href="#n_17" type="note">[17].
“But how did she know Pip?” said Joe, astounded.
“Who said she knew him?” cried my sister. “She just asked Uncle Pumblechook if he knew of a boy to go and play there. Uncle Pumblechook thinks that that is the boy’s fortune. So he offered to take him into town tonight in his own chaise-cart, and to take him with his own hands to Miss Havisham’s tomorrow morning.”
I was then delivered over to Mr. Pumblechook. He said:
“Boy, be forever grateful!”
“Good-bye, Joe!”
“God bless you, Pip, old chap!”
I never parted from him before. I did not understand why I was going to play at Miss Havisham’s, and what to play at.
Chapter 7
Mr. Pumblechook and I breakfasted at eight o’clock in the parlor behind the shop. I didn’t like Mr. Pumblechook. He said, pompously,
“Seven times nine, boy?[18]”
I was very hungry, but the math lesson lasted all through the breakfast.
“Seven?” “And four?” “And eight?” “And six?” “And two?” “And ten?” And so on.
For such reasons, I was very glad when ten o’clock came and we started for Miss Havisham’s. Miss Havisham’s house was of old brick, and dismal, and had many iron bars. While we waited at the gate, Mr. Pumblechook said, “And fourteen?” but I did not answer.
A window was raised, and a clear voice demanded,
“What name?”
My conductor replied,
“Pumblechook.”
The voice returned, “Quite right,” and the window was shut again. Then a young lady came across the courtyard, with keys in her hand.
“This,” said Mr. Pumblechook, “is Pip.”
“This is Pip, is it?” returned the young lady, who was very pretty and seemed very proud; “come in, Pip.”
Mr. Pumblechook was coming in also, when she stopped him.
“Oh!” she said. “Did you wish to see Miss Havisham?”
“If Miss Havisham wished to see me,” returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.
“Ah!” said the girl; “but you see she didn’t.”
Mr. Pumblechook did not protest. My young conductress locked the gate, and we went across the courtyard. It was paved and clean, but grass was growing in every crevice. The cold wind seemed to blow colder there than outside the gate.
“Now, boy, you are at the Manor House,” said the girl.
“Is that the name of this house, miss?”
“One of its names, boy.”
She called me “boy” very often, but she was of about my own age. Anyway, she seemed much older than I, of course.
We went into the house by a side door. The great front entrance had two chains across it outside. The passages were all dark. At last we came to the door of a room, and the girl said, “Go in.”
I answered, more in shyness than politeness, “After you, miss.”
To this she returned:
“Don’t be ridiculous, boy; I am not going in.”
She scornfully walked away, and took the candle with her.
This was very uncomfortable, and I was afraid. However, I knocked and entered. I found myself[19] in a large room. It was well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of daylight. It was a dressing-room, but in it was a draped table with a gilded looking-glass.
In an arm-chair, sat a very strange lady. She was dressed in rich materials – satins, and lace, and silks – all of white. Her shoes were white. And she had a long white veil dependent from her hair. She had bridal flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her hands, and some other jewels lay on the table.
“Who is it?” said the lady.
“Pip, ma’am.”
“Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close.”
A clock in the room stopped at twenty minutes to nine.
“Look at me,” said Miss Havisham. “You are not afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Do you know what I touch here?” she laid her hands, one upon the other, on her left side.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What do I touch?”
“Your heart.”
“Broken!”
She uttered the word with strong emphasis, and with a weird smile.
“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I want diversion. Play. I sometimes have sick fancies. There, there!” with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand; “play, play, play!”
I was looking at Miss Havisham.
“Are you sullen and obstinate?”
“No, ma’am, I am very sorry for you, and very sorry I can’t play just now. It’s so new here, and so strange, and so fine and melancholy…”
Before she spoke again, she turned her eyes from me, and looked at the dress she wore, and at the dressing-table, and finally at herself in the looking-glass.
“So new to him,” she muttered, “so old to me; so strange to him, so familiar to me; so melancholy to both of us! Call Estella.”
As she was still looking at the reflection of herself, I thought she was still talking to herself.
“Call Estella,” she repeated. “You can do that. Call Estella. At the door.”
I called Estella. Soon her light came along the dark passage like a star. Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close, and took up a jewel from the table.
“Your own, one day, my dear, and you will use it well. Let me see you play cards with this boy.”
“With this boy? Why, he is a common laboring boy[20]!”
Miss Havisham answered,
“Well? You can break his heart.”
“What do you play, boy?” asked Estella, with the greatest disdain.
“Nothing
Seven times nine, boy? – Сколько будет семью девять, мальчик?
I found myself – я очутился
a common laboring boy – самый обыкновенный деревенский мальчишка
