35. CHARLES DICKENS: DAVID COPPERFIELD: CHAPTER 35: DEPRESSION

As soon as I could recover my presence of mind, which quite deserted me in the first empowering shock of my aunt's intelligence, I proposed to Mr Dick to come round to the chandler's shop, and take possession of the bed which Mr Peggotty had lately vacated.  The chandler's shop being in Hungerford Market, and Hungerford Market being a very different place in those days, there was a low wooden colonnade befor the door, which pleased Mr Dick. Mrs Crupp would have told him that there was no space to swing a cat there; but sitting on the foot of the bed, nursing his legs, Mr Dick said, 'You know, Trotwood I don't want to swing a cat.  I never do swing a cat.  Therefore what does that signify to me?'

I tried to find out the whether Mr Dick had any understanding of the causes of the sudden change in the affairs of my aunt.  He had none at all.  The only account he could give of it was, that my aunt had said to him, the day before yesterday, 'Now Dick, are you really and truly the philosopher I take you for?'

'Yes, I hope so.' said Dick.

'Dick, I am ruined.'

'Oh, indeed!

Then my aunt had praised him highly, and he was glad of it.  Then they had come to me and had had a bottled port and sandwich on the road.  Mr Dick was so very complacent, sitting on the foot of the bed, nursing his legs, with his eyes wide open, and a surprised smile, I was provoked to explain to him that the ruin meant distress, want, and starvation, but I was bitterly reproved myself for this harshness, by seeing his face turn pale and tears rolling down his lengthened cheeks, while he fixed upon me a look of silent woe, that my heart began to melt. I took greater pain to cheer him up again. 

'What can I do, Trotwood?' said Mr Dick, 'there is a Memorial.

'To be sure there is,' said I, 'but all we can do just now, Mr Dick, is to keep a cheerful confidence, and not let my aunt see that we are thinking about it.'

He agreed to this earnestly, and implored me to recall him, should he deviate from the right course.  He was frightened by my warning, and this he could not conceal, and all the evening his eyes were on my aunt.  He put a constraint on his head, but his rolling eyes did not mend the matter.  He looked at the loaf at supper, as if nothing stood between us and famine.  When my aunt insisted on making his customary meal, I detected him in the act of pocketing fragments of his bread and cheese.  No doubt, the purpose was to revive us with those savings in future.

My aunt, on the other hand, was in a composed frame of mind.  She was extremely gracious to Peggotty, except when I called her by that name.  She was to have my bed, and I was to lie in the sitting room.  She made a great point of view being near the river, in case of a conflagration, and I too, was satisfied on that point.

'Trot, my dear,' said my aunt, when I was making preparations for her night-draught, 'No!'

'Nothing, aunt?'

'Not wine, my dear.  Ale.'

'But there is wine here, aunt.  And you always have it made of wine.'

'Keep that, in case of sickness,' said my aunt.  We mustn't use it carelessly, Trot.  Ale for me. Half a pint.'

I thought Mr Dick might have fallen insensible.  My aunt being resolute, I went out, and got the ale myself.  As it was growing late, Peggotty and Mr Dick took the opportunity to visit Chandler's shop together.  When I parted them at the corner of the street, Dick was with his great kite at his back. 

My aunt was walking up and down the room when I returned, crimping the boarders of her night-cap with her fingers.  I warmed the ale and made the toast on the usual infallible principles.  When it was ready for her, she was ready for it, with her night-cap on and the skirt of her gown turned back on her knees.

'My dear,' said my aunt, after taking a spoonful of it, 'it's a great deal better than wine.  Not half so bilious.'

I looked doubtful, for she added:

'Tut, tut child, if nothing worse than ale happens to us, we are well off.'

'I should think so myself, aunt, I am sure.' said I.

'Well, then, why don't you think so?' said my aunt.

'Because you and I are very different people,' I returned. 

'Stuff and nonsense, Trot!' replied my aunt.

My aunt went on with quiet enjoyment in which there was a very little pretence, drinking the warm ale with a tea-spoon, and stroking her toast in it. 

'Trot,' said she, I don't care for strange faces in general, but I rather like that Barkis of yours, do you know?'

'It's better than hundred pounds to hear you say so!' said I.

