I felt feverish. My breath came in short gasps.
"Herbert," I said, "I think the man we are hiding is Estella's father!"
I went to see Jaggers the next day. I had to know the truth.
"Miss Havisham told me you brought her a child," I said. "She never knew who the mother was, but I do. I saw Estella's mother in these rooms just two days ago."
Mr. Jaggers said nothing. He was looking at the toes of his boots.
"Really?" he said finally.
I told him Magwitch's and Miss Havisham's stories.
"Pip," he said at last, "there are thousands of poor children living in the street. I thought if I could just save one life, it would be performing a miracle. This child was the one I decided to save.
"Her father was in and out of jail. Her mother was accused of a crime. I cleared the woman's name and she gave me the child. I found the little girl a home. I gave the woman a job. The secret was mine alone. Now it is yours as well."
At last I knew the truth.
Monday morning I awoke with a fever. My left arm was swollen and very red. The pain was great. I could not stand to have anyone touch it.
I slept for two days. Herbert changed my bandages every few hours. He gave me cooling drinks. We both knew I had to be well enough to board the steamer out of England with Magwitch on Wednesday.
Our friend Startop had agreed to help row the boat out to the steamer.
On Wednesday, the sun shone hot, and the wind blew cold. It was March. I wore a heavy coat and carried one bag. My left arm was in a sling.
We rowed downstream to Mill Pond Bank. Magwitch was waiting for us. He quickly jumped into the boat.
"Dear boy!" he said, putting his arm on my shoulder. "Faithful dear boy, well done. Thankee! Thankee!"
Herbert and Startop rowed and rowed until the sun went down. We needed to be far down the river to catch the steamer.
"What freedom!" cried Magwitch. "How grand it is to sit next to my dear boy and have a smoke. The four walls were making me sick."
"If all goes well," I said, "you will be free and safe in just a few hours."
Soon night fell. The moon was full. We waited in the boat, shivering. It was half past one when we finally saw the smoke of the steamer.
Magwitch and I got our bags. I said a tearful good-bye to Herbert. We waited for the steamer to get closer. We would call for the captain to let us aboard.
Suddenly another boat shot out from the bank. It had been waiting in the shadows. There were three men on board. One of them was a policeman. He stood up and shouted, "You have an escaped convict in your boat! His name is Abel Magwitch. Arrest that man!"
The boat crashed right into ours. Compeyson stood on the deck of the other boat! And the steamer was still moving toward us!
Magwitch jumped at Compeyson, and the pair fell overboard into the river. They struggled for a moment, and then they both went underwater. We scanned the river for a sign of either man.
At last I spied a man swimming. It was Magwitch! The policeman grabbed him and hauled him into the boat. Chains were quickly locked to his wrists and ankles. He was captured!
Magwitch was badly hurt. A broken rib had injured one of his lungs, and he had a deep cut on his head.
Compeyson was dead. He had drowned.
I went with Magwitch to the prison in London. It was my place to stay by his side.
I did not fear or hate him anymore. He had been generous and loving to me through many years. He was better to me than I had been to Joe.
In prison, Magwitch grew very ill. I visited him every day. Though his face was pale, his eyes lit up whenever I entered his cell. He could only whisper his fears and regrets. He was always so tired.
The court found Magwitch guilty of murder. The police didn't believe that Compeyson had drowned accidentally. Magwitch would remain in jail for the rest of his life. He grew sicker, and I knew the end was near.
"Pip," he said as I sat down by his bed one morning. "Are you always the first visitor through the prison gate?"
"Yes," I said. "I don't want to lose a minute of time."
"Thankee, dear boy, thankee," he replied. "God bless you! You've never deserted me, dear boy."
I pressed his hand.
"Are you in much pain today?" I asked.
"Don't worry, dear boy," he said, and fell against the pillow. He was too weak to speak another word.
The guard made a noise outside the cell. My visiting time was over.
"Dear Magwitch, can you understand what I am saying?" I asked.
His pale eyes stared at the ceiling. He pressed my hand.
"You had a child once. You loved her but lost her," I said.
He pressed my hand even harder.
"She is living now. She is a beautiful lady. And I love her!" I blurted out.
Magwitch raised my hand to his lips. He looked peacefully up at the ceiling. Then, quietly, his head dropped onto his chest. It was over.
I said a final good-bye to my dear Magwitch.
Chapter Twelve
A Healing Hand
With Magwitch gone and Herbert away on business, I was sick, lonely, and poor. My head felt like lead. My arms and legs ached. I lay on the sofa for days in a semi-delirious state.
One day two men came to collect money I owed for a bill. But I didn't have any money to give them. I didn't work. My only income had been Magwitch's money. The men asked me to come with them.
"I would if I could," I said. "But I might die on the way."
I did not hear their reply. My mind sank under the flood of my fever. For days I was without reason.
I dreamed about Joe. Once I opened my eyes in the night and saw Joe seated in a chair by my bed. It was such a strange dream.
Once in the day, I opened my eyes and saw Joe sitting in the window seat. He was smoking his pipe and reading one of my books.
I asked the ghost if he would bring me a cold glass of water. The hand that gave me the drink was Joe's.
At last, I awoke and said, "Is it you, Joe?"
I heard his dear old voice answer, "Yes, old chap."
"Oh, Joe, you break my heart!" I replied. "I've treated you terribly. Don't be so good to me!"
Joe laid his hand on my forehead and looked into my eyes.
"We're old friends, dear Pip," he said. "I would do anything for you, anything at all."
"Have you been here the whole time, Joe?" I asked.
"Pretty much, old chap," replied Joe. "We got a letter telling us about your illness. Biddy told me to take as much time as was needed to get you well again."
