No More Learning

Miss Mills replied, on general
principles, that the Cottage of content was better than the Palace of
cold splendour, and that where love was, all was.

I said to Miss Mills that this was very true, and who should know
it better than I, who loved Dora with a love that never mortal had
experienced yet? But on Miss Mills observing, with despondency, that
it were well indeed for some hearts if this were so, I explained that
I begged leave to restrict the observation to mortals of the masculine
gender.

I then put it to Miss Mills, to say whether she considered that there
was or was not any practical merit in the suggestion I had been anxious
to make, concerning the accounts, the housekeeping, and the Cookery
Book?

Miss Mills, after some consideration, thus replied:

'Mr. Copperfield, I will be plain with you. Mental suffering and trial
supply, in some natures, the place of years, and I will be as plain with
you as if I were a Lady Abbess. No. The suggestion is not appropriate
to our Dora. Our dearest Dora is a favourite child of nature. She is a
thing of light, and airiness, and joy. I am free to confess that if it
could be done, it might be well, but--' And Miss Mills shook her head.

I was encouraged by this closing admission on the part of Miss Mills to
ask her, whether, for Dora's sake, if she had any opportunity of luring
her attention to such preparations for an earnest life, she would avail
herself of it? Miss Mills replied in the affirmative so readily, that I
further asked her if she would take charge of the Cookery Book; and, if
she ever could insinuate it upon Dora's acceptance, without frightening
her, undertake to do me that crowning service. Miss Mills accepted this
trust, too; but was not sanguine.

And Dora returned, looking such a lovely little creature, that I really
doubted whether she ought to be troubled with anything so ordinary. And
she loved me so much, and was so captivating (particularly when she made
Jip stand on his hind legs for toast, and when she pretended to hold
that nose of his against the hot teapot for punishment because he
wouldn't), that I felt like a sort of Monster who had got into a Fairy's
bower, when I thought of having frightened her, and made her cry.

After tea we had the guitar; and Dora sang those same dear old French
songs about the impossibility of ever on any account leaving off
dancing, La ra la, La ra la, until I felt a much greater Monster than
before.

We had only one check to our pleasure, and that happened a little while
before I took my leave, when, Miss Mills chancing to make some allusion
to tomorrow morning, I unluckily let out that, being obliged to exert
myself now, I got up at five o'clock. Whether Dora had any idea that
I was a Private Watchman, I am unable to say; but it made a great
impression on her, and she neither played nor sang any more.

It was still on her mind when I bade her adieu; and she said to me, in
her pretty coaxing way--as if I were a doll, I used to think:

'Now don't get up at five o'clock, you naughty boy. It's so
nonsensical! '

'My love,' said I, 'I have work to do. '

'But don't do it! ' returned Dora. 'Why should you? '

It was impossible to say to that sweet little surprised face, otherwise
than lightly and playfully, that we must work to live.

'Oh! How ridiculous! ' cried Dora.

'How shall we live without, Dora? ' said I.

'How? Any how! ' said Dora.

She seemed to think she had quite settled the question, and gave me such
a triumphant little kiss, direct from her innocent heart, that I would
hardly have put her out of conceit with her answer, for a fortune.

Well! I loved her, and I went on loving her, most absorbingly, entirely,
and completely. But going on, too, working pretty hard, and busily
keeping red-hot all the irons I now had in the fire, I would sit
sometimes of a night, opposite my aunt, thinking how I had frightened
Dora that time, and how I could best make my way with a guitar-case
through the forest of difficulty, until I used to fancy that my head was
turning quite grey.



