prompt:
Chapter: When the time Mr. Micawber had appointed so mysteriously, was within
four-and-twenty hours of being come, my aunt and I consulted how we
should proceed; for my aunt was very unwilling to leave Dora. Ah! how
easily I carried Dora up and down stairs, now!

We were disposed, notwithstanding Mr. Micawber's stipulation for my
aunt's attendance, to arrange that she should stay at home, and be
represented by Mr. Dick and me. In short, we had resolved to take this
course, when Dora again unsettled us by declaring that she never
would forgive herself, and never would forgive her bad boy, if my aunt
remained behind, on any pretence.

'I won't speak to you,' said Dora, shaking her curls at my aunt. 'I'll
be disagreeable! I'll make Jip bark at you all day. I shall be sure that
you really are a cross old thing, if you don't go!'

'Tut, Blossom!' laughed my aunt. 'You know you can't do without me!'

'Yes, I can,' said Dora. 'You are no use to me at all. You never run up
and down stairs for me, all day long. You never sit and tell me stories
about Doady, when his shoes were worn out, and he was covered with
dust--oh, what a poor little mite of a fellow! You never do anything at
all to please me, do you, dear?' Dora made haste to kiss my aunt, and
say, 'Yes, you do! I'm only joking!'-lest my aunt should think she
really meant it.

'But, aunt,' said Dora, coaxingly, 'now listen. You must go. I shall
tease you, 'till you let me have my own way about it. I shall lead my
naughty boy such a life, if he don't make you go. I shall make myself
so disagreeable--and so will Jip! You'll wish you had gone, like a good
thing, for ever and ever so long, if you don't go. Besides,' said Dora,
putting back her hair, and looking wonderingly at my aunt and me, 'why
shouldn't you both go? I am not very ill indeed. Am I?'

'Why, what a question!' cried my aunt.

'What a fancy!' said I.

'Yes! I know I am a silly little thing!' said Dora, slowly looking from
one of us to the other, and then putting up her pretty lips to kiss us
as she lay upon her couch. 'Well, then, you must both go, or I shall not
believe you; and then I shall cry!'

I saw, in my aunt's face, that she began to give way now, and Dora
brightened again, as she saw it too.

'You'll come back with so much to tell me, that it'll take at least
a week to make me understand!' said Dora. 'Because I know I shan't
understand, for a length of time, if there's any business in it. And
there's sure to be some business in it! If there's anything to add up,
besides, I don't know when I shall make it out; and my bad boy will look
so miserable all the time. There! Now you'll go, won't you? You'll only
be gone one night, and Jip will take care of me while you are gone.
Doady will carry me upstairs before you go, and I won't come down again
till you come back; and you shall take Agnes a dreadfully scolding
letter from me, because she has never been to see us!'

We agreed, without any more consultation, that we would both go, and
that Dora was a little Impostor, who feigned to be rather unwell,
because she liked to be petted. She was greatly pleased, and very merry;
and we four, that is to say, my aunt, Mr. Dick, Traddles, and I, went
down to Canterbury by the Dover mail that night.

At the hotel where Mr. Micawber had requested us to await him, which
we got into, with some trouble, in the middle of the night, I found a
letter, importing that he would appear in the morning punctually at half
past nine. After which, we went shivering, at that uncomfortable hour,
to our respective beds, through various close passages; which smelt as
if they had been steeped, for ages, in a solution of soup and stables.

Early in the morning, I sauntered through the dear old tranquil streets,
and again mingled with the shadows of the venerable gateways and
churches. The rooks were sailing about the cathedral towers; and the
towers themselves, overlooking many a long unaltered mile of the rich
country and its pleasant streams, were cutting the bright morning air,
as if there were no such thing as change on earth. Yet the bells, when
they sounded, told me sorrowfully of change in everything; told me of
their own age, and my pretty Dora's youth; and of the many, never old,
who had lived and loved and died, while the reverberations of the bells
had hummed through the rusty armour of the Black Prince hanging up
within, and, motes upon the deep of Time, had lost themselves in air, as
circles do in water.

I looked at the old house from the corner of the street, but did not go
nearer to it, lest, being observed, I might unwittingly do any harm to
the design I had come to aid. The early sun was striking edgewise on its
gables and lattice-windows, touching them with gold; and some beams of
its old peace seemed to touch my heart.

I strolled into the country for an hour or so, and then returned by
the main street, which in the interval had shaken off its last night's
sleep. Among those who were stirring in the shops, I saw my ancient
enemy the butcher, now advanced to top-boots and a baby, and in business
for himself. He was nursing the baby, and appeared to be a benignant
member of society.

We all became very anxious and impatient, when we sat down to breakfast.
As it approached nearer and nearer to half past nine o'clock, our
restless expectation of Mr. Micawber increased. At last we made no more
pretence of attending to the meal, which, except with Mr. Dick, had been
a mere form from the first; but my aunt walked up and down the room.
Traddles sat upon the sofa affecting to read the paper with his eyes on
the ceiling; and I looked out of the window to give early notice of Mr.
Micawber's coming. Nor had I long to watch, for, at the first chime of
the half hour, he appeared in the street.

'Here he is,' said I, 'and not in his legal attire!'

My aunt tied the strings of her bonnet (she had come down to breakfast
in it), and put on her shawl, as if she were ready for anything that
was resolute and uncompromising. Traddles buttoned his coat with a
determined air. Mr. Dick, disturbed by these formidable appearances, but
feeling it necessary to imitate them, pulled his hat, with both hands,
as firmly over his ears as he possibly could; and instantly took it off
again, to welcome Mr. Micawber.

'Gentlemen, and madam,' said Mr. Micawber, 'good morning! My dear sir,'
to Mr. Dick, who shook hands with him violently, 'you are extremely
good.'

'Have you breakfasted?' said Mr. Dick. 'Have a chop!'

'Not for the world, my good sir!' cried Mr. Micawber, stopping him on
his way to the bell; 'appetite and myself, Mr. Dixon, have long been
strangers.'

Mr. Dixon was so well pleased with his new name, and appeared to think
it so obliging in Mr. Micawber to confer it upon him, that he shook
hands with him again, and laughed rather childishly.

'Dick,' said my aunt, 'attention!'

Mr. Dick recovered himself, with a blush.

'Now, sir,' said my aunt to Mr. Micawber, as she put on her gloves, 'we
are ready for Mount Vesuvius, or anything else, as soon as YOU please.'

'Madam,' returned Mr. Micawber, 'I trust you will shortly witness an
eruption. Mr. Traddles, I have your permission, I believe, to mention
here that we have been in communication together?'

'It is undoubtedly the fact, Copperfield,' said Traddles, to whom I
looked in surprise. 'Mr. Micawber has consulted me in reference to
what he has in contemplation; and I have advised him to the best of my
judgement.'

'Unless I deceive myself, Mr. Traddles,' pursued Mr. Micawber, 'what I
contemplate is a disclosure of an important nature.'

'Highly so,' said Traddles.

'Perhaps, under such circumstances, madam and gentlemen,' said Mr.
Micawber, 'you will do me the favour to submit yourselves, for the
moment, to the direction of one who, however unworthy to be regarded in
any other light but as a Waif and Stray upon the shore of human nature,
is still your fellow-man, though crushed out of his original form
by individual errors, and the accumulative force of a combination of
circumstances?'

'We have perfect confidence in you, Mr. Micawber,' said I, 'and will do
what you please.'

