could have hoped to reach. How
thankful should I be!' With his face turned towards me, as he finished,
but without looking at me, he took his crooked thumb off the spot where
he had planted it, and slowly and thoughtfully scraped his lank jaw with
it, as if he were shaving himself.

I recollect well how indignantly my heart beat, as I saw his crafty
face, with the appropriately red light of the fire upon it, preparing
for something else.

'Master Copperfield,' he began--'but am I keeping you up?'

'You are not keeping me up. I generally go to bed late.'

'Thank you, Master Copperfield! I have risen from my umble station since
first you used to address me, it is true; but I am umble still. I hope I
never shall be otherwise than umble. You will not think the worse of
my umbleness, if I make a little confidence to you, Master Copperfield?
Will you?'

'Oh no,' said I, with an effort.

'Thank you!' He took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began wiping the
palms of his hands. 'Miss Agnes, Master Copperfield--' 'Well, Uriah?'

'Oh, how pleasant to be called Uriah, spontaneously!' he cried; and gave
himself a jerk, like a convulsive fish. 'You thought her looking very
beautiful tonight, Master Copperfield?'

'I thought her looking as she always does: superior, in all respects, to
everyone around her,' I returned.

'Oh, thank you! It's so true!' he cried. 'Oh, thank you very much for
that!'

'Not at all,' I said, loftily. 'There is no reason why you should thank
me.'

'Why that, Master Copperfield,' said Uriah, 'is, in fact, the confidence
that I am going to take the liberty of reposing. Umble as I am,' he
wiped his hands harder, and looked at them and at the fire by turns,
'umble as my mother is, and lowly as our poor but honest roof has ever
been, the image of Miss Agnes (I don't mind trusting you with my secret,
Master Copperfield, for I have always overflowed towards you since the
first moment I had the pleasure of beholding you in a pony-shay) has
been in my breast for years. Oh, Master Copperfield, with what a pure
affection do I love the ground my Agnes walks on!'

I believe I had a delirious idea of seizing the red-hot poker out of
the fire, and running him through with it. It went from me with a shock,
like a ball fired from a rifle: but the image of Agnes, outraged by so
much as a thought of this red-headed animal's, remained in my mind when
I looked at him, sitting all awry as if his mean soul griped hi