`No,' said he, with a glance of surprise: `who else should there be? And, dear boy, how good looking you have growed! There's bright eyes somewheres - eh? Isn't there bright eyes somewheres, wot you love the thoughts on?'
O Estella, Estella!
`They shall be yourn, dear boy, if money can buy 'em. Not that a gentleman like you, so well set up as you, can't win 'em off of his own game; but money shall back you! Let me finish wot I was a telling you, dear boy. From that there hut and that there hiringout, I got money left me by my master (which died, and had been the same as me), and got my liberty and went for myself. In every single thing I went for, I went for you. "Lord strike a blight upon it," I says, wotever it was I went for, "if it ain't for him!" It all prospered wonderful. As I giv' you to understand just now, I'm famous for it. It was the money left me, and the gains of the first few year wot I sent home to Mr Jaggers - all for you - when he first come arter you, agreeable to my letter.'
O, that he had never come! That he had left me at the forge - far from contented, yet, by comparison happy!
`And then, dear boy, it was a recompense to me, look'ee here, to know in secret that I was making a gentleman. The blood horses of them colonists might fling up the dust over me as I was walking; what do I say? I says to myself, "I'm making a better gentleman nor ever you'll be!" When one of 'em says to another, "He was a convict, a few year ago, and is a ignorant common fellow now, for all he's lucky," what do I say? I says to myself, "If I ain't a gentleman, nor yet ain't got no learning, I'm the owner of such. All on you owns stock and land; which on you owns a brought-up London gentleman?" This was I kep myself a going. And this way I held steady afore my mind that I would for certain come one day and see my boy, and make myself known to him, on his own ground.'
He laid his hand on my shoulder. I shuddered at the thought that for anything I knew, his hand might be stained with blood.
`It warn't easy, Pip, for me to leave them parts, nor yet it warn't safe. But I held to it, and the harder it was, the stronger I held, for I was determined, and my mind firm made up. At last I done it. Dear boy, I done it!'
I tried to collect my thoughts, but I was stunned. Throughout, I had seemed to myself to attend more to the wind and the rain than to him; even now, I could not separate his voice from those voices, though those were loud and his was silent.
`Where will you put me?' he asked, presently. `I must be put somewheres, dear boy.'
`To sleep?' said I.
`Yes. And to sleep long and sound,' he answered; `for I've been sea-tossed and sea-washed, months and months.'
`My friend and companion,' said I, rising from the sofa, `is absent; you must have his room.'
`He won't come back to-morrow; will he?'
`No,' said I, answering almost mechanically, in spite of my utmost efforts; `not to-morrow.'
`Because, look'ee here, dear boy,' he said, dropping his voice, and laying a long finger on my breast in an impressive manner, `caution is necessary.'
`How do you mean? Caution?'