CHAPTER 38. A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP


I did not allow my resolution, with respect to the Parliamentary
Debates, to cool. It was one of the irons I began to heat immediately,
and one of the irons I kept hot, and hammered at, with a perseverance
I may honestly admire. I bought an approved scheme of the noble art and
mystery of stenography (which cost me ten and sixpence); and plunged
into a sea of perplexity that brought me, in a few weeks, to the
confines of distraction. The changes that were rung upon dots, which
in such a position meant such a thing, and in such another position
something else, entirely different; the wonderful vagaries that were
played by circles; the unaccountable consequences that resulted from
marks like flies' legs; the tremendous effects of a curve in a wrong
place; not only troubled my waking hours, but reappeared before me in
my sleep. When I had groped my way, blindly, through these difficulties,
and had mastered the alphabet, which was an Egyptian Temple in itself,
there then appeared a procession of new horrors, called arbitrary
characters; the most despotic characters I have ever known; who
insisted, for instance, that a thing like the beginning of a cobweb,
meant expectation, and that a pen-and-ink sky-rocket, stood for
disadvantageous. When I had fixed these wretches in my mind, I found
that they had driven everything else out of it; then, beginning again, I
forgot them; while I was picking them up, I dropped the other fragments
of the system; in short, it was almost heart-breaking.

It might have been quite heart-breaking, but for Dora, who was the stay
and anchor of my tempest-driven bark. Every scratch in the scheme was
a gnarled oak in the forest of difficulty, and I went on cutting them
down, one after another, with such vigour, that in three or four months
I was in a condition to make an experiment on one of our crack speakers
in the Commons. Shall I ever forget how the crack speaker walked off
from me before I began, and left my imbecile pencil staggering about the
paper as if it were in a fit!

This would not do, it was quite clear. I was flying too high, and should
never get on, so. I resorted to Traddles for advice; who suggested
that he should dictate speeches to me, at a pace, and with occasional
stoppages, adapted to my weakness. Very grateful for this friendly aid,
I accepted the proposal; and night after night, almost every night, for
a long time, we had a sort of Private Parliament in Buckingham Street,
after I came home from the Doctor's.

I should like to see such a Parliament anywhere else! My aunt and Mr.
Dick represented the Government or the Opposition (as the case might
be), and Traddles, with the assistance of Enfield's Speakers, or a
volume of parliamentary orations, thundered astonishing invectives
against them. Standing by the table, with his finger in the page to keep
the place, and his right arm flourishing above his head, Traddles, as
Mr. Pitt, Mr. Fox, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Burke, Lord Castlereagh, Viscount
Sidmouth, or Mr. Canning, would work himself into the most violent
heats, and deliver the most withering denunciations of the profligacy
and corruption of my aunt and Mr. Dick; while I used to sit, at a little
distance, with my notebook on my knee, fagging after him with all my
might and main. The inconsistency and recklessness of Traddles were not
to be exceeded by any real politician. He was for any description of
policy, in the compass of a week; and nailed all sorts of colours to
every denomination of mast. My aunt, looking very like an immovable
Chancellor of the Exchequer, would occasionally throw in an interruption
or two, as 'Hear! ' or 'No! ' or 'Oh! ' when the text seemed to require it:
which was always a signal to Mr. Dick (a perfect country gentleman)
to follow lustily with the same cry. But Mr. Dick got taxed with
such things in the course of his Parliamentary career, and was made
responsible for such awful consequences, that he became uncomfortable in
his mind sometimes. I believe he actually began to be afraid he really
had been doing something, tending to the annihilation of the British
constitution, and the ruin of the country.

Often and often we pursued these debates until the clock pointed to
midnight, and the candles were burning down. The result of so much good
practice was, that by and by I began to keep pace with Traddles pretty
well, and should have been quite triumphant if I had had the least idea
what my notes were about. But, as to reading them after I had got them,
I might as well have copied the Chinese inscriptions of an immense
collection of tea-chests, or the golden characters on all the great red
and green bottles in the chemists' shops!

There was nothing for it, but to turn back and begin all over again. It
was very hard, but I turned back, though with a heavy heart, and began
laboriously and methodically to plod over the same tedious ground at a
snail's pace; stopping to examine minutely every speck in the way, on
all sides, and making the most desperate efforts to know these elusive
characters by sight wherever I met them. I was always punctual at
the office; at the Doctor's too: and I really did work, as the common
expression is, like a cart-horse. One day, when I went to the Commons as
usual, I found Mr. Spenlow in the doorway looking extremely grave, and
talking to himself. As he was in the habit of complaining of pains in
his head--he had naturally a short throat, and I do seriously believe
he over-starched himself--I was at first alarmed by the idea that he was
not quite right in that direction; but he soon relieved my uneasiness.

