"Let's go in!"

We went in, Wemmick leaving his fishing-rod in the porch, andlooked all round. In the mean time, Wemmick was diving into hiscoat-pockets, and getting something out of paper there.

"Halloa!" said he. "Here's a couple of pair of gloves! Let's put'em on!"

As the gloves were white kid gloves, and as the post-office waswidened to its utmost extent, I now began to have my strongsuspicions. They were strengthened into certainty when I beheld theAged enter at a side door, escorting a lady.

"Halloa!" said Wemmick. "Here's Miss Skiffins! Let's have awedding."

That discreet damsel was attired as usual, except that she was nowengaged in substituting for her green kid gloves, a pair of white.The Aged was likewise occupied in preparing a similar sacrifice forthe altar of Hymen. The old gentleman, however, experienced so muchdifficulty in getting his gloves on, that Wemmick found itnecessary to put him with his back against a pillar, and then toget behind the pillar himself and pull away at them, while I for mypart held the old gentleman round the waist, that he might presentand equal and safe resistance. By dint of this ingenious Scheme,his gloves were got on to perfection.

The clerk and clergyman then appearing, we were ranged in order atthose fatal rails. True to his notion of seeming to do it allwithout preparation, I heard Wemmick say to himself as he tooksomething out of his waistcoat-pocket before the service began,"Halloa! Here's a ring!"

I acted in the capacity of backer, or best-man, to the bridegroom;while a little limp pew opener in a soft bonnet like a baby's, madea feint of being the bosom friend of Miss Skiffins. Theresponsibility of giving the lady away, devolved upon the Aged,which led to the clergyman's being unintentionally scandalized, andit happened thus. When he said, "Who giveth this woman to bemarried to this man?" the old gentlemen, not in the least knowingwhat point of the ceremony we had arrived at, stood most amiablybeaming at the ten commandments. Upon which, the clergyman saidagain, "WHO giveth this woman to be married to this man?" The oldgentleman being still in a state of most estimable unconsciousness,the bridegroom cried out in his accustomed voice, "Now Aged P. youknow; who giveth?" To which the Aged replied with great briskness,before saying that he gave, "All right, John, all right, my boy!"And the clergyman came to so gloomy a pause upon it, that I haddoubts for the moment whether we should get completely married thatday.

It was completely done, however, and when we were going out ofchurch, Wemmick took the cover off the font, and put his whitegloves in it, and put the cover on again. Mrs. Wemmick, more heedfulof the future, put her white gloves in her pocket and assumed hergreen. "Now, Mr. Pip," said Wemmick, triumphantly shouldering thefishing-rod as we came out, "let me ask you whether anybody wouldsuppose this to be a wedding-party!"

Breakfast had been ordered at a pleasant little tavern, a mile orso away upon the rising ground beyond the Green, and there was abagatelle board in the room, in case we should desire to unbend ourminds after the solemnity. It was pleasant to observe that Mrs.Wemmick no longer unwound Wemmick's arm when it adapted itself toher figure, but sat in a high-backed chair against the wall, like avioloncello in its case, and submitted to be embraced as thatmelodious instrument might have done.

We had an excellent breakfast, and when any one declined anythingon table, Wemmick said, "Provided by contract, you know; don't beafraid of it!" I drank to the new couple, drank to the Aged, drankto the Castle, saluted the bride at parting, and made myself asagreeable as I could.

Wemmick came down to the door with me, and I again shook hands withhim, and wished him joy.

"Thankee!" said Wemmick, rubbing his hands. "She's such a managerof fowls, you have no idea. You shall have some eggs, and judge foryourself. I say, Mr. Pip!" calling me back, and speaking low. "Thisis altogether a Walworth sentiment, please."

"I understand. Not to be mentioned in Little Britain," said I.

Wemmick nodded. "After what you let out the other day, Mr. Jaggersmay as well not know of it. He might think my brain was softening,or something of the kind."

