"Dearest husband!" said Agnes. "Now that I may call you by that name, I have one thing more to tell you."
"Let me hear it, love."
"It grows out of the night when Dora died. She sent you for me."
"She did."
"She told me that she left me something. Can you think what it was?"
I believed I could. I drew the wife who had so long loved me, closer to my side.
"She told me that she made a last request to me, and left me a last charge."
"And it was"
"That only I would occupy this vacant place."
And Agnes laid her head upon my breast, and wept; and I wept with her, though we were so happy.
CHAPTER LXIII.
A VISITOR.
What I have purposed to record is nearly finished; but there is yet an incident conspicuous in my memory, on which, it often rests with delight, and without which one thread in the web I have spun, would have a ravelled end.
I had advanced in fame and fortune, my domestic joy was perfect, I had been married ten happy years. Agnes and I were sitting by the fire, in our house in London, one night in spring, and three of our children were playing in the room, when I was told that a stranger wished to see me.
He had been asked if he came on business, and had answered No; he had come for the pleasure of seeing me, and had come a long way. He was an old man, my servant said, and looked like a farmer.
As this sounded mysterious to the children, and moreover was like the beginning of a favorite story Agnes used to tell them, introductory to the arrival of a wicked old Fairy in a cloak who hated every body, it produced some commotion. One of our boys laid his head in his mother's lap to be out of harm's way, and little Agnes (our eldest child) left her doll in a chair to represent her, and thrust out her little heap of golden curls from between the window-curtains, to see what happened next.
"Let him come in here!" said I.
There soon appeared, pausing in the dark doorway as he entered, a hale, grey-haired old man. Little Agnes, attracted by his looks, had run to bring him in, and I had not yet clearly seen his face, when my wife, starting up, cried out to me, in a pleased and agitated voice, that it was Mr. Peggotty!
