David Copperfield by Charles Dickens (little red riding hood ebook TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
- Performer: 0679783415
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He was more affected by this act of kindness, than I had ever seen him affected by anything since the night she went away. My aunt and I did not attempt to disturb him.
âIt was a little cottage, you may suppose,â he said, presently, âbut she found space for Emâly in it, - her husband was away at sea, - and she kep it secret, and prevailed upon such neighbours as she had (they was not many near) to keep it secret too. Emâly was took bad with fever, and, what is very strange to me is, - maybe âtis not so strange to scholars, - the language of that country went out of her head, and she could only speak her own, that no one unnerstood. She recollects, as if she had dreamed it, that she lay there always a-talking her own tongue, always believing as the old boat was round the next pint in the bay, and begging and imploring of âem to send theer and tell how she was dying, and bring back a message of forgiveness, if it was onây a wured. Aâmost the whole time, she thowt, - now, that him as I made mention on just now was lurking for her unnerneath the winder; now that him as had brought her to this was in the room, - and cried to the good young woman not to give her up, and knowâd, at the same time, that she couldnât unnerstand, and dreaded that she must be took away. Likewise the fire was afore her eyes, and the roarings in her ears; and theer was no today, nor yesterday, nor yet tomorrow; but everything in her life as ever had been, or as ever could be, and everything as never had been, and as never could be, was a crowding on her all at once, and nothing clear nor welcome, and yet she sang and laughed about it! How long this lasted, I doenât know; but then theer come a sleep; and in that sleep, from being a many times stronger than her own self, she fell into the weakness of the littlest child.â
Here he stopped, as if for relief from the terrors of his own description. After being silent for a few moments, he pursued his story.
âIt was a pleasant arternoon when she awoke; and so quiet, that there warnât a sound but the rippling of that blue sea without a tide, upon the shore. It was her belief, at first, that she was at home upon a Sunday morning; but the vine leaves as she see at the winder, and the hills beyond, warnât home, and contradicted of her. Then, come in her friend to watch alongside of her bed; and then she knowâd as the old boat warnât round that next pint in the bay no more, but was fur off; and knowâd where she was, and why; and broke out a-crying on that good young womanâs bosom, wheer I hope her baby is a-lying now, a-cheering of her with its pretty eyes!â
He could not speak of this good friend of Emilyâs without a flow of tears. It was in vain to try. He broke down again, endeavouring to bless her!
âThat done my Emâly good,â he resumed, after such emotion as I could not behold without sharing in; and as to my aunt, she wept with all her heart; âthat done Emâly good, and she begun to mend. But, the language of that country was quite gone from her, and she was forced to make signs. So she went on, getting better from day to day, slow, but sure, and trying to learn the names of common things - names as she seemed never to have heerd in all her life - till one evening come, when she was a-setting at her window, looking at a little girl at play upon the beach. And of a sudden this child held out her hand, and said, what would be in English, âFishermanâs daughter, hereâs a shell!â - for you are to unnerstand that they used at first to call her âPretty ladyâ, as the general way in that country is, and that she had taught âem to call her âFishermanâs daughterâ instead. The child says of a sudden, âFishermanâs daughter, hereâs a shell!â Then Emâly unnerstands her; and she answers, bursting out a-crying; and it all comes back!
âWhen Emâly got strong again,â said Mr. Peggotty, after another short interval of silence, âshe cast about to leave that good young creetur, and get to her own country. The husband was come home, then; and the two together put her aboard a small trader bound to Leghorn, and from that to France. She had a little money, but it was less than little as they would take for all they done. Iâm aâmost glad on it, though they was so poor! What they done, is laid up wheer neither moth or rust doth corrupt, and wheer thieves do not break through nor steal. Masâr Davy, itâll outlast all the treasure in the wureld.
âEmâly got to France, and took service to wait on travelling ladies at a inn in the port. Theer, theer come, one day, that snake. - Let him never come nigh me. I doenât know what hurt I might do him! - Soon as she see him, without him seeing her, all her fear and wildness returned upon her, and she fled afore the very breath he drawâd. She come to England, and was set ashore at Dover.
