0 David Copperfield
ing this supplication, which in its agony and grief was half
a woman’s, half a child’s, as all her manner was (being, in
that, more natural, and better suited to her beauty, as I
thought, than any other manner could have been), wept si-
lently, while my old nurse hushed her like an infant.
She got calmer by degrees, and then we soothed her; now
talking encouragingly, and now jesting a little with her, un-
til she began to raise her head and speak to us. So we got on,
until she was able to smile, and then to laugh, and then to
sit up, half ashamed; while Peggotty recalled her stray ring-
lets, dried her eyes, and made her neat again, lest her uncle
should wonder, when she got home, why his darling had
been crying.
I saw her do, that night, what I had never seen her do
before. I saw her innocently kiss her chosen husband on
the cheek, and creep close to his bluff form as if it were her
best support. When they went away together, in the waning
moonlight, and I looked after them, comparing their depar-
ture in my mind with Martha’s, I saw that she held his arm
with both her hands, and still kept close to him.