Chapter 56

He lay in prison very ill, during the whole interval between hiscommittal for trial, and the coming round of the Sessions. He hadbroken two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathedwith great pain and difficulty, which increased daily. It was aconsequence of his hurt, that he spoke so low as to be scarcelyaudible; therefore, he spoke very little. But, he was ever ready tolisten to me, and it became the first duty of my life to say tohim, and read to him, what I knew he ought to hear.

Being far too ill to remain in the common prison, he was removed,after the first day or so, into the infirmary. This gave meopportunities of being with him that I could not otherwise havehad. And but for his illness he would have been put in irons, forhe was regarded as a determined prison-breaker, and I know not whatelse.

Although I saw him every day, it was for only a short time; hence,the regularly recurring spaces of our separation were long enoughto record on his face any slight changes that occurred in hisphysical state. I do not recollect that I once saw any change in itfor the better; he wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, dayby day, from the day when the prison door closed upon him.

The kind of submission or resignation that he showed, was that of aman who was tired out. I sometimes derived an impression, from hismanner or from a whispered word or two which escaped him, that hepondered over the question whether he might have been a better manunder better circumstances. But, he never justified himself by ahint tending that way, or tried to bend the past out of its eternalshape.

It happened on two or three occasions in my presence, that hisdesperate reputation was alluded to by one or other of the peoplein attendance on him. A smile crossed his face then, and he turnedhis eyes on me with a trustful look, as if he were confident that Ihad seen some small redeeming touch in him, even so long ago as whenI was a little child. As to all the rest, he was humble andcontrite, and I never knew him complain.

When the Sessions came round, Mr. Jaggers caused an application tobe made for the postponement of his trial until the followingSessions. It was obviously made with the assurance that he couldnot live so long, and was refused. The trial came on at once, and,when he was put to the bar, he was seated in a chair. No objectionwas made to my getting close to the dock, on the outside of it, andholding the hand that he stretched forth to me.

The trial was very short and very clear. Such things as could besaid for him, were said - how he had taken to industrious habits,and had thriven lawfully and reputably. But, nothing could unsaythe fact that he had returned, and was there in presence of theJudge and Jury. It was impossible to try him for that, and dootherwise than find him guilty.

At that time, it was the custom (as I learnt from my terribleexperience of that Sessions) to devote a concluding day to thepassing of Sentences, and to make a finishing effect with theSentence of Death. But for the indelible picture that myremembrance now holds before me, I could scarcely believe, even asI write these words, that I saw two-and-thirty men and women putbefore the Judge to receive that sentence together. Foremost amongthe two-and-thirty, was he; seated, that he might get breath enoughto keep life in him.

The whole scene starts out again in the vivid colours of themoment, down to the drops of April rain on the windows of thecourt, glittering in the rays of April sun. Penned in the dock, asI again stood outside it at the corner with his hand in mine, werethe two-and-thirty men and women; some defiant, some stricken withterror, some sobbing and weeping, some covering their faces, somestaring gloomily about. There had been shrieks from among the womenconvicts, but they had been stilled, a hush had succeeded. Thesheriffs with their great chains and nosegays, other civic gewgawsand monsters, criers, ushers, a great gallery full of people - alarge theatrical audience - looked on, as the two-and-thirty andthe Judge were solemnly confronted. Then, the Judge addressed them.Among the wretched creatures before him whom he must single out forspecial address, was one who almost from his infancy had been anoffender against the laws; who, after repeated imprisonments andpunishments, had been at length sentenced to exile for a term ofyears; and who, under circumstances of great violence and daringhad made his escape and been re-sentenced to exile for life. Thatmiserable man would seem for a time to have become convinced of hiserrors, when far removed from the scenes of his old offences, andto have lived a peaceable and honest life. But in a fatal moment,yielding to those propensities and passions, the indulgence ofwhich had so long rendered him a scourge to society, he had quittedhis haven of rest and repentance, and had come back to the countrywhere he was proscribed. Being here presently denounced, he had fora time succeeded in evading the officers of Justice, but being atlength seized while in the act of flight, he had resisted them, andhad - he best knew whether by express design, or in the blindnessof his hardihood - caused the death of his denouncer, to whom hiswhole career was known. The appointed punishment for his return tothe land that had cast him out, being Death, and his case beingthis aggravated case, he must prepare himself to Die.