âI doenât know,â said Mr. Peggotty, âfor sure, when her âart begun to fail her; but all the way to England she had thowt to come to her dear home. Soon as she got to England she turned her face towârds it. But, fear of not being forgiv, fear of being pinted at, fear of some of us being dead along of her, fear of many things, turned her from it, kiender by force, upon the road: âUncle, uncle,â she says to me, âthe fear of not being worthy to do what my torn and bleeding breast so longed to do, was the most frightâning fear of all! I turned back, when my âart was full of prayers that I might crawl to the old doorstep, in the night, kiss it, lay my wicked face upon it, and theer be found dead in the morning.â
âShe come,â said Mr. Peggotty, dropping his voice to an awe-stricken whisper, âto London. She - as had never seen it in her life - alone - without a penny - young - so pretty - come to London. Aâmost the moment as she lighted heer, all so desolate, she found (as she believed) a friend; a decent woman as spoke to her about the needlework as she had been brought up to do, about finding plenty of it fur her, about a lodging fur the night, and making secret inquiration concerning of me and all at home, tomorrow. When my child,â he said aloud, and with an energy of gratitude that shook him from head to foot, âstood upon the brink of more than I can say or think on - Martha, trew to her promise, saved her.â
I could not repress a cry of joy.
âMasâr Davy!â said he, gripping my hand in that strong hand of his, âit was you as first made mention of her to me. I thankee, sir! She was arnest. She had knowâd of her bitter knowledge wheer to watch and what to do. She had done it. And the Lord was above all! She come, white and hurried, upon Emâly in her sleep. She says to her, âRise up from worse than death, and come with me!â Them belonging to the house would have stopped her, but they might as soon have stopped the sea. âStand away from me,â she says, âI am a ghost that calls her from beside her open grave!â She told Emâly she had seen me, and knowâd I loved her, and forgive her. She wrapped her, hasty, in her clothes. She took her, faint and trembling, on her arm. She heeded no more what they said, than if she had had no ears. She walked among âem with my child, minding only her; and brought her safe out, in the dead of the night, from that black pit of ruin!
âShe attended on Emâly,â said Mr. Peggotty, who had released my hand, and put his own hand on his heaving chest; âshe attended to my Emâly, lying wearied out, and wandering betwixt whiles, till late next day. Then she went in search of me; then in search of you, Masâr Davy. She didnât tell Emâly what she come out fur, lest her âart should fail, and she should think of hiding of herself. How the cruel lady knowâd of her being theer, I canât say. Whether him as I have spoke so much of, chanced to see âem going theer, or whether (which is most like, to my thinking) he had heerd it from the woman, I doenât greatly ask myself. My niece is found.
âAll night long,â said Mr. Peggotty, âwe have been together, Emâly and me. âTis little (considering the time) as she has said, in wureds, through them broken-hearted tears; âtis less as I have seen of her dear face, as growâd into a womanâs at my hearth. But, all night long, her arms has been about my neck; and her head has laid heer; and we knows full well, as we can put our trust in one another, ever more.â
He ceased to speak, and his hand upon the table rested there in perfect repose, with a resolution in it that might have conquered lions.
âIt was a gleam of light upon me, Trot,â said my aunt, drying her eyes, âwhen I formed the resolution of being godmother to your sister Betsey Trotwood, who disappointed me; but, next to that, hardly anything would have given me greater pleasure, than to be godmother to that good young creatureâs baby!â
Mr. Peggotty nodded his understanding of my auntâs feelings, but could not trust himself with any verbal reference to the subject of her commendation. We all remained silent, and occupied with our own reflections (my aunt drying her eyes, and now sobbing convulsively, and now laughing and calling herself a fool); until I spoke.
âYou have quite made up your mind,â said I to Mr. Peggotty, âas to the future, good friend? I need scarcely ask you.â
âQuite, Masâr Davy,â he returned; âand told Emâly. Theerâs mighty countries, fur from heer. Our future life lays over the sea.â
âThey will emigrate together, aunt,â said I.
âYes!â said Mr. Peggotty, with a hopeful smile. âNo one canât reproach my darling in Australia. We will begin a new life over theer!â
I asked him if he yet proposed to himself any time for going away.
âI was down at the Docks early this morning, sir,â he returned, âto get information concerning of them ships. In about six weeks or two months from now, thereâll be one sailing - I see her this morning - went aboard - and we shall take our passage in her.â
âQuite alone?â I asked.
âAye, Masâr Davy!â he returned. âMy sister, you see, sheâs that fond of you and yourn, and that accustomed to think onây of her own country, that it wouldnât be hardly fair to let her go. Besides which, theerâs one she has in charge, Masâr Davy, as doenât ought to be forgot.â
âPoor Ham!â said I.
âMy good sister takes care of his house, you see, maâam, and he takes kindly to her,â Mr. Peggotty explained for my auntâs better information. âHeâll set and talk to her, with a calm spirit, wen itâs like he couldnât bring himself to open his lips to another. Poor fellow!â said Mr. Peggotty, shaking
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