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When the day came for my return to the scene of my fight with the pale young gentleman, I became very much afraid as I recalled him on his back in various stages of misery, and the more I thought about it, the more certain I felt that his blood would be on my head and that the law would avenge it, and I felt that I never could go back. However, go to Miss Havisham’s I must, and go I did. And behold, nothing came of the late struggle! The pale young gentleman was nowhere to be seen, and only in the corner where the combat had taken place could I detect any evidences of his existence. There were traces of his gore in that spot, and I covered them with garden-mould from the eye of men, and breathed more quietly again.

That same day I began on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in a light garden chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand on my shoulder) round through the rooms. Over and over and over again we made these journeys, sometimes lasting for three hours at a stretch, and from that time I returned to her every alternate day at noon for that purpose, and kept returning through a period of eight or ten months. As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me many questions about myself. I told her I believed I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and enlarged on knowing nothing, and wanting to know everything, hoping that she might offer me some help. But she did not, on the contrary she seemed to prefer my being ignorant. Nor did she give me any money, nor anything but my daily dinner. Estella always let me in and out. Sometimes she would coldly tolerate me, sometimes condescend to me, sometimes be quite familiar with me, and at other times she would tell me that she hated me; and all the time my admiration for her grew apace.

There was a song Joe used to hum at the forge, of which the burden was “Old Clem.” The song imitated the beating upon iron. Thus you were to hammer;–Boys round–Old Clem! With a thump and a sound–Old Clem! Beat it out, beat it out–Old Clem! With a clink for the stout–Old Clem! Blow the fire, blow the fire–Old Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher–Old Clem! One day I was crooning this ditty as I pushed Miss Havisham about. It happened to catch her fancy and she took it up in a low brooding voice. After that it became customary with us to sing it as we moved about, and often Estella joined in, though the whole strain was so subdued that it made less noise in the grim old house than the lightest breath of wind. How could my character fail to be influenced by such surroundings? Is it to be wondered at if my thoughts were dazed, as my eyes were, when I came out into the natural light from the misty yellow rooms?

We went on this way for a long time, but one day Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking and said, with displeasure: “You are growing tall, Pip!”

In answer I suggested that this might be a thing over which I had no control, and she said no more at that time, but on the following day she said:

“Tell me the name again of the blacksmith of yours to whom you were to be apprenticed?”

“Joe Gargery, ma’am,”

“You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with you, and bring your indentures, do you think?”

I signified that I thought he would consider it an honour to be asked.

“Then let him come!”

“At any particular time, Miss Havisham?”

“There, there, I know nothing about time. Let him come soon, and come alone with you!”