Instead of returning my 'Good morning' with his usual affability, he
looked at me in a distant, ceremonious manner, and coldly requested me
to accompany him to a certain coffee-house, which, in those days, had
a door opening into the Commons, just within the little archway in St.
Paul's Churchyard. I complied, in a very uncomfortable state, and with a
warm shooting all over me, as if my apprehensions were breaking out into
buds. When I allowed him to go on a little before, on account of the
narrowness of the way, I observed that he carried his head with a lofty
air that was particularly unpromising; and my mind misgave me that he
had found out about my darling Dora.

If I had not guessed this, on the way to the coffee-house, I could
hardly have failed to know what was the matter when I followed him
into an upstairs room, and found Miss Murdstone there, supported by
a background of sideboard, on which were several inverted tumblers
sustaining lemons, and two of those extraordinary boxes, all corners and
flutings, for sticking knives and forks in, which, happily for mankind,
are now obsolete.

Miss Murdstone gave me her chilly finger-nails, and sat severely rigid.
Mr. Spenlow shut the door, motioned me to a chair, and stood on the
hearth-rug in front of the fireplace.

'Have the goodness to show Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow, what you
have in your reticule, Miss Murdstone. '

I believe it was the old identical steel-clasped reticule of my
childhood, that shut up like a bite. Compressing her lips, in sympathy
with the snap, Miss Murdstone opened it--opening her mouth a little
at the same time--and produced my last letter to Dora, teeming with
expressions of devoted affection.

'I believe that is your writing, Mr. Copperfield? ' said Mr. Spenlow.

I was very hot, and the voice I heard was very unlike mine, when I said,
'It is, sir! '

'If I am not mistaken,' said Mr. Spenlow, as Miss Murdstone brought a
parcel of letters out of her reticule, tied round with the dearest bit
of blue ribbon, 'those are also from your pen, Mr. Copperfield? '

I took them from her with a most desolate sensation; and, glancing at
such phrases at the top, as 'My ever dearest and own Dora,' 'My best
beloved angel,' 'My blessed one for ever,' and the like, blushed deeply,
and inclined my head.

'No, thank you! ' said Mr. Spenlow, coldly, as I mechanically offered
them back to him. 'I will not deprive you of them. Miss Murdstone, be so
good as to proceed! '

That gentle creature, after a moment's thoughtful survey of the carpet,
delivered herself with much dry unction as follows.

'I must confess to having entertained my suspicions of Miss Spenlow, in
reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I observed Miss Spenlow
and David Copperfield, when they first met; and the impression made upon
me then was not agreeable. The depravity of the human heart is such--'

'You will oblige me, ma'am,' interrupted Mr. Spenlow, 'by confining
yourself to facts. '

Miss Murdstone cast down her eyes, shook her head as if protesting
against this unseemly interruption, and with frowning dignity resumed:

'Since I am to confine myself to facts, I will state them as dryly as I
can. Perhaps that will be considered an acceptable course of proceeding.
I have already said, sir, that I have had my suspicions of Miss Spenlow,
in reference to David Copperfield, for some time. I have frequently
endeavoured to find decisive corroboration of those suspicions, but
without effect. I have therefore forborne to mention them to Miss
Spenlow's father'; looking severely at him--'knowing how little
disposition there usually is in such cases, to acknowledge the
conscientious discharge of duty. '

Mr. Spenlow seemed quite cowed by the gentlemanly sternness of Miss
Murdstone's manner, and deprecated her severity with a conciliatory
little wave of his hand.

'On my return to Norwood, after the period of absence occasioned by my
brother's marriage,' pursued Miss Murdstone in a disdainful voice, 'and
on the return of Miss Spenlow from her visit to her friend Miss Mills,
I imagined that the manner of Miss Spenlow gave me greater occasion for
suspicion than before. Therefore I watched Miss Spenlow closely. '

Dear, tender little Dora, so unconscious of this Dragon's eye!