'It's a most extraordinary world,' observed my aunt, rubbing her nose: 'how that woman ever got into it with that name, is unknown to me.  It would be much more easy to be born a Jackson, or something of that sort, one would think.'

'Perhaps she too may think so, it's not her fault,' said I.

'I suppose not,' returned my aunt, rather grudging the admission; but it's very aggravating.  But she is Barkis now.  That's some comfort.  Barkis is uncommonly fond of you, Trot.' 

'There's nothing she would leave undone to prove it,' said I.

'Nothing I believe,' returned my aunt.  'Here the poor fool has been begging and praying about handing over some money - because she has got too much of it.  A simpleton!'

My aunt's tears of pleasure were positively trickling down into the warm ale.

'She is the most ridiculous creature that ever was born,' said my aunt.  'I knew from the first moment when I saw her with that poor dear blessed baby of a mother of yours, that she was the most ridiculous of mortals.  But there are good points in Barkis!'

Affecting to laugh, she got an opportunity of putting her hand to her eyes.  Having availed herself of it, she resumed her toast and her discourse together.

'Ah!  Mercy upon us! sighed my aunt.  'I know all about it, Trot!  Barkis and I had  quite a gossip while you were out with Dick.  I know all about it.  I don't know where these wretched girls expect to go to, for my part.  I wonder they don't knock out their brains against - against mantlepieces,' said my aunt; an idea which was probably suggested to her by her contemplation of mine.

'Poor Emily,' said I. 

'Oh, don't talk to me about the poor,' returned my aunt.  'She should have thought of that, before she caused so much of misery!  Give me a kiss, I am sorry for your early experience.'

As I bent forward, she put her tumbler on my knee to detain me and said:

'Oh, Trot, Trot!   And so you fancy you are in love!  Do you?'

'Fancy aunt,' I exclaimed, as red as I could be.  'I adore her with my whole soul!'

'Dora, indeed!' returned my aunt.  'And you mean to say the little thing is very fascinating, I suppose?'

'My dear aunt,' I replied, 'no one can form the least idea what she is!'

'Ah!  And so silly,' said my aunt.

'Silly, aunt!'

I seriously believe it had never once entered my head for a single moment, to consider whether she was or not.  I resented the idea, of course; but I was in a manner struck by it, as a new one altogether.

'Not light-headed?' said my aunt.

'Light-headed, aunt!'  I could only repeat this daring speculation with the same kind of feeling with which I had repeated the same question.

'Well, well,' said my aunt.  'I only ask.  I don't depreciate her.  Poor little couple!  'And so you think you were formed for one another, and are to go through a party-supper-table kind of life, like two pretty pieces of confectionery, do you, Trot?'

She asked me this so kindly, and with a gentle air, half playful and half sorrowful, that I was quite touched.

'We are young and inexperienced, aunt, I know,' I replied, 'and I dare say we talk and think a good deal that is rather foolish.  But we love one another truly, I am sure.  But if I thought Dora could ever love anybody else, or cease to love me, or that I could ever love anybody else, or cease to love her, I don't know what I should do - go out of my mind, I think!'

'Ah, Trot!' said my aunt shaking her head, and smiling gravely, 'blind, blind, blind!' 

'Someone that I know, Trot,' my aunt pursued, after a pause, 'though of a very pliant disposition, has an earnestness of affection in him that reminds me of poor Baby.  Earnestness is what that somebody must look for, to sustain him and improve him, Trot.  Deep, downright, faithful earnestness.'

'If you only know the earnestness of Dora, aunt!' I cried.

'Oh, Trot!' she said again; 'blind, blind!' and without knowing why, I felt a vague unhappy loss or want of something overshadow me like a cloud.

'However,' said my aunt, 'I don't want to put two young creatures, out of conceit with themselves, or to make them unhappy; so though it is a boy and girl attachment, and girl and boy attachments very often - mind I don't say always! come to nothing, still we'll be serious about it, and hope for a prosperous issue one of these days.  There is time enough for it to come to anything!'

This was not upon the whole very agreeable to me, a rapturous lover, but I was glad to have confided in my aunt, and I knew, she was tired.  I thanked her for this mark of affection and for her kindness towards me; and after a tender good night she took her night-cap into my bedroom.

