rnace was flinging a path of fire across the road.

When the day came for my return to the scene of my fight with the pale
young gentleman, I became very much afraid as I recalled him on his back
in various stages of misery, and the more I thought about it, the more
certain I felt that his blood would be on my head and that the law would
avenge it, and I felt that I never could go back. However, go to Miss
Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold, nothing came of the late
struggle! The pale young gentleman was nowhere to be seen, and only in the
corner where the combat had taken place could I detect any evidences of
his existence. There were traces of his gore in that spot, and I covered
them with garden-mould from the eye of men, and breathed more quietly
again.

That same day I began on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in
a light garden chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand on my
shoulder) round through the rooms. Over and over and over again we made
these journeys, sometimes lasting for three hours at a stretch, and from
that time I returned to her every alternate day at noon for that purpose,
and kept returning through a period of eight or ten months. As we began to
be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me
many questions about myself. I told her I believed I was to be apprenticed
to Joe, and enlarged on knowing nothing, and wanting to know everything,
hoping that she might offer me some help. But she did not, on the contrary
she seemed to prefer my being ignorant. Nor did she give me any money, nor
anything but my daily dinner. Estella always let me in and out. Sometimes
she would coldly tolerate me, sometimes condescend to me, sometimes be
quite familiar with me, and at other times she would tell me that she
hated me; and all the time my admiration for her grew apace.

There was a song Joe used to hum at the forge, of which the burden was
"Old Clem." The song imitated the beating upon iron. Thus you were to
hammer;--Boys round--Old Clem! With a thump and a sound--Old Clem! Beat it
out, beat it out--Old Clem! With a clink for the stout--Old Clem! Blow the
fire, blow the fire--Old Clem! Roaring dryer, soaring higher--Old Clem!
One day I was crooning this ditty as I pushed Miss Havisham about. It
happened to catch her fancy and she took it up in a low brooding voice.
After that it became customary with us to sing it as we moved about, and
often Estella jo