'Still,' resumed Miss Murdstone, 'I found no proof until last night.
It appeared to me that Miss Spenlow received too many letters from her
friend Miss Mills; but Miss Mills being her friend with her father's
full concurrence,' another telling blow at Mr. Spenlow, 'it was not
for me to interfere. If I may not be permitted to allude to the natural
depravity of the human heart, at least I may--I must--be permitted, so
far to refer to misplaced confidence. '

Mr. Spenlow apologetically murmured his assent.

'Last evening after tea,' pursued Miss Murdstone, 'I observed the little
dog starting, rolling, and growling about the drawing-room, worrying
something. I said to Miss Spenlow, "Dora, what is that the dog has in
his mouth? It's paper. " Miss Spenlow immediately put her hand to her
frock, gave a sudden cry, and ran to the dog. I interposed, and said,
"Dora, my love, you must permit me. "'

Oh Jip, miserable Spaniel, this wretchedness, then, was your work!

'Miss Spenlow endeavoured,' said Miss Murdstone, 'to bribe me with
kisses, work-boxes, and small articles of jewellery--that, of course,
I pass over. The little dog retreated under the sofa on my approaching
him, and was with great difficulty dislodged by the fire-irons. Even
when dislodged, he still kept the letter in his mouth; and on my
endeavouring to take it from him, at the imminent risk of being bitten,
he kept it between his teeth so pertinaciously as to suffer himself
to be held suspended in the air by means of the document. At length I
obtained possession of it. After perusing it, I taxed Miss Spenlow with
having many such letters in her possession; and ultimately obtained from
her the packet which is now in David Copperfield's hand. '

Here she ceased; and snapping her reticule again, and shutting her
mouth, looked as if she might be broken, but could never be bent.

'You have heard Miss Murdstone,' said Mr. Spenlow, turning to me. 'I beg
to ask, Mr. Copperfield, if you have anything to say in reply? '

The picture I had before me, of the beautiful little treasure of my
heart, sobbing and crying all night--of her being alone, frightened,
and wretched, then--of her having so piteously begged and prayed that
stony-hearted woman to forgive her--of her having vainly offered her
those kisses, work-boxes, and trinkets--of her being in such grievous
distress, and all for me--very much impaired the little dignity I had
been able to muster. I am afraid I was in a tremulous state for a minute
or so, though I did my best to disguise it.

'There is nothing I can say, sir,' I returned, 'except that all the
blame is mine. Dora--'

'Miss Spenlow, if you please,' said her father, majestically.

'--was induced and persuaded by me,' I went on, swallowing that colder
designation, 'to consent to this concealment, and I bitterly regret it. '

'You are very much to blame, sir,' said Mr. Spenlow, walking to and fro
upon the hearth-rug, and emphasizing what he said with his whole body
instead of his head, on account of the stiffness of his cravat and
spine. 'You have done a stealthy and unbecoming action, Mr. Copperfield.
When I take a gentleman to my house, no matter whether he is nineteen,
twenty-nine, or ninety, I take him there in a spirit of confidence.
If he abuses my confidence, he commits a dishonourable action, Mr.
Copperfield. '

'I feel it, sir, I assure you,' I returned. 'But I never thought so,
before. Sincerely, honestly, indeed, Mr. Spenlow, I never thought so,
before. I love Miss Spenlow to that extent--'

'Pooh! nonsense! ' said Mr. Spenlow, reddening. 'Pray don't tell me to my
face that you love my daughter, Mr. Copperfield! '

'Could I defend my conduct if I did not, sir? ' I returned, with all
humility.

