I held on tight, while Mrs. Joe and Joe ran to him. I didn't know how

I had done it, but I had no doubt I had murdered him somehow. In my

dreadful situation, it was a relief when he was brought back, and

surveying the company all round as if they had disagreed with him, sank

down into his chair with the one significant gasp, "Tar!"

I had filled up the bottle from the tar-water jug. I knew he would be

worse by and by. I moved the table, like a Medium of the present day, by

the vigor of my unseen hold upon it.

"Tar!" cried my sister, in amazement. "Why, how ever could Tar come

there?"

But, Uncle Pumblechook, who was omnipotent in that kitchen, wouldn't

hear the word, wouldn't hear of the subject, imperiously waved it all

away with his hand, and asked for hot gin and water. My sister, who had

begun to be alarmingly meditative, had to employ herself actively in

getting the gin the hot water, the sugar, and the lemon-peel, and mixing

them. For the time being at least, I was saved. I still held on to the

leg of the table, but clutched it now with the fervor of gratitude.

By degrees, I became calm enough to release my grasp and partake of

pudding. Mr. Pumblechook partook of pudding. All partook of pudding.

The course terminated, and Mr. Pumblechook had begun to beam under the

genial influence of gin and water. I began to think I should get over

the day, when my sister said to Joe, "Clean plates,--cold."

I clutched the leg of the table again immediately, and pressed it to my

bosom as if it had been the companion of my youth and friend of my soul.

I foresaw what was coming, and I felt that this time I really was gone.

"You must taste," said my sister, addressing the guests with her best

grace--"you must taste, to finish with, such a delightful and delicious

present of Uncle Pumblechook's!"

Must they! Let them not hope to taste it!

"You must know," said my sister, rising, "it's a pie; a savory pork

pie."

The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible of

having deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said,--quite vivaciously,

all things considered,--"Well, Mrs. Joe, we'll do our best endeavors;

let us have a cut at this same pie."

My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry. I

saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I saw reawakening appetite in the

Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I heard Mr. Hubble remark that "a bit of

savory pork pie would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do

no harm," and I heard Joe say, "You shall have some, Pip." I have never

been absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell of terror,

merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the company. I felt that I

could bear no more, and that I must run away. I released the leg of the

table, and ran for my life.




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