Not I,' said Steerforth. 'I have been seafaring--better employed.'

'Littimer was here today, to inquire for you,' I remarked, 'and I
understood him that you were at Oxford; though, now I think of it, he
certainly did not say so.'

'Littimer is a greater fool than I thought him, to have been inquiring
for me at all,' said Steerforth, jovially pouring out a glass of wine,
and drinking to me. 'As to understanding him, you are a cleverer fellow
than most of us, Daisy, if you can do that.'

'That's true, indeed,' said I, moving my chair to the table. 'So you
have been at Yarmouth, Steerforth!' interested to know all about it.
'Have you been there long?'

'No,' he returned. 'An escapade of a week or so.'

'And how are they all? Of course, little Emily is not married yet?'

'Not yet. Going to be, I believe--in so many weeks, or months, or
something or other. I have not seen much of 'em. By the by'; he laid
down his knife and fork, which he had been using with great diligence,
and began feeling in his pockets; 'I have a letter for you.'

'From whom?'

'Why, from your old nurse,' he returned, taking some papers out of his
breast pocket. "'J. Steerforth, Esquire, debtor, to The Willing
Mind"; that's not it. Patience, and we'll find it presently. Old
what's-his-name's in a bad way, and it's about that, I believe.'

'Barkis, do you mean?'

'Yes!' still feeling in his pockets, and looking over their contents:
'it's all over with poor Barkis, I am afraid. I saw a little apothecary
there--surgeon, or whatever he is--who brought your worship into the
world. He was mighty learned about the case, to me; but the upshot of
his opinion was, that the carrier was making his last journey rather
fast.---Put your hand into the breast pocket of my great-coat on the
chair yonder, and I think you'll find the letter. Is it there?'

'Here it is!' said I.

'That's right!'

It was from Peggotty; something less legible than usual, and brief. It
informed me of her husband's hopeless state, and hinted at his being
'a little nearer' than heretofore, and consequently more difficult
to manage for his own comfort. It said nothing of her weariness
and watching, and praised him highly. It was written with a plain,
unaffected, homely piety that I knew to be genuine, and ended with 'my
duty to my ever darling'--meaning myself.

While I deciphered it, Steerforth continued to eat and drink.

'It's a bad job,' he said, when I had done; 'but the su