'Mr. Copperfield,' returned Mr. Micawber, 'your confidence is not, at
the existing juncture, ill-bestowed. I would beg to be allowed a start
of five minutes by the clock; and then to receive the present company,
inquiring for Miss Wickfield, at the office of Wickfield and Heep, whose
Stipendiary I am.'

My aunt and I looked at Traddles, who nodded his approval.

'I have no more,' observed Mr. Micawber, 'to say at present.'

With which, to my infinite surprise, he included us all in a
comprehensive bow, and disappeared; his manner being extremely distant,
and his face extremely pale.

Traddles only smiled, and shook his head (with his hair standing upright
on the top of it), when I looked to him for an explanation; so I took
out my watch, and, as a last resource, counted off the five minutes. My
aunt, with her own watch in her hand, did the like. When the time was
expired, Traddles gave her his arm; and we all went out together to the
old house, without saying one word on the way.

We found Mr. Micawber at his desk, in the turret office on the
ground floor, either writing, or pretending to write, hard. The large
office-ruler was stuck into his waistcoat, and was not so well concealed
but that a foot or more of that instrument protruded from his bosom,
like a new kind of shirt-frill.

As it appeared to me that I was expected to speak, I said aloud:

'How do you do, Mr. Micawber?'

'Mr. Copperfield,' said Mr. Micawber, gravely, 'I hope I see you well?'

'Is Miss Wickfield at home?' said I.

'Mr. Wickfield is unwell in bed, sir, of a rheumatic fever,' he
returned; 'but Miss Wickfield, I have no doubt, will be happy to see old
friends. Will you walk in, sir?'

He preceded us to the dining-room--the first room I had entered in that
house--and flinging open the door of Mr. Wickfield's former office,
said, in a sonorous voice:

'Miss Trotwood, Mr. David Copperfield, Mr. Thomas Traddles, and Mr.
Dixon!'

I had not seen Uriah Heep since the time of the blow. Our visit
astonished him, evidently; not the less, I dare say, because it
astonished ourselves. He did not gather his eyebrows together, for he
had none worth mentioning; but he frowned to that degree that he almost
closed his small eyes, while the hurried raising of his grisly hand to
his chin betrayed some trepidation or surprise. This was only when we
were in the act of entering his room, and when I caught a glance at him
over my aunt's shoulder. A moment afterwards, he was as fawning and as
humble as ever.

'Well, I am sure,' he said. 'This is indeed an unexpected pleasure! To
have, as I may say, all friends round St. Paul's at once, is a treat
unlooked for! Mr. Copperfield, I hope I see you well, and--if I may
umbly express myself so--friendly towards them as is ever your friends,
whether or not. Mrs. Copperfield, sir, I hope she's getting on. We have
been made quite uneasy by the poor accounts we have had of her state,
lately, I do assure you.'

I felt ashamed to let him take my hand, but I did not know yet what else
to do.

'Things are changed in this office, Miss Trotwood, since I was an umble
clerk, and held your pony; ain't they?' said Uriah, with his sickliest
smile. 'But I am not changed, Miss Trotwood.'

'Well, sir,' returned my aunt, 'to tell you the truth, I think you are
pretty constant to the promise of your youth; if that's any satisfaction
to you.'

'Thank you, Miss Trotwood,' said Uriah, writhing in his ungainly manner,
'for your good opinion! Micawber, tell 'em to let Miss Agnes know--and
mother. Mother will be quite in a state, when she sees the present
company!' said Uriah, setting chairs.

'You are not busy, Mr. Heep?' said Traddles, whose eye the cunning red
eye accidentally caught, as it at once scrutinized and evaded us.

'No, Mr. Traddles,' replied Uriah, resuming his official seat, and
squeezing his bony hands, laid palm to palm between his bony knees. 'Not
so much so as I could wish. But lawyers, sharks, and leeches, are not
easily satisfied, you know! Not but what myself and Micawber have our
hands pretty full, in general, on account of Mr. Wickfield's being
hardly fit for any occupation, sir. But it's a pleasure as well as a
duty, I am sure, to work for him. You've not been intimate with Mr.
Wickfield, I think, Mr. Traddles? I believe I've only had the honour of
seeing you once myself?'

'No, I have not been intimate with Mr. Wickfield,' returned Traddles;
'or I might perhaps have waited on you long ago, Mr. Heep.'

There was something in the tone of this reply, which made Uriah look at
the speaker again, with a very sinister and suspicious expression. But,
seeing only Traddles, with his good-natured face, simple manner, and
hair on end, he dismissed it as he replied, with a jerk of his whole
body, but especially his throat:

'I am sorry for that, Mr. Traddles. You would have admired him as much
as we all do. His little failings would only have endeared him to you
the more. But if you would like to hear my fellow-partner eloquently
spoken of, I should refer you to Copperfield. The family is a subject
he's very strong upon, if you never heard him.'

I was prevented from disclaiming the compliment (if I should have
done so, in any case), by the entrance of Agnes, now ushered in by Mr.
Micawber. She was not quite so self-possessed as usual, I thought; and
had evidently undergone anxiety and fatigue. But her earnest cordiality,
and her quiet beauty, shone with the gentler lustre for it.

I saw Uriah watch her while she greeted us; and he reminded me of an
ugly and rebellious genie watching a good spirit. In the meanwhile,
some slight sign passed between Mr. Micawber and Traddles; and Traddles,
unobserved except by me, went out.

'Don't wait, Micawber,' said Uriah.

Mr. Micawber, with his hand upon the ruler in his breast, stood erect
before the door, most unmistakably contemplating one of his fellow-men,
and that man his employer.

'What are you waiting for?' said Uriah. 'Micawber! did you hear me tell
you not to wait?'

'Yes!' replied the immovable Mr. Micawber.

'Then why DO you wait?' said Uriah.

'Because I--in short, choose,' replied Mr. Micawber, with a burst.

Uriah's cheeks lost colour, and an unwholesome paleness, still faintly
tinged by his pervading red, overspread them. He looked at Mr. Micawber
attentively, with his whole face breathing short and quick in every
feature.

'You are a dissipated fellow, as all the world knows,' he said, with an
effort at a smile, 'and I am afraid you'll oblige me to get rid of you.
Go along! I'll talk to you presently.'

'If there is a scoundrel on this earth,' said Mr. Micawber, suddenly
breaking out again with the utmost vehemence, 'with whom I have already
talked too much, that scoundrel's name is--HEEP!'

Uriah fell back, as if he had been struck or stung. Looking slowly round
upon us with the darkest and wickedest expression that his face could
wear, he said, in a lower voice:

'Oho! This is a conspiracy! You have met here by appointment! You are
playing Booty with my clerk, are you, Copperfield? Now, take care.
You'll make nothing of this. We understand each other, you and me.
There's no love between us. You were always a puppy with a proud
stomach, from your first coming here; and you envy me my rise, do you?
None of your plots against me; I'll counterplot you! Micawber, you be
off. I'll talk to you presently.'

'Mr. Micawber,' said I, 'there is a sudden change in this fellow, in
more respects than the extraordinary one of his speaking the truth in
one particular, which assures me that he is brought to bay. Deal with
him as he deserves!'

