more wildly she shrieked and tried to free herself;
that this occurred I knew through the result, but
not through anything I felt, or thought, or knew
I did. I knew nothing until I knew that we were
on the floor by the great table, and that patches
of tinder yet alight were floating in the smoky
air, which, a moment ago, had been her faded
bridal dress.

Then I looked round and saw the disturbed
beetles and spiders running away over the floor,
and the servants coming in with breathless cries
at the door. I still held her forcibly down with
all my strength, like a prisoner who might es-
cape; and I doubt if I even knew who she was,
or why we had struggled, or that she had been
in flames, or that the flames were out, until I
saw the patches of tinder that had been her
garments, no longer alight but falling in a black
shower around us.

She was insensible, and I was afraid to have
her moved, or even touched. Assistance was
sent for and I held her until it came, as if I
unreasonably fancied (I think I did) that if I let
her go, the fire would break out again and
consume her. When I got up, on the surgeon's
coming to her with other aid, I was astonished
to see that both my hands were burnt; for I had
no knowledge of it through the sense of feeling.

On examination it was pronounced that she
had received serious hurts, but that they of
themselves were far from hopeless; the danger
lay, however, mainly in the nervous shock. By
the surgeon's directions, her bed was carried into
that room and laid upon the great table: which
happened to be well suited to the dressing of
her injuries. When I saw her again an hour
afterwards, she lay indeed where I had seen
her strike her stick, and had heard her say that
she would lie one day.

Though every vestige of her dress was burnt,
as they told me, she still had something of her
old ghastly bridal appearance; for, they had
covered her to the throat with white cotton
wool, and as she lay with a white sheet loosely
overlying that, the phantom air of something
that had been and was changed, was still upon
her.

I found, on questioning the servants, that
Estella was in Paris, and I got a promise from the
surgeon that he would write to her by the next
post. Miss Havisham's family I took upon
myself; intending to communicate with Mr.
Matthew Pocket only, and leave him to do as
he liked about informing the rest. This I did
next day, through Herbert, as soon as I returned
to town.

There was a stage that evening when she spoke
collectedly of what had happened, though with a
certain terrible vivacity. Towards midnight she
began to wander in her speech, and after that it
gradually set in that she said innumerable times
in a low solemn voice, "What have I done!"
And then, "When she first came, I meant to
save her from misery like mine." And then,
"Take the pencil and write under my name,
'I forgive her!' " She never changed the
order of these three sentences, but she
sometimes left out a word in one or other of them;
never putting in another word, but always leaving
a blank and going on to the next word.

As I could do no service there, and as I had,
nearer home, that pressing reason for anxiety
and fear which even her wanderings could not
drive out of my mind, I decided in the course
of the night that I would return by the early
morning coach: walking on a mile or so, and
being taken up clear of the town. At about six
o'clock of the morning, therefore, I leaned over
her and touched her lips with mine, just as they
said, not stopping for being touched, "Take the
pencil and write under my name, 'I forgive her.'"

It was the first and the last time that I ever
touched her in that way. And I never saw her
more.

CHAPTER L.

MY hands had been dressed twice or thrice in
the night, and again in the morning. My left
arm was a good deal burned to the elbow, and,
less severely, as high as the shoulder; it was
very painful, but the flames had set in that
direction, and I felt thankful it was no worse.
My right hand was not so badly burnt but that
I could move the fingers. It was bandaged, of
course, but much less inconveniently than my
left hand and arm; those I carried in a sling;
and I could only wear my coat like a cloak,
loose over my shoulders and fastened at the neck.
My hair had been caught by the fire, but not my
head or face.

When Herbert had been down to Hammersmith
and seen his father, he came back to me
at our chambers, and devoted the day to attending
on me. He was the kindest of nurses, and
at stated times took off the bandages, and
steeped them in the cooling liquid that was kept
ready, and put them on again, with a patient
tenderness that I was deeply grateful for.

At first, as I lay quiet on the sofa, I found it
painfully difficult, I might say impossible, to get
rid of the impression of the glare of the flames,
their hurry and noise, and the fierce burning
smell. If I dozed for a minute, I was awakened
by Miss Havisham's cries, and by her running
at me with all that height of fire above her
head. This pain of the mind was much harder
to strive against than any bodily pain I suffered;
and Herbert, seeing that, did his utmost to hold
my attention engaged.

Neither of us spoke of the boat, but we both
thought of it. That was made apparent by our
avoidance of the subject, and by our agreeing—
without agreement—to make my recovery of the
use of my hands, a question of so many hours,
not of so many weeks.

My first question when I saw Herbert had
been, of course, whether all was well down the
river? As he replied in the affirmative, with
perfect confidence and cheerfulness, we did not
resume the subject until the day was wearing
away. But then, as Herbert changed the
bandages, more by the light of the fire than by the
outer light, he went back to it spontaneously.

"I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two
good hours."