me slowly forth at the dark door, below, and take a turn or two
in the air; and then I saw Biddy come, and bring him a pipe and light
it for him. He never smoked so late, and it seemed to hint to me that he
wanted comforting, for some reason or other.

He presently stood at the door immediately beneath me, smoking his pipe,
and Biddy stood there too, quietly talking to him, and I knew that they
talked of me, for I heard my name mentioned in an endearing tone by both
of them more than once. I would not have listened for more, if I could
have heard more; so I drew away from the window, and sat down in my one
chair by the bedside, feeling it very sorrowful and strange that this
first night of my bright fortunes should be the loneliest I had ever
known.

Looking towards the open window, I saw light wreaths from Joe's pipe
floating there, and I fancied it was like a blessing from Joe,--not
obtruded on me or paraded before me, but pervading the air we shared
together. I put my light out, and crept into bed; and it was an uneasy
bed now, and I never slept the old sound sleep in it any more.

Chapter XIX

Morning made a considerable difference in my general prospect of Life,
and brightened it so much that it scarcely seemed the same. What lay
heaviest on my mind was, the consideration that six days intervened
between me and the day of departure; for I could not divest myself of
a misgiving that something might happen to London in the meanwhile, and
that, when I got there, it would be either greatly deteriorated or clean
gone.

Joe and Biddy were very sympathetic and pleasant when I spoke of our
approaching separation; but they only referred to it when I did. After
breakfast, Joe brought out my indentures from the press in the best
parlor, and we put them in the fire, and I felt that I was free. With
all the novelty of my emancipation on me, I went to church with Joe, and
thought perhaps the clergyman wouldn't have read that about the rich man
and the kingdom of Heaven, if he had known all.

After our early dinner, I strolled out alone, purposing to finish off
the marshes at once, and get them done with. As I passed the church, I
felt (as I had felt during service in the morning) a sublime compassion
for the poor creatures who were destined to go there, Sunday after
Sunday, all their lives through, and to lie obscurely at last among the
low green mounds. I promised myself that I would do something for them
one of th