How miserable I was when I lay down!  I thought and thought about my being poor, in Mr Spenlow's eyes; about my not being what I thought I was, when I proposed to Dora; about the necessity of telling Dora what my worldly condition was, and releasing her from the engagement, about how should I find a means to live, during the long term of my articles, when I was earning nothing, about doing something to assist my aunt, and seeing no way of doing anything, about coming down to have no money in my pocket, and of wearing a shabby coat, and of not being able to carry little presents to Dora, and of riding gallant greys, and to show myself in no agreeable light! 

Sordid and selfish as I knew it was, and I tortured myself by knowing that it was, to let my mind run on my own distress so much, I was so devoted to Dora that I could not help it.  I knew that it was base in me not to think of my aunt, and less of myself; but, so far, selfishness was inseparable from Dora, and I could not put Dora on one side for my mortal creature.  How exceedingly miserable I was, that night!

As to sleep, I had dreams of poverty in all sorts of shapes, but I seemed to dream without the previous ceremony of going to sleep.

Now I was ragged, wanting to sell Dora matches, six bundles for half a penny; now I was at the office in a night gown and boots remonstrated with by Mr Spenlow on appearing before the clerks in that attire; now I was hungrily picking up the crumbs that fell from old Tiffey's daily biscuits, regularly eaten when St Paul's struck one; now I was hopelessly endeavouring to get a licence to marry Dora, having nothing but Uriah Heep's gloves to offer in exchange, which the whole Commons rejected, and still more or less conscious of my own room, I was always tossing about like a distressed ship in a sea of bed-clothes.

My aunt was restless too, for I frequently heard her walking to and fro.  Two times in the course of night, attired in a long long flannel wrapper in which she looked seven feet high, she appeared like a disturbed ghost, in my room, and came to the side of sofa on which I lay.  On the first occassion I started up in alarm, to learn that she inferred from a particular light in the sky, that Westminster Abbey was on fire; and to be consulted in reference to the probability of its igniting Buckingham Street in case the wind changed.  Lying still, after that, I found that she sat down near me, whispering to herself 'Poor boy!'  And then it made me twenty times more wretched, to know unselfish to me she was and how selfish I was.

It was difficult to believe that a night so long to me, could be short by anybody else.  It led me to think and think of an imaginary party where people were dancing the hours away, until that became a dream too, and heard the music incessantly playing one tune, and saw Dora incessantly dancing one dance without taking notice of me.  The man who had been playing the harp all the night, was trying in vain to cover it with an ordinary sized night cap, when I awoke; and saw the sun shining through the window.

There was an old Roman bath at the bottom of one the streets out of Strand in which I had many a cold plunge.  Leaving Peggotty to look after my aunt, I tumbled head foremost into the old Roman bath, and then took a walk to Hampstead.  This brisk treatment had freshened my wits a little, and I soon came to the conclusion that I should, if possible, cancel my articles, and recover the premium.  I got some breakfast on the Heath, and walked back to Doctors' Commons, along with watered roads, and through a pleasant smell of summer flowers, being carried into town on huckster's head.  

I arrived at the office soon.  I had to loiter half an hour about the Commons, before old Tiffey, appeared with his key.  Then I sat down in my shady corner, looking up at the sunlight on the opposite chimney-pots, and thinking about Dora; until Mr Spenlow came in, crisp and curly.

'How are you, Copperfield?' said he, 'Fine morning!'

'Beautiful morning, sir,' said I.  'Could I say a word to you before you go into the court?'

'By all means,' said he.  'Come into my room.'

I followed him into his room, and he began putting his gown, and touching himself up before a little glass he had, hanging inside a closet door.

'I am sorry to say,' said I, 'that I have some rather disheartening intelligence from my aunt.'

'No,' said he.  'Not paralysis, I hope?'

'It has nothing to do with her health, sir,' I replied.  'She has met with some large losses.  In fact, she has very little left, indeed.'

'You astound me Mr Copperfield!' cried Mr Spenlow.

I shook my head.  'Indeed, sir,' said I, 'her affairs are so changed, that I wished to ask you whether it would be possible - at a sacrifice on our part of some portion of premium, of course,' I put in this on a spur of moment, warned by the blank expression of his face - to cancel my articles?'

