Join Host Bree Carlile as she reads the forty-ninth chapter of Great Expectations.

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Today we'll be continuing great expectations by Charles Dickens chapter 49 putting Miss Havisham's note in my pocket that it might serve as my credentials for so soon reappearing at Saddis House, in case her waywardness should lead her to express any surprise at seeing me.

I went down again by the coach next day, but I alighted at the halfway house and breakfast there, and walked the rest of the distance, for I sought to get into the town quietly by the unfrequented waves, and to leave it in the same manner.

The best light of the day was gone when I passed along the quiet, echoing courts behind the high street.

The nooks of ruin where the old monks had once had their refactories and gardens, and where the strong walls were now pressed into the service of humble sheds and stables, were almost as silent as the old monks in their graves.

The cathedral chimes had at once a sadder and a more remote sound to me as I hurried on, avoiding observation than they had ever had before, so the swell of the old organ was borne to my ears like funeral music.

And the rooks, as they hovered about the grey tower and swung in the bare high trees of the priory garden, seemed to call to me that the place was changed, and that Estella was gone out of it forever.

An elderly woman, whom I had seen before as one of the servants who lived in the supplementary house across the back courtyard, opened the gate.

The lighted candle stood in the dark passage within as of old, and I took it up and ascended the staircase alone.

Miss Havisham was not in her own room, but was in the larger room across the landing, looking in at the door.

After knocking in vain, I saw her sitting on the hearth in a ragged chair close before, and lost in the contemplation of the ashy fire, doing as I had often done, I went in and stood, touching the old chimney piece where she could see me.

When she raised her eyes there was an air of utter loneliness upon her that would have moved me to pity, though she had willfully done me a deeper injury than I could charge her with.

As I stood compassionating her and thinking how in the progress of time I too had come to be part of the wrecked fortunes of that house, her eyes rested on me.

She stared and said in a low voice, is it real?

It is I, Pip.

Mr.

Jaggers gave me your note yesterday, and I've lost no time.

Thank you, thank you.

As I brought another of the ragged chairs to the hearth and sat down, I remarked a new expression on her face, as if she were afraid of me.

I want, she said, to pursue that subject you mentioned to me when you were last here, and to show you that I am not all stone.

But perhaps you can never believe now that there is anything human in my heart.

When I said some reassuring words, she stretched out her tremulous right hand as though she was going to touch me.

But she recalled it again before I understood the action or knew how to receive it.

You said, speaking for your friend, that you could tell me how to do something useful and good, something that you would like done, is it not?

Something that I would like done very much.

What is it?

I began explaining to her that secret history of the partnership.

I had not got far into it when I judged from her looks that she was thinking in a discursive way of me rather than of what I said.

It seemed to be so, for when I stopped speaking, many moments passed before she showed that she was conscious of the fact.

Do you break off?

She asked then, with her former air of being afraid of me.

Because you hate me too much to bear to speak to.

No, no, I answered.

How can you think so, Miss Havisham?

I stopped because I thought you were not following what I said.

Perhaps I was not, she answered, putting a hand to her head.

Begin again and let me look at something else.

Stay now tell me.

She set her hand upon her stick in the resolute way that sometimes was habitual to her, and looked at the fire with a strong expression of forcing herself to attend.

I went on with my explanation and told her how I had hoped to complete the transaction out of my means, but how?

In this I was disappointed that part of the subject, I reminded her, involved matters which could form no part of my explanation, for they were the weighty secrets of another.

So said she, ascenting with her head but not looking at me.

And how much money is wanting to complete the purchase?

I was rather afraid of stating it, for it sounded a large sum, 900 pounds.

If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep my secret, as you have kept your own quite as faithfully and your mind will be more at rest?

Much more at rest.

Are you very unhappy now?

She asked this question still without looking at me, but in an unwanted tone of sympathy.

I could not reply at the moment, for my voice failed me.

She put her left arm across the head of her stick and softly laid her forehead on it.

I am far from happy, Miss Havisham, but I have other causes of disquiet than any you know of.

They are the secrets I've mentioned.

After a little while she raised her head and looked at the fire again.

It is noble in you to tell me that you have other causes of unhappiness.

Is it true?

Too true.

Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend?

Regarding that as done, is there nothing I can do for you yourself?

Nothing.

I thank you for the question.

I thank you even more for the tone of the question, but there is nothing.

She presently rose from receipt and looked about the blighted room for the means of writing.

There were none there.

And she took from her pocket a yellow set of ivory tablets mounted in tarnished gold, and wrote upon them with a pencil in a case of tarnished gold that hung from her neck.

You are still on friendly terms with Mr.

Jaggers?

Quite.

I dined with him yesterday.

This is an authority to him to pay you that money to lay out at your irresponsible discretion for your friend.

I keep no money here.

But if you would rather Mr.

Jaggers knew nothing of the matter, I will send it to you.

Thank you, Miss Havisham.

