When I went to visit Miss Havisham, she was not in her room but in the larger room across the passage. I found her sitting by the hearth in a ragged chair, lost in contemplation of the fire. There was an air of utter loneliness about her. And I thought how over time, I too had become a part of the wrecked fortunes of this house. As I sat down in another of the ragged chairs, I noticed a new expression on her face; it was as if she were afraid of me.
"I want to pursue that subject you mentioned to me when you were last here," she said, "and to show you that I am not all stone. But perhaps you can never believe that there is anything human in my heart."
I said some reassuring words and she continued. "You said that you could tell me how to do something useful and good for your friend."
I began explaining to her the history of Herbert's partnership at Clarriker's. But she seemed lost in thought, so I stopped speaking.
"Do you break off because you hate me too much to speak to me?" Once again she looked as if she were afraid of me.
"No, I stopped because I thought you were not following what I said."
I went on to tell her how I had hoped to complete the transaction with my own money. This was no longer possible, but I could not tell her any more without revealing the secrets of another person.
She nodded. "And how much money is needed to complete the purchase of the partnership?"
"Nine hundred pounds." It sounded like such a large sum.
"If I give you the money for this purpose, will you keep the secret of my patronage as you have kept your own?"
"Quite faithfully."
"And your mind will be more at rest?"
"Much more at rest."
"Are you very unhappy now?"
She asked this question without looking at me, but in an unusual tone of sympathy. I could not reply for a moment because my voice failed me.
"I am far from happy, Miss Havisham, but I have other causes of discontent than the one you know of. They are the secrets I have mentioned."
"Can I only serve you, Pip, by serving your friend? Is there nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing, but I thank you for asking."
With that, she wrote a letter to Mr. Jaggers, directing him to pay me the money. She read me what she had written and then handed me the letter. "My name is on the first page. If you can ever write under my name, 'I forgive her,' please do it."
"Oh, Miss Havisham, I can do it now!"
To my amazement—I may even say to my terror—she dropped on her knees at my feet with her folded hands raised to me. I entreated her to rise, but she only pressed my hand and began to cry. I had never seen her shed a tear before.
"Oh! What have I done!" she cried despairingly.
"If you mean what have you done to injure me, let me say, very little. I would have loved Estella under any circumstance. Is she married?"
"Yes. She is in Paris now. I didn't know what I had done until you spoke to her during your last visit, and I saw in you a reflection of what I had once felt. What have I done! What have I done!"
"Miss Havisham," I said when her cry had died away. "You may dismiss me from your conscience. But Estella is a different case, and if you can ever undo any scrap of what you have done to her, you should."
"Yes, I know. But, Pip, my dear!" There was real compassion in her new affection for me. "You must believe this: when she first came to me, I meant to save her from misery like my own. At first I meant no more."
"Well, I should hope so."
"But as she grew and became very beautiful, I stole her heart away and put ice in its place. If you knew my story, you would have some compassion for me."
"I believe that I do know your story, and I hope I understand it and its influences. Because of what has passed between us, may I ask you a question about Estella? Not as she is, but as she was when she first came here?"
Miss Havisham nodded. "Go on."
"Whose child was Estella?"
"I don't know."
"Mr. Jaggers brought her here or sent her here?"
"He brought her here, and I called her Estella. I had been shut up in these rooms a long time when I told Mr. Jaggers that I wanted a little girl to raise and love and save from my fate. He told me that he would look about for an orphan child."
"Might I ask her age at that time?"
"Two or three. She knows nothing except that she was an orphan and I adopted her."
I was now convinced that Mr. Jaggers' housekeeper, Molly, was Estella's mother. What more could I achieve by prolonging this conversation? I had succeeded in securing Herbert's partnership, and Miss Havisham had told me all she knew of Estella.
Twilight was closing in when I went down into the courtyard. I made my way to the ruined garden. I went by the corner where Herbert and I had fought; I went by the paths where Estella and I had walked. It was all so cold, so lonely, so dreary.
I went back to say good-bye to Miss Havisham, who was now sitting in the ragged chair close to the fire. In the moment when I was about to leave, a great flaming light sprang up. She ran at me, shrieking, with a wall of fire blazing all around her. I tried to smother the flames from her dress with my coat. I dragged the cloth from the table for the same purpose and with it dragged down the heap of rottenness in the middle. For a moment we were on the ground, struggling like desperate enemies. She shrieked wildly and tried to free herself as I held her down until the servants came running.
When the doctor arrived, I was astonished to see that both my hands were burned. I had felt nothing. Miss Havisham was seriously injured and she was laid upon the table.
There was a time that evening when she spoke calmly of what had happened. But toward midnight her thoughts began to wander and she said repeatedly, "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!'"
As I could do no more there, and I had a more pressing reason for being at home, I decided to leave by the early coach. At six in the morning, I leaned over Miss Havisham and kissed her.
"Take the pencil," she said, "and write under my name, 'I forgive her.'"