My low tap at the door was answered by Mr. Peggotty. He was not so much surprised to see me as I had expected. I remarked this in Peggotty, too, when she came down; and I have seen it since; and I think, in the expectation of that dread surprise, all other changes and surprises dwindle into nothing.
I shook hands with Mr. Peggotty, and passed into the kitchen, while he softly closed the door. Little Emily was sitting by the fire, with her hands before her face. Ham was standing near her.
We spoke in whispers; listening, between whiles, for any sound in the room above. I had not thought of it on the occasion of my last visit, but how strange it was to me, now, to miss Mr. Barkis out of the kitchen!
“This is very kind of you, Mas’r Davy,” said Mr. Peggotty.
“It’s oncommon kind,” said Ham.
“Em’ly, my dear,” cried Mr. Peggotty. “See here! Here’s Mas’r Davy come! What, cheer up, pretty! Not a wured to Mas’r Davy?”
There was a trembling upon her, that I can see now. The coldness of her hand when I touched it, I can feel yet. Its only sign of animation was to shrink from mine; and then she glided from the chair, and creeping to the other side of her uncle, bowed herself, silently and trembling still, upon his breast.
“It’s such a loving art,” said Mr. Peggotty, smoothing her rich hair with his great hard hand, “that it can’t abear the sorrer of this. It’s nat’ral in young folk, Mas’r Davy, when they’re new to these here trials, and timid, like my little bird—it’s nat’ral.”
She clung the closer to him, but neither lifted up her face, nor spoke a word.