But perhaps you can never believe, now, that there is anything

human in my heart?"

When I said some reassuring words, she stretched out her tremulous

right hand, as though she was going to touch me; but she recalled

it again before I understood the action, or knew how to receive it.

"You said, speaking for your friend, that you could tell me how to

do something useful and good. Something that you would like done,

is it not?"

"Something that I would like done very much."

"What is it?"

I began explaining to her that secret history of the partnership. I

had not got far into it, when I judged from her looks that she was

thinking in a discursive way of me, rather than of what I said. It

seemed to be so, for, when I stopped speaking, many moments passed

before she showed that she was conscious of the fact.

"Do you break off," she asked then, with her former air of being

afraid of me, "because you hate me too much to bear to speak to

me?"

"No, no," I answered, "how can you think so, Miss Havisham! I

stopped because I thought you were not following what I said."

"Perhaps I was not," she answered, putting a hand to her head.

"Begin again, and let me look at something else. Stay! Now tell

me."

She set her hand upon her stick, in the resolute way that sometimes

was habitual to her, and looked at the fire with a strong

expression of forcing herself to attend. I went on with my

explanation, and told her how I had hoped to complete the

transaction out of my means, but how in this I was disappointed.

That part of the subject (I reminded her) involved matters which

could form no part of my explanation, for they were the weighty

secrets of another.

"So!" said she, assenting with her head, but not looking at me.

"And how much money is wanting to complete the purchase?"

I was rather afraid of stating it, for it sounded a large sum.

"Nine hundred pounds."

"If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep my secret

as you have kept your own?"

"Quite as faithfully."

"And your mind will be more at rest?"

"Much more at rest."

"Are you very unhappy now?"

She asked this question, still without looking at me, but in an

unwonted tone of sympathy. I could not reply at the moment, for my

voice failed me. She put her left arm across the head of her stick,

and softly laid her forehead on it.

"I am far from happy, Miss Havisham; but I have other causes of

disquiet than any you know of. They are the secrets I have

mentioned."

After a little while, she raised her head and looked at the fire

again.

"It is noble in you to tell me that you have other causes of

unhappiness, Is it true?"

"Too true."

"Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend? Regarding that

as done, is there nothing I can do for you yourself?"

"Nothing. I thank you for the question. I thank you even more for

the tone of the question. But, there is nothing."

She presently rose from her seat, and looked about the blighted

room for the means of writing. There were non there, and she took

from her pocket a yellow set of ivory tablets, mounted in tarnished

gold, and wrote upon them with a pencil in a case of tarnished gold

that hung from her neck.

"You are still on friendly terms with Mr. Jaggers?"

"Quite. I dined with him yesterday."

"This is an authority to him to pay you that money, to lay out at

your irresponsible discretion for your friend. I keep no money

here; but if you would rather Mr. Jaggers knew nothing of the

matter, I will send it to you."

"Thank you, Miss Havisham; I have not the least objection to

receiving it from him."

She read me what she had written, and it was direct and clear, and

evidently intended to absolve me from any suspicion of profiting by

the receipt of the money. I took the tablets from her hand, and it

trembled again, and it trembled more as she took off the chain to

which the pencil was attached, and put it in mine.