I read, in every word of his plain impressive way of delivering himself, new evidence of his having thought of this one topic, in every feature it presented.

“According to our reckoning,” he proceeded, “Mas’r Davy’s here, and mine, she is like, one day, to make her own poor solitary course to London. We believe⁠—Mas’r Davy, me, and all of us⁠—that you are as innocent of everything that has befell her, as the unborn child. You’ve spoke of her being pleasant, kind, and gentle to you. Bless her, I knew she was! I knew she always was, to all. You’re thankful to her, and you love her. Help us all you can to find her, and may Heaven reward you!”

She looked at him hastily, and for the first time, as if she were doubtful of what he had said.

“Will you trust me?” she asked, in a low voice of astonishment.

“Full and free!” said Mr. Peggotty.