“Oh!I have a heart to be stabbed in or shot in,I have no doubt,” said Estella,“and of course if it ceased to beat I should cease to be.But you know what I mean. I have no softness there,no—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.”
What _was_ it that was borne in upon my mind when she stood still and looked attentively at me?Anything that I had seen in Miss Havisham?No. In some of her looks and gestures there was that tinge of resemblance to Miss Havisham which may often be noticed to have been acquired by children, from grown person with whom they have been much associated and secluded, and which, when childhood is passed, will produce a remarkable occasional likeness of expression between faces that are otherwise quite different. And yet I could not trace this to Miss Havisham. I looked again, and though she was still looking at me, the suggestion was gone.
What _was_ it?
“I am serious,” said Estella,not so much with a frown (for her brow was smooth) as with a darkening of her face; “if we are to be thrown much together, you had better believe it at once. No!” imperiously stopping me as I opened my lips.“I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere.I have never had any such thing.”
In another moment we were in the brewery,so long disused, and she pointed to the high gallery where I had seen her going out on that same first day, and told me she remembered to have been up there, and to have seen me standing scared below. As my eyes followed her white hand, again the same dim suggestion that I could not possibly grasp crossed me. My involuntary start occasioned her to lay her hand upon my arm. Instantly the ghost passed once more and was gone.
What _was_ it?
“What is the matter?” asked Estella. “Are you scared again?”
“I should be, if I believed what you said just now,” I replied, to turn it off.
“Then you don’t?Very well. It is said, at any rate.Miss Havisham will soon be expecting you at your old post,though I think that might be laid aside now,with other old belongings.Let us make one more round of the garden,and then go in. Come!You shall not shed tears for my cruelty to-day;you shall be my Page, and give me your shoulder.”
Her handsome dress had trailed upon the ground.She held it in one hand now,and with the other lightly touched my shoulder as we walked.We walked round the ruined garden twice or thrice more,and it was all in bloom for me.If the green and yellow growth of weed in the chinks of the old wall had been the most precious flowers that ever blew, it could not have been more cherished in my remembrance.
There was no discrepancy of years between us to remove her far from me;we were of nearly the same age,though of course the age told for more in her case than in mine;but the air of inaccessibility which her beauty and her manner gave her,tormented me in the midst of my delight,and at the height of the assurance I felt that our patroness had chosen us for one another. Wretched boy!
At last we went back into the house, and there I heard,with surprise, that my guardian had come down to see Miss Havisham on business,and would come back to dinner.The old wintry branches of chandeliers in the room where the mouldering table was spread had been lighted while we were out, and Miss Havisham was in her chair and waiting for me.
It was like pushing the chair itself back into the past,when we began the old slow circuit round about the ashes of the bridal feast.But, in the funereal room,with that figure of the grave fallen back in the chair fixing its eyes upon her, Estella looked more bright and beautiful than before, and I was under stronger enchantment.
The time so melted away,that our early dinner-hour drew close at hand,and Estella left us to prepare herself.We had stopped near the centre of the long table,and Miss Havisham, with one of her withered arms stretched out of the chair,rested that clenched hand upon the yellow cloth.As Estella looked back over her shoulder before going out at the door,Miss Havisham kissed that hand to her,with a ravenous intensity that was of its kind quite dreadful.
Then, Estella being gone and we two left alone,she turned to me, and said in a whisper,—
“Is she beautiful, graceful, well-grown?Do you admire her?”
“Everybody must who sees her, Miss Havisham.”
She drew an arm round my neck,and drew my head close down to hers as she sat in the chair.“Love her, love her, love her!How does she use you?”
Before I could answer (if I could have answered so difficult a question at all) she repeated, “Love her, love her, love her!If she favours you, love her. If she wounds you,love her. If she tears your heart to pieces,—and as it gets older and stronger it will tear deeper,—love her, love her, love her!”
Never had I seen such passionate eagerness as was joined to her utterance of these words. I could feel the muscles of the thin arm round my neck swell with the vehemence that possessed her.
“Hear me, Pip!I adopted her, to be loved. I bred her and educated her,to be loved. I developed her into what she is,that she might be loved. Love her!”
She said the word often enough,and there could be no doubt that she meant to say it;but if the often repeated word had been hate instead of love—despair—revenge—dire death—it could not have sounded from her lips more like a curse.
“I’ll tell you,” said she,in the same hurried passionate whisper,“what real love is. It is blind devotion,unquestioning self-humiliation, utter submission,trust and belief against yourself and against the whole world,giving up your whole heart and soul to the smiter—as I did!”
When she came to that,and to a wild cry that followed that,I caught her round the waist.For she rose up in the chair, in her shroud of a dress,and struck at the air as if she would as soon have struck herself against the wall and fallen dead.
All this passed in a few seconds.As I drew her down into her chair,I was conscious of a scent that I knew, and turning,saw my guardian in the room.
He always carried (I have not yet mentioned it,I think) a pocket-handkerchief of rich silk and of imposing proportions,which was of great value to him in his profession.I have seen him so terrify a client or a witness by ceremoniously unfolding this pocket-handkerchief as if he were immediately going to blow his nose, and then pausing, as if he knew he should not have time to do it before such client or witness committed himself, that the self-committal has followed directly, quite as a matter of course. When I saw him in the room he had this expressive pocket-handkerchief in both hands, and was looking at us. On meeting my eye, he said plainly, by a momentary and silent pause in that attitude, “Indeed?Singular!” and then put the handkerchief to its right use with wonderful effect.
Miss Havisham had seen him as soon as I,and was (like everybody else) afraid of him.She made a strong attempt to compose herself,and stammered that he was as punctual as ever.
“As punctual as ever,” he repeated, coming up to us.“(How do you do, Pip?Shall I give you a ride, Miss Havisham?Once round?) And so you are here, Pip?”
I told him when I had arrived,and how Miss Havisham had wished me to come and see Estella.To which he replied, “Ah!Very fine young lady!” Then he pushed Miss Havisham in her chair before him,with one of his large hands,and put the other in his trousers-pocket as if the pocket were full of secrets.
“Well, Pip!How often have you seen Miss Estella before?” said he, when he came to a stop.
“How often?”
“Ah!How many times?Ten thousand times?”
“Oh!Certainly not so many.”
“Twice?”
“Jaggers,” interposed Miss Havisham, much to my relief,“leave my Pip alone, and go with him to your dinner.”