'You are a precious set of people, ain't you?' said Uriah, in the same
low voice, and breaking out into a clammy heat, which he wiped from his
forehead, with his long lean hand, 'to buy over my clerk, who is the
very scum of society,--as you yourself were, Copperfield, you know it,
before anyone had charity on you,--to defame me with his lies? Miss
Trotwood, you had better stop this; or I'll stop your husband shorter
than will be pleasant to you. I won't know your story professionally,
for nothing, old lady! Miss Wickfield, if you have any love for your
father, you had better not join that gang. I'll ruin him, if you do.
Now, come! I have got some of you under the harrow. Think twice, before
it goes over you. Think twice, you, Micawber, if you don't want to
be crushed. I recommend you to take yourself off, and be talked to
presently, you fool! while there's time to retreat. Where's mother?' he
said, suddenly appearing to notice, with alarm, the absence of Traddles,
and pulling down the bell-rope. 'Fine doings in a person's own house!'

'Mrs. Heep is here, sir,' said Traddles, returning with that worthy
mother of a worthy son. 'I have taken the liberty of making myself known
to her.'

'Who are you to make yourself known?' retorted Uriah. 'And what do you
want here?'

'I am the agent and friend of Mr. Wickfield, sir,' said Traddles, in a
composed and business-like way. 'And I have a power of attorney from him
in my pocket, to act for him in all matters.'

'The old ass has drunk himself into a state of dotage,' said Uriah,
turning uglier than before, 'and it has been got from him by fraud!'

'Something has been got from him by fraud, I know,' returned Traddles
quietly; 'and so do you, Mr. Heep. We will refer that question, if you
please, to Mr. Micawber.'

'Ury--!' Mrs. Heep began, with an anxious gesture.

'YOU hold your tongue, mother,' he returned; 'least said, soonest
mended.'

'But, my Ury--'

'Will you hold your tongue, mother, and leave it to me?'

Though I had long known that his servility was false, and all his
pretences knavish and hollow, I had had no adequate conception of the
extent of his hypocrisy, until I now saw him with his mask off. The
suddenness with which he dropped it, when he perceived that it was
useless to him; the malice, insolence, and hatred, he revealed; the leer
with which he exulted, even at this moment, in the evil he had done--all
this time being desperate too, and at his wits' end for the means
of getting the better of us--though perfectly consistent with the
experience I had of him, at first took even me by surprise, who had
known him so long, and disliked him so heartily.

I say nothing of the look he conferred on me, as he stood eyeing us,
one after another; for I had always understood that he hated me, and I
remembered the marks of my hand upon his cheek. But when his eyes passed
on to Agnes, and I saw the rage with which he felt his power over her
slipping away, and the exhibition, in their disappointment, of the
odious passions that had led him to aspire to one whose virtues he could
never appreciate or care for, I was shocked by the mere thought of her
having lived, an hour, within sight of such a man.

After some rubbing of the lower part of his face, and some looking at us
with those bad eyes, over his grisly fingers, he made one more address
to me, half whining, and half abusive.

'You think it justifiable, do you, Copperfield, you who pride yourself
so much on your honour and all the rest of it, to sneak about my place,
eaves-dropping with my clerk? If it had been ME, I shouldn't have
wondered; for I don't make myself out a gentleman (though I never was
in the streets either, as you were, according to Micawber), but being
you!--And you're not afraid of doing this, either? You don't think at
all of what I shall do, in return; or of getting yourself into
trouble for conspiracy and so forth? Very well. We shall see! Mr.
What's-your-name, you were going to refer some question to Micawber.
There's your referee. Why don't you make him speak? He has learnt his
lesson, I see.'

Seeing that what he said had no effect on me or any of us, he sat on the
edge of his table with his hands in his pockets, and one of his splay
feet twisted round the other leg, waiting doggedly for what might
follow.

Mr. Micawber, whose impetuosity I had restrained thus far with the
greatest difficulty, and who had repeatedly interposed with the first
syllable of SCOUN-drel! without getting to the second, now burst
forward, drew the ruler from his breast (apparently as a defensive
weapon), and produced from his pocket a foolscap document, folded in the
form of a large letter. Opening this packet, with his old flourish, and
glancing at the contents, as if he cherished an artistic admiration of
their style of composition, he began to read as follows:

'"Dear Miss Trotwood and gentlemen--"'

'Bless and save the man!' exclaimed my aunt in a low voice. 'He'd write
letters by the ream, if it was a capital offence!'

Mr. Micawber, without hearing her, went on.

'"In appearing before you to denounce probably the most consummate
Villain that has ever existed,"' Mr. Micawber, without looking off the
letter, pointed the ruler, like a ghostly truncheon, at Uriah Heep,
'"I ask no consideration for myself. The victim, from my cradle, of
pecuniary liabilities to which I have been unable to respond, I have
ever been the sport and toy of debasing circumstances. Ignominy,
Want, Despair, and Madness, have, collectively or separately, been the
attendants of my career."'

The relish with which Mr. Micawber described himself as a prey to these
dismal calamities, was only to be equalled by the emphasis with which he
read his letter; and the kind of homage he rendered to it with a roll of
his head, when he thought he had hit a sentence very hard indeed.

'"In an accumulation of Ignominy, Want, Despair, and Madness, I entered
the office--or, as our lively neighbour the Gaul would term it, the
Bureau--of the Firm, nominally conducted under the appellation of
Wickfield and--HEEP, but in reality, wielded by--HEEP alone. HEEP, and
only HEEP, is the mainspring of that machine. HEEP, and only HEEP, is
the Forger and the Cheat."'

Uriah, more blue than white at these words, made a dart at the letter,
as if to tear it in pieces. Mr. Micawber, with a perfect miracle of
dexterity or luck, caught his advancing knuckles with the ruler, and
disabled his right hand. It dropped at the wrist, as if it were broken.
The blow sounded as if it had fallen on wood.

'The Devil take you!' said Uriah, writhing in a new way with pain. 'I'll
be even with you.'

'Approach me again, you--you--you HEEP of infamy,' gasped Mr. Micawber,
'and if your head is human, I'll break it. Come on, come on!'

I think I never saw anything more ridiculous--I was sensible of it, even
at the time--than Mr. Micawber making broad-sword guards with the ruler,
and crying, 'Come on!' while Traddles and I pushed him back into a
corner, from which, as often as we got him into it, he persisted in
emerging again.

His enemy, muttering to himself, after wringing his wounded hand for
sometime, slowly drew off his neck-kerchief and bound it up; then
held it in his other hand, and sat upon his table with his sullen face
looking down.

Mr. Micawber, when he was sufficiently cool, proceeded with his letter.

'"The stipendiary emoluments in consideration of which I entered into
the service of--HEEP,"' always pausing before that word and uttering
it with astonishing vigour, '"were not defined, beyond the pittance of
twenty-two shillings and six per week. The rest was left contingent on
the value of my professional exertions; in other and more expressive
words, on the baseness of my nature, the cupidity of my motives, the
poverty of my family, the general moral (or rather immoral) resemblance
between myself and--HEEP. Need I say, that it soon became necessary for
me to solicit from--HEEP--pecuniary advances towards the support of
Mrs. Micawber, and our blighted but rising family? Need I say that this
necessity had been foreseen by--HEEP? That those advances were secured
by I.O.U.'s and other similar acknowledgements, known to the legal
institutions of this country? And that I thus became immeshed in the web
he had spun for my reception?"'

