little dry brown corrugated old woman, with a
small face that might have been made of walnut-
shells, and a large mouth like a cat's without
the whiskers, supported this position by saying
"No, indeed, my dear. Hem!"

"Thinking is easy enough," said the grave lady.

"What is easier, you know?" assented Miss
Sarah Pocket.

"Oh yes, yes!" cried Camilla, whose
fermenting feelings appeared to rise from her legs
to her bosom. "It's all very true! It's a
weakness to be so affectionate, but I can't
help it. No doubt my health would be much
better if it was otherwise, still I wouldn't
change my disposition if I could. It's the
cause of much suffering, but it's a consolation
to know I possess it, when I wake up in the
night." Here another burst of feeling.

Miss Havisham and I had never stopped
all this time, but kept going round and round
the room: now, brushing against the skirts of
the visitors, and now giving them the whole
length of the dismal chamber.

"There's Matthew!" said Camilla. " Never
mixing with my natural ties, never coming
here to see how Miss Havisham is! I have
taken to the sofa with my staylace cut, and
have lain there hours, insensible, with my head
over the side, and my hair all down, and my
feet I don't know where—"

("Much higher than your head, my love,"
said Mr. Camilla.)

"I have gone off into that state, hours and
hours, on account of Matthew's strange and
inexplicable conduct, and nobody has thanked me."

"Really I must say I should think not!"
interposed the grave lady.

"You see, my dear," added Miss Sarah
Pocket (a blandly vicious personage), "the
question to put to yourself is, who did you
expect to thank you, my love?"

"Without expecting any thanks, or
anything of the sort," resumed Camilla, " I have
remained in that state, hours and hours, and
Raymond is a witness of the extent to which
I have choked, and what the total inefficacy of
ginger has been, and I have been heard at the
pianoforte- tuner's across the street, where the
poor mistaken children have even supposed it to
be pigeons cooing at a distance— and now to be
told— " Here Camilla put her hand to her
throat, and began to be quite chemical as to
the formation of new combinations there.

When this same Matthew was mentioned,
Miss Havisham stopped me and herself, and
stood looking at the speaker. This change had
a great influence in bringing Camilla's chemistry
to a sudden end.

"Matthew will come and see me at last," said
Miss Havisham, sternly, "when I am laid on
that table. That will be his place— there,"
striking the table with her stick, "at my head!
And yours will be there! And your husband's
there! And Sarah Pocket's there! And
Georgiana's there! Now you all know where to
take your stations when you come to feast upon
me. And now go!"

At the mention of each name, she had struck
the table with her stick in a new place. She
now said, "Walk me, walk me!" and we went
on again.

"I suppose there's nothing to be done,"
exclaimed Camilla, " but comply and depart. It's
something to have seen the object of one's love
and duty, for even so short a time. I shall
think of it with a melancholy satisfaction when
I wake up in the night. I wish Matthew could
have that comfort, but he sets it at defiance. I
am determined not to make a display of my
feelings, but it's very hard to be told one wants
to feast on one's relations— as if one was a Giant
— and to be told to go. The bare idea!"

Mr. Camilla interposing, as Mrs. Camilla laid
her hand upon her heaving bosom, that lady
assumed an unnatural fortitude of manner which
I supposed to be expressive of an intention to
drop and choke when out of view, and kissing
her hand to Miss Havisham, was escorted forth.
Sarah Pocket and Georgiana contended who
should remain last; but, Sarah was too knowing
to be outdone, and ambled round Georgiana with
that artful slipperiness, that the latter was
obliged to take precedence. Sarah Pocket the
made her separate effect of departing with
"Bless you, Miss Havisham dear!" and with a
smile of forgiving pity on her walnut-shell
countenance for the weaknesses of the rest.

While Estella was away lighting them down,
Miss Havisham still walked with her hand on
my shoulder, but more and more slowly. At
last she stopped before the fire, and said, after
muttering and looking at it some seconds:

"This is my birthday, Pip."

I was going to wish her many happy returns,
when she lifted her stick.

"I don't suffer it to be spoken of. I don't
suffer those who were here just now, or any one,
to speak of it. They come here ou the day, but
they dare not refer to it."

Of course I made no further effort to refer to it.

"On this day of the year, long before you
were born, this heap of decay," stabbing with
her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the
table but not touching it, " was brought here.
It and I have worn away together. The mice
have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth
of mice have gnawed at me."

She held the head of her stick against her
heart as she stood looking at the table; she in
her once white dress, all yellow and withered;
the once white cloth all yellow and withered;
everything around, in a state to crumble under a
touch.

"When the ruin is complete," said she, with
a ghastly look, "and when they lay me dead in
my bride's dress on the bride's table— which
shall be done, and which will be the finished
curse upon him— so much the better if it is on
this day!"

She stood looking at the table as if she stood
looking at her own figure lying there. I
remained quiet. Estella returned, and she too
remained quiet. It seemed to me that we continued
thus for a long time. In the heavy air of the room,