What it cost me to make this proposal, nobody knows.  It was like asking, as favour, to be sentenced to transportation from Dora.

'To cancel your articles, Copperfield?  Cancel?

I explained with tolerable firmness, that I really did not know where my means of subsistence were to come from, unless I earn them for myself.  I had no fear for the future, I said - and I laid great emphasis on that, as if to imply that I should be still eligible for a son-in-law one of these days - but the present I was thrown upon my own resources.

'I am extremely sorry to hear this, Copperfield,' said Mr Spenlow.  'Extremely sorry.  It is not usual to cancel articles for any such reason.  It is not a professional course of proceeding.  It is not a convenient precedent at all.  Far from it at the same time -'

'You are very good, sir,' I murmured anticipating a concession.

'Not at all.  Don't mention it,' said Spenlow.  'At the same time, I was going to say, if it had been my lot to have my hands unfettered - if I had not a partner - Mr Jorkins-' 

My hopes were dashed in a moment, but I made another effort.

'Do you think, sir,' said I, if I were to mention it to Mr Jorkins -'

Mr Spenlow shook his head discouragingly, 'Heaven forbid, Copperfield,' he replied, 'that I should do any man any injustice; still less, Mr Jorkins.  But I know my partner, Mr Copperfield, Mr Jorkins is not a man to respond to a proposition of this peculiar nature.  Mr Jorkins is very difficult to move from the beaten track.  You know what he is!'

I am sure I know nothing about him, except that he had originally been alone in the business and, and now lived by himself in a house near Montagu Square, which was in want of painting; that he came very late of a day, and went away early; that he never appeared to be consulted about anything; and that he had a dingy little black hole of his own upstairs, where no business was ever done, and where there was a yellow old cartridge paper-pad upon his desk, unspoiled by ink, and reported to be twenty years of age.

'Would you object my mentioning it to him, sir,' I said.

'By no means,' said Mr Spenlow, 'But I have some experience of Mr Jorkins, Copperfield.  I wish it were otherwise, for I should be happy to your views in any respect.  I cannot have objection to your mentioning it to Jorkins, Copperfield, if you think it worthwhile.'

Availing myself of this permission, which was given with a warm shake of the hand, I sat thinking about Dora and looking at the sunlight stealing from the chimney-pots down the hall of the opposite house, until Mr Jorkins came.  I then went upto Mr Jorkins room, and evidently astonished Mr Jorkins very much by making my appearance there.

'Come in Mr Copperfield,' said Jorkins, 'come in.'

I went in, and sat down, and stated my case to Mr Jorkins as I had stated it to Mr Spenlow.  Mr Jorkins was not by any means the awful creature one might have expected, but a large, mild, smooth-faced man of sixty, who took so much snuff that there was a tradition in the Commons that he lived principally on that stimulant, having little room in his system for any other article of diet.

'You have mentioned this to Mr Spenlow, I suppose?' said Mr Jorkins; when he had heard me very restless, to an end.

I answered yes and told him that Mr Spenlow haf introduced his name.

'He said I should object?' asked Mr Jorkins 

I was obliged to admit that Mr Spenlow had considered it probable.

'I am sorry to say Mr Copperfield, I can't advance your object.' said Mr Jorkins nervously.  'The fact is- but I have an appointment at the Bank, if you will have the goodness to excuse me.'

With that he rose in a great hurry, and was going out of the room, when I made bold to say that I feared, then, there was no way of arranging the matter?

'No,' said Mr Jorkins, stopping at the door to shake his head.  'Oh, no!  I object, you know,' which he said very rapidly, and went out.  'You must be aware, Mr Copperfield,' he added, looking restless at the door again, 'if Mr Spenlow   objects -' 

'Personally he does not object, sir,' said I. 

'Oh! personally! repeated Mr Jorkins, impatiently, 'I assure you there is an objection Mr Copperfield.  Hopeless!  .  What you wish to be done can't be done.  I - I really have got an appointment at the Bank.'  With that he fairly ran away; and to the best of my knowledge, it was three days before he showed himself in the Commons again.

Being very anxious to leave no stone unturned, I waited until Mr Spenlow came in, and then described what had happened, giving him to understand that I was not hopeless of his being able to soften the adamant Jorkins, if he would undertake the task.