I have not the least objection to receiving it from him.

She read me what she had written and it was direct and clear, and evidently intended to absolve me from any suspicion of profiting by the receipt of the money.

I took the tablets from her hand and it trembled again, and it trembled more as she took off the chain to which the pencil was attached and put it in mine.

All this she did without looking at me.

My name is on the first leaf.

If you can ever write under my name, I forgive her, though ever so long after my broken heart as dust prayed to it.

Miss Havisham said I I can do it now.

There have been sore mistakes and my life has been a blind and thankless one, and I want forgiveness and direction far too much to be bitter with you.

She turned her face to me for the first time since she had averted it and to my amazement, I may even add to my terror, dropped on her knees at my feet, with her folded hands raised to me in the manner in which, when her poor heart was young and fresh and whole, they must often have been raised to heaven from her mother's side.

To see her with her white hair and her worn face, kneeling at my feet, gave me a shock through all my frame.

I entreated her to rise and got my arms about her to help her up.

But she only pressed that hand of mine which was nearest to her grasp and hung her head over it and wept.

I'd never seen her shed a tear before, and in the hope that the relief might do her good, I bent over her without speaking.

She was not kneeling now, but was down upon the ground.

Oh.

She cried despairingly.

What have I done?

What have I done?

If you mean Miss Havisham, what have you done to injure me?

Let me answer very little.

I should have loved her under any circumstances.

Is she married?

Yes.

It was a needless question, for a new desolation in the desolate house had told me so.

What have I done?

What have I done?

She wrung her hands and crushed her white hair and returned to this cry over and over again.

What have I done?

I knew not how to answer or how to comfort her.

That she had done a grievous thing in taking an impressionable child to mold into the form that her wild resentment spurned affection and wounded pride found vengeance in.

I knew full well, but that in shutting out the light of day she had shut out infinitely more that in seclusion she had secluded herself from a thousand natural and healing influences, that her mind, rooting solitary, had grown diseased as all minds do and must.

And will that reverse the appointed order of their maker?

I know equally well.

And could I look upon her without compassion, seeing her punishment in the ruin she was in, her profound unfitness for this earth on which she was placed, in the vanity of sorrow which had become a master mania, like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, the vanity of unworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that had been curses in this world.

Until you spoke the other day.

And until I saw you a looking glass that showed me what I once felt myself.

I did not know what I had done.

What have I done?

What have I done?

And so again, 2050 times over, what had she done, Miss Havisham?

I said when her cry had died away.

You may dismiss me from your mind and conscience, but Estella is a different case.

And if you can ever undo any scrap of what you've done amiss in keeping a part of her right nature away from her, it'll be better to do that than to bemoan the past through a hundred years.

Yes, yes, I know it.

But, pip, my dear, there was an earnest womanly compassion for me in her new affection.

My dear, her?

Believe this.

When she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own.

At first I meant no more.

Well, well, said I.

I hope so.

But as she grew and promised to be very beautiful, I gradually did worse.

And with my praises and with my jewels and with my teachings, and with this figure of myself always before her a warning to back and point my lessons, I stole her heart away and put ice in its place.

Better, I could not help saying, to have left her a natural heart, even to be bruised or broken.

With that, Miss Havisham looked distractedly at me for a while and then burst out again.

What had she done?

If you knew all my story, she pleaded, you would have some compassion for me and a better understanding of me.

Miss Avisham, I answered as delicately as I could.

I believe I may say that I do know your story and have known it ever since I first left this neighborhood.

It has inspired me with great commiseration and I hope I understand it and its influences.

Does what has passed between us give me any excuse for asking you a question relative to Estella?

Not as she is, but as she was when she first came here.

She was seated on the ground with her arms on the ragged chair and her head leaning on them.

She looked full at me when I said this and replied, go on.

Whose child was Estella?

She shook her head you don't know?

She shook her head again.

But Mr.

Jaggers brought her here.

Or sent her here?

Brought her here.

Will you tell me how that came about?

She answered in a low whisper and with caution.

I had been shut up in these rooms a long time.

I don't know how long.

You know what time the clocks keep here.

When I told him that I wanted a little girl to rear in love and safe from my fate, I had first seen him when I sent for him to lay this place waste for me.

Having read of him in the newspapers before I and the world parted, he told me that he would look about him for such an orphan child.

One night he brought her here asleep, and I called her Stella.

Might I ask her age then?

Two or three.

She herself notes nothing but that she was left an orphan and I adopted her.

So convinced I was of that woman's being her mother, that I wanted no evidence to establish the fact in my own mind.

But to any mind, I thought the connection here was clear and straight.

What more could I hope to do by prolonging the interview, I had succeeded on behalf of Herbert.

Miss Havisham had told me all she knew of Estella.

I had said and done what I could to ease her mind, no matter with what other words.

We parted.

We parted.

Twilight was closing in when I went downstairs into the natural air.

