centre-piece, in the crawlings of the spiders on the cloth, in the tracks of the mice as they betook their little quickened hearts behind the panels, and in the gropings and pausings of the beetles on the floor.

It happened on the occasion of this visit that some sharp words arose between Estella and Miss Havisham. It was the first time I had ever seen them opposed.

We were seated by the fire, as just now described, and Miss Havisham still had Estella's arm drawn through her own, and still clutched Estella's hand in hers, when Estella gradually began to detach herself. She had shown a proud impatience more than once before, and had rather endured that fierce affection than accepted or returned it.

`What!' said Miss Havisham, flashing her eyes upon her, `are you tired of me?'

`Only a little tired of myself,' replied Estella, disengaging her arm, and moving to the great chimney-piece, where she stood looking down at the fire.

`Speak the truth, you ingrate!' cried Miss Havisham, passionately striking her stick upon the floor; `you are tired of me.'

Estella looked at her with perfect composure, and again looked down at the fire. Her graceful figure and her beautiful face expressed a self-possessed indifference to the wild heat of the other, that was almost cruel.

`You stock and stone!' exclaimed Miss Havisham. `You cold, cold heart!'

`What?' said Estella, preserving her attitude of indifference as she leaned against the great chimney- piece and only moving her eyes; `do you reproach me for being cold? You?'

`Are you not?' was the fierce retort.

`You should know,' said Estella. `I am what you have made me. Take all the praise, take all the blame; take all the success, take all the failure; in short, take me.'

`O, look at her, look at her!' cried Miss Havisham, bitterly; `Look at her, so hard and thankless, on the hearth where she was reared! Where I took her into this wretched breast when it was first bleeding from its stabs, and where I have lavished years of tenderness upon her!'

`At least I was no party to the compact,' said Estella, `for if I could walk and speak, when it was made, it was as much as I could do. But what would you have? You have been very good to me, and I owe everything to you. What would you have?'

`Love,' replied the other.

`You have it.'

`I have not,' said Miss Havisham.

`Mother by adoption,' retorted Estella, never departing from the easy grace of her attitude, never raising her voice as the other did, never yielding either to anger or tenderness, `Mother by adoption, I have said that I owe everything to you. All I possess is freely yours. All that you have given me, is at your command to have again. Beyond that, I have nothing. And if you ask me to give you what you never gave me, my gratitude and duty cannot do impossibilities.'

`Did I never give her love!' cried Miss Havisham, turning wildly to me. `Did I never give her a burning love, inseparable from jealousy at all times, and from sharp pain, while she speaks thus to me! Let her call me mad, let her call me mad!'