"Is Miss Havisham dead, Joe?" I asked. I did not know if she recovered from the fire.
"She died a week after you took ill," Joe replied.
"What happened to her property and her riches?"
"Most of her money went to Estella," said Joe, as I slipped back into sleep.
Slowly my health returned. Joe took such good care of me that I felt as if I were a little child again.
One day he carried me outside to an open carriage. We drove out into the country to enjoy the sweet smells of summer.
Finally, I could take a few steps on my own.
"See, Joe!" I cried. "Soon I will walk again."
"Do not overdo it, Pip," said Joe. "But I shall be happy to see you up and about, sir."
Joe's last word upset me. It seemed that the better I got, the more strangely Joe treated me.
One night Joe asked me, "Are you stronger, old chap?"
"Yes, dear Joe, I'm getting stronger every day thanks to you."
The next morning Joe was gone. He had left a note that said I was well enough to live my life as a gentleman again, and he did not want to be a bother to me. He was going back home where he belonged. His note was signed "Ever the best of friends."
With the note was a receipt for my bills. Joe had paid them all!
What could I do but follow him to the forge? I wanted to thank him. And I planned to ask Biddy to marry m
e.
Maybe she would forgive me, if she saw that I had changed. We could make a good life together.
Three days later, I stepped onto the marshes again. I walked to the forge and listened for Joe's hammer. But the forge was dark. The door was locked.
The windows of the house were full of flowers. When I knocked, Biddy opened the door with a cry of surprise. Joe was beside her. They were both dressed in their Sunday best. And they both looked so very happy.
"It's my wedding day!" cried Biddy joyfully. "I am married to Joe!"
I was thankful that I had not told Joe of my plan to marry Biddy. They were both so excited to see me. I could not spoil their happiness.
"Dear Biddy," I said, "you have the best husband in the whole world. You should have seen how he took care of me.
"And, dear Joe, you have the best wife in the whole world. She will make you as happy as you deserve to be. You good, noble Joe!
"I am leaving England today. Thank you for all you have done for me! I owe you my life. I will not rest until I have paid back the money you spent to pay my bills.
"I hope you have a child. May the little fellow sit by the fire in winter and remind you of me.
"Don't tell him I was mean. Tell him that I loved you both because you were so good and true. I know your little fellow win grow up a much better man than I did."
I sold all my belongings and joined Herbert's company abroad. In two months, I was a clerk. In four months, I had my first raise.
The years went by, and I was made a partner. I was left in charge when Herbert went back to England to marry. He returned with his wife, Clara, and the three of us lived happily together.
It was eleven years before I saw Joe and Biddy again.
Chapter Thirteen
A Happy Ending
One December evening I put my hand on the latch of the old kitchen door and looked in.
Biddy sat by the fire, knitting, as she did years ago. Joe sat smoking his pipe at the kitchen table. His hair was a little gray but he was as strong and healthy as ever. Sitting on my own chair was a small boy who looked just as I had.
Joe was delighted to see me.
"The boy's name is Pip for your sake, dear old chap," said Joe. "We hope he grows up a bit like you."
I took young Pip for a walk the next day. We climbed the hill to the churchyard. I showed him my mother's and father's tombstones. I told him the story of what had happened to me so many years ago.
At dinner Biddy asked me why I'd never married.
"I am so settled in Herbert and Clara's home," I told her. "I am so used to my own ways."
"Dear Pip," said Biddy, for she knew my heart. "Do you think of her often?"
"That poor dream is over, Biddy," I said. But I knew I would visit Miss Havisham's house again for Estella's sake.
Estella's marriage had ended in separation. She had been so unhappy with Drummle! Two years ago he had been killed by a horse he was beating.
After dinner I walked to the old spot. The house and the other buildings were all gone. Only the crumbled rock of the old garden wall was left. I pushed open the rusted iron gate and went in.
I walked in the twilight. Memories of the old days drifted through my mind. Suddenly I saw someone coming toward me down the garden path!
"Estella!" I cried.
"I am greatly changed," she said. "It's a wonder that you know me."
The freshness of her beauty was gone. But there was a new beauty. Her once-proud eyes were sadder, softer.
We sat down on a nearby bench.
"How strange to meet you on the very spot where we first met so many years ago," I said.
"Poor, poor old place!" said Estella. "The ground belongs to me, but little by little I had to sell everything else. Do you still live abroad?"
"Yes," I replied.
"And you do well, I am sure."
"I work hard and, yes, I do well."
"I often think of you," said Estella.
"Do you?" I replied.
"I think about what I threw away," she said. "I did not know true worth. Suffering was my teacher.
"My own heart has been bent and broken into a better shape, I hope. Tell me we are still friends."
"We are friends," I said, rising from the bench. "You have always had a place in my heart."
"We will continue to be friends then," said Estella, smiling.
The evening mists were rising. I took her hand in mine, and we went out of that ruined place. I knew we would never part again.
Charles Dickens was born in England in 1812. Dickens loved to write. When he was a teenager, he became a newspaper reporter. His experiences at the paper later helped him to develop realistic characters, conversations, and settings in his books. One of his early works, The Pickwick Papers, brought him worldwide fame when he was only twenty-four years old.
Dickens is one of the most highly regarded writers in English literature. He wrote nineteen novels and many nonfiction books. Some of his best-known works are A Christmas Carol, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, and A Tale of Two Cities. Dickens died in 1870.
Monica Kulling was born in British Columbia, Canada. Ms. Kulling is the author of the Stepping Stones adaptations of Little Women, Les Miserables, and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer Her credits also include three picture books, many poems published in Cricket magazine, and several poetry anthologies. She lives in Toronto, Canada, with her partner and their two dogs, Sophie and Alice.
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Great Expectations Page 4