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Great Expectations
Chapter XLVII
Some weeks passed without bringing any change. We waited for Wemmick,
and he made no sign. If I had never known him out of Little Britain,
and had never enjoyed the privilege of being on a familiar footing at
the Castle, I might have doubted him; not so for a moment, knowing him
as I did.
My worldly affairs began to wear a gloomy appearance, and I was
pressed for money by more than one creditor. Even I myself began to
know the want of money (I mean of ready money in my own pocket), and
to relieve it by converting some easily spared articles of jewelery
into cash. But I had quite determined that it would be a heartless
fraud to take more money from my patron in the existing state of my
uncertain thoughts and plans. Therefore, I had sent him the unopened
pocket-book by Herbert, to hold in his own keeping, and I felt a kind
of satisfaction--whether it was a false kind or a true, I hardly
know--in not having profited by his generosity since his revelation of
himself.
As the time wore on, an impression settled heavily upon me that
Estella was married. Fearful of having it confirmed, though it was
all but a conviction, I avoided the newspapers, and begged Herbert (to
whom I had confided the circumstances of our last interview) never to
speak of her to me. Why I hoarded up this last wretched little rag of
the robe of hope that was rent and given to the winds, how do I know?
Why did you who read this, commit that not dissimilar inconsistency of
your own last year, last month, last week?
It was an unhappy life that I lived; and its one dominant anxiety,
towering over all its other anxieties, like a high mountain above a
range of mountains, never disappeared from my view. Still, no new
cause for fear arose. Let me start from my bed as I would, with the
terror fresh upon me that he was discovered; let me sit listening, as
I would with dread, for Herbert's returning step at night, lest it
should be fleeter than ordinary, and winged with evil news,--for all
that, and much more to like purpose, the round of things went on.
Condemned to inaction and a state of constant restlessness and
suspense, I rowed about in my boat, and waited, waited, waited, as I
best could.
There were states of the tide when, having been down the river, I
could not get back through the eddy-chafed arches and starlings of old
London Bridge; then, I left my boat at a wharf near the Custom House,
to be brought up afterwards to the Temple stairs. I was not averse to
doing this, as it served to make me and my boat a commoner incident
among the water-side people there. From this slight occasion sprang
two meetings that I have now to tell of.
One afternoon, late in the month of February, I came ashore at the
wharf at dusk. I had pulled down as far as Greenwich with the ebb
tide, and had turned with the tide. It had been a fine bright day,
but had become foggy as the sun dropped, and I had had to feel my way
back among the shipping, pretty carefully. Both in going and
returning, I had seen the signal in his window, All well.
As it was a raw evening, and I was cold, I thought I would comfort
myself with dinner at once; and as I had hours of dejection and
solitude before me if I went home to the Temple, I thought I would
afterwards go to the play. The theatre where Mr. Wopsle had achieved
his questionable triumph was in that water-side neighborhood (it is
nowhere now), and to that theatre I resolved to go. I was aware that
Mr. Wopsle had not succeeded in reviving the Drama, but, on the
contrary, had rather partaken of its decline. He had been ominously
heard of, through the play-bills, as a faithful Black, in connection
with a little girl of noble birth, and a monkey. And Herbert had seen
him as a predatory Tartar of comic propensities, with a face like a
red brick, and an outrageous hat all over bells.
I dined at what Herbert and I used to call a geographical chop-house,
where there were maps of the world in porter-pot rims on every
half-yard of the tablecloths, and charts of gravy on every one of the
knives,--to this day there is scarcely a single chop-house within the
Lord Mayor's dominions which is not geographical,--and wore out the
time in dozing over crumbs, staring at gas, and baking in a hot blast
of dinners. By and by, I roused myself, and went to the play.