I called to the woman who had opened the gate when I entered, that I would not trouble her just yet, but would walk round the place before leaving, for I had a presentiment that I should never be there again.

And I felt that the dying light was suited to my last view of it by the wilderness of casks that I had walked on long ago, and on which the reign of years had fallen, since rotting them in many places and leaving miniature swamps and pools of water upon those that stood on end.

I made my way to the ruined garden.

I went all round it, round by the corner where Herbert and I had fought our battle, round by the paths where Estella and I had walked so cold, so lonely, so dreary, all taking the brewery on my way back, I raised the rusty latch of a little door at the garden end of it and walked through.

I was going out at the opposite door, not easy to open now, for the damp wood had started and swelled, and the hinges were yielding, and the threshold was encumbered with a growth of fungus.

When I turned my head to look back, a childish association revived with wonderful force in the moment of the slight action, and I fancied that I saw Miss Havisham hanging to the beam.

So strong was the impression that I stood under the beam, shuddering from head to foot before I knew.

It was a fancy, though to be sure, I was there in an instant.

The mournfulness of the place and time and the great terror of this illusion, though it was but momentary, caused me to feel an indescribable awe as I came out between the open wooden gates where I'd once wrung my hair after Estella had wrung my heart.

Passing on into the front courtyard, I hesitated whether to call the woman to let me out.

At the locked gate of which she had the key, her first to go upstairs and assure myself that Miss Havisham was as safe and well as I had left her.

I took the ladder course and went up.

I looked into the room where I had left her, and I saw her seated in the ragged chair upon the hearth, close to the fire, with her back towards me.

In the moment when I was withdrawing my head to go quietly away, I saw a great flaming light spring up.

In the same moment I saw her running at me, shrieking with a whirl of blazing fire all about her, and soaring at least as many feet above her head as she was high.

I had a double caped great coat on, and over my arm another thick coat that I got them off closed with her, threw her down and got them over her, that I dragged the great cloth from the table for the same purpose, and with it dragged down the heap of rottenness in the midst, and all the ugly things that sheltered there that we were on the ground struggling like desperate enemies, and that the closer I covered her the more wildly she shrieked and tried to free herself.

Now this occurred.

I knew through the result, but not through anything I felt or thought, or knew I did.

I knew nothing until I knew that we were on the floor by the great table, and that patches of tinder yet alight were floating in the smoky air which a moment ago had been her faded bridal dress.

Then I looked round and saw the disturbed beetles and spiders running away over the floor, and the servants coming in with breathless cries at the door.

I still held her forcibly down with all my strength, like a prisoner who might escape, and I doubt if I even knew who she was, or why we had struggled, or that she had been in flames, or that the flames were out, until I saw the patches of tender that had been her garments, no longer alight, but falling in a black shower around us.

She was insensible, and I was afraid to have her moved, or even touched assistance was sent for, and I held her until it came as if I unreasonably fancied, I think I did, that if I let her go, the fire would break out again and consume her.

When I got up on the surgeons coming to her with other aid, I was astonished to see that both my hands were burnt, for I had no knowledge of it through the sense of feeling.

On examination it was pronounced that she had received serious hurts, but that they of themselves were far from hopeless.

The danger lay mainly in the nervous shock.

By the surgeon's directions her bed was carried into that room, and laid upon the great table, which happened to be well suited to the dressing of her injuries.

When I saw her again an hour afterwards, she lay indeed where I had seen her strike her stick, and had heard her say that she would lie one day.

Though every vistage of her dress was burnt, as they told me, she still had something of her old ghastly bridal appearance, for they had covered her to the throat with white cotton wool.

And as she lay with the white sheet loosely overlying, that a phantom air of something that had been and was changed was still upon her.

I found on questioning the servants that Estella was in Paris, and I got a promise from the surgeon that he would write to her by the next post.

Miss Havisham's family I took upon myself, intending to communicate with Mr.

Matthew Pocket only, and leave him to do as he liked about informing the rest.

This I did next day through Herbert, as soon as I returned to town.

There was a stage that evening when she spoke collectedly of what had happened, though with a certain terrible vivacity.

Towards midnight she began to wander in her speech, and after that it gradually set in that she said innumerable times in a low, solemn voice, what have I done?

And then when she first came, I meant to save her from misery like mine, and then take the pencil and write under my name.

I forgive her.

She never changed the order of these three sentences, but she sometimes left out a word in one or other of them, never putting in another word, but always leaving a blank and going on to the next word, as I could do no service there, and as I had nearer home, that pressing reason for anxiety and fear which even her wanderings could not drive out of my mind, I decided in the course of the night that I would return by the early morning coach, walking on a mile or so, and being taken up clear of the town at about 06:00 in the morning.

Therefore I leaned over her and touched her lips with mine, just as they said, not stopping for being touched.

Take the pencil and write under my name.

I forgive her.

Thank you for joining bite at a time books today while we read a.

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