'Copperfield,' returned Mr Spenlow, with a gracious smile, 'you have not known my partner, Jorkins, as long as I have.  Nothing is farther my thoughts than to attribute any degree of artifice to Mr Jorkins.  But Mr Jorkins has a way of stating his objections which often deceives people.  No, Copperfield!' shaking his head, 'Mr Jorkins is not to be moved, believe me!'

I was completely bewildered between Mr Spenlow and Mr Jorkins, as to which of them really was the objecting partner; but I saw with sufficient clearness that there was somewhere in the firm, and the recovery of my aunt's thousand pounds was out of the question.  In a state of despondency, which I remember with anything but satisfaction, I left the office and went  homeward.

I was trying to familiarise my mind with the worst, and to present to myself the arrangements, we should have to make for the future, when a hackney-chariot coming after me, and stopping at my very feet, caused me to look up.  A fair hand was stretched forth to me from the window; and the face I had never seen without a feeling of serenity and happiness, was smiling on me.

'Agnes,' I exclaimed with joy, 'oh, my dear Agnes, of all the people in the world, what a pleasure to see you!'

'Is it indeed?' she said in her cordial voice. 

'I want to talk to you so much!' said I.  'It's such a lightening of my heart only to look at you!' 

'What?' returned Agnes 

'Well, Dora first,' I admited with a blush.

'Certainly, Dora first, I hope,' said Agnes.

'But you next!' said I.  'Where are you going?'

She was going to my room to see my aunt.  The day being very fine, she was glad to come out of the chariot, which smelt a stable put under a cucumber frame.  I dismissed the coachman, and she took my arm, and we walked on together.  She was like Hope, embodied to me.  How different I felt in one short minute, having Agnes at my side!

My aunt had written her one of the odd abrupt notes - very little longer than a Bank note- to which her epistolary efforts were usually limited.  She had stated therein that she had fallen into adversity, and was leaving Dover for good, and was quite made up her mind to it, and was so well that nobody need be uncomfortable about her.  Agnes had come to London to see my aunt between whom and herself there had been a mutual liking these many years: indeed it dated from the time of my taking up my residence in Mr Wickfield's house.  She was not alone, she said.  Her papa was with her - and Uriah Heep.

'And now, they are partners,' said I, 'confound him!'

'Yes,' said Agnes, 'they have some business here; and I took advantage of their coming, to come too.  You must not think my visit all friendly and disinterested, Trotwood, for - I am afraid I may be cruelly prejudiced - I do not like to let papa go alone, with him.'

'Does he exercise the same influence over Mr Wickfield still, Agnes?'

Agnes shook her head.  'There is such a change at home,' said she, 'that you would scarcely know the dear old house.  They live with us now.'

'They?' said I.

'Heep and his mother.  He sleeps in your old room,' said Agnes, looking up at my face.

'I wish I had the ordering of his dreams,' said I.  'He wouldn't sleep there long.' 

'I keep my own little room,' said Agnes, 'where I used to learn my lessons.  How the time goes!  You remember? The little panelled room that opens from the drawing room? 

'Remember, Agnes?  When I saw you, for the first time, coming out at the door, with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side?'

'It's just the same,' said Agnes, smiling.  'I am glad you think of it so pleasantly.  We were very happy.'

'We were, indeed,' said I.

'I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always desert Mrs Heep, you know.  And so,' said Agnes quietly, 'I feel obliged to bear her company, when I prefer to be alone.  But I have no reason to complain her.  If she tires me, sometimes by her praises of her son, it is only natural in a mother.  He is a very good son to her.' 

I looked at Agnes when she said these words, without detecting in her any consciousness of Uriah's design.  Her mild but earnest eyes met mine with their own beautiful frankness, and there was no change in her gentle face.

'The chief evil of their presence in the house,' said Agnes, 'is that I cannot be as near papa as I could wish - Uriah Heep being so much between us - and cannot watch over him, if that is not too bold a thing to say, as closely as I would.  But if any fraud or treachery is practicing against him, I hope that simple love and truth will be strong in the end.  I hope that real love and truth are strong in the end than any evil or misfortune.