The sun was striking in at the great windows of the court, throughthe glittering drops of rain upon the glass, and it made a broadshaft of light between the two-and-thirty and the Judge, linkingboth together, and perhaps reminding some among the audience, howboth were passing on, with absolute equality, to the greaterJudgment that knoweth all things and cannot err. Rising for amoment, a distinct speck of face in this way of light, the prisonersaid, "My Lord, I have received my sentence of Death from theAlmighty, but I bow to yours," and sat down again. There was somehushing, and the Judge went on with what he had to say to the rest.Then, they were all formally doomed, and some of them weresupported out, and some of them sauntered out with a haggard lookof bravery, and a few nodded to the gallery, and two or three shookhands, and others went out chewing the fragments of herb they hadtaken from the sweet herbs lying about. He went last of all,because of having to be helped from his chair and to go veryslowly; and he held my hand while all the others were removed, andwhile the audience got up (putting their dresses right, as theymight at church or elsewhere) and pointed down at this criminal orat that, and most of all at him and me.

I earnestly hoped and prayed that he might die before theRecorder's Report was made, but, in the dread of his lingering on,I began that night to write out a petition to the Home Secretary ofState, setting forth my knowledge of him, and how it was that hehad come back for my sake. I wrote it as fervently and patheticallyas I could, and when I had finished it and sent it in, I wrote outother petitions to such men in authority as I hoped were the mostmerciful, and drew up one to the Crown itself. For several days andnights after he was sentenced I took no rest except when I fellasleep in my chair, but was wholly absorbed in these appeals. Andafter I had sent them in, I could not keep away from the placeswhere they were, but felt as if they were more hopeful and lessdesperate when I was near them. In this unreasonable restlessnessand pain of mind, I would roam the streets of an evening, wanderingby those offices and houses where I had left the petitions. To thepresent hour, the weary western streets of London on a cold dustyspring night, with their ranges of stern shut-up mansions and theirlong rows of lamps, are melancholy to me from this association.

The daily visits I could make him were shortened now, and he wasmore strictly kept. Seeing, or fancying, that I was suspected of anintention of carrying poison to him, I asked to be searched beforeI sat down at his bedside, and told the officer who was alwaysthere, that I was willing to do anything that would assure him ofthe singleness of my designs. Nobody was hard with him, or with me.There was duty to be done, and it was done, but not harshly. Theofficer always gave me the assurance that he was worse, and someother sick prisoners in the room, and some other prisoners whoattended on them as sick nurses (malefactors, but not incapable ofkindness, God be thanked!), always joined in the same report.

As the days went on, I noticed more and more that he would lieplacidly looking at the white ceiling, with an absence of light inhis face, until some word of mine brightened it for an instant, andthen it would subside again. Sometimes he was almost, or quite,unable to speak; then, he would answer me with slight pressures onmy hand, and I grew to understand his meaning very well.

The number of the days had risen to ten, when I saw a greaterchange in him than I had seen yet. His eyes were turned towards thedoor, and lighted up as I entered.

"Dear boy," he said, as I sat down by his bed: "I thought you waslate. But I knowed you couldn't be that."

"It is just the time," said I. "I waited for it at the gate."

"You always waits at the gate; don't you, dear boy?"

"Yes. Not to lose a moment of the time."

"Thank'ee dear boy, thank'ee. God bless you! You've never desertedme, dear boy."

I pressed his hand in silence, for I could not forget that I hadonce meant to desert him.

"And what's the best of all," he said, "you've been morecomfortable alonger me, since I was under a dark cloud, than whenthe sun shone. That's best of all."

He lay on his back, breathing with great difficulty. Do what hewould, and love me though he did, the light left his face ever andagain, and a film came over the placid look at the white ceiling.

Title: Great Expectations
Author: Charles Dickens
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