Another thing in Joe that I could not understand when it first

began to develop itself, but which I soon arrived at a sorrowful

comprehension of, was this: As I became stronger and better, Joe

became a little less easy with me. In my weakness and entire

dependence on him, the dear fellow had fallen into the old tone,

and called me by the old names, the dear "old Pip, old chap," that

now were music in my ears. I too had fallen into the old ways, only

happy and thankful that he let me. But, imperceptibly, though I

held by them fast, Joe's hold upon them began to slacken; and

whereas I wondered at this, at first, I soon began to understand

that the cause of it was in me, and that the fault of it was all

mine.

Ah! Had I given Joe no reason to doubt my constancy, and to think

that in prosperity I should grow cold to him and cast him off? Had

I given Joe's innocent heart no cause to feel instinctively that as

I got stronger, his hold upon me would be weaker, and that he had

better loosen it in time and let me go, before I plucked myself

away?

It was on the third or fourth occasion of my going out walking in

the Temple Gardens leaning on Joe's arm, that I saw this change in

him very plainly. We had been sitting in the bright warm sunlight,

looking at the river, and I chanced to say as we got up:

"See, Joe! I can walk quite strongly. Now, you shall see me walk

back by myself."

"Which do not over-do it, Pip," said Joe; "but I shall be happy fur

to see you able, sir."

The last word grated on me; but how could I remonstrate! I walked

no further than the gate of the gardens, and then pretended to be

weaker than I was, and asked Joe for his arm. Joe gave it me, but

was thoughtful.

I, for my part, was thoughtful too; for, how best to check this

growing change in Joe, was a great perplexity to my remorseful

thoughts. That I was ashamed to tell him exactly how I was placed,

and what I had come down to, I do not seek to conceal; but, I hope

my reluctance was not quite an unworthy one. He would want to help

me out of his little savings, I knew, and I knew that he ought not

to help me, and that I must not suffer him to do it.

It was a thoughtful evening with both of us. But, before we went to

bed, I had resolved that I would wait over to-morrow, to-morrow

being Sunday, and would begin my new course with the new week. On

Monday morning I would speak to Joe about this change, I would lay

aside this last vestige of reserve, I would tell him what I had in

my thoughts (that Secondly, not yet arrived at), and why I had not

decided to go out to Herbert, and then the change would be

conquered for ever. As I cleared, Joe cleared, and it seemed as

though he had sympathetically arrived at a resolution too.

We had a quiet day on the Sunday, and we rode out into the country,

and then walked in the fields.

"I feel thankful that I have been ill, Joe," I said.

"Dear old Pip, old chap, you're a'most come round, sir."

"It has been a memorable time for me, Joe."

"Likeways for myself, sir," Joe returned.

"We have had a time together, Joe, that I can never forget. There

were days once, I know, that I did for a while forget; but I never

shall forget these."

"Pip," said Joe, appearing a little hurried and troubled, "there

has been larks, And, dear sir, what have been betwixt us - have

been."

At night, when I had gone to bed, Joe came into my room, as he had

done all through my recovery. He asked me if I felt sure that I was

as well as in the morning?

"Yes, dear Joe, quite."

"And are always a-getting stronger, old chap?"

"Yes, dear Joe, steadily."

Joe patted the coverlet on my shoulder with his great good hand,

and said, in what I thought a husky voice, "Good night!"

When I got up in the morning, refreshed and stronger yet, I was

full of my resolution to tell Joe all, without delay.