will? On

your word, now?’ said the Doctor,--which he had always made a very grave

appeal to the honour of us boys.

‘On my word, sir!’ I returned, answering in our old school manner.

‘Then be it so,’ said the Doctor, clapping me on the shoulder, and still

keeping his hand there, as we still walked up and down.

‘And I shall be twenty times happier, sir,’ said I, with a little--I

hope innocent--flattery, ‘if my employment is to be on the Dictionary.’

The Doctor stopped, smilingly clapped me on the shoulder again, and

exclaimed, with a triumph most delightful to behold, as if I had

penetrated to the profoundest depths of mortal sagacity, ‘My dear young

friend, you have hit it. It IS the Dictionary!’

How could it be anything else! His pockets were as full of it as his

head. It was sticking out of him in all directions. He told me that

since his retirement from scholastic life, he had been advancing with

it wonderfully; and that nothing could suit him better than the proposed

arrangements for morning and evening work, as it was his custom to walk

about in the daytime with his considering cap on. His papers were in

a little confusion, in consequence of Mr. Jack Maldon having lately

proffered his occasional services as an amanuensis, and not being

accustomed to that occupation; but we should soon put right what was

amiss, and go on swimmingly. Afterwards, when we were fairly at our

work, I found Mr. Jack Maldon’s efforts more troublesome to me than

I had expected, as he had not confined himself to making numerous

mistakes, but had sketched so many soldiers, and ladies’ heads, over

the Doctor’s manuscript, that I often became involved in labyrinths of

obscurity.

The Doctor was quite happy in the prospect of our going to work together

on that wonderful performance, and we settled to begin next morning at

seven o’clock. We were to work two hours every morning, and two or three

hours every night, except on Saturdays, when I was to rest. On Sundays,

of course, I was to rest also, and I considered these very easy terms.

Our plans being thus arranged to our mutual satisfaction, the Doctor

took me into the house to present me to Mrs. Strong, whom we found in

the Doctor’s new study, dusting his books,--a freedom which he never

permitted anybody else to take with those sacred favourites.

They had postponed their breakfast on my account, and we sat down to

table together. We had not been seated long, when I saw an approaching

arrival in Mrs. Strong’s face, before I heard any sound of it. A

gentleman on horseback came to the gate, and leading his horse into the

little court, with the bridle over his arm, as if he were quite at home,

tied him to a ring in the empty coach-house wall, and came into the