The months passed, and I reached my twenty-first birthday. Traddles was still studying to be a lawyer, and still hoping to marry "the dearest girl in the world". I had moved out of my flat into a pleasant little house, and at last Dora's aunts had agreed to our marriage. I was looking forward to the happiest day of my life. The next few days went by very fast in a mist of excitement and happiness. My aunt and Mr Dick moved into an even smaller house near mine, and Peggotty travelled from Yarmouth to be present at my wedding.

Mr Spenlow had seemed a very rich man to me, but when he died the lawyers discovered that Dora would not inherit much from him after all, as there were many debts to pay. So I did not feel worried that anyone would suspect me of marrying Dora for her money. Mr Spenlow's firm lost a lot of business after his death, and I realized I would have to find another profession. I had always been good at writing, so I continued as secretary to Dr Strong, and also began reporting what was said in parliament, for the daily newspapers. I even wrote some stories, which were published in magazines, and was very pleased with the money I was earning.

When I returned to London, I was delighted to discover that Dora's aunts had decided to allow me to visit her. So every Saturday and Sunday I walked to their house in Putney, and spent the afternoons there. Sometimes Dora sang or played the guitar, sometimes we walked by the river, and sometimes I brought Traddles or my aunt with me. What happy times they were!

"But I love you as you are, Dora!" I replied.

"I wonder why you ever fell in love with me!"

"Because nobody can see you, and not fall in love with you!"

"But if you'd never seen me, David, I wonder who you'd have married…"

I laughed and kissed her pretty lips, and she was soon as cheerful as usual again.

I had always wanted Agnes to meet Dora, so I was glad when they met, the day before the wedding. It was beautiful to see Dora's pretty face next to Agnes's calm one, and Dora whispering her secrets into Agnes's ears, as a child does to its mother. But after Agnes had gone to see my aunt, Dora said seriously to me, when we were alone, "Perhaps if I'd had Agnes as a friend when I was younger, David dear, I wouldn't be so foolish and silly."

I cannot remember much about the wedding, except Dora by my side, in her beautiful dress and with a blushing face. Only when we were driving away from Putney together, did I wake from the dream. I believed it at last! It was my dear little wife I was sitting next to, whom I loved so much!

"My love," I began, "couldn't you perhaps control the servants a little better?"

It seemed strange to return from our week's holiday and to find myself in my own small house with Dora. It was difficult to believe that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. But soon I realized that married life was not as comfortable as it appeared. Neither Dora nor I knew anything about managing the house. We had a servant, of course, who managed us. She served our meals late, drank all our wine, and stole all our silver spoons. When she finally left, we had another who behaved in a similar way. I felt I had to speak to Dora about it.

"David, don't be cross with your little Dora," she said, coming to sit on my knee. But I wanted to show I could be firm.

"You knew before you married me what a silly girl I am! You shouldn't have married me if you were going to be angry with me! I don't think you love me at all!" And large tears ran down her pretty little face.

"My sweet Dora, I really do think you should do something. I mean, yesterday I had no supper at all because the beef was burnt, and last week, when Traddles came to dinner, the meat wasn't cooked at all!"

Of all the conversations we had, I remember that one very clearly. It made a strong impression on me, and I am glad now that I did not try to change Dora any more. I had fallen in love with an innocent child-like girl, and I could not expect her to become a wise, experienced woman in such a short time. But this meant that I had to carry all Our problems on my own shoulders, and sometimes I felt sorry that I did not have a real partner in life, with whom to share these worries.

"Just that, whenever you feel I'm being very foolish, you should remember that I'm like a child, not as clever as you, or anyone else. Don't be disappointed with me, just remember that your child-wife loves you very, very much."

"Whatever do you mean, my dearest?" I asked in surprise.

"Dora, my love! Of course I love you! Don't cry!" I could not continue our conversation then. But when she was calmer, and had dried her tears, she said very seriously, "David, will you do something for me? Will you call me your child-wife?"

At about this time, my first book was published, and was a great success. Dora and my aunt were equally proud of me. I was becoming