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

never shall be otherwise than ’umble. You will not think the worse of my ’umbleness, if I make a little confidence to you, Master Copperfield? Will you?”

“Oh no,” said I, with an effort.

“Thank you!” He took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began wiping the palms of his hands. “Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield⁠—”

“Well, Uriah?”

“Oh, how pleasant to be called Uriah, spontaneously!” he cried; and gave himself a jerk, like a convulsive fish. “You thought her looking very beautiful tonight, Master Copperfield?”

“I thought her looking as she always does: superior, in all respects, to everyone around her,” I returned.

“Oh, thank you! It’s so true!” he cried. “Oh, thank you very much for that!”

“Not at all,” I said, loftily. “There is no reason why you should thank me.”

“Why that, Master Copperfield,” said Uriah, “is, in fact, the confidence that I am going to take the liberty of reposing. ’Umble as I am,” he wiped his hands harder, and looked at them and at the fire by turns, “ ’umble as my mother is, and lowly as our poor but honest roof has ever been, the image of Miss Agnes (I don’t mind trusting you with my secret, Master Copperfield, for I have always overflowed towards you since the first moment I had the pleasure of beholding you in a pony-shay) has been in my breast for years. Oh, Master Copperfield, with what a pure affection do I love the ground my Agnes walks on!”

I believe I had a delirious idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of the fire, and running him through with it. It went from me with a shock, like a ball fired from a rifle: but the image of Agnes, outraged by so much as a thought of this redheaded animal’s, remained in my mind when I looked at him, sitting all awry as if his mean soul griped his body, and made me giddy. He seemed to swell and grow before my eyes; the room seemed full of the echoes of his voice; and the strange feeling (to which, perhaps, no one is quite a stranger) that all this had occurred before, at some indefinite time, and that I knew what he was going to say next, took possession of me.

A timely observation of the sense of power that there was in his face, did more to bring back to my remembrance the entreaty of Agnes, in its full force, than any effort I could have made. I asked him, with a better appearance of composure than I could have thought possible a minute before, whether he had made his feelings known to Agnes.

“Oh no, Master Copperfield!” he returned; “oh dear, no! Not to anyone but you. You see I am only just emerging from my lowly station. I rest a good deal of hope on her observing how useful I am to her father (for I trust to be very useful to him indeed, Master Copperfield), and how I smooth the way for him, and keep him straight. She’s so much attached to her father, Master Copperfield (oh, what a lovely thing it is in a daughter!), that I think she may come, on his account, to be kind to me.”

I fathomed the depth of the rascal’s whole scheme, and understood why he laid it bare.

“If you’ll have the goodness to keep my secret, Master Copperfield,” he pursued, “and not, in general, to go against me, I shall take it as a particular favour. You wouldn’t wish to make unpleasantness. I know what a friendly heart you’ve got; but having only known me on my ’umble footing (on my ’umblest I should say, for I am very ’umble still), you might, unbeknown, go against me rather, with my Agnes. I call her mine, you see, Master Copperfield. There’s a song that says, ‘I’d crowns resign, to call her mine!’ I hope to do it, one of these days.”

Dear Agnes! So much too loving and too good for anyone that I could think of, was it possible that she was reserved to be the wife of such a wretch as this!

“There’s no hurry at present, you know, Master Copperfield,” Uriah proceeded, in his slimy way, as I sat gazing at him, with this thought in my mind. “My Agnes is very young still; and mother and me will have to work our way upwards, and make a good many new arrangements, before it would be quite convenient. So I shall have time gradually to make her familiar with my hopes, as opportunities offer. Oh, I’m so much obliged to you for this confidence! Oh, it’s such a relief, you can’t think, to know that you understand our situation, and are certain (as you wouldn’t wish to make unpleasantness in the family) not to go against me!”

He took the hand which I dared not withhold, and having given it a damp squeeze, referred to his pale-faced watch.

“Dear me!” he said, “it’s past one. The moments slip away so, in the confidence of old times, Master Copperfield, that it’s almost half past one!”

I answered that I had thought it was later. Not that I had really thought so, but because my conversational powers were effectually scattered.

“Dear me!” he said, considering. “The ’ouse that I am stopping at⁠—a sort of a private hotel and boarding ’ouse, Master Copperfield, near the New River ’ed⁠—will have gone to bed these two hours.”

“I am sorry,” I returned, “that there is only one bed here, and that I⁠—”

“Oh, don’t think of mentioning beds, Master Copperfield!” he rejoined ecstatically, drawing up one leg. “But would you have any objections to my laying down before the fire?”

“If it comes to that,” I said, “pray take my bed, and I’ll lie down before the fire.”

His repudiation of this offer was almost shrill enough, in the excess of its surprise and humility, to have penetrated to the ears of Mrs. Crupp, then sleeping, I suppose, in a distant chamber, situated at about the level of low-water mark, soothed in her slumbers by