“You?” said she.  “You, good gracious!  What do you want?”

“I am going to London, Miss Pocket,” said I, “and want to say good-bye to Miss Havisham.”

I was not expected, for she left me locked in the yard, while she went to ask if I were to be admitted.  After a very short delay, she returned and took me up, staring at me all the way.

Miss Havisham was taking exercise in the room with the long spread table, leaning on her crutch stick.  The room was lighted as of yore, and at the sound of our entrance, she stopped and turned.  She was then just abreast of the rotted bride-cake.

“Don’t go, Sarah,” she said.  “Well, Pip?”

“I start for London, Miss Havisham, to-morrow,” I was exceedingly careful what I said, “and I thought you would kindly not mind my taking leave of you.”

“This is a gay figure, Pip,” said she, making her crutch stick play round me, as if she, the fairy godmother who had changed me, were bestowing the finishing gift.

“I have come into such good fortune since I saw you last, Miss Havisham,” I murmured.  “And I am so grateful for it, Miss Havisham!”

“Ay, ay!” said she, looking at the discomfited and envious Sarah, with delight.  “I have seen Mr. Jaggers.  I have heard about it, Pip.  So you go to-morrow?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“And you are adopted by a rich person?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Not named?”

“No, Miss Havisham.”

“And Mr. Jaggers is made your guardian?”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

She quite gloated on these questions and answers, so keen was her enjoyment of Sarah Pocket’s jealous dismay.  “Well!” she went on; “you have a promising career before you.  Be good — deserve it — and abide by Mr. Jaggers’s instructions.”  She looked at me, and looked at Sarah, and Sarah’s countenance wrung out of her watchful face a cruel smile.  “Good-bye, Pip! — you will always keep the name of Pip, you know.”

“Yes, Miss Havisham.”

“Good-bye, Pip!”

She stretched out her hand, and I went down on my knee and put it to my lips.  I had not considered how I should take leave of her; it came naturally to me at the moment, to do this.  She looked at Sarah Pocket with triumph in her weird eyes, and so I left my fairy godmother, with both her hands on her crutch stick, standing in the midst of the dimly lighted room beside the rotten bridecake that was hidden in cobwebs.

Sarah Pocket conducted me down, as if I were a ghost who must be seen out.  She could not get over my appearance, and was in the last degree confounded.  I said “Good-bye, Miss Pocket;” but she merely stared, and did not seem collected enough to know that I had spoken.  Clear of the house, I made the best of my way back to Pumblechook’s, took off my new clothes, made them into a bundle, and went back home in my older dress, carrying it — to speak the truth — much more at my ease too, though I had the bundle to carry.