'Can you defend your conduct if you do, sir? ' said Mr. Spenlow, stopping
short upon the hearth-rug. 'Have you considered your years, and my
daughter's years, Mr. Copperfield? Have you considered what it is to
undermine the confidence that should subsist between my daughter and
myself? Have you considered my daughter's station in life, the projects
I may contemplate for her advancement, the testamentary intentions I
may have with reference to her? Have you considered anything, Mr.
Copperfield? '

'Very little, sir, I am afraid;' I answered, speaking to him as
respectfully and sorrowfully as I felt; 'but pray believe me, I have
considered my own worldly position. When I explained it to you, we were
already engaged--'

'I BEG,' said Mr. Spenlow, more like Punch than I had ever seen him,
as he energetically struck one hand upon the other--I could not help
noticing that even in my despair; 'that YOU Will NOT talk to me of
engagements, Mr. Copperfield! '

The otherwise immovable Miss Murdstone laughed contemptuously in one
short syllable.

'When I explained my altered position to you, sir,' I began again,
substituting a new form of expression for what was so unpalatable to
him, 'this concealment, into which I am so unhappy as to have led Miss
Spenlow, had begun. Since I have been in that altered position, I have
strained every nerve, I have exerted every energy, to improve it. I am
sure I shall improve it in time. Will you grant me time--any length of
time? We are both so young, sir,--'

'You are right,' interrupted Mr. Spenlow, nodding his head a great
many times, and frowning very much, 'you are both very young. It's all
nonsense. Let there be an end of the nonsense. Take away those letters,
and throw them in the fire. Give me Miss Spenlow's letters to throw in
the fire; and although our future intercourse must, you are aware, be
restricted to the Commons here, we will agree to make no further mention
of the past. Come, Mr. Copperfield, you don't want sense; and this is
the sensible course. '

No. I couldn't think of agreeing to it. I was very sorry, but there
was a higher consideration than sense. Love was above all earthly
considerations, and I loved Dora to idolatry, and Dora loved me.
I
didn't exactly say so; I softened it down as much as I could; but I
implied it, and I was resolute upon it. I don't think I made myself very
ridiculous, but I know I was resolute.

'Very well, Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Spenlow, 'I must try my influence
with my daughter. '

Miss Murdstone, by an expressive sound, a long drawn respiration, which
was neither a sigh nor a moan, but was like both, gave it as her opinion
that he should have done this at first.

'I must try,' said Mr. Spenlow, confirmed by this support, 'my
influence with my daughter. Do you decline to take those letters, Mr.
Copperfield? ' For I had laid them on the table.

Yes. I told him I hoped he would not think it wrong, but I couldn't
possibly take them from Miss Murdstone.

'Nor from me? ' said Mr. Spenlow.

No, I replied with the profoundest respect; nor from him.

'Very well! ' said Mr. Spenlow.

A silence succeeding, I was undecided whether to go or stay. At length
I was moving quietly towards the door, with the intention of saying that
perhaps I should consult his feelings best by withdrawing: when he said,
with his hands in his coat pockets, into which it was as much as he
could do to get them; and with what I should call, upon the whole, a
decidedly pious air:

'You are probably aware, Mr. Copperfield, that I am not altogether
destitute of worldly possessions, and that my daughter is my nearest and
dearest relative? '

I hurriedly made him a reply to the effect, that I hoped the error into
which I had been betrayed by the desperate nature of my love, did not
induce him to think me mercenary too?

'I don't allude to the matter in that light,' said Mr. Spenlow. 'It
would be better for yourself, and all of us, if you WERE mercenary, Mr.
Copperfield--I mean, if you were more discreet and less influenced by
all this youthful nonsense. No. I merely say, with quite another view,
you are probably aware I have some property to bequeath to my child? '

I certainly supposed so.

'And you can hardly think,' said Mr. Spenlow, 'having experience of what
we see, in the Commons here, every day, of the various unaccountable
and negligent proceedings of men, in respect of their testamentary
arrangements--of all subjects, the one on which perhaps the strangest
revelations of human inconsistency are to be met with--but that mine are
made? '

I inclined my head in acquiescence.