Mr. Micawber's enjoyment of his epistolary powers, in describing this
unfortunate state of things, really seemed to outweigh any pain or
anxiety that the reality could have caused him. He read on:

'"Then it was that--HEEP--began to favour me with just so much of his
confidence, as was necessary to the discharge of his infernal business.
Then it was that I began, if I may so Shakespearianly express myself, to
dwindle, peak, and pine. I found that my services were constantly
called into requisition for the falsification of business, and the
mystification of an individual whom I will designate as Mr. W. That Mr.
W. was imposed upon, kept in ignorance, and deluded, in every possible
way; yet, that all this while, the ruffian--HEEP--was professing
unbounded gratitude to, and unbounded friendship for, that much-abused
gentleman. This was bad enough; but, as the philosophic Dane observes,
with that universal applicability which distinguishes the illustrious
ornament of the Elizabethan Era, worse remains behind!"'

Mr. Micawber was so very much struck by this happy rounding off with a
quotation, that he indulged himself, and us, with a second reading of
the sentence, under pretence of having lost his place.

'"It is not my intention,"' he continued reading on, '"to enter on a
detailed list, within the compass of the present epistle (though it
is ready elsewhere), of the various malpractices of a minor nature,
affecting the individual whom I have denominated Mr. W., to which I
have been a tacitly consenting party. My object, when the contest within
myself between stipend and no stipend, baker and no baker, existence
and non-existence, ceased, was to take advantage of my opportunities
to discover and expose the major malpractices committed, to that
gentleman's grievous wrong and injury, by--HEEP. Stimulated by the
silent monitor within, and by a no less touching and appealing monitor
without--to whom I will briefly refer as Miss W.--I entered on a not
unlaborious task of clandestine investigation, protracted--now, to the
best of my knowledge, information, and belief, over a period exceeding
twelve calendar months."'

He read this passage as if it were from an Act of Parliament; and
appeared majestically refreshed by the sound of the words.

'"My charges against--HEEP,"' he read on, glancing at him, and drawing
the ruler into a convenient position under his left arm, in case of
need, '"are as follows."'

We all held our breath, I think. I am sure Uriah held his.

'"First,"' said Mr. Micawber, '"When Mr. W.'s faculties and memory
for business became, through causes into which it is not necessary or
expedient for me to enter, weakened and confused,--HEEP--designedly
perplexed and complicated the whole of the official transactions. When
Mr. W. was least fit to enter on business,--HEEP was always at hand
to force him to enter on it. He obtained Mr. W.'s signature under such
circumstances to documents of importance, representing them to be other
documents of no importance. He induced Mr. W. to empower him to draw
out, thus, one particular sum of trust-money, amounting to twelve six
fourteen, two and nine, and employed it to meet pretended business
charges and deficiencies which were either already provided for, or
had never really existed. He gave this proceeding, throughout, the
appearance of having originated in Mr. W.'s own dishonest intention, and
of having been accomplished by Mr. W.'s own dishonest act; and has used
it, ever since, to torture and constrain him."'

'You shall prove this, you Copperfield!' said Uriah, with a threatening
shake of the head. 'All in good time!'

'Ask--HEEP--Mr. Traddles, who lived in his house after him,' said Mr.
Micawber, breaking off from the letter; 'will you?'

'The fool himself--and lives there now,' said Uriah, disdainfully.

'Ask--HEEP--if he ever kept a pocket-book in that house,' said Mr.
Micawber; 'will you?'

I saw Uriah's lank hand stop, involuntarily, in the scraping of his
chin.

'Or ask him,' said Mr. Micawber,'if he ever burnt one there. If he says
yes, and asks you where the ashes are, refer him to Wilkins Micawber,
and he will hear of something not at all to his advantage!'

The triumphant flourish with which Mr. Micawber delivered himself of
these words, had a powerful effect in alarming the mother; who cried
out, in much agitation:

'Ury, Ury! Be umble, and make terms, my dear!'

'Mother!' he retorted, 'will you keep quiet? You're in a fright, and
don't know what you say or mean. Umble!' he repeated, looking at me,
with a snarl; 'I've umbled some of 'em for a pretty long time back,
umble as I was!'

Mr. Micawber, genteelly adjusting his chin in his cravat, presently
proceeded with his composition.

'"Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my knowledge,
information, and belief--"'

'But that won't do,' muttered Uriah, relieved. 'Mother, you keep quiet.'

'We will endeavour to provide something that WILL do, and do for you
finally, sir, very shortly,' replied Mr. Micawber.

'"Second. HEEP has, on several occasions, to the best of my knowledge,
information, and belief, systematically forged, to various entries,
books, and documents, the signature of Mr. W.; and has distinctly done
so in one instance, capable of proof by me. To wit, in manner following,
that is to say:"'

Again, Mr. Micawber had a relish in this formal piling up of words,
which, however ludicrously displayed in his case, was, I must say, not
at all peculiar to him. I have observed it, in the course of my life,
in numbers of men. It seems to me to be a general rule. In the taking of
legal oaths, for instance, deponents seem to enjoy themselves mightily
when they come to several good words in succession, for the expression
of one idea; as, that they utterly detest, abominate, and abjure, or so
forth; and the old anathemas were made relishing on the same principle.
We talk about the tyranny of words, but we like to tyrannize over them
too; we are fond of having a large superfluous establishment of words to
wait upon us on great occasions; we think it looks important, and sounds
well. As we are not particular about the meaning of our liveries on
state occasions, if they be but fine and numerous enough, so, the
meaning or necessity of our words is a secondary consideration, if there
be but a great parade of them. And as individuals get into trouble by
making too great a show of liveries, or as slaves when they are too
numerous rise against their masters, so I think I could mention a
nation that has got into many great difficulties, and will get into many
greater, from maintaining too large a retinue of words.

Mr. Micawber read on, almost smacking his lips:

'"To wit, in manner following, that is to say. Mr. W. being infirm, and
it being within the bounds of probability that his decease might lead
to some discoveries, and to the downfall of--HEEP'S--power over the W.
family,--as I, Wilkins Micawber, the undersigned, assume--unless the
filial affection of his daughter could be secretly influenced from
allowing any investigation of the partnership affairs to be ever made,
the said--HEEP--deemed it expedient to have a bond ready by him, as from
Mr. W., for the before-mentioned sum of twelve six fourteen, two and
nine, with interest, stated therein to have been advanced by--HEEP--to
Mr. W. to save Mr. W. from dishonour; though really the sum was never
advanced by him, and has long been replaced. The signatures to this
instrument purporting to be executed by Mr. W. and attested by Wilkins
Micawber, are forgeries by--HEEP. I have, in my possession, in his hand
and pocket-book, several similar imitations of Mr. W.'s signature, here
and there defaced by fire, but legible to anyone. I never attested any
such document. And I have the document itself, in my possession."' Uriah
Heep, with a start, took out of his pocket a bunch of keys, and opened
a certain drawer; then, suddenly bethought himself of what he was about,
and turned again towards us, without looking in it.

'"And I have the document,"' Mr. Micawber read again, looking about as
if it were the text of a sermon, '"in my possession,--that is to say,
I had, early this morning, when this was written, but have since
relinquished it to Mr. Traddles."'

'It is quite true,' assented Traddles.

'Ury, Ury!' cried the mother, 'be umble and make terms. I know my
son will be umble, gentlemen, if you'll give him time to think. Mr.
Copperfield, I'm sure you know that he was always very umble, sir!'

It was singular to see how the mother still held to the old trick, when
the son had abandoned it as useless.

