David Copperfield, Charles Dickens [best historical fiction books of all time TXT] 📗

our looks met, I observed that he was pale even to his lips, though he looked very steadily at me. I feared that some difference between him and his mother might have led to his being in the frame of mind in which I had found him at the solitary fireside. I hinted so.

“Oh no!” he said, shaking his head, and giving a slight laugh. “Nothing of the sort! Yes. He is come down, that man of mine.”

“The same as ever?” said I.

“The same as ever,” said Steerforth. “Distant and quiet as the North Pole. He shall see to the boat being fresh named. She’s the Stormy Petrel now. What does Mr. Peggotty care for stormy petrels! I’ll have her christened again.”

“By what name?” I asked.

“The Little Em’ly.”

As he had continued to look steadily at me, I took it as a reminder that he objected to being extolled for his consideration. I could not help showing in my face how much it pleased me, but I said little, and he resumed his usual smile, and seemed relieved.

“But see here,” he said, looking before us, “where the original little Em’ly comes! And that fellow with her, eh? Upon my soul, he’s a true knight. He never leaves her!”

Ham was a boat-builder in these days, having improved a natural ingenuity in that handicraft, until he had become a skilled workman. He was in his working-dress, and looked rugged enough, but manly withal, and a very fit protector for the blooming little creature at his side. Indeed, there was a frankness in his face, an honesty, and an undisguised show of his pride in her, and his love for her, which were, to me, the best of good looks. I thought, as they came towards us, that they were well matched even in that particular.

She withdrew her hand timidly from his arm as we stopped to speak to them, and blushed as she gave it to Steerforth and to me. When they passed on, after we had exchanged a few words, she did not like to replace that hand, but, still appearing timid and constrained, walked by herself. I thought all this very pretty and engaging, and Steerforth seemed to think so too, as we looked after them fading away in the light of a young moon.

Suddenly there passed us⁠—evidently following them⁠—a young woman whose approach we had not observed, but whose face I saw as she went by, and thought I had a faint remembrance of. She was lightly dressed; looked bold, and haggard, and flaunting, and poor; but seemed, for the time, to have given all that to the wind which was blowing, and to have nothing in her mind but going after them. As the dark distant level, absorbing their figures into itself, left but itself visible between us and the sea and clouds, her figure disappeared in like manner, still no nearer to them than before.

“That is a black shadow to be following the girl,” said Steerforth, standing still; “what does it mean?”

He spoke in a low voice that sounded almost strange to Me.

“She must have it in her mind to beg of them, I think,” said I.

“A beggar would be no novelty,” said Steerforth; “but it is a strange thing that the beggar should take that shape tonight.”

“Why?” I asked.

“For no better reason, truly, than because I was thinking,” he said, after a pause, “of something like it, when it came by. Where the Devil did it come from, I wonder!”

“From the shadow of this wall, I think,” said I, as we emerged upon a road on which a wall abutted.

“It’s gone!” he returned, looking over his shoulder. “And all ill go with it. Now for our dinner!”

But he looked again over his shoulder towards the sea-line glimmering afar off, and yet again. And he wondered about it, in some broken expressions, several times, in the short remainder of our walk; and only seemed to forget it when the light of fire and candle shone upon us, seated warm and merry, at table.

Littimer was there, and had his usual effect upon me. When I said to him that I hoped Mrs. Steerforth and Miss Dartle were well, he answered respectfully (and of course respectably), that they were tolerably well, he thanked me, and had sent their compliments. This was all, and yet he seemed to me to say as plainly as a man could say: “You are very young, sir; you are exceedingly young.”

We had almost finished dinner, when taking a step or two towards the table, from the corner where he kept watch upon us, or rather upon me, as I felt, he said to his master:

“I beg your pardon, sir. Miss Mowcher is down here.”

“Who?” cried Steerforth, much astonished.

“Miss Mowcher, sir.”

“Why, what on earth does she do here?” said Steerforth.

“It appears to be her native part of the country, sir. She informs me that she makes one of her professional visits here, every year, sir. I met her in the street this afternoon, and she wished to know if she might have the honour of waiting on you after dinner, sir.”

“Do you know the Giantess in question, Daisy?” inquired Steerforth.

I was obliged to confess⁠—I felt ashamed, even of being at this disadvantage before Littimer⁠—that Miss Mowcher and I were wholly unacquainted.

“Then you shall know her,” said Steerforth, “for she is one of the seven wonders of the world. When Miss Mowcher comes, show her in.”

I felt some curiosity and excitement about this lady, especially as Steerforth burst into a fit of laughing when I referred to her, and positively refused to answer any question of which I made her the subject. I remained, therefore, in a state of considerable expectation until the cloth had been removed some half an hour, and we were sitting over our decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened, and Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, announced:

“Miss Mowcher!”

I looked at the doorway and saw nothing. I was still