Great Expectations

Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provis might be

traced to Estella? Why should I loiter on my road, to compare the state

of mind in which I had tried to rid myself of the stain of the prison

before meeting her at the coach-office, with the state of mind in which

I now reflected on the abyss between Estella in her pride and beauty,

and the returned transport whom I harbored? The road would be none the

smoother for it, the end would be none the better for it, he would not

be helped, nor I extenuated.

A new fear had been engendered in my mind by his narrative; or rather,

his narrative had given form and purpose to the fear that was already

there. If Compeyson were alive and should discover his return, I could

hardly doubt the consequence. That, Compeyson stood in mortal fear of

him, neither of the two could know much better than I; and that any

such man as that man had been described to be would hesitate to release

himself for good from a dreaded enemy by the safe means of becoming an

informer was scarcely to be imagined.

Never had I breathed, and never would I breathe--or so I resolved--a

word of Estella to Provis. But, I said to Herbert that, before I could

go abroad, I must see both Estella and Miss Havisham. This was when we

were left alone on the night of the day when Provis told us his story. I

resolved to go out to Richmond next day, and I went.

On my presenting myself at Mrs. Brandley's, Estella's maid was called to

tell that Estella had gone into the country. Where? To Satis House, as

usual. Not as usual, I said, for she had never yet gone there without

me; when was she coming back? There was an air of reservation in the

answer which increased my perplexity, and the answer was, that her maid

believed she was only coming back at all for a little while. I could

make nothing of this, except that it was meant that I should make

nothing of it, and I went home again in complete discomfiture.

Another night consultation with Herbert after Provis was gone home (I

always took him home, and always looked well about me), led us to the

conclusion that nothing should be said about going abroad until I came

back from Miss Havisham's. In the mean time, Herbert and I were to

consider separately what it would be best to say; whether we should

devise any pretence of being afraid that he was under suspicious

observation; or whether I, who had never yet been abroad, should propose

an expedition. We both knew that I had but to propose anything, and he

would consent. We agreed that his remaining many days in his present

hazard was not to be thought of.