A certain bright smile, which I had never saw on any other face, died away, even while I thought how good it was, and how familiar it had once been to me.  When we were drawing very near my street, she asked me with a quick change of expression, how reverse circumstances had been brought about in my aunt's life.  On my replying that she had not yet told me the details, Agnes became thoughtful, and I felt her arm tremble in mine.

We found my aunt alone, in a state of excitement.  A difference of opinion had risen between herself and Mrs Crupp, on an abstract question (the propriety of chambers being occupied by gentler sex) and my aunt, utterly indifferent to spasms on the part of Mrs Crupp, had cut the dispute short by informing that lady that she smelt of my brandy, and that she would trouble her to walk out.  Both of these expressions  Mrs Crupp considered actionable, and had expressed her intention of bringing before a 'British Judy' - meaning, it was supposed the bulwark of our national liberties. 

My aunt, having had, time to cool, while Peggotty was out showing Mr Dick soldiers at House Guards - and being, besides, greatly pleased to see Agnes, received us with unimpaired good humour.  When Agnes laid her bonnet on the table and sat down beside her, I could not but think, looking on her mild eyes and radiant forehead, how natural it seemed to have there, how trustful, although she was so young and inexperienced, my aunt confided in her; how strong she was, indeed, in simple love and truth.

We began to talk about my aunt's losses,and I told them what I had tried to do that morning.  

'Which was not judicious, Trot,' said my aunt, 'but well meant.  You are a generous boy - I suppose, I must say young man, now - and I am proud of you, my dear.  So far so good.  Now, Trot and Agnes, let us look the case of Betsey Trotwood in the face, and how it stands.'

I observed Agnes turn pale, as she looked very attentively at my aunt.  My aunt, patting her cat, looked very attentively at Agnes.

'Betsey Trotwood,' said my aunt, who had always kept her money matters to herself,' - I don't mean your sister, Trot, my dear, but myself - had a certain property.  It don't matter how much; enough to live on.  More; for she had saved a little, and added to it.  Betsey funded her property for sometime, and then, by the advice of her man of business, laid it on landed security.  That did very well, and returned very good interest, till Betsey was paid off.  I am talking of Betsey as if she was a man-of-war.  Well!  Then, Betsey had to look about her, for a new investment.  She thought she was wiser,now, than of her man of business, who was not such a good man of business by this time, as he used to be - I am alluding to your father, Agnes - and she took it into her head to lay it out for herself.  So she took her pigs,' said my aunt 'to a foreign market; and a very bad market it turned out to be.  First, she lost in the mining way, then she lost in the diving way - fishing up treasure or some such Tom Tiddler nonsense, explained my aunt, rubbing her nose; and then she lost in the mining way again, and, last of all, to set the thing entirely to rights, she lost in the banking way.  I don't know what the bank shares were worth for a little while,' said my aunt; 'cent percent was the lowest of it, I believe; but the Bank was at the other end of the world, and tumbled into space, for what I know; anyhow, it fell to pieces, and never will and never can pay sixpence; and Betsey's sixpence were all there, and there is an end of them.  Least said, soonest mended!'

My aunt concluded this philosophical summary, by fixing her eyes with a kind of triumph on Agnes, whose colour was gradually returning.

'Dear Miss Trotwood is all the history?' said Agnes.

'I hope it is enough child,' said my aunt.  'If there had been more money to lose, it wouldn't have been all, I dare say.  Betsey would have contrived to throw that after the rest, and make another chapter, I have little doubt.  But there was no more money, and there is no more story.'

Agnes had listened at first with suspended breath.  Her colour still came and went, but she breathed more freely.  I thought I knew why.  I thought she had had some fear that her unhappy father might be in some way to blame for what had happened.  My aunt took her hand in hers, and laughed.

'Is that all,' repeated my aunt 'Why, yes, that's all, except, "And she lived happy ever afterwards." Perhaps I may add that of Betsey yet, one of these days. Now, Agnes, you have a wise head.  So you have, Trot, in something, though I cannot compliment you always'; and here my aunt shook her own at me, with an energy peculiar to herself.  'What's to be done?  Here's the cottage, taking one time with another, will produce seventy pounds a year.  I think we may safely put it down at that.  Well - that's all we have got,' said my aunt, with whom it was an idiosyncrasy, as it is with some horses, to stop very short when she appeared to be in a fair way of going on for a long while.

