Great Expectations | Chapter XLII - Page 3

He had worked himself into a state of great excitement, but he checked it, took two or three short breaths, swallowed as often, and stretching out his hand towards me, said, in a reassuring manner, “I ain't a going to be low, dear boy!”

He had so heated himself that he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and head and neck and hands, before he could go on.

“I had said to Compeyson that I'd smash that face of his, and I swore Lord smash mine! to do it. We was in the same prison-ship, but I couldn't get at him for long, though I tried. At last I come behind him and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get a smashing one at him, when I was seen and seized. The black-hole of that ship warn't a strong one, to a judge of black-holes that could swim and dive. I escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among the graves there, envying them as was in 'em and all over, when I first see my boy!”

He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almost abhorrent to me again, though I had felt great pity for him.

“By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on them marshes too. Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror, to get quit of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore. I hunted him down. I smashed his face. ‘And now,’ says I ‘as the worst thing I can do, caring nothing for myself, I'll drag you back.’ And I'd have swum off, towing him by the hair, if it had come to that, and I'd a got him aboard without the soldiers.

“Of course he'd much the best of it to the last—his character was so good. He had escaped when he was made half-wild by me and my murderous intentions; and his punishment was light. I was put in irons, brought to trial again, and sent for life. I didn't stop for life, dear boy and Pip's comrade, being here.”

He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowly took his tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipe from his buttonhole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke.

“Is he dead?” I asked after a silence.

“Is who dead, dear boy?”

“Compeyson.”

“He hopes I am, if he's alive, you may be sure,” with a fierce look. “I never heard no more of him.”

Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. He softly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with his eyes on the fire, and I read in it:

“Young Havisham's name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover.”

I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the book by; but we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood smoking by the fire.

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