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

partly open. Here we stopped, breathless with our ascent, and she placed her hand lightly on my lips. I could only see, of the room beyond, that it was pretty large; that there was a bed in it; and that there were some common pictures of ships upon the walls. I could not see Miss Dartle, or the person whom we had heard her address. Certainly, my companion could not, for my position was the best. A dead silence prevailed for some moments. Martha kept one hand on my lips, and raised the other in a listening attitude.

“It matters little to me her not being at home,” said Rosa Dartle haughtily, “I know nothing of her. It is you I come to see.”

“Me?” replied a soft voice.

At the sound of it, a thrill went through my frame. For it was Emily’s!

“Yes,” returned Miss Dartle, “I have come to look at you. What? You are not ashamed of the face that has done so much?”

The resolute and unrelenting hatred of her tone, its cold stern sharpness, and its mastered rage, presented her before me, as if I had seen her standing in the light. I saw the flashing black eyes, and the passion-wasted figure; and I saw the scar, with its white track cutting through her lips, quivering and throbbing as she spoke.

“I have come to see,” she said, “James Steerforth’s fancy; the girl who ran away with him, and is the town-talk of the commonest people of her native place; the bold, flaunting, practised companion of persons like James Steerforth. I want to know what such a thing is like.”

There was a rustle, as if the unhappy girl, on whom she heaped these taunts, ran towards the door, and the speaker swiftly interposed herself before it. It was succeeded by a moment’s pause.

When Miss Dartle spoke again, it was through her set teeth, and with a stamp upon the ground.

“Stay there!” she said, “or I’ll proclaim you to the house, and the whole street! If you try to evade me, I’ll stop you, if it’s by the hair, and raise the very stones against you!”

A frightened murmur was the only reply that reached my ears. A silence succeeded. I did not know what to do. Much as I desired to put an end to the interview, I felt that I had no right to present myself; that it was for Mr. Peggotty alone to see her and recover her. Would he never come? I thought impatiently.

“So!” said Rosa Dartle, with a contemptuous laugh, “I see her at last! Why, he was a poor creature to be taken by that delicate mock-modesty, and that hanging head!”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, spare me!” exclaimed Emily. “Whoever you are, you know my pitiable story, and for Heaven’s sake spare me, if you would be spared yourself!”

“If I would be spared!” returned the other fiercely; “what is there in common between us, do you think!”

“Nothing but our sex,” said Emily, with a burst of tears.

“And that,” said Rosa Dartle, “is so strong a claim, preferred by one so infamous, that if I had any feeling in my breast but scorn and abhorrence of you, it would freeze it up. Our sex! You are an honour to our sex!”

“I have deserved this,” said Emily, “but it’s dreadful! Dear, dear lady, think what I have suffered, and how I am fallen! Oh, Martha, come back! Oh, home, home!”

Miss Dartle placed herself in a chair, within view of the door, and looked downward, as if Emily were crouching on the floor before her. Being now between me and the light, I could see her curled lip, and her cruel eyes intently fixed on one place, with a greedy triumph.

“Listen to what I say!” she said; “and reserve your false arts for your dupes. Do you hope to move me by your tears? No more than you could charm me by your smiles, you purchased slave.”

“Oh, have some mercy on me!” cried Emily. “Show me some compassion, or I shall die mad!”

“It would be no great penance,” said Rosa Dartle, “for your crimes. Do you know what you have done? Do you ever think of the home you have laid waste?”

“Oh, is there ever night or day, when I don’t think of it!” cried Emily; and now I could just see her, on her knees, with her head thrown back, her pale face looking upward, her hands wildly clasped and held out, and her hair streaming about her. “Has there ever been a single minute, waking or sleeping, when it hasn’t been before me, just as it used to be in the lost days when I turned my back upon it forever and forever! Oh, home, home! Oh dear, dear uncle, if you ever could have known the agony your love would cause me when I fell away from good, you never would have shown it to me so constant, much as you felt it; but would have been angry to me, at least once in my life, that I might have had some comfort! I have none, none, no comfort upon earth, for all of them were always fond of me!” She dropped on her face, before the imperious figure in the chair, with an imploring effort to clasp the skirt of her dress.

Rosa Dartle sat looking down upon her, as inflexible as a figure of brass. Her lips were tightly compressed, as if she knew that she must keep a strong constraint upon herself⁠—I write what I sincerely believe⁠—or she would be tempted to strike the beautiful form with her foot. I saw her, distinctly, and the whole power of her face and character seemed forced into that expression. Would he never come?

“The miserable vanity of these earthworms!” she said, when she had so far controlled the angry heavings of her breast, that she could trust herself to speak. “Your home! Do you imagine that I bestow a thought on it, or suppose you could do any harm