Дэвид Копперфильд

A Visitor

           Theercomealongoneday,whenIwasouta-workingontheland,atravellerfromourownNorfolkorSuffolkinEngland(Idoen’trightlymindwhich),andofcoursewetookhimin,andgivhimtoeatanddrink,andmadehimwelcome.Wealldothat,allthecolonyover.He’dgotanoldnewspaperwithhim,andsomeotheraccountinprintofthestorm.That’showsheknow’dit.WhenIcamehomeatnight,Ifoundsheknow’dit.’

           Hedroppedhisvoiceashesaidthesewords,andthegravityIsowellrememberedoverspreadhisface.

           ‘Diditchangehermuch?’weasked.

           ‘Aye,foragoodlongtime,’hesaid,shakinghishead;‘ifnottothispresenthour.ButIthinkthesolitoodedonehergood.Andshehadadealtomindinthewayofpoultryandthelike,andmindedofit,andcomethrough.Iwonder,’hesaidthoughtfully,‘ifyoucouldseemyEm’lynow,Mas’rDavy,whetheryou’dknowher!’

           ‘Isshesoaltered?’Iinquired.

           ‘Idoen’tknow.Iseeherev’ryday,anddoen’tknow;But,odd-times,Ihavethowtso.Aslightfigure,’saidMr.Peggotty,lookingatthefire,‘kienderworn;soft,sorrowful,blueeyes;adelicateface;aprittyhead,leaningalittledown;aquietvoiceandwaytimida’most.That’sEm’ly!’

           Wesilentlyobservedhimashesat,stilllookingatthefire.

           ‘Somethinks,’hesaid,‘asheraffectionwasill-bestowed;some,ashermarriagewasbrokenoffbydeath.

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