We agreed

that it should be carried into execution, and that Provis should

never recognize us if we came below Bridge and rowed past Mill Pond

Bank. But, we further agreed that he should pull down the blind in

that part of his window which gave upon the east, whenever he saw

us and all was right.

Our conference being now ended, and everything arranged, I rose to

go; remarking to Herbert that he and I had better not go home

together, and that I would take half an hour's start of him. "I

don't like to leave you here," I said to Provis, "though I cannot

doubt your being safer here than near me. Good-bye!"

"Dear boy," he answered, clasping my hands, "I don't know when we

may meet again, and I don't like Good-bye. Say Good Night!"

"Good night! Herbert will go regularly between us, and when the

time comes you may be certain I shall be ready. Good night, Good

night!"

We thought it best that he should stay in his own rooms, and we

left him on the landing outside his door, holding a light over the

stair-rail to light us down stairs. Looking back at him, I thought

of the first night of his return when our positions were reversed,

and when I little supposed my heart could ever be as heavy and

anxious at parting from him as it was now.

Old Barley was growling and swearing when we repassed his door,

with no appearance of having ceased or of meaning to cease. When we

got to the foot of the stairs, I asked Herbert whether he had

preserved the name of Provis. He replied, certainly not, and that

the lodger was Mr. Campbell. He also explained that the utmost known

of Mr. Campbell there, was, that he (Herbert) had Mr. Campbell

consigned to him, and felt a strong personal interest in his being

well cared for, and living a secluded life. So, when we went into

the parlour where Mrs. Whimple and Clara were seated at work, I said

nothing of my own interest in Mr. Campbell, but kept it to myself.

When I had taken leave of the pretty gentle dark-eyed girl, and of

the motherly woman who had not outlived her honest sympathy with a

little affair of true love, I felt as if the Old Green Copper

Rope-Walk had grown quite a different place. Old Barley might be as

old as the hills, and might swear like a whole field of troopers,

but there were redeeming youth and trust and hope enough in

Chinks's Basin to fill it to overflowing. And then I thought of

Estella, and of our parting, and went home very sadly.

All things were as quiet in the Temple as ever I had seen them. The

windows of the rooms on that side, lately occupied by Provis, were

dark and still, and there was no lounger in Garden Court. I walked

past the fountain twice or thrice before I descended the steps that

were between me and my rooms, but I was quite alone. Herbert coming

to my bedside when he came in - for I went straight to bed,

dispirited and fatigued - made the same report. Opening one of the

windows after that, he looked out into the moonlight, and told me

that the pavement was a solemnly empty as the pavement of any

Cathedral at that same hour.

Next day, I set myself to get the boat. It was soon done, and the

boat was brought round to the Temple stairs, and lay where I could

reach her within a minute or two. Then, I began to go out as for

training and practice: sometimes alone, sometimes with Herbert. I

was often out in cold, rain, and sleet, but nobody took much note

of me after I had been out a few times. At first, I kept above

Blackfriars Bridge; but as the hours of the tide changed, I took

towards London Bridge. It was Old London Bridge in those days, and

at certain states of the tide there was a race and fall of water

there which gave it a bad reputation. But I knew well enough how to

"shoot' the bridge after seeing it done, and so began to row about

among the shipping in the Pool, and down to Erith. The first time I

passed Mill Pond Bank, Herbert and I were pulling a pair of oars;

and, both in going and returning, we saw the blind towards the east

come down.