I was now twenty-three years old. A week had passed since my birthday, and I still had not heard anything new about my secret benefactor. For more than a year, Herbert and I had lived in new rooms by the river.
Herbert was away on a business trip to France, and I was alone. I felt restless and anxious. I spent my days reading, hoping that something would finally happen to make my future clear.
The weather was terrible. It had been stormy and wet for days. In London, the streets were covered in deep mud. The wind was so strong that it tore roofs from buildings and blew down trees in the countryside. On the night I am writing about, the wind shook our house like a storm at sea. Rain lashed against the windows. Occasionally, smoke blew back down the chimney, and the lamps in the street were blown out by the wind.
I sat reading until eleven o’clock. As the city clocks struck the hour, I heard a footstep on the stairs. I felt nervous and remembered the stories of my dead sister, but I told myself not to be foolish. I took my lamp and went out to the staircase. Because the lamps were out, it was very dark.
"Is someone there?" I called out.
"Yes," a voice answered from below.
"Which floor are you looking for?"
"The top floor. Mr. Pip."
"That is my name. Is something wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," the voice replied. A man began to walk up the stairs.
When he entered the light of my lamp, I saw a stranger. He looked about sixty years old. He was a strong, muscular man with long, grey hair. His skin was brown and toughened by the weather, like a man who had traveled the sea. To my surprise, he held out both his hands to me with a smile of joy.
"What is your business?" I asked him coldly.
"I will explain, by your leave," he said. "I wish to come in, master."
I let him into the room, though I did not like the way he looked at me. He seemed so happy to see me, as if he knew me well. He took off his coat and hat and looked around the room with wonder. Then, he held out his hands to me again.
"What do you mean?" I asked, thinking he might be mad.
"It is disappointing," he said in a rough voice. "I have looked forward to this for so long, and I have come so far. Give me a moment."
He sat by the fire and covered his face with his large, brown hands. Suddenly, I realized who he was. Even though I hadn't seen him for many years, I knew him! This was my convict—the man from the marshes. I didn't need to see a file or a leg iron to recognize him.
I stood there, shocked. I reluctantly gave him my hands. He kissed them and held them tightly.
"You acted nobly, Pip!" he said. "You were a noble boy, and I have never forgotten it!"
I pushed him away gently. "If you are grateful for what I did when I was a child, I am glad," I said. "But you didn't need to come here to thank me. Our lives are very different now. You look tired. Would you like a drink before you go?"
I made him a glass of hot rum and water. When I handed it to him, I saw that his eyes were full of tears. I felt a little sorry for him, so I sat down.
"How have you been living?" I asked.
"I’ve been a sheep farmer and a trader in the new world, thousands of miles away," he said.
"I hope you have done well?"
"I’ve done wonderfully well. No man has done as well as me."
I remembered the two pounds he had sent me years ago through a messenger. I took out my purse to pay him back. He watched me as I handed him the money. To my surprise, he took the notes, set fire to them with the lamp, and dropped the ashes.
"May I ask," he said, "how you have done so well since that day on the marshes?"
I told him that I had been chosen to inherit some property.
"And who is the benefactor?" he asked.
"I don't know," I replied.
"And who is your guardian?"
"Mr. Jaggers," I said.
He smiled. "And did that lawyer find you because of a letter from Portsmouth? Did he get your address from a man named Wemmick?"
The truth hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't breathe. I grasped the back of a chair as the room began to turn. He caught me and sat me down on the sofa.
"Yes, Pip, dear boy! I made a gentleman of you!" he cried. "It’s me! I swore that every penny I earned would go to you. I lived a rough life so you could live a smooth one. I worked hard so you wouldn't have to work at all!"
I felt a deep horror. I shrank away from him as if he were a snake.
"I am like a second father to you," he went on, ignoring my reaction. "When I was alone in the mountains with the sheep, I always saw your face. I told myself that if I ever got my freedom and money, I would make that boy a gentleman. And I did it! Look at your clothes! Look at your books! You can spend money like a lord!"
He took my gold watch and looked at my diamond ring. I shuddered at his touch.
"Did you never think it was me?" he asked.
"No, never!" I cried. "I thought it was... someone else."
I thought of Estella and Miss Havisham. My heart broke. All my dreams were a lie. Miss Havisham had only used me to tease her relatives. Estella was never meant for me. And most painful of all, I had deserted Joe and Biddy for the money of a convict.
"Where will I sleep, dear boy?" he asked. "I am tired from the sea."
"You can have my friend’s room," I said mechanically. "He is away."
Then he leaned in and whispered, "We must be careful. It is death for me to be here."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I was sent away for life. If the police find me in England, I will be hanged."
I was terrified. This man had risked his life to see me, and now I was responsible for him. I closed the shutters and locked the doors. While he ate some biscuits and drank more rum, he looked exactly like the man I had met on the marshes so long ago.
I gave him some clean clothes and showed him to Herbert’s room. When he took my hands to say good-night, my blood ran cold.
I sat by the fire for the rest of the night, too shocked to sleep. I realized my life was ruined. I was not a gentleman because of a grand plan by Miss Havisham; I was a gentleman because of a criminal’s gratitude. I heard the wind and rain outside, and every sound made me think the police were coming for him.
I went to his door and looked in. He was sleeping with a pistol on his pillow. I locked his door from the outside and sat on the floor, waiting for the morning. My "great expectations" had come to a terrible end.