'Mother,' he said, with an impatient bite at the handkerchief in which
his hand was wrapped, 'you had better take and fire a loaded gun at me.'

'But I love you, Ury,' cried Mrs. Heep. And I have no doubt she did; or
that he loved her, however strange it may appear; though, to be sure,
they were a congenial couple. 'And I can't bear to hear you provoking
the gentlemen, and endangering of yourself more. I told the gentleman
at first, when he told me upstairs it was come to light, that I would
answer for your being umble, and making amends. Oh, see how umble I am,
gentlemen, and don't mind him!'

'Why, there's Copperfield, mother,' he angrily retorted, pointing his
lean finger at me, against whom all his animosity was levelled, as the
prime mover in the discovery; and I did not undeceive him; 'there's
Copperfield, would have given you a hundred pound to say less than
you've blurted out!'

'I can't help it, Ury,' cried his mother. 'I can't see you running into
danger, through carrying your head so high. Better be umble, as you
always was.'

He remained for a little, biting the handkerchief, and then said to me
with a scowl:

'What more have you got to bring forward? If anything, go on with it.
What do you look at me for?'

Mr. Micawber promptly resumed his letter, glad to revert to a
performance with which he was so highly satisfied.

'"Third. And last. I am now in a condition to show, by--HEEP'S--false
books, and--HEEP'S--real memoranda, beginning with the partially
destroyed pocket-book (which I was unable to comprehend, at the time of
its accidental discovery by Mrs. Micawber, on our taking possession of
our present abode, in the locker or bin devoted to the reception of the
ashes calcined on our domestic hearth), that the weaknesses, the faults,
the very virtues, the parental affections, and the sense of honour, of
the unhappy Mr. W. have been for years acted on by, and warped to the
base purposes of--HEEP. That Mr. W. has been for years deluded and
plundered, in every conceivable manner, to the pecuniary aggrandisement
of the avaricious, false, and grasping--HEEP. That the engrossing object
of--HEEP--was, next to gain, to subdue Mr. and Miss W. (of his ulterior
views in reference to the latter I say nothing) entirely to himself.
That his last act, completed but a few months since, was to induce Mr.
W. to execute a relinquishment of his share in the partnership, and even
a bill of sale on the very furniture of his house, in consideration of a
certain annuity, to be well and truly paid by--HEEP--on the four common
quarter-days in each and every year. That these meshes; beginning with
alarming and falsified accounts of the estate of which Mr. W. is the
receiver, at a period when Mr. W. had launched into imprudent and
ill-judged speculations, and may not have had the money, for which he
was morally and legally responsible, in hand; going on with pretended
borrowings of money at enormous interest, really coming from--HEEP--and
by--HEEP--fraudulently obtained or withheld from Mr. W. himself,
on pretence of such speculations or otherwise; perpetuated by a
miscellaneous catalogue of unscrupulous chicaneries--gradually
thickened, until the unhappy Mr. W. could see no world beyond. Bankrupt,
as he believed, alike in circumstances, in all other hope, and
in honour, his sole reliance was upon the monster in the garb of
man,"'--Mr. Micawber made a good deal of this, as a new turn of
expression,--'"who, by making himself necessary to him, had achieved his
destruction. All this I undertake to show. Probably much more!"'

I whispered a few words to Agnes, who was weeping, half joyfully, half
sorrowfully, at my side; and there was a movement among us, as if Mr.
Micawber had finished. He said, with exceeding gravity, 'Pardon me,'
and proceeded, with a mixture of the lowest spirits and the most intense
enjoyment, to the peroration of his letter.

'"I have now concluded. It merely remains for me to substantiate these
accusations; and then, with my ill-starred family, to disappear from the
landscape on which we appear to be an encumbrance. That is soon done. It
may be reasonably inferred that our baby will first expire of inanition,
as being the frailest member of our circle; and that our twins will
follow next in order. So be it! For myself, my Canterbury Pilgrimage has
done much; imprisonment on civil process, and want, will soon do more.
I trust that the labour and hazard of an investigation--of which the
smallest results have been slowly pieced together, in the pressure of
arduous avocations, under grinding penurious apprehensions, at rise of
morn, at dewy eve, in the shadows of night, under the watchful eye of
one whom it were superfluous to call Demon--combined with the struggle
of parental Poverty to turn it, when completed, to the right account,
may be as the sprinkling of a few drops of sweet water on my funeral
pyre. I ask no more. Let it be, in justice, merely said of me, as of a
gallant and eminent naval Hero, with whom I have no pretensions to
cope, that what I have done, I did, in despite of mercenary and selfish
objects,

     For England, home, and Beauty.

     '"Remaining always, &c.  &c., WILKINS MICAWBER."'

Much affected, but still intensely enjoying himself, Mr. Micawber folded
up his letter, and handed it with a bow to my aunt, as something she
might like to keep.

There was, as I had noticed on my first visit long ago, an iron safe in
the room. The key was in it. A hasty suspicion seemed to strike Uriah;
and, with a glance at Mr. Micawber, he went to it, and threw the doors
clanking open. It was empty.

'Where are the books?' he cried, with a frightful face. 'Some thief has
stolen the books!'

Mr. Micawber tapped himself with the ruler. 'I did, when I got the key
from you as usual--but a little earlier--and opened it this morning.'

'Don't be uneasy,' said Traddles. 'They have come into my possession. I
will take care of them, under the authority I mentioned.'

'You receive stolen goods, do you?' cried Uriah.

'Under such circumstances,' answered Traddles, 'yes.'

What was my astonishment when I beheld my aunt, who had been profoundly
quiet and attentive, make a dart at Uriah Heep, and seize him by the
collar with both hands!

'You know what I want?' said my aunt.

'A strait-waistcoat,' said he.

'No. My property!' returned my aunt. 'Agnes, my dear, as long as
I believed it had been really made away with by your father, I
wouldn't--and, my dear, I didn't, even to Trot, as he knows--breathe a
syllable of its having been placed here for investment. But, now I know
this fellow's answerable for it, and I'll have it! Trot, come and take
it away from him!'

Whether my aunt supposed, for the moment, that he kept her property in
his neck-kerchief, I am sure I don't know; but she certainly pulled at
it as if she thought so. I hastened to put myself between them, and to
assure her that we would all take care that he should make the utmost
restitution of everything he had wrongly got. This, and a few moments'
reflection, pacified her; but she was not at all disconcerted by what
she had done (though I cannot say as much for her bonnet) and resumed
her seat composedly.

During the last few minutes, Mrs. Heep had been clamouring to her son
to be 'umble'; and had been going down on her knees to all of us in
succession, and making the wildest promises. Her son sat her down in his
chair; and, standing sulkily by her, holding her arm with his hand, but
not rudely, said to me, with a ferocious look:

'What do you want done?'

'I will tell you what must be done,' said Traddles.

'Has that Copperfield no tongue?' muttered Uriah, 'I would do a good
deal for you if you could tell me, without lying, that somebody had cut
it out.'

'My Uriah means to be umble!' cried his mother. 'Don't mind what he
says, good gentlemen!'

'What must be done,' said Traddles, 'is this. First, the deed of
relinquishment, that we have heard of, must be given over to me
now--here.'

'Suppose I haven't got it,' he interrupted.

