My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman. The more I thought of the fight, and recalled the pale young gentleman on his back in various stages of puffy and incrimsoned countenance, the more certain it appeared that something would be done to me. I felt that the pale young gentleman's blood was on my head, and that the Law would avenge it. Without having any definite idea of the penalties I had incurred, it was clear to me that village boys could not go stalking about the country, ravaging the houses of gentlefolks and pitching into the studious youth of England, without laying themselves open to severe punishment.
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence, my terrors reached their height. The wounds I inflicted had become so exaggerated in my mind, that I began to have strange fantasies that, upon finding the pale young gentleman bloody and battered, his relatives would suspect that the injuries were caused by a Howl Beast. And, logically, that I myself must be one! What then? Would the myrmidons of Justice, those Noble Hunters, specially sent down from London, lie in ambush behind the gate? Would Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house, rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw her silver dagger, and pierce my heart? Or, would they deny the dignity of a noble death and engage that band of mercenaries, the Brutal Hunters, to fall upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more?
However, go to Miss Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold! nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in at the windows of the detached house; but, my view was suddenly stopped by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless.
On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair - a light chair on wheels that you pushed from behind. It had been placed there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.
As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But, she did not. Neither did she ever give me any money - or anything but my daily dinner - nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my services.
Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. I would see her at times, practicing her martial arts in the garden – often by herself, but sometimes with instructors whom I noticed she bested in combat with some frequency. She was a marvel to observe, as she inexplicably seemed to have both the grace of Biddy and the strength of Joe.
Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we sparred, Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella's immaculate technique, and would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Tear out their hearts my pride and hope, tear out their hearts and have no mercy!"
