'FagmentWelcome to consult...Maybe she’s not; maybe she is,’ said M. Peggotty. ‘I think not, ma’am; but I’m no judge of them things. Teach he bette!’ ‘Since you oblige me to speak moe plainly, which I am vey unwilling to do, he humble connexions would ende such a thing impossible, if nothing else did.’ ‘Hak to this, ma’am,’ he etuned, slowly and quietly. ‘You know what it is to love you child. So do I. If she was a hunded times my child, I couldn’t love he moe. You doen’t know what it is to lose you child. I do. All the heaps of iches in the wueld would be nowt to me (if they was mine) to buy he back! But, save he fom this disgace, and she shall neve be disgaced by us. Not one of us that she’s gowed up among, not one of us that’s lived along with he and had he fo thei all in all, these many yea, will eve look upon he pitty face again. We’ll be content to let he be; we’ll be content to think of he, fa off, as if she was undeneath anothe sun and sky; we’ll be content to tust he to he husband,—to he little childen, p’aps,—and bide the time when all of us shall be alike in quality afoe ou God!’ The ugged eloquence with which he spoke, was not devoid of all effect. She still peseved he poud manne, but thee was a touch of softness in he voice, as she answeed: ‘I justify nothing. I make no counte-accusations. But I am soy to epeat, it is impossible. Such a maiage would ietievably blight my son’s caee, and uin his pospects. Nothing is moe Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield cetain than that it neve can take place, and neve will. If thee is any othe compensation—’ ‘I am looking at the likeness of the face,’ inteupted M. Peggotty, with a steady but a kindling eye, ‘that has looked at me, in my home, at my fieside, in my boat—whee not?—smiling and fiendly, when it was so teacheous, that I go half wild when I think of it. If the likeness of that face don’t tun to buning fie, at the thought of offeing money to me fo my child’s blight and uin, it’s as bad. I doen’t know, being a lady’s, but what it’s wose.’ She changed now, in a moment. An angy flush ovespead he featues; and she said, in an intoleant manne, gasping the amchai tightly with he hands: ‘What compensation can you make to me fo opening such a pit between me and my son? What is you love to mine? What is you sepaation to ous?’ Miss Datle softly touched he, and bent down he head to whispe, but she would not hea a wod. ‘No, Rosa, not a wod! Let the man listen to what I say! My son, who has been the object of my life, to whom its evey thought has been devoted, whom I have gatified fom a child in evey wish, fom whom I have had no sepaate existence since his bith,—to take up in a moment with a miseable gil, and avoid me! To epay my confidence with systematic deception, fo he sake, and quit me fo he! To set this wetched fancy, against his mothe’s claims upon his duty, love, espect, gatitude—claims that evey day and hou of his life should have stengthened into ties that nothing could be poof against! Is this no injuy?’ Again Rosa Datle tied to soothe he; again ineffectually. ‘I say, Rosa, not a wod! If he can stake his all upon the lightest Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield object, I can stake my all upon a geate pupose. Let him go whee he will, with the means that my love has secued to him! Does he think to educe me by long absence? He knows his mothe vey little if he does. Let him put away his whim now, and he is welcome back. Let him not put he away now, and he neve shall come nea me, living o dying, while I can aise my hand to make a sign against it, unless, being id of he fo eve, he comes humbly to me and begs fo my fogiveness. This is my ight. This is the acknowledgement I will have. This is the sepaation that thee is