'But you have,' said Traddles; 'therefore, you know, we won't suppose
so.' And I cannot help avowing that this was the first occasion on
which I really did justice to the clear head, and the plain, patient,
practical good sense, of my old schoolfellow. 'Then,' said Traddles,
'you must prepare to disgorge all that your rapacity has become
possessed of, and to make restoration to the last farthing. All the
partnership books and papers must remain in our possession; all your
books and papers; all money accounts and securities, of both kinds. In
short, everything here.'

'Must it? I don't know that,' said Uriah. 'I must have time to think
about that.'

'Certainly,' replied Traddles; 'but, in the meanwhile, and until
everything is done to our satisfaction, we shall maintain possession
of these things; and beg you--in short, compel you--to keep to your own
room, and hold no communication with anyone.'

'I won't do it!' said Uriah, with an oath.

'Maidstone jail is a safer place of detention,' observed Traddles; 'and
though the law may be longer in righting us, and may not be able to
right us so completely as you can, there is no doubt of its punishing
YOU. Dear me, you know that quite as well as I! Copperfield, will you go
round to the Guildhall, and bring a couple of officers?'

Here, Mrs. Heep broke out again, crying on her knees to Agnes to
interfere in their behalf, exclaiming that he was very humble, and it
was all true, and if he didn't do what we wanted, she would, and much
more to the same purpose; being half frantic with fears for her darling.
To inquire what he might have done, if he had had any boldness, would
be like inquiring what a mongrel cur might do, if it had the spirit of
a tiger. He was a coward, from head to foot; and showed his dastardly
nature through his sullenness and mortification, as much as at any time
of his mean life.

'Stop!' he growled to me; and wiped his hot face with his hand. 'Mother,
hold your noise. Well! Let 'em have that deed. Go and fetch it!'

'Do you help her, Mr. Dick,' said Traddles, 'if you please.'

Proud of his commission, and understanding it, Mr. Dick accompanied her
as a shepherd's dog might accompany a sheep. But, Mrs. Heep gave him
little trouble; for she not only returned with the deed, but with the
box in which it was, where we found a banker's book and some other
papers that were afterwards serviceable.

'Good!' said Traddles, when this was brought. 'Now, Mr. Heep, you can
retire to think: particularly observing, if you please, that I declare
to you, on the part of all present, that there is only one thing to be
done; that it is what I have explained; and that it must be done without
delay.'

Uriah, without lifting his eyes from the ground, shuffled across the
room with his hand to his chin, and pausing at the door, said:

'Copperfield, I have always hated you. You've always been an upstart,
and you've always been against me.'

'As I think I told you once before,' said I, 'it is you who have been,
in your greed and cunning, against all the world. It may be profitable
to you to reflect, in future, that there never were greed and cunning in
the world yet, that did not do too much, and overreach themselves. It is
as certain as death.'

'Or as certain as they used to teach at school (the same school where I
picked up so much umbleness), from nine o'clock to eleven, that labour
was a curse; and from eleven o'clock to one, that it was a blessing and
a cheerfulness, and a dignity, and I don't know what all, eh?' said
he with a sneer. 'You preach, about as consistent as they did.
Won't umbleness go down? I shouldn't have got round my gentleman
fellow-partner without it, I think. --Micawber, you old bully, I'll pay
YOU!'

Mr. Micawber, supremely defiant of him and his extended finger, and
making a great deal of his chest until he had slunk out at the door,
then addressed himself to me, and proffered me the satisfaction of
'witnessing the re-establishment of mutual confidence between himself
and Mrs. Micawber'. After which, he invited the company generally to the
contemplation of that affecting spectacle.

'The veil that has long been interposed between Mrs. Micawber and
myself, is now withdrawn,' said Mr. Micawber; 'and my children and the
Author of their Being can once more come in contact on equal terms.'

As we were all very grateful to him, and all desirous to show that we
were, as well as the hurry and disorder of our spirits would permit, I
dare say we should all have gone, but that it was necessary for Agnes to
return to her father, as yet unable to bear more than the dawn of
hope; and for someone else to hold Uriah in safe keeping. So, Traddles
remained for the latter purpose, to be presently relieved by Mr. Dick;
and Mr. Dick, my aunt, and I, went home with Mr. Micawber. As I parted
hurriedly from the dear girl to whom I owed so much, and thought from
what she had been saved, perhaps, that morning--her better resolution
notwithstanding--I felt devoutly thankful for the miseries of my younger
days which had brought me to the knowledge of Mr. Micawber.

His house was not far off; and as the street door opened into the
sitting-room, and he bolted in with a precipitation quite his own,
we found ourselves at once in the bosom of the family. Mr. Micawber
exclaiming, 'Emma! my life!' rushed into Mrs. Micawber's arms. Mrs.
Micawber shrieked, and folded Mr. Micawber in her embrace. Miss
Micawber, nursing the unconscious stranger of Mrs. Micawber's last
letter to me, was sensibly affected. The stranger leaped. The twins
testified their joy by several inconvenient but innocent demonstrations.
Master Micawber, whose disposition appeared to have been soured by
early disappointment, and whose aspect had become morose, yielded to his
better feelings, and blubbered.

'Emma!' said Mr. Micawber. 'The cloud is past from my mind. Mutual
confidence, so long preserved between us once, is restored, to know
no further interruption. Now, welcome poverty!' cried Mr. Micawber,
shedding tears. 'Welcome misery, welcome houselessness, welcome hunger,
rags, tempest, and beggary! Mutual confidence will sustain us to the
end!'

With these expressions, Mr. Micawber placed Mrs. Micawber in a chair,
and embraced the family all round; welcoming a variety of bleak
prospects, which appeared, to the best of my judgement, to be anything
but welcome to them; and calling upon them to come out into Canterbury
and sing a chorus, as nothing else was left for their support.

But Mrs. Micawber having, in the strength of her emotions, fainted away,
the first thing to be done, even before the chorus could be considered
complete, was to recover her. This my aunt and Mr. Micawber did; and
then my aunt was introduced, and Mrs. Micawber recognized me.

'Excuse me, dear Mr. Copperfield,' said the poor lady, giving me her
hand, 'but I am not strong; and the removal of the late misunderstanding
between Mr. Micawber and myself was at first too much for me.'

'Is this all your family, ma'am?' said my aunt.

'There are no more at present,' returned Mrs. Micawber.

'Good gracious, I didn't mean that, ma'am,' said my aunt. 'I mean, are
all these yours?'

'Madam,' replied Mr. Micawber, 'it is a true bill.'

'And that eldest young gentleman, now,' said my aunt, musing, 'what has
he been brought up to?'

'It was my hope when I came here,' said Mr. Micawber, 'to have got
Wilkins into the Church: or perhaps I shall express my meaning more
strictly, if I say the Choir. But there was no vacancy for a tenor in
the venerable Pile for which this city is so justly eminent; and he
has--in short, he has contracted a habit of singing in public-houses,
rather than in sacred edifices.'

'But he means well,' said Mrs. Micawber, tenderly.

'I dare say, my love,' rejoined Mr. Micawber, 'that he means
particularly well; but I have not yet found that he carries out his
meaning, in any given direction whatsoever.'

Master Micawber's moroseness of aspect returned upon him again, and he
demanded, with some temper, what he was to do? Whether he had been born
a carpenter, or a coach-painter, any more than he had been born a bird?
Whether he could go into the next street, and open a chemist's shop?
Whether he could rush to the next assizes, and proclaim himself a
lawyer? Whether he could come out by force at the opera, and succeed
by violence? Whether he could do anything, without being brought up to
something?