'I should not allow,' said Mr. Spenlow, with an evident increase of
pious sentiment, and slowly shaking his head as he poised himself upon
his toes and heels alternately, 'my suitable provision for my child to
be influenced by a piece of youthful folly like the present. It is mere
folly. Mere nonsense. In a little while, it will weigh lighter than
any feather. But I might--I might--if this silly business were not
completely relinquished altogether, be induced in some anxious moment
to guard her from, and surround her with protections against, the
consequences of any foolish step in the way of marriage. Now, Mr.
Copperfield, I hope that you will not render it necessary for me to
open, even for a quarter of an hour, that closed page in the book of
life, and unsettle, even for a quarter of an hour, grave affairs long
since composed. '

There was a serenity, a tranquillity, a calm sunset air about him, which
quite affected me. He was so peaceful and resigned--clearly had his
affairs in such perfect train, and so systematically wound up--that he
was a man to feel touched in the contemplation of. I really think I saw
tears rise to his eyes, from the depth of his own feeling of all this.

But what could I do? I could not deny Dora and my own heart. When he
told me I had better take a week to consider of what he had said, how
could I say I wouldn't take a week, yet how could I fail to know that no
amount of weeks could influence such love as mine?

'In the meantime, confer with Miss Trotwood, or with any person with
any knowledge of life,' said Mr. Spenlow, adjusting his cravat with both
hands. 'Take a week, Mr. Copperfield. '

I submitted; and, with a countenance as expressive as I was able to
make it of dejected and despairing constancy, came out of the room. Miss
Murdstone's heavy eyebrows followed me to the door--I say her eyebrows
rather than her eyes, because they were much more important in her
face--and she looked so exactly as she used to look, at about that
hour of the morning, in our parlour at Blunderstone, that I could have
fancied I had been breaking down in my lessons again, and that the
dead weight on my mind was that horrible old spelling-book, with
oval woodcuts, shaped, to my youthful fancy, like the glasses out of
spectacles.

When I got to the office, and, shutting out old Tiffey and the rest of
them with my hands, sat at my desk, in my own particular nook, thinking
of this earthquake that had taken place so unexpectedly, and in the
bitterness of my spirit cursing Jip, I fell into such a state of torment
about Dora, that I wonder I did not take up my hat and rush insanely to
Norwood. The idea of their frightening her, and making her cry, and of
my not being there to comfort her, was so excruciating, that it impelled
me to write a wild letter to Mr. Spenlow, beseeching him not to visit
upon her the consequences of my awful destiny. I implored him to spare
her gentle nature--not to crush a fragile flower--and addressed him
generally, to the best of my remembrance, as if, instead of being her
father, he had been an Ogre, or the Dragon of Wantley. This letter I
sealed and laid upon his desk before he returned; and when he came in,
I saw him, through the half-opened door of his room, take it up and read
it.

He said nothing about it all the morning; but before he went away in the
afternoon he called me in, and told me that I need not make myself at
all uneasy about his daughter's happiness. He had assured her, he said,
that it was all nonsense; and he had nothing more to say to her. He
believed he was an indulgent father (as indeed he was), and I might
spare myself any solicitude on her account.

'You may make it necessary, if you are foolish or obstinate, Mr.
Copperfield,' he observed, 'for me to send my daughter abroad again,
for a term; but I have a better opinion of you. I hope you will be wiser
than that, in a few days. As to Miss Murdstone,' for I had alluded to
her in the letter, 'I respect that lady's vigilance, and feel obliged to
her; but she has strict charge to avoid the subject. All I desire, Mr.
Copperfield, is, that it should be forgotten. All you have got to do,
Mr. Copperfield, is to forget it. '

All! In the note I wrote to Miss Mills, I bitterly quoted this
sentiment. All I had to do, I said, with gloomy sarcasm, was to forget
Dora. That was all, and what was that! I entreated Miss Mills to see
me, that evening. If it could not be done with Mr. Mills's sanction
and concurrence, I besought a clandestine interview in the back kitchen
where the Mangle was. I informed her that my reason was tottering on
its throne, and only she, Miss Mills, could prevent its being deposed.
I signed myself, hers distractedly; and I couldn't help feeling, while
I read this composition over, before sending it by a porter, that it was
something in the style of Mr. Micawber.

