...choes in
the caverns of Memory. But she gave us her blessing, and the
assurance of her lasting friendship, and spoke to us, generally, as
became a Voice from the Cloister.
What an idle time it was! What an insubstantial, happy, foolish
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David Copperfield
time it was!
When I measured Dora’s finger for a ring that was to be made
of Forget-me-nots, and when the jeweller, to whom I took the
measure, found me out, and laughed over his order-book, and
charged me anything he liked for the pretty little toy, with its blue
stones—so associated in my remembrance with Dora’s hand, that
yesterday, when I saw such another, by chance, on the finger of
my own daughter, there was a momentary stirring in my heart,
like pain!
When I walked about, exalted with my secret, and full of my
own interest, and felt the dignity of loving Dora, and of being
beloved, so much, that if I had walked the air, I could not have
been more above the people not so situated, who were creeping on
the earth!
When we had those meetings in the garden of the square, and
sat within the dingy summer-house, so happy, that I love the
London sparrows to this hour, for nothing else, and see the
plumage of the tropics in their smoky feathers! When we had our
first great quarrel (within a week of our betrothal), and when Dora
sent me back the ring, enclosed in a despairing cocked-hat note,
wherein she used the terrible that ‘our love had begun
in folly, and ended in madness!’ which dreadful words occasioned
me to tear my hair, and cry that all was over!
When, under cover of the night, I flew to Miss Mills, whom I
saw by stealth in a back kitchen where there was a mangle, and
implored Miss Mills to interpose between us and avert insanity.
When Miss Mills undertook the office and returned with Dora,
exhorting us, from the pulpit of her own bitter youth, to mutual
concession, and the avoidance of the Desert of Sahara!
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When we cried, and made it up, and were so blest again, that
the back kitchen, mangle and all, changed to Love’s own temple,
where we arranged a plan of correspondence through Miss Mills,
always to comprehend at least one letter on each side every day!
What an idle time! What an insubstantial, happy, foolish time!
Of all the times of mine that Time has in his grip, there is none
that in one retrospect I can smile at half so much, and think of half
so tenderly.
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Chapter 34
MY AUNT ASTONISHES ME
Iwrote to Agnes as soon as Dora and I were engaged. I wrote
her a long letter, in which I tried to make her comprehend
how blest I was, and what a darling Dora was. I entreated
Agnes not to regard this as a thoughtless passion which could ever
yield to any other, or had the least resemblance to the boyish
fancies that we used to joke about. I assured her that its
profundity was quite unfathomable, and expressed my belief that
nothing like it had ever been known.
Somehow, as I wrote to Agnes on a fine evening by my open
window, and the remembrance of her clear calm eyes and gentle
face came stealing over me, it shed such a peaceful influence upon
the hurry and agitation in which I had been living lately, and of
which my very happiness partook in some degree, that it soothed
me into tears. I remember that I sat resting my head upon my
hand, when the letter was half done, cherishing a general fancy as
if Agnes were one of the elements of my natural home. As if, in the
retirement of the house made almost sacred to me by her
presence, Dora and I must be happier than anywhere. As if, in
love, joy, sorrow, hope, or disappointment; in all emotions; my
heart turned naturally there, and found its refuge and best friend.
Of Steerforth I said nothing. I only told her there had been sad
grief at Yarmouth, on account of Emily’s flight; and that on me it
made a do