My aunt mused a little while, and then said:

'Mr. Micawber, I wonder you have never turned your thoughts to
emigration.'

'Madam,' returned Mr. Micawber, 'it was the dream of my youth, and the
fallacious aspiration of my riper years.' I am thoroughly persuaded, by
the by, that he had never thought of it in his life.

'Aye?' said my aunt, with a glance at me. 'Why, what a thing it would
be for yourselves and your family, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber, if you were to
emigrate now.'

'Capital, madam, capital,' urged Mr. Micawber, gloomily.

'That is the principal, I may say the only difficulty, my dear Mr.
Copperfield,' assented his wife.

'Capital?' cried my aunt. 'But you are doing us a great service--have
done us a great service, I may say, for surely much will come out of
the fire--and what could we do for you, that would be half so good as to
find the capital?'

'I could not receive it as a gift,' said Mr. Micawber, full of fire and
animation, 'but if a sufficient sum could be advanced, say at five per
cent interest, per annum, upon my personal liability--say my notes of
hand, at twelve, eighteen, and twenty-four months, respectively, to
allow time for something to turn up--'

'Could be? Can be and shall be, on your own terms,' returned my aunt,
'if you say the word. Think of this now, both of you. Here are some
people David knows, going out to Australia shortly. If you decide to go,
why shouldn't you go in the same ship? You may help each other. Think of
this now, Mr. and Mrs. Micawber. Take your time, and weigh it well.'

'There is but one question, my dear ma'am, I could wish to ask,' said
Mrs. Micawber. 'The climate, I believe, is healthy?'

'Finest in the world!' said my aunt.

'Just so,' returned Mrs. Micawber. 'Then my question arises. Now, are
the circumstances of the country such, that a man of Mr. Micawber's
abilities would have a fair chance of rising in the social scale? I will
not say, at present, might he aspire to be Governor, or anything of that
sort; but would there be a reasonable opening for his talents to
develop themselves--that would be amply sufficient--and find their own
expansion?'

'No better opening anywhere,' said my aunt, 'for a man who conducts
himself well, and is industrious.'

'For a man who conducts himself well,' repeated Mrs. Micawber, with her
clearest business manner, 'and is industrious. Precisely. It is
evident to me that Australia is the legitimate sphere of action for Mr.
Micawber!'

'I entertain the conviction, my dear madam,' said Mr. Micawber, 'that
it is, under existing circumstances, the land, the only land, for myself
and family; and that something of an extraordinary nature will turn up
on that shore. It is no distance--comparatively speaking; and though
consideration is due to the kindness of your proposal, I assure you that
is a mere matter of form.'

Shall I ever forget how, in a moment, he was the most sanguine of men,
looking on to fortune; or how Mrs. Micawber presently discoursed
about the habits of the kangaroo! Shall I ever recall that street of
Canterbury on a market-day, without recalling him, as he walked
back with us; expressing, in the hardy roving manner he assumed, the
unsettled habits of a temporary sojourner in the land; and looking at
the bullocks, as they came by, with the eye of an Australian farmer!

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: I assist at an explosion. David, Betsey, Mr. Dick, and Traddles meet Mr. Micawber in Canterbury, as he requested. He says that he has consulted Traddles, who is now a lawyer, regarding what he is about to reveal. He asks them all to give him a five-minute start, and then to follow him to Uriah Heep's office at Mr. Wickfield's house. David's party arrives at Mr. Wickfield's house and is greeted by Uriah. Agnes joins them. Mr. Micawber confronts Uriah, calling him a scoundrel. Uriah suddenly drops his humble mask and becomes aggressive. He accuses David of conspiring against him with Mr. Micawber, insults both men, and threatens Betsey and Agnes. Traddles brings in Mrs. Heep. Mr. Micawber reads out a document he has prepared detailing Uriah's crimes: he often asked Mr. Micawber to falsify business in order to deceive Mr. Wickfield; that he made Mr. Wickfield do business when drunk; that he embezzled money from Mr. Wickfield, while managing to make it appear that it was Mr. Wickfield who was the dishonest one; and that he forged Mr. Wickfield's signature. Mrs. Heep tries to save her son by advising him to be humble again, but he has long since abandoned that trick as useless. Mr. Micawber ends his speech by saying that he is now unemployed and sees no other future than the debtors' prison for himself and starvation for his family. He only hopes that it will be recognized that he unmasked Uriah in spite of selfish considerations. Uriah realizes with horror that the account books are missing from the safe, and Traddles reveals that he has them. Betsey seizes Uriah by the collar and announces that it was he who ruined her financially. Previously, she had thought that Mr. Wickfield had made away with her money, and she had kept silent to protect him and Agnes. Traddles tells Uriah that he must make restitution to everyone from whom he has stolen money and property. Uriah accuses David of always being against him, but David points out that it is Uriah who has been against the world in his greed and cunning, and that greed and cunning always over-reach themselves. Mr. and Mrs. Micawber are reconciled, now that Mr. Micawber no longer has to conceal anything from her. Betsey asks what profession their eldest son has been trained to do, and on hearing that his prospects are bleak, she suggests that the Micawbers emigrate to Australia. In recognition of the service that Mr. Micawber has done them all, Betsey offers to loan him the money to go there. The Micawbers enthusiastically embrace the idea.


prompt:
Chapter: I must pause yet once again. O, my child-wife, there is a figure in the
moving crowd before my memory, quiet and still, saying in its innocent
love and childish beauty, Stop to think of me--turn to look upon the
Little Blossom, as it flutters to the ground!

I do. All else grows dim, and fades away. I am again with Dora, in our
cottage. I do not know how long she has been ill. I am so used to it in
feeling, that I cannot count the time. It is not really long, in weeks
or months; but, in my usage and experience, it is a weary, weary while.

They have left off telling me to 'wait a few days more'. I have begun
to fear, remotely, that the day may never shine, when I shall see my
child-wife running in the sunlight with her old friend Jip.

He is, as it were suddenly, grown very old. It may be that he misses in
his mistress, something that enlivened him and made him younger; but he
mopes, and his sight is weak, and his limbs are feeble, and my aunt is
sorry that he objects to her no more, but creeps near her as he lies on
Dora's bed--she sitting at the bedside--and mildly licks her hand.

Dora lies smiling on us, and is beautiful, and utters no hasty or
complaining word. She says that we are very good to her; that her dear
old careful boy is tiring himself out, she knows; that my aunt has no
sleep, yet is always wakeful, active, and kind. Sometimes, the
little bird-like ladies come to see her; and then we talk about our
wedding-day, and all that happy time.

What a strange rest and pause in my life there seems to be--and in all
life, within doors and without--when I sit in the quiet, shaded, orderly
room, with the blue eyes of my child-wife turned towards me, and her
little fingers twining round my hand! Many and many an hour I sit thus;
but, of all those times, three times come the freshest on my mind.

It is morning; and Dora, made so trim by my aunt's hands, shows me how
her pretty hair will curl upon the pillow yet, an how long and bright it
is, and how she likes to have it loosely gathered in that net she wears.

'Not that I am vain of it, now, you mocking boy,' she says, when I
smile; 'but because you used to say you thought it so beautiful; and
because, when I first began to think about you, I used to peep in the
glass, and wonder whether you would like very much to have a lock of it.
Oh what a foolish fellow you were, Doady, when I gave you one!'

