down the poker, he now hugged me again; and I hugged him; and, both laughing, and both wiping our eyes, we both sat down, and shook hands across the hearth.
“To think,” said Traddles, “that you should have been so nearly coming home as you must have been, my dear old boy, and not at the ceremony!”
“What ceremony, my dear Traddles?”
“Good gracious me!” cried Traddles, opening his eyes in his old way. “Didn’t you get my last letter?”
“Certainly not, if it referred to any ceremony.”
“Why, my dear Copperfield,” said Traddles, sticking his hair upright with both hands, and then putting his hands on my knees, “I am married!”
“Married!” I cried, joyfully!
“Lord bless me, yes!” said Traddles—“by the Reverend Horace—to Sophy—down in Devonshire. Why, my dear boy, she’s behind the window curtain! Look here!”
To my amazement, the dearest girl in the world came at that same instant, laughing and blushing, from her place of concealment. And a more cheerful, amiable, honest, happy, bright-looking bride, I believe (as I could not help saying on the spot) the world never saw. I kissed her as an old acquaintance should, and wished them joy with all my might of heart.
“Dear me,” said Traddles, “what a delightful re-union this is! You are so extremely brown, my dear Copperfield! God bless my soul, how happy I am!”