However, I sent it. At night I repaired to Miss Mills's street, and
walked up and down, until I was stealthily fetched in by Miss Mills's
maid, and taken the area way to the back kitchen. I have since seen
reason to believe that there was nothing on earth to prevent my going in
at the front door, and being shown up into the drawing-room, except Miss
Mills's love of the romantic and mysterious.

In the back kitchen, I raved as became me. I went there, I suppose,
to make a fool of myself, and I am quite sure I did it. Miss Mills had
received a hasty note from Dora, telling her that all was discovered,
and saying. 'Oh pray come to me, Julia, do, do! ' But Miss Mills,
mistrusting the acceptability of her presence to the higher powers, had
not yet gone; and we were all benighted in the Desert of Sahara.

Miss Mills had a wonderful flow of words, and liked to pour them out. I
could not help feeling, though she mingled her tears with mine, that she
had a dreadful luxury in our afflictions. She petted them, as I may say,
and made the most of them. A deep gulf, she observed, had opened between
Dora and me, and Love could only span it with its rainbow. Love must
suffer in this stern world; it ever had been so, it ever would be so. No
matter, Miss Mills remarked. Hearts confined by cobwebs would burst at
last, and then Love was avenged.

This was small consolation, but Miss Mills wouldn't encourage fallacious
hopes. She made me much more wretched than I was before, and I felt (and
told her with the deepest gratitude) that she was indeed a friend. We
resolved that she should go to Dora the first thing in the morning,
and find some means of assuring her, either by looks or words, of my
devotion and misery. We parted, overwhelmed with grief; and I think Miss
Mills enjoyed herself completely.

I confided all to my aunt when I got home; and in spite of all she could
say to me, went to bed despairing. I got up despairing, and went out
despairing. It was Saturday morning, and I went straight to the Commons.

I was surprised, when I came within sight of our office-door, to see the
ticket-porters standing outside talking together, and some half-dozen
stragglers gazing at the windows which were shut up. I quickened my
pace, and, passing among them, wondering at their looks, went hurriedly
in.

The clerks were there, but nobody was doing anything. Old Tiffey, for
the first time in his life I should think, was sitting on somebody
else's stool, and had not hung up his hat.

'This is a dreadful calamity, Mr. Copperfield,' said he, as I entered.

'What is? ' I exclaimed. 'What's the matter? '

'Don't you know? ' cried Tiffey, and all the rest of them, coming round
me.

'No! ' said I, looking from face to face.

'Mr. Spenlow,' said Tiffey.

'What about him! '

'Dead! ' I thought it was the office reeling, and not I, as one of
the clerks caught hold of me. They sat me down in a chair, untied my
neck-cloth, and brought me some water. I have no idea whether this took
any time.

'Dead? ' said I.

'He dined in town yesterday, and drove down in the phaeton by himself,'
said Tiffey, 'having sent his own groom home by the coach, as he
sometimes did, you know--'

'Well? '

'The phaeton went home without him. The horses stopped at the
stable-gate. The man went out with a lantern. Nobody in the carriage. '

'Had they run away? '

'They were not hot,' said Tiffey, putting on his glasses; 'no hotter, I
understand, than they would have been, going down at the usual pace. The
reins were broken, but they had been dragging on the ground. The house
was roused up directly, and three of them went out along the road. They
found him a mile off. '

'More than a mile off, Mr. Tiffey,' interposed a junior.

'Was it? I believe you are right,' said Tiffey,--'more than a mile
off--not far from the church--lying partly on the roadside, and partly
on the path, upon his face. Whether he fell out in a fit, or got out,
feeling ill before the fit came on--or even whether he was quite dead
then, though there is no doubt he was quite insensible--no one appears
to know. If he breathed, certainly he never spoke. Medical assistance
was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless. '

