ands, before he could go on.

"I had said to Compeyson that I'd smash that face of his, and I swore
Lord smash mine! to do it. We was in the same prison-ship, but I
couldn't get at him for long, though I tried. At last I come behind him
and hit him on the cheek to turn him round and get a smashing one at
him, when I was seen and seized. The black-hole of that ship warn't
a strong one, to a judge of black-holes that could swim and dive. I
escaped to the shore, and I was a hiding among the graves there, envying
them as was in 'em and all over, when I first see my boy!"

He regarded me with a look of affection that made him almost abhorrent
to me again, though I had felt great pity for him.

"By my boy, I was giv to understand as Compeyson was out on them marshes
too. Upon my soul, I half believe he escaped in his terror, to get quit
of me, not knowing it was me as had got ashore. I hunted him down. I
smashed his face. 'And now,' says I 'as the worst thing I can do, caring
nothing for myself, I'll drag you back.' And I'd have swum off, towing
him by the hair, if it had come to that, and I'd a got him aboard
without the soldiers.

"Of course he'd much the best of it to the last,--his character was so
good. He had escaped when he was made half wild by me and my murderous
intentions; and his punishment was light. I was put in irons, brought
to trial again, and sent for life. I didn't stop for life, dear boy and
Pip's comrade, being here."

"He wiped himself again, as he had done before, and then slowly took
his tangle of tobacco from his pocket, and plucked his pipe from his
button-hole, and slowly filled it, and began to smoke.

"Is he dead?" I asked, after a silence.

"Is who dead, dear boy?"

"Compeyson."

"He hopes I am, if he's alive, you may be sure," with a fierce look. "I
never heerd no more of him."

Herbert had been writing with his pencil in the cover of a book. He
softly pushed the book over to me, as Provis stood smoking with his eyes
on the fire, and I read in it:--

"Young Havisham's name was Arthur. Compeyson is the man who professed to
be Miss Havisham's lover."

I shut the book and nodded slightly to Herbert, and put the book by; but
we neither of us said anything, and both looked at Provis as he stood
smoking by the fire.

Chapter XLIII

Why should I pause to ask how much of my shrinking from Provis might be
traced to Estella? Why should I loiter on my road, to compare the state
of