His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on,and often he could not repress a groan.I tried to rest him on the arm I could use,in any easy position;but it was dreadful to think that I could not be sorry at heart for his being badly hurt, since it was unquestionably best that he should die. That there were, still living, people enough who were able and willing to identify him, I could not doubt. That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope. He who had been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since broken prison and had been tried again, who had returned from transportation under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who was the cause of his arrest.
As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us,and as the stream of our hopes seemed all running back,I told him how grieved I was to think that he had come home for my sake.
“Dear boy,” he answered,“I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen my boy,and he can be a gentleman without me.”
No. I had thought about that,while we had been there side by side. No.Apart from any inclinations of my own,I understood Wemmick’s hint now. I foresaw that,being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.
“Lookee here, dear boy,” said he “It’s best as a gentleman should not be knowed to belong to me now.Only come to see me as if you come by chance alonger Wemmick.Sit where I can see you when I am swore to,for the last o’ many times, and I don’t ask no more.”
“I will never stir from your side,” said I,“when I am suffered to be near you. Please God,I will be as true to you as you have been to me!”
I felt his hand tremble as it held mine,and he turned his face away as he lay in the bottom of the boat,and I heard that old sound in his throat,—softened now,like all the rest of him.It was a good thing that he had touched this point,for it put into my mind what I might not otherwise have thought of until too late,—that he need never know how his hopes of enriching me had perished.
Chapter LV.
He was taken to the Police Court next day,and would have been immediately committed for trial,but that it was necessary to send down for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once escaped, to speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but Compeyson, who had meant to depose to it, was tumbling on the tides, dead, and it happened that there was not at that time any prison officer in London who could give the required evidence. I had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his private house, on my arrival over night, to retain his assistance, and Mr. Jaggers on the prisoner’s behalf would admit nothing. It was the sole resource; for he told me that the case must be over in five minutes when the witness was there, and that no power on earth could prevent its going against us.
I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of the fate of his wealth. Mr. Jaggers was querulous and angry with me for having “let it slip through my fingers,” and said we must memorialise by and by, and try at all events for some of it. But he did not conceal from me that, although there might be many cases in which the forfeiture would not be exacted, there were no circumstances in this case to make it one of them. I understood that very well. I was not related to the outlaw, or connected with him by any recognisable tie; he had put his hand to no writing or settlement in my favour before his apprehension, and to do so now would be idle. I had no claim, and I finally resolved, and ever afterwards abided by the resolution, that my heart should never be sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to establish one.
There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer had hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture, and had obtained some accurate knowledge of Magwitch’s affairs. When his body was found, many miles from the scene of his death, and so horribly disfigured that he was only recognisable by the contents of his pockets, notes were still legible, folded in a case he carried. Among these were the name of a banking-house in New South Wales, where a sum of money was, and the designation of certain lands of considerable value. Both these heads of information were in a list that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr. Jaggers, of the possessions he supposed I should inherit. His ignorance, poor fellow, at last served him; he never mistrusted but that my inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers’s aid.
After three days’ delay,during which the crown prosecution stood over for the production of the witness from the prison-ship, the witness came, and completed the easy case. He was committed to take his trial at the next Sessions, which would come on in a month.
It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one evening,a good deal cast down, and said,—
“My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you.”
His partner having prepared me for that,I was less surprised than he thought.
“We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo,and I am very much afraid I must go, Handel,when you most need me.”
“Herbert, I shall always need you,because I shall always love you;but my need is no greater now than at another time.”
“You will be so lonely.”
“I have not leisure to think of that,” said I.“You know that I am always with him to the full extent of the time allowed,and that I should be with him all day long, if I could.And when I come away from him,you know that my thoughts are with him.”
The dreadful condition to which he was brought,was so appalling to both of us,that we could not refer to it in plainer words.
“My dear fellow,” said Herbert,“let the near prospect of our separation—for,it is very near—be my justification for troubling you about yourself.Have you thought of your future?”
“No, for I have been afraid to think of any future.”
“But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed,my dear dear Handel, it must not be dismissed.I wish you would enter on it now,as far as a few friendly words go, with me.”
“I will,” said I.
“In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a—”
I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word,so I said, “A clerk.”
“A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand (as a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now, Handel,—in short, my dear boy, will you come to me?”
There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner in which after saying “Now, Handel,” as if it were the grave beginning of a portentous business exordium, he had suddenly given up that tone, stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a schoolboy.
“Clara and I have talked about it again and again,” Herbert pursued, “and the dear little thing begged me only this evening,with tears in her eyes, to say to you that,if you will live with us when we come together,she will do her best to make you happy,and to convince her husband’s friend that he is her friend too.We should get on so well, Handel!”