"Oh!" she said. "Did you wish to see Miss
Havisham?"

"If Miss Havisham wished to see me,"
returned Mr. Pumblechook, discomfited.

"All!" said the girl; "but you see she
don't."

She said it so finally, and in such an
undiscussible way, that Mr. Pumblechook, though in
a condition of ruffled dignity, could not protest.
But he eyed me severely—as if / had done
anything to him!—and departed with the words
reproachfully delivered: " Boy! Let your
behaviour here be a credit unto them which brought
you up by hand!" I was not free from
apprehension that he would come back to propound
through the gate, " And sixteen?" But he
didn't.

My young conductress locked the gate, and
we went across the court-yard. It was paved and
clean, but grass was growing in every crevice.
The brewery buildings had a little lane of
communication with it, and the wooden gates of that
lane stood open, and all the brewery beyond
stood open, away to the high enclosing wall,
and all was empty and disused. The cold wind
seemed to blow colder there, than outside the
gate; and it made a shrill noise in howling in
and out at the open sides of the brewery, like
the noise of wind in the rigging of a ship at
sea.

She saw me looking at it, and she said, " You
could drink without hurt all the strong beer
that's brewed there now, boy."

"I should think I could, miss," said I, in a
shy way.

"Better not try to brew beer there now, or
it would turn out sour, boy; don't you think
so?"

"It looks like it, miss."

"Not that anybody means to try," she added,
"for that's all done with, and the place will
stand as idle as it is, till it falls. As to strong
beer, there's enough of it in the cellars already,
to drown the Manor House."

"is that the name of this house, miss?"

"One of its names, boy."

"It has more than one, then, miss?"

"One more. Its other name was Satis;
which is Greek, or Latin, or Hebrew, or all three—
or all one to me—for enough."

"Enough House," said I; " that's a curious
name, miss."

"Yes," she replied; "but it meant more
than it said. It meant, when it was given, that
whoever had this house, could want nothing
else. They must have been easily satisfied in
those days, I should think. But don't loiter,
boy."

Though she called me " boy" so often, and
with a carelessness that was far from
complimentary, she was of about my own age—or very
little older. She seemed much older than I, of
course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-
possessed; and she was as scornful of me as if she
had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.

We went into the house by a side door—the
great front entrance had two chains across it
outside—and the first thing I noticed was, that
the passages were all dark, and that she had
left a candle burning there. She took it up,
and we went through more passages and up a
staircase, and still it was all dark, and only the
candle lighted us.

At last we came to the door of a room, and
she said, " Go in."

I answered, more in shyness than politeness,
"After you, miss."

To this, she returned: " Don't be ridiculous,
boy; I am not going in." And scornfully
walked away, and—what was worse—took the
candle with her.

This was very uncomfortable, and I was half
afraid. However, the only thing to be done
being to knock at the door, I knocked, and
was told from within to enter. I entered, therefore,
and found myself in a pretty large room,
well lighted with wax candles. No glimpse of
daylight was to be seen in it. It was a dressing-room,
as I supposed from the furniture, though
much of it was of forms and uses then quite
unknown to me. But prominent in it was a
draped table with a gilded looking-glass, and
that I made out at first sight to be a fine lady's
dressing-table.

Whether I should have made out this object
so soon, if there had been no fine lady sitting at
it, I cannot say. In an arm-chair, with an elbow
resting on the table and her head leaning on
that hand, sat the strangest lady I have ever
seen, or shall ever see.

She was dressed in rich materials—satins,
and lace, and silks—all of white. Her shoes
were white. And she had a long white veil
dependent from her hair, and she had bridal
flowers in her hair, but her hair was white. Some
bright jewels sparkled on her neck and on her
hands, and some other jewels lay sparkling on
the table. Dresses, less splendid than the dress
she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered
about. She had not quite finished dressing,
for she had but one shoe on—the other was on
the table near her hand—her veil was but half
arranged, her watch and chain were not put on,
and some lace for her bosom lay with those
trinkets, and with her handkerchief, and gloves,
and some flowers, and a prayer-book, all
confusedly heaped about the looking-glass.

It was not in the first moments that I saw all
these things, though I saw more of them in the
first moments than might be supposed. But, I
saw that everything within my view which
ought to be white, had been white long ago, and
had lost its lustre, and was faded and yellow.
I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had
withered like the dress, and like the flowers,
and had no brightness left but the brightness of
her sunken eyes. I saw that the dress had been
put upon the rounded figure of a young woman,
and that the figure upon which it now hung
loose, had shrunk to skin and bone. Once, I
had been taken to see some ghastly wax-work
at the Fair, representing I know not what
impossible personage lying in state. Once, I had
been taken to one of our old marsh churches