Page 351 - david-copperfield

her beautiful calm voice, as I write these words. The influ-
ence for all good, which she came to exercise over me at a
later time, begins already to descend upon my breast. I love
little Em’ly, and I don’t love Agnes - no, not at all in that way
- but I feel that there are goodness, peace, and truth, wher-
ever Agnes is; and that the soft light of the coloured window
in the church, seen long ago, falls on her always, and on me
when I am near her, and on everything around.
The time having come for her withdrawal for the night,
and she having left us, I gave Mr. Wickfield my hand, pre-
paratory to going away myself. But he checked me and said:
‘Should you like to stay with us, Trotwood, or to go else-
where?’
‘To stay,’ I answered, quickly.
‘You are sure?’
‘If you please. If I may!’
‘Why, it’s but a dull life that we lead here, boy, I am afraid,’
he said.
‘Not more dull for me than Agnes, sir. Not dull at all!’
‘Than Agnes,’ he repeated, walking slowly to the great
chimney-piece, and leaning against it. ‘Than Agnes!’
He had drank wine that evening (or I fancied it), until
his eyes were bloodshot. Not that I could see them now, for
they were cast down, and shaded by his hand; but I had no-
ticed them a little while before.
‘Now I wonder,’ he muttered, ‘whether my Agnes tires
of me. When should I ever tire of her! But that’s different,
that’s quite different.’
He was musing, not speaking to me; so I remained qui-

0 David Copperfield