And when we're sentenced, ain't it him as gets seven year, and me fourteen, and ain't it him as the Judge is sorry for, because he might a done so well, and ain't it me as the Judge perceives to be a old offender of wiolent passion, likely to come to worse?"
He had worked himself into a state of great excitement, but he checked it, took two or three short breaths, swallowed as often, and stretching out his hand towards me said, in a reassuring manner,
"I ain't a going to be low, dear boy!"
He had so heated himself that he took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and head and neck and hands, before he could go on.
"I had said to Compeyson that I'd smash that face of his, and I swore Lord smash mine! to do it.
We was in the same prison-ship, but I couldn't get at him for long, though I tried.
At last I come behind him and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get a smashing one at him, when I was seen and seized.
The black-hole of that ship warn't a strong one, to a judge of black-holes that could swim and dive.
I escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among the graves there, envying them as was in 'em and all over, when I first see my boy!"
He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almost abhorrent to me again, though I had felt great pity for him.
"By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on them marshes too.
Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror, to get quit of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore.
I hunted him down.
I smashed his face.
'And now,' says I 'as the worst thing I can do, caring nothing for myself, I'll drag you back.'
And I'd have swum off, towing him by the hair, if it had come to that, and I'd a got him aboard without the soldiers.
"Of course he'd much the best of it to the last,—his character was so good.
He had escaped when he was made half wild by me and my murderous intentions; and his punishment was light.
I was put in irons, brought to trial again, and sent for life.
I didn't stop for life, dear boy and Pip's comrade, being here."
"He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowly took his tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipe from his button-hole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke.
"Is he dead?" I asked, after a silence.
"Is who dead, dear boy?"
"Compeyson."
"He hopes I am, if he's alive, you may be sure," with a fierce look.
"I never heerd no more of him."
Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book.
He softly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with his eyes on the fire, and I read in it:—
"Young Havisham's name was Arthur.
Compeyson is the man who professed to be Miss Havisham's lover."
I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the book by; but we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood smoking by the fire.
Chapter XLIII
Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provis might be traced to Estella?
Why should I loiter on my road, to compare the state of mind in which I had tried to rid myself of the stain of the prison before meeting her at the coach-office, with the state of mind in which I now reflected on the abyss between Estella in her pride and beauty, and the returned transport whom I harbored?
The road would be none the smoother for it, the end would be none the better for it, he would not be helped, nor I extenuated.
A new fear had been engendered in my mind by his narrative; or rather, his narrative had given form and purpose to the fear that was already there.
If Compeyson were alive and should discover his return, I could hardly doubt the consequence.
That Compeyson stood in mortal fear of him, neither of the two could know much better than I; and that any such man as that man had been described to be would hesitate to release himself for good from a dreaded enemy by the safe means of becoming an informer was scarcely to be imagined.
Never had I breathed, and never would I breathe—or so I resolved—a word of Estella to Provis.
But, I said to Herbert that, before I could go abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham.
This was when we were left alone on the night of the day when Provis told us his story.
I resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and I went.
On my presenting myself at Mrs. Brandley's, Estella's maid was called to tell that Estella had gone into the country.
Where?
To Satis House, as usual.
Not as usual, I said, for she had never yet gone there without me; when was she coming back?
There was an air of reservation in the answer which increased my perplexity, and the answer was, that her maid believed she was only coming back at all for a little while.
I could make nothing of this, except that it was meant that I should make nothing of it, and I went home again in complete discomfiture.
Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis was gone home (I always took him home, and always looked well about me), led us to the conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroad until I came back from Miss Havisham's.
In the mean time, Herbert and I were to consider separately what it would be best to say; whether we should devise any pretence of being afraid that he was under suspicious observation; or whether I, who had never yet been abroad, should propose an expedition.