'Then,' said my aunt, after a rest, 'there is Dick, He's good for a hundred a- year, but of course that must be expended on himself.  I would sooner send him away, though I know I am the only person who appreciates him, than have him and not spend his money on himself.  How can Trot and I do best upon our means? What do you say Agnes?'

'I say, aunt,' I interposed, 'that must do something.'

'Go for a soldier, do you mean?' returned my aunt, alarmed; 'or go to sea? I won't hear of it.  You are to be a proctor.  We are not going to have any knocking on the head in this family, if you please, sir.'

I was about to explain that I am not desirous of introducing that mode of provision into the family, when Agnes inquired if my rooms were held for any long term.

'You come to the point, my dear,' said my aunt.  'They are not to be got rid of, for six months at least, unless they could be sublet, and that I don't believe.  The last man died here.  Five people out six would die - ofcourse that woman in nankeen with a flannel petticoat.  I have little ready money; and I agree with you, the best thing we can do, is, to live the term out here, and get a bedroom hard by.'

I thought it my duty to hint at the discomfort my aunt would sustain, from living a continual state of guerrilla warfare with Mrs Crupp; but she disposed of that objection summarily by declaring that, on the first demonstration of hostilities, she was prepared to astonish Mrs Crupp for the whole remainder of her natural life.

'I have been thinking, Trotwood,' said Agnes diffidently, 'that if you had time -'

'I had good deal of time, Agnes.  I am always disengaged after four or Five o'clock, and I have time early in the morning.  In one way and another,' said I, conscious of reddening a little as I thought of the hours and hours I had devoted to fagging of about town, and to and fro upon the Norwood Road, 'I have abundance of time.'

'I know you would not mind,' said Agnes, coming to me, and speaking in a low voice, so full of sweet and hopeful consideration that I hear it now, 'the  duties of a secretary.'

'Mind, my dear Agnes?'

'Because,' continued Agnes, 'Doctor Strong has acted upon his intention of retiring, and has come to live in London, and he asked papa, I know, if he could recommend one.  Don't you think he would rather have his favourable old pupil near him than anybody else?'

'Dear Agnes,' said I, 'what should I do without you!  You are always my good angel.  I told you so.  I never think of you in any other light.

Agnes answered with her pleasant laugh, that one good angel was enough (meaning Dora) and went on to remind me that the Doctor had been used to occupy himself in his study, early in the morning, and in the evening, - and that probably my leisure would suit his requirements very well.  I was scarcely more delighted with the prospect of earning my own bread, than with the hope of earning it under my old master; in short, acting on the advice of Agnes, I sat down and wrote a letter to the Doctor, stating my object, and appointing to call on him next day at ten in the forenoon.  This I addressed to Highgate - for in that place, so memorable to me, he lived - and went and posted, myself, without losing a minute.

Wherever Agnes was, some agreeable token of her noiseless presence seemed inseparable from the place.  When I came back, I found my aunt's birds hanging, just as they had hung so long in the parlour window of the cottage, and my easy-chair imitating my aunt's much easier chair in its position at the open window, and even the round green fan, which my aunt had brought away with her, screwed on to the window-sill, I knew who had done all this, by its seeming to have quietly done itself; and I should have known in a moment who had arranged my neglected books in the old order of my school days, even if I had supposed Agnes is miles away. 

My aunt was gracious on Thames, but she could not relent towards the London smoke, which she said, peppered everything.  A complete revolution, was being affected in every corner of my rooms, in regard to this pepper.  I was looking on how Peggotty took a prominent part in this, but with a bustle; and how Agnes was doing it without a bustle, when a knock came at the door.

'I think,' said Agnes, turning pale, 'it's papa.  He promised me that he would come.'

I opened the door, and admitted, not only Mr Wickfield, but Uriah Heep.  I had not seen Mr Wickfield for sometime, I was prepared for a great change in him.  But his appearance shocked me.

He looked many years older.  But he dressed with the old scrupulous cleanliness.  There was an unwholesome ruddiness upon his face; or that his eyes were full and bloodshot; or that there was nervous trembling in his hand, the cause of which I knew, and had for some years seen at work.  He had lost his good looks, and his old bearing of a gentleman.  The thing that struck me most was, with the evidence of his native superiority still prevalent, but  submitted to Uriah Heep's crawling impersonation.  If I had seen an ape taking command of a man what should I call it other than degradation?