'That was on the day when you were painting the flowers I had given you,
Dora, and when I told you how much in love I was.'

'Ah! but I didn't like to tell you,' says Dora, 'then, how I had cried
over them, because I believed you really liked me! When I can run about
again as I used to do, Doady, let us go and see those places where we
were such a silly couple, shall we? And take some of the old walks? And
not forget poor papa?'

'Yes, we will, and have some happy days. So you must make haste to get
well, my dear.'

'Oh, I shall soon do that! I am so much better, you don't know!'

It is evening; and I sit in the same chair, by the same bed, with the
same face turned towards me. We have been silent, and there is a smile
upon her face. I have ceased to carry my light burden up and down stairs
now. She lies here all the day.

'Doady!'

'My dear Dora!'

'You won't think what I am going to say, unreasonable, after what you
told me, such a little while ago, of Mr. Wickfield's not being well? I
want to see Agnes. Very much I want to see her.'

'I will write to her, my dear.'

'Will you?'

'Directly.'

'What a good, kind boy! Doady, take me on your arm. Indeed, my dear,
it's not a whim. It's not a foolish fancy. I want, very much indeed, to
see her!'

'I am certain of it. I have only to tell her so, and she is sure to
come.'

'You are very lonely when you go downstairs, now?' Dora whispers, with
her arm about my neck.

'How can I be otherwise, my own love, when I see your empty chair?'

'My empty chair!' She clings to me for a little while, in silence. 'And
you really miss me, Doady?' looking up, and brightly smiling. 'Even
poor, giddy, stupid me?'

'My heart, who is there upon earth that I could miss so much?'

'Oh, husband! I am so glad, yet so sorry!' creeping closer to me, and
folding me in both her arms. She laughs and sobs, and then is quiet, and
quite happy.

'Quite!' she says. 'Only give Agnes my dear love, and tell her that I
want very, very, much to see her; and I have nothing left to wish for.'

'Except to get well again, Dora.'

'Ah, Doady! Sometimes I think--you know I always was a silly little
thing!--that that will never be!'

'Don't say so, Dora! Dearest love, don't think so!'

'I won't, if I can help it, Doady. But I am very happy; though my dear
boy is so lonely by himself, before his child-wife's empty chair!'

It is night; and I am with her still. Agnes has arrived; has been among
us for a whole day and an evening. She, my aunt, and I, have sat with
Dora since the morning, all together. We have not talked much, but Dora
has been perfectly contented and cheerful. We are now alone.

Do I know, now, that my child-wife will soon leave me? They have told me
so; they have told me nothing new to my thoughts--but I am far from
sure that I have taken that truth to heart. I cannot master it. I have
withdrawn by myself, many times today, to weep. I have remembered Who
wept for a parting between the living and the dead. I have bethought me
of all that gracious and compassionate history. I have tried to resign
myself, and to console myself; and that, I hope, I may have done
imperfectly; but what I cannot firmly settle in my mind is, that the end
will absolutely come. I hold her hand in mine, I hold her heart in mine,
I see her love for me, alive in all its strength. I cannot shut out a
pale lingering shadow of belief that she will be spared.

'I am going to speak to you, Doady. I am going to say something I have
often thought of saying, lately. You won't mind?' with a gentle look.

'Mind, my darling?'

'Because I don't know what you will think, or what you may have thought
sometimes. Perhaps you have often thought the same. Doady, dear, I am
afraid I was too young.'

I lay my face upon the pillow by her, and she looks into my eyes, and
speaks very softly. Gradually, as she goes on, I feel, with a stricken
heart, that she is speaking of herself as past.

'I am afraid, dear, I was too young. I don't mean in years only, but
in experience, and thoughts, and everything. I was such a silly little
creature! I am afraid it would have been better, if we had only loved
each other as a boy and girl, and forgotten it. I have begun to think I
was not fit to be a wife.'

I try to stay my tears, and to reply, 'Oh, Dora, love, as fit as I to be
a husband!'

'I don't know,' with the old shake of her curls. 'Perhaps! But if I had
been more fit to be married I might have made you more so, too. Besides,
you are very clever, and I never was.'

'We have been very happy, my sweet Dora.'

'I was very happy, very. But, as years went on, my dear boy would have
wearied of his child-wife. She would have been less and less a companion
for him. He would have been more and more sensible of what was wanting
in his home. She wouldn't have improved. It is better as it is.'

'Oh, Dora, dearest, dearest, do not speak to me so. Every word seems a
reproach!'

'No, not a syllable!' she answers, kissing me. 'Oh, my dear, you never
deserved it, and I loved you far too well to say a reproachful word to
you, in earnest--it was all the merit I had, except being pretty--or you
thought me so. Is it lonely, down-stairs, Doady?'

'Very! Very!'

'Don't cry! Is my chair there?'

'In its old place.'

'Oh, how my poor boy cries! Hush, hush! Now, make me one promise. I want
to speak to Agnes. When you go downstairs, tell Agnes so, and send her
up to me; and while I speak to her, let no one come--not even aunt.
I want to speak to Agnes by herself. I want to speak to Agnes, quite
alone.'

I promise that she shall, immediately; but I cannot leave her, for my
grief.

'I said that it was better as it is!' she whispers, as she holds me in
her arms. 'Oh, Doady, after more years, you never could have loved your
child-wife better than you do; and, after more years, she would so have
tried and disappointed you, that you might not have been able to love
her half so well! I know I was too young and foolish. It is much better
as it is!'

Agnes is downstairs, when I go into the parlour; and I give her the
message. She disappears, leaving me alone with Jip.

His Chinese house is by the fire; and he lies within it, on his bed of
flannel, querulously trying to sleep. The bright moon is high and clear.
As I look out on the night, my tears fall fast, and my undisciplined
heart is chastened heavily--heavily.

I sit down by the fire, thinking with a blind remorse of all those
secret feelings I have nourished since my marriage. I think of every
little trifle between me and Dora, and feel the truth, that trifles
make the sum of life. Ever rising from the sea of my remembrance, is the
image of the dear child as I knew her first, graced by my young love,
and by her own, with every fascination wherein such love is rich. Would
it, indeed, have been better if we had loved each other as a boy and a
girl, and forgotten it? Undisciplined heart, reply!

How the time wears, I know not; until I am recalled by my child-wife's
old companion. More restless than he was, he crawls out of his house,
and looks at me, and wanders to the door, and whines to go upstairs.

'Not tonight, Jip! Not tonight!'

He comes very slowly back to me, licks my hand, and lifts his dim eyes
to my face.

'Oh, Jip! It may be, never again!'

He lies down at my feet, stretches himself out as if to sleep, and with
a plaintive cry, is dead.

'Oh, Agnes! Look, look, here!' --That face, so full of pity, and of
grief, that rain of tears, that awful mute appeal to me, that solemn
hand upraised towards Heaven!

'Agnes?'

It is over. Darkness comes before my eyes; and, for a time, all things
are blotted out of my remembrance.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Another retrospect. Dora is dying, and David feels terribly alone without her company. She asks to see Agnes. Dora tells David that she believes that she married too young, and that perhaps it would have been better if they have loved each other as boy and girl, and then forgotten each other. She feels that if she had lived longer, David would have tired of his child-wife. Agnes arrives and goes upstairs to see Dora, leaving David alone with Dora's dog, Jip. Jip whines to go upstairs, licks David's hand, and drops dead at his feet. Agnes enters with the news that Dora has died