I walked away at a good pace, thinking it was easier
to go than I had supposed it would be, and reflecting
that it would never have done to have had an old shoe
thrown after the coach, in sight of all the High-street.
I whistled and made nothing of going. But the
village was very peaceful and quiet, and the light
mists were solemnly rising, as if to show me the world,
and I had been so innocent and little there, and all
beyond was so unknown and great, that in a moment
with a strong heave and sob I broke into tears.
It was by the finger-post at the end of the village,
and I laid my hand upon it, and said, “Good-bye
O my dear, dear friend!”
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears,
for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth,
overlying our hard hearts. I was better after
I had cried, than before — more sorry, more aware
of my own ingratitude, more gentle. If I had
cried before, I should have had Joe with me then.
So subdued I was by those tears, and by their breaking
out again in the course of the quiet walk, that when
I was on the coach, and it was clear of the town,
I deliberated with an aching heart whether I would
not get down when we changed horses and walk back,
and have another evening at home, and a better parting.
We changed, and I had not made up my mind, and still
reflected for my comfort that it would be quite practicable
to get down and walk back, when we changed again.
And while I was occupied with these deliberations,
I would fancy an exact resemblance to Joe in some
man coming along the road towards us, and my heart
would beat high. — As if he could possibly
be there!
We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too
late and too far to go back, and I went on.
And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the
world lay spread before me.
This is the end of the
first stage of Pip’s expectations.
The journey from our town to the metropolis, was a
journey of about five hours. It was a little
past mid-day when the fourhorse stage-coach by which
I was a passenger, got into the ravel of traffic frayed
out about the Cross Keys, Wood-street, Cheapside,
London.
We Britons had at that time particularly settled that
it was treasonable to doubt our having and our being
the best of everything: otherwise, while I was
scared by the immensity of London, I think I might
have had some faint doubts whether it was not rather
ugly, crooked, narrow, and dirty.
