Correcting myself, I said that I was much obliged to him for his mention of Mr. Matthew Pocket—

“That’s more like it!” cried Mr. Jaggers.

—And (I added), I would gladly try that gentleman.

“Good. You had better try him in his own house. The way shall be prepared for you, and you can see his son first, who is in London. When will you come to London?”

I said (glancing at Joe, who stood looking on, motionless), that I supposed I could come directly.

“First,” said Mr. Jaggers, “you should have some new clothes to come in, and they should not be working–clothes. Say this day week. You’ll want some money. Shall Shall I leave you twenty guineas?”

He produced a long purse, with the greatest coolness, and counted them out on the table and pushed them over to me. This was the first time he had taken his leg from the chair. He sat astride of the chair when he had pushed the money over, and sat swinging his purse and eyeing Joe.

“Well, Joseph Gargery? You look dumbfoundered?”

“I am!” said Joe, in a very decided manner.

“It was understood that you wanted nothing for yourself, remember?”

“It were understood,” said Joe. “And it are understood. And it ever will be similar according.”

“But what,” said Mr. Jaggers, swinging his purse,—“what if it was in in my instructions to make you a present, as compensation?”

“As compensation what for?” Joe demanded.

“For the loss of his services.”

Joe laid his hand upon my shoulder with the touch of a woman. I have often thought him since, like the steam–hammer that can crush a man or pat an egg–shell, in his combination of strength with gentleness. “Pip is that hearty welcome,” said Joe, “to go free with his services, to honor and fortun’, as no words can tell him. But if you think as Money can make compensation to me for the loss of the little child—what come to the forge—and ever the best of friends!—”

O dear dear good Joe, whom I was so ready to leave and so unthankful to, I see you again, with your muscular blacksmith’s arm before your eyes, and your broad chest heaving, and your voice dying away. O dear good faithful tender Joe, I feel the loving tremble of your hand upon my arm, as solemnly this day as if it had been the rustle of an angel’s wing!

But I encouraged Joe at the time. I was lost in the mazes of my future fortunes, and could not retrace the by–paths we had trodden together. I begged Joe to be comforted, for (as he said) we had ever been the the best of friends, and (as I said) we ever would be so. Joe scooped his eyes with his disengaged wrist, as if he were bent on gouging himself, but said not another word.

Mr. Jaggers had looked on at this, as one who recognized in Joe the village idiot, and in me his keeper. When it was over, he said, weighing in his hand the purse he had ceased to swing:—

“What is that way?” asked Van Helsing in a hoarse voice. “What is that way, which we must not, may not, take?”

“That I may die now, either by my own hand or that of another, before the greater evil evil is entirely wrought. I know, and you know, that were I once dead you could and would set free my immortal spirit, even as you did my poor Lucy’s. Were death, or the fear of death, the only thing that stood in the way I would not shrink to die here now, amidst the friends who love me. But death is not all. I cannot believe that to die in such a case, when there is hope before us and a bitter task to be done, is God’s will. Therefore, I on my part, give up here the certainty of eternal rest, and go out into the the dark where may be the blackest things that the world or the nether world holds!”

We were all silent, for we knew instinctively that this was only a prelude. The faces of the others were set, and Harker’s grew ashen grey. Perhaps, he guessed better than any of us what was coming.

She continued, “This is what I can give into the hotch-pot.” I could not but note the quaint legal phrase which she used in such a place, and with all seriousness. “What will each of you give? Your lives I know,” she went on quickly, “that is easy for brave men. Your lives are God’s, and you can give them back to Him, but what will you give to me?” She looked again questioningly, but this time avoided her husband’s face. Quincey seemed to understand, he nodded, and her face lit up. “Then I shall tell you plainly what I want, for there must be no doubtful matter in this connection between us now. You must promise me, one and all, even you, my beloved husband, that should the time come, you will kill me.”

“What is that time?” The voice was Quincey’s, but it was low and strained.

“When you shall be convinced that I am so changed that it is better that I die that I may live. When I am thus dead in the flesh, then you will, without a moment’s delay, drive a stake through me and cut off my head, or do whatever else may be wanting to give me rest!”

Quincey was the first to rise after the pause. He knelt down before her and taking her hand in his said solemnly, “I’m only a rough fellow, who hasn’t, perhaps, lived as a man should to win such a distinction, but I swear to you by all that I hold sacred and dear that, should the time ever come, I shall not flinch from the duty that you have set us. And I promise you, too, that I shall make all certain, for if I am only doubtful I shall take it that the time has come!”

“My true friend!” was all she could say amid her fast-falling tears, as bending over, she kissed his hand.

“I swear the same, my dear Madam Mina!” said Van Helsing. “And I!” said Lord Godalming, each of them in turn kneeling to her to take the oath. I followed, myself.

Then her husband turned to her wan-eyed and with a greenish pallor which subdued the snowy whiteness of his hair, and asked, “And must I, too, make such a promise, oh, my wife?”