There, I found a virtuous boatswain in His Majesty's service,--a most
excellent man, though I could have wished his trousers not quite so
tight in some places, and not quite so loose in others,-- who knocked
all the little men's hats over their eyes, though he was very generous
and brave, and who wouldn't hear of anybody's paying taxes, though he
was very patriotic. He had a bag of money in his pocket, like a
pudding in the cloth, and on that property married a young person in
bed-furniture, with great rejoicings; the whole population of
Portsmouth (nine in number at the last census) turning out on the
beach to rub their own hands and shake everybody else's, and sing
"Fill, fill!" A certain dark-complexioned Swab, however, who wouldn't
fill, or do anything else that was proposed to him, and whose heart
was openly stated (by the boatswain) to be as black as his
figure-head, proposed to two other Swabs to get all mankind into
difficulties; which was so effectually done (the Swab family having
considerable political influence) that it took half the evening to set
things right, and then it was only brought about through an honest
little grocer with a white hat, black gaiters, and red nose, getting
into a clock, with a gridiron, and listening, and coming out, and
knocking everybody down from behind with the gridiron whom he couldn't
confute with what he had overheard. This led to Mr. Wopsle's (who had
never been heard of before) coming in with a star and garter on, as a
plenipotentiary of great power direct from the Admiralty, to say that
the Swabs were all to go to prison on the spot, and that he had
brought the boatswain down the Union Jack, as a slight acknowledgment
of his public services. The boatswain, unmanned for the first time,
respectfully dried his eyes on the Jack, and then cheering up, and
addressing Mr. Wopsle as Your Honor, solicited permission to take him
by the fin. Mr. Wopsle, conceding his fin with a gracious dignity,
was immediately shoved into a dusty corner, while everybody danced a
hornpipe; and from that corner, surveying the public with a
discontented eye, became aware of me.
The second piece was the last new grand comic Christmas pantomime, in
the first scene of which, it pained me to suspect that I detected Mr.
Wopsle with red worsted legs under a highly magnified phosphoric
countenance and a shock of red curtain-fringe for his hair, engaged in
the manufacture of thunderbolts in a mine, and displaying great
cowardice when his gigantic master came home (very hoarse) to dinner.
But he presently presented himself under worthier circumstances; for,
the Genius of Youthful Love being in want of assistance,--on account
of the parental brutality of an ignorant farmer who opposed the choice
of his daughter's heart, by purposely falling upon the object, in a
flour-sack, out of the first-floor window,--summoned a sententious
Enchanter; and he, coming up from the antipodes rather unsteadily,
after an apparently violent journey, proved to be Mr. Wopsle in a
high-crowned hat, with a necromantic work in one volume under his arm.
The business of this enchanter on earth being principally to be talked
at, sung at, butted at, danced at, and flashed at with fires of
various colors, he had a good deal of time on his hands. And I
observed, with great surprise, that he devoted it to staring in my
direction as if he were lost in amazement.
There was something so remarkable in the increasing glare of Mr.
Wopsle's eye, and he seemed to be turning so many things over in his
mind and to grow so confused, that I could not make it out. I sat
thinking of it long after he had ascended to the clouds in a large
watch-case, and still I could not make it out. I was still thinking
of it when I came out of the theatre an hour afterwards, and found him
waiting for me near the door.
"How do you do?" said I, shaking hands with him as we turned down the
street together. "I saw that you saw me."
"Saw you, Mr. Pip!" he returned. "Yes, of course I saw you. But who
else was there?"
"Who else?"
"It is the strangest thing," said Mr. Wopsle, drifting into his lost
look again; "and yet I could swear to him."
Becoming alarmed, I entreated Mr. Wopsle to explain his meaning.
"Whether I should have noticed him at first but for your being there,"
said Mr. Wopsle, going on in the same lost way, "I can't be positive;
yet I think I should."
Involuntarily I looked round me, as I was accustomed to look round me
when I went home; for these mysterious words gave me a chill.
"Oh! He can't be in sight," said Mr. Wopsle. "He went out before I
went off. I saw him go."
