David Copperfield
was a tranquillity about it, and about her - a quiet, good,
calm spirit - that I never have forgotten; that I shall never
forget. This was his little housekeeper, his daughter Agnes,
Mr. Wickfield said. When I heard how he said it, and saw
how he held her hand, I guessed what the one motive of his
life was.
She had a little basket-trifle hanging at her side, with keys
in it; and she looked as staid and as discreet a housekeeper
as the old house could have. She listened to her father as he
told her about me, with a pleasant face; and when he had
concluded, proposed to my aunt that we should go upstairs
and see my room. We all went together, she before us: and
a glorious old room it was, with more oak beams, and dia-
mond panes; and the broad balustrade going all the way up
to it.
I cannot call to mind where or when, in my childhood, I
had seen a stained glass window in a church. Nor do I recol-
lect its subject. But I know that when I saw her turn round,
in the grave light of the old staircase, and wait for us, above,
I thought of that window; and I associated something of its
tranquil brightness with Agnes Wickfield ever afterwards.
My aunt was as happy as I was, in the arrangement made
for me; and we went down to the drawing-room again,
well pleased and gratified. As she would not hear of stay-
ing to dinner, lest she should by any chance fail to arrive at
home with the grey pony before dark; and as I apprehend
Mr. Wickfield knew her too well to argue any point with
her; some lunch was provided for her there, and Agnes went
back to her governess, and Mr. Wickfield to his office. So we