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regrets. He was always so tired.
    The court found Magwitch guilty of murder. The police didn’t believe that Compeyson had drowned accidentally. Magwitch would remain in jail for the rest of his life. He grew sicker, and I knew the end was near.
    “Pip,” he said as I sat down by his bed one morning. “Are you always thefirst visitor through the prison gate?”
    “Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to lose a minute of time.”
    “Thankee, dear boy, thankee,” he replied. “God bless you! You’ve never deserted me, dear boy.”
    I pressed his hand.
    “Are you in much pain today?” I asked.
    “Don’t worry, dear boy,” he said, and fell against the pillow. He was too weak to speak another word.
    The guard made a noise outside the cell. My visiting time was over.
    “Dear Magwitch, can you understand what I am saying?” I asked.
    His pale eyes stared at the ceiling. He pressed my hand.
    “You had a child once. You loved her but lost her,” I said.
    He pressed my hand even harder.
    “She is living now. She is a beautiful lady. And I love her!” I blurted out.
    Magwitch raised my hand to his lips.He looked peacefully up at the ceiling. Then, quietly, his head dropped onto his chest. It was over.
    I said a final good-bye to my dear Magwitch.

Chapter Twelve

A Healing Hand
    With Magwitch gone and Herbert away on business, I was sick, lonely, and poor. My head felt like lead. My arms and legs ached. I lay on the sofa for days in a semi-delirious state.
    One day two men came to collect money I owed for a bill. But I didn’t have any money to give them. I didn’t work. My only income had been Magwitch’s money. The men asked me to come with them.
    “I would if I could,” I said. “But I might die on the way.”
    I did not hear their reply. My mind sank under the flood of my fever. For days I was without reason.
    I dreamed about Joe. Once I openedmy eyes in the night and saw Joe seated in a chair by my bed. It was such a strange dream.
    Once in the day, I opened my eyes and saw Joe sitting in the window seat. He was smoking his pipe and reading one of my books.
    I asked the ghost if he would bring me a cold glass of water. The hand that gave me the drink was Joe’s.
    At last, I awoke and said, “Is it you, Joe?”
    I heard his dear old voice answer, “Yes, old chap.”
    “Oh, Joe, you break my heart!” I replied. “I’ve treated you terribly. Don’t be so good to me!”
    Joe laid his hand on my forehead and looked into my eyes.
    “We’re old friends, dear Pip,” he said. “I would do anything for you, anything at all.”
    “Have you been here the whole time, Joe?” I asked.
    “Pretty much, old chap,” replied Joe. “We got a letter telling us about your illness. Biddy told me to take as much time as was needed to get you well again.”
    “Is Miss Havisham dead, Joe?” I asked. I did not know if she recovered from the fire.
    “She died a week after you took ill,” Joe replied.
    “What happened to her property and her riches?”
    “Most of her money went to Estella,” said Joe, as I slipped back into sleep.
    Slowly my health returned. Joe took such good care of me that I felt as if I were a little child again.
    One day he carried me outside to an open carriage. We drove out into the country to enjoy the sweet smells of summer.
    Finally, I could take a few steps on my own.
    “See, Joe!” I cried. “Soon I will walk again.”
    “Do not overdo it, Pip,” said Joe. “But I shall be happy to see you up and about, sir.”
    Joe’s last word upset me. It seemed that the better I got, the more strangely Joe treated me.
    One night Joe asked me, “Are you stronger, old chap?”
    “Yes, dear Joe, I’m getting stronger every day thanks to you.”
    The next morning Joe was gone. He had left a note that said I was well enough to live my life as a gentleman again, and he did not want to be a bother to me. He was going back home where he belonged. His note was signed “Ever the best of