I cannot describe the state of mind into which I was thrown by this
intelligence. The shock of such an event happening so suddenly, and
happening to one with whom I had been in any respect at variance--the
appalling vacancy in the room he had occupied so lately, where his chair
and table seemed to wait for him, and his handwriting of yesterday was
like a ghost--the indefinable impossibility of separating him from the
place, and feeling, when the door opened, as if he might come in--the
lazy hush and rest there was in the office, and the insatiable relish
with which our people talked about it, and other people came in and
out all day, and gorged themselves with the subject--this is easily
intelligible to anyone. What I cannot describe is, how, in the innermost
recesses of my own heart, I had a lurking jealousy even of Death. How
I felt as if its might would push me from my ground in Dora's thoughts.
How I was, in a grudging way I have no words for, envious of her grief.
How it made me restless to think of her weeping to others, or being
consoled by others. How I had a grasping, avaricious wish to shut out
everybody from her but myself, and to be all in all to her, at that
unseasonable time of all times.

In the trouble of this state of mind--not exclusively my own, I hope,
but known to others--I went down to Norwood that night; and finding from
one of the servants, when I made my inquiries at the door, that Miss
Mills was there, got my aunt to direct a letter to her, which I wrote.
I deplored the untimely death of Mr. Spenlow, most sincerely, and shed
tears in doing so. I entreated her to tell Dora, if Dora were in a
state to hear it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost kindness and
consideration; and had coupled nothing but tenderness, not a single or
reproachful word, with her name. I know I did this selfishly, to have my
name brought before her; but I tried to believe it was an act of justice
to his memory. Perhaps I did believe it.

My aunt received a few lines next day in reply; addressed, outside, to
her; within, to me. Dora was overcome by grief; and when her friend had
asked her should she send her love to me, had only cried, as she was
always crying, 'Oh, dear papa! oh, poor papa! ' But she had not said No,
and that I made the most of.

Mr. jorkins, who had been at Norwood since the occurrence, came to the
office a few days afterwards. He and Tiffey were closeted together for
some few moments, and then Tiffey looked out at the door and beckoned me
in.

'Oh! ' said Mr. jorkins. 'Mr. Tiffey and myself, Mr. Copperfield, are
about to examine the desks, the drawers, and other such repositories
of the deceased, with the view of sealing up his private papers, and
searching for a Will. There is no trace of any, elsewhere. It may be as
well for you to assist us, if you please. '

I had been in agony to obtain some knowledge of the circumstances
in which my Dora would be placed--as, in whose guardianship, and so
forth--and this was something towards it. We began the search at once;
Mr. jorkins unlocking the drawers and desks, and we all taking out the
papers. The office-papers we placed on one side, and the private papers
(which were not numerous) on the other. We were very grave; and when we
came to a stray seal, or pencil-case, or ring, or any little article of
that kind which we associated personally with him, we spoke very low.

We had sealed up several packets; and were still going on dustily and
quietly, when Mr. jorkins said to us, applying exactly the same words to
his late partner as his late partner had applied to him:

'Mr. Spenlow was very difficult to move from the beaten track. You know
what he was! I am disposed to think he had made no will. '

'Oh, I know he had! ' said I.

They both stopped and looked at me. 'On the very day when I last saw
him,' said I, 'he told me that he had, and that his affairs were long
since settled. '

Mr. jorkins and old Tiffey shook their heads with one accord.

'That looks unpromising,' said Tiffey.

'Very unpromising,' said Mr. jorkins.

'Surely you don't doubt--' I began.

'My good Mr. Copperfield! ' said Tiffey, laying his hand upon my arm, and
shutting up both his eyes as he shook his head: 'if you had been in the
Commons as long as I have, you would know that there is no subject on
which men are so inconsistent, and so little to be trusted. '

'Why, bless my soul, he made that very remark! ' I replied persistently.

'I should call that almost final,' observed Tiffey. 'My opinion is--no
will. '

It appeared a wonderful thing to me, but it turned out that there was
no will. He had never so much as thought of making one, so far as his
papers afforded any evidence; for there was no kind of hint, sketch, or
memorandum, of any testamentary intention whatever. What was scarcely
less astonishing to me, was, that his affairs were in a most disordered
state. It was extremely difficult, I heard, to make out what he owed, or
what he had paid, or of what he died possessed. It was considered likely
that for years he could have had no clear opinion on these subjects
himself.