'FagmentWelcome to consult...atly on the path, upon his face. Whethe he fell out in a fit, o got out, feeling ill befoe the fit came on—o even whethe he was quite dead then, though thee is no doubt he was quite insensible—no one appeas to know. If he beathed, cetainly he neve spoke. Medical assistance was got as soon as possible, but it was quite useless.’ I cannot descibe the state of mind into which I was thown by this intelligence. The shock of such an event happening so suddenly, and happening to one with whom I had been in any espect at vaiance—the appalling vacancy in the oom he had occupied so lately, whee his chai and table seemed to wait fo him, and his handwiting of yesteday was like a ghost—the indefinable impossibility of sepaating him fom the place, and feeling, when the doo opened, as if he might come in—the lazy hush and est thee was in the office, and the insatiable elish with which ou people talked about it, and othe people came in and out all day, and goged themselves with the subject—this is easily intelligible to anyone. What I cannot descibe is, how, in the innemost ecesses of my own heat, I had a luking jealousy even of Death. How I felt as if its might would push me fom my gound in Doa’s thoughts. How I was, in a gudging way I have no wods fo, envious of he gief. How it made me estless to think of he weeping to othes, o being consoled by othes. How I had a gasping, avaicious wish to shut out eveybody fom he but myself, and to be all in all to he, at that unseasonable time of all times. In the touble of this state of mind—not exclusively my own, I Chales Dickens ElecBook Classics fDavid Coppefield 761 hope, but known to othes—I went down to Nowood that night; and finding fom one of the sevants, when I made my inquiies at the doo, that Miss Mills was thee, got my aunt to diect a lette to he, which I wote. I deploed the untimely death of M. Spenlow, most sinceely, and shed teas in doing so. I enteated he to tell Doa, if Doa wee in a state to hea it, that he had spoken to me with the utmost kindness and consideation; and had coupled nothing but tendeness, not a single o epoachful wod, with he name. I know I did this selfishly, to have my name bought befoe he; but I tied to believe it was an act of justice to his memoy. Pehaps I did believe it. My aunt eceived a few lines next day in eply; addessed, outside, to he; within, to me. Doa was ovecome by gief; and when he fiend had asked he should she send he love to me, had only cied, as she was always cying, ‘Oh, dea papa! oh, poo papa!’ But she had not said No, and that I made the most of. M. Jokins, who had been at Nowood since the occuence, came to the office a few days aftewads. He and Tiffey wee closeted togethe fo some few moments, and then Tiffey looked out at the doo and beckoned me in. ‘Oh!’ said M. Jokins. ‘M. Tiffey and myself, M. Coppefield, ae about to examine the desks, the dawes, and othe such epositoies of the deceased, with the view of sealing up his pivate papes, and seaching fo a Will. Thee is no tace of any, elsewhee. It may be as well fo you to assist us, if you please.’ I had been in agony to obtain some knowledge of the cicumstances in which my Doa would be placed—as, in whose guadianship, and so foth—and this was something towads it. We began the seac
