Eleven years had passed since I last saw Joe and Biddy in person. Although I had thought of them often while I was away in the East, it was a cold December evening when I finally returned. It was after dark when I reached the old house and quietly touched the handle of the kitchen door. I opened it so softly that no one heard me, and I looked inside.
There sat Joe, smoking his pipe by the fire. He looked as strong and healthy as ever, though his hair was a little grey. And there, sitting on my old stool and looking at the fire, was a child who looked exactly like me!
"We named him Pip for your sake, old friend," Joe said happily when I came in and sat beside the boy. "We hoped he might grow up to be a little like you, and we think he has."
The next morning, I took the little boy for a long walk. We talked for hours and understood each other perfectly. I took him to the churchyard and sat him on a certain tombstone. From there, he pointed to the stones that belonged to my parents, Philip Pirrip and Georgiana.
Later that day, I talked with Biddy while her little girl slept in her lap.
"Biddy," I said, "you must let me take Pip with me one day, or at least let him visit."
"No, Pip," Biddy said gently. "You should get married."
"My friends Herbert and Clara say the same thing, but I don’t think I will," I replied. "I am very comfortable in their home. I have become an old bachelor."
Biddy looked down at her child and then took my hand. I felt the light pressure of her wedding ring. It was a kind, silent gesture.
"Dear Pip," Biddy said, "are you sure you don’t still feel sad because of her?"
"No, Biddy. I think not."
"Tell me as an old friend. Have you forgotten her?"
"My dear Biddy, I have forgotten nothing that was once important to me. But that dream is over now. It is all in the past."
However, even as I spoke those words, I knew I planned to visit the site of the old house that evening. I wanted to go there one last time for Estella’s sake.
I had heard that Estella’s life had been very unhappy. She had been married to a cruel, proud, and greedy man who treated her badly. I also knew that her husband had died two years earlier after an accident with a horse. For all I knew, she might have married someone else by now.
The sun was setting by the time I reached the old garden. The house was gone. There was no brewery and no building left—only the old garden wall remained. The ground was covered in grass and ruins, and ivy was growing over the piles of old bricks. I found a gate that was slightly open and walked inside.
A cold, silvery mist covered the garden, but the stars were shining and the moon was starting to rise. I could still see where the different parts of the house used to be. As I walked along the lonely garden path, I suddenly saw a figure.
The figure stopped as I came closer. It was a woman. She was about to turn away, but then she stopped and waited for me. She looked surprised and spoke my name.
"Estella!" I cried.
"I have changed a lot," she said. "I am surprised you recognize me."
She was no longer the young beauty I once knew, but she was still grand and charming. Her eyes, which used to be so proud, now looked sad and soft. When she took my hand, her touch was friendly, not cold as it had been years ago.
We sat down on a bench. "It is strange to meet here again after so many years," I said. "Do you come here often?"
"I have never been back until today," she replied.
"Neither have I," I said.
We sat in silence for a moment as the moon rose higher. Then Estella spoke again.
"I have often wanted to come back, but life kept me away. Poor, old place!"
I saw tears in her eyes, though she tried to hide them. "I still own this land," she explained. "It is the only thing I have kept. Everything else is gone, but I refused to give this up. Now, finally, they are going to build something new here. I came to say goodbye to it."
She looked at me with interest. "Do you still live abroad?"
"Yes," I answered.
"And are you doing well?"
"I work hard and I earn enough," I said. "So, yes, I am doing well."
"I have often thought of you, Pip," she said.
"Have you?"
"Of late, very often. For a long time, I tried not to remember what I had thrown away. I didn't know how much it was worth back then. But now, I have given those memories a place in my heart."
"You have always had a place in my heart," I replied.
"I didn't expect to say goodbye to you here," she said. "But I am glad to do it."
"Are we parting again, Estella?" I asked. "To me, parting is very painful."
"But you once said, 'God bless you, God forgive you,'" she said earnestly. "If you could say that then, surely you can say it now. Suffering has taught me more than anything else. It has taught me to understand what was in your heart. I have been bent and broken, but I hope I have become a better person. Tell me we are friends."
"We are friends," I said, standing up with her.
"And we will continue to be friends, even when we are apart," she said.
I took her hand in mine and we walked out of the ruined garden. Just as the morning mists had risen when I first left home as a boy, the evening mists were rising now. As I looked at the calm, bright light around us, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.