Having the reason that I had for being suspicious, I even suspected
this poor actor. I mistrusted a design to entrap me into some
admission. Therefore I glanced at him as we walked on together, but
said nothing.
"I had a ridiculous fancy that he must be with you, Mr. Pip, till I
saw that you were quite unconscious of him, sitting behind you there
like a ghost."
My former chill crept over me again, but I was resolved not to speak
yet, for it was quite consistent with his words that he might be set
on to induce me to connect these references with Provis. Of course, I
was perfectly sure and safe that Provis had not been there.
"I dare say you wonder at me, Mr. Pip; indeed, I see you do. But it
is so very strange! You'll hardly believe what I am going to tell
you. I could hardly believe it myself, if you told me."
"Indeed?" said I.
"No, indeed. Mr. Pip, you remember in old times a certain Christmas
Day, when you were quite a child, and I dined at Gargery's, and some
soldiers came to the door to get a pair of handcuffs mended?"
"I remember it very well."
"And you remember that there was a chase after two convicts, and that
we joined in it, and that Gargery took you on his back, and that I
took the lead, and you kept up with me as well as you could?"
"I remember it all very well." Better than he thought,--except the
last clause.
"And you remember that we came up with the two in a ditch, and that
there was a scuffle between them, and that one of them had been
severely handled and much mauled about the face by the other?"
"I see it all before me."
"And that the soldiers lighted torches, and put the two in the centre,
and that we went on to see the last of them, over the black marshes,
with the torchlight shining on their faces,--I am particular about
that,--with the torchlight shining on their faces, when there was an
outer ring of dark night all about us?"
"Yes," said I. "I remember all that."
"Then, Mr. Pip, one of those two prisoners sat behind you tonight. I
saw him over your shoulder."
"Steady!" I thought. I asked him then, "Which of the two do you
suppose you saw?"
"The one who had been mauled," he answered readily, "and I'll swear I
saw him! The more I think of him, the more certain I am of him."
"This is very curious!" said I, with the best assumption I could put
on of its being nothing more to me. "Very curious indeed!"
I cannot exaggerate the enhanced disquiet into which this conversation
threw me, or the special and peculiar terror I felt at Compeyson's
having been behind me "like a ghost." For if he had ever been out of
my thoughts for a few moments together since the hiding had begun, it
was in those very moments when he was closest to me; and to think that
I should be so unconscious and off my guard after all my care was as
if I had shut an avenue of a hundred doors to keep him out, and then
had found him at my elbow. I could not doubt, either, that he was
there, because I was there, and that, however slight an appearance of
danger there might be about us, danger was always near and active.
I put such questions to Mr. Wopsle as, When did the man come in? He
could not tell me that; he saw me, and over my shoulder he saw the
man. It was not until he had seen him for some time that he began to
identify him; but he had from the first vaguely associated him with
me, and known him as somehow belonging to me in the old village time.
How was he dressed? Prosperously, but not noticeably otherwise; he
thought, in black. Was his face at all disfigured? No, he believed
not. I believed not too, for, although in my brooding state I had
taken no especial notice of the people behind me, I thought it likely
that a face at all disfigured would have attracted my attention.
When Mr. Wopsle had imparted to me all that he could recall or I
extract, and when I had treated him to a little appropriate
refreshment, after the fatigues of the evening, we parted. It was
between twelve and one o'clock when I reached the Temple, and the
gates were shut. No one was near me when I went in and went home.
Herbert had come in, and we held a very serious council by the fire.
But there was nothing to be done, saving to communicate to Wemmick
what I had that night found out, and to remind him that we waited for
his hint. As I thought that I might compromise him if I went too
often to the Castle, I made this communication by letter. I wrote it
before I went to bed, and went out and posted it; and again no one was
near me. Herbert and I agreed that we could do nothing else but be
very cautious. And we were very cautious indeed, --more cautious than
before, if that were possible,--and I for my part never went near
Chinks's Basin, except when I rowed by, and then I only looked at Mill
Pond Bank as I looked at anything else.