“Matthew will come and see me at last,” said Miss Havisham, sternly, “when I am laid on that table.  That will be his place — there,” striking the table with her stick, “at my head!  And yours will be there!  And your husband’s there!  And Sarah Pocket’s there!  And Georgiana’s there!  Now you all know where to take your stations when you come to feast upon me.  And now go!”

At the mention of each name, she had struck the table with her stick in a new place.  She now said, “Walk me, walk me!” and we went on again.

“I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” exclaimed Camilla, “but comply and depart.  It’s something to have seen the object of one’s love and duty, for even so short a time.  I shall think of it with a melancholy satisfaction when I wake up in the night.  I wish Matthew could have that comfort, but he sets it at defiance.  I am determined not to make a display of my feelings, but it’s very hard to be told one wants to feast on one’s relations — as if one was a Giant — and to be told to go.  The bare idea!”

Mr. Camilla interposing, as Mrs. Camilla laid her hand upon her heaving bosom, that lady assumed an unnatural fortitude of manner which I supposed to be expressive of an intention to drop and choke when out of view, and kissing her hand to Miss Havisham, was escorted forth.  Sarah Pocket and Georgiana contended who should remain last; but, Sarah was too knowing to be outdone, and ambled round Georgiana with that artful slipperiness, that the latter was obliged to take precedence.  Sarah Pocket then made her separate effect of departing with “Bless you, Miss Havisham dear!” and with a smile of forgiving pity on her walnut-shell countenance for the weaknesses of the rest.

While Estella was away lighting them down, Miss Havisham still walked with her hand on my shoulder, but more and more slowly.  At last she stopped before the fire, and said, after muttering and looking at it some seconds: 

“This is my birthday, Pip.”

I was going to wish her many happy returns, when she lifted her stick.

“I don’t suffer it to be spoken of.  I don’t suffer those who were here just now, or any one, to speak of it.  They come here on the day, but they dare not refer to it.”

Of course I made no further effort to refer to it.

“On this day of the year, long before you were born, this heap of decay,” stabbing with her crutched stick at the pile of cobwebs on the table but not touching it, “was brought here.  It and I have worn away together.  The mice have gnawed at it, and sharper teeth than teeth of mice have gnawed at me.”

She held the head of her stick against her heart as she stood looking at the table; she in her once white dress, all yellow and withered; the once white cloth all yellow and withered; everything around, in a state to crumble under a touch.

“When the ruin is complete,” said she, with a ghastly look, “and when they lay me dead, in my bride’s dress on the bride’s table — which shall be done, and which will be the finished curse upon him - so much the better if it is done on this day!”