been sufficiently embarrassed, but as she brought with her the visitors, I didn’t know what to do.  I would have stopped, but Miss Havisham twitched my shoulder, and we posted on,—­I feeling shamefaced embarrassment.  The visitors remained for some time, and after they left Miss Havisham directed us to play cards as before, and as before, Estella treated me with cold scorn.  After half a dozen games, a day was set for my return, and I was taken into the yard to be fed in the former dog-like manner.  Prowling about, I scrambled over the wall into the deserted garden that I had seen from the window.  I supposed the house belonging to it was empty, and to my surprise I was confronted by the vision of a pale young gentleman with red eyelids and light hair, in a window, who speedily came down and stood beside me.

“Halloa!” said he; “young fellow, who let you in?”

“Miss Estella.”

“Who gave you leave to prowl about?  Come and fight,” said the pale young gentleman.

What could I do but follow him?  His manner was so final and I was so astonished that I followed where he led, as if under a spell.  “Stop a minute, though,” he said, “I ought to give you a reason for fighting too.  There it is!” In a most irritating manner he slapped his hands against one another, flung one of his legs up behind him, pulled my hair, dipped his head and butted it into my stomach.  This bull-like proceeding, besides that it was unquestionably to be regarded in the light of a liberty, was particularly disagreeable just after bread and meat.  I therefore hit out at him and was going to hit out again, when he said, “Aha!  Would you?” and began dancing backwards and forwards in a manner quite unparalleled within my limited experience.

“Laws of the game!” said he.  Here he skipped from his left leg on to his right.  “Regular rules!” Here he skipped from his right leg on to his left.  “Come to the ground and go through the preliminaries!” Here he dodged backwards and forwards, and did all sorts of things, while I looked helplessly at him.  I was secretly afraid of him, but I felt convinced that his light head of hair could have had no business in the pit of my stomach.  Therefore I followed him without a word, to a retired nook of the garden.  On his asking me if I was satisfied with the ground, and on my replying “Yes,” he fetched a bottle of water and a sponge dipped in vinegar, and then fell to pulling off, not only his jacket and waistcoat, but his shirt too, in a manner at once light-hearted, business-like, and bloodthirsty.

My heart failed me when I saw him squaring at me with every demonstration of mechanical nicety, and eyeing my anatomy as if he were minutely choosing his bone.  I never have been so surprised in my life as I was when I let out the first blow and saw him lying on his back, with a bloody nose and his face exceedingly foreshortened.  But he was on his feet directly, and after sponging himself began squaring again.