He appeared to be only too conscious of himself.  He came in and stood still, with his head bowed.  This was only for a moment, for Agnes said to him, 'Papa!  Here is Miss Trotwood - and Trotwood, whom you have not seen for a long while!' and then he approached, and gave his hand, with constraint, to my aunt, and shook hands more cordially with me.  In the moment's pause, I spoke of, I saw Uriah's countenance fell into a most ill-favoured smile.  Agnes saw it too, for she shrank from him.

'Well, Wickfield!' said my aunt; and he looked up at her for the first time.  'I have been telling your daughter how well I have been disposing of my money for myself, because I couldn't trust it to you, as you were growing rusty in business matters.  We have been taking counsel together, and getting on very well, all things considered.  Agnes is worth the whole firm, in my opinion.

'If I may umbly make the remark,' said Uriah Heep, with a writhe, 'I fully agree with Miss Betsey Trotwood, and should be only too appy if Miss Agnes was a partner.'

'You are a partner yourself, you know,' returned my aunt, 'and that's about enough for you, I expect.  How do you find yourself, sir?'

In acknowledgement of this question, addressed to him with extraordinary curtness, Mr Heep, uncomfortably clutching the blue bag he carried, replied that he was pretty well, and he thanked my aunt, and hoped she was the same.

'And you, Master- I should say, Master Copperfield,' pursued Uriah, 'I hope I see you well!  I am rejoiced to see you, Master Copperfield, even under present circumstances.'  I believed that; for he seemed to relish them very much.  'Present circumstances is not what your friends would wish for you Master Copperfield, but it isn't money makes the man: it's - I am really unequal with my umble powers to express what it is,' said Uriah Heep with a fawning jerk, 'but it isn't money!'

Here he shook hands with me: not in the common way, but standing at a good distance from me, and lifting my hand up and down like a pump handle that he was little afraid of.

'And how do you think we are looking, Master Copperfield, - I should say Mister?'  fawned Uriah.   'Don't you find Mr Wickfield blooming, sir?  Years don't tell much in our firm, Master Copperfield, except in raising up the umble, namely mother and self- and in developing,' he added, as an afterthought, 'the beautiful, namely, Miss Agnes.'

He jerked himself about, after this compliment, in such an intolerable manner, that my aunt, who had sat looking straight at him, lost all patience.

'Duece take the man!' said my aunt, sternly, 'what's he about? Don't be galvanic, sir!'

'I ask your pardon, Miss Trotwood,' returned Uriah, 'I am aware you are nervous.'

'Go along with you, sir,' said my aunt, anything, but appeased.  Don't presume to say so!  I am nothing of the sort. If you are an eel, sir, conduct yourself like one.  If you are a man, control your limbs, sir! Good God!' said my aunt, with great indignation, 'I am not going to be serpentined and corkscrewed out of my senses!

Mr Heep was rather abashed, as most people might have been by this explosion; which derived great additional force from the indignant manner in which my aunt afterwards moved in her chair, and shook her head as if she were making snaps or bounces at him.  But he said to me aside in a meek voice:

'I am well aware Master Copperfield, that Miss Trotwood, though an excellent lady, has a quick temper, and it is only natural, I am sure, that it should be made 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 & Heep, - we should be really glad.  I may go so far?' said Uriah, with a sickly smile at his partner.

'Uraih 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 fatigue of business, Master Copperfield!'

'Uriah Heep is a great relief to me,' said Mr Wickfield in the small 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 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, before replying, but came from Uriah:

'I am very clear,' said Uriah, 'on busines, otherwise I should have been appy with my friends.  But I have my partner to represent the firm.  Miss Agnes, ever yours!  I wish you good day, Master Copperfield, and leave my umble respects for Miss 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.  He enjoyed us recall the little incidents of our life, many of which he remembered very well.  He said it was like those times, to be alone with Agnes and me again; and wished 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 all the while with Piggotty, in the inner room, did not accompany us to where Mr Wickfield and Agnes were staying.  We went together and 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 saw 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 me by her example.  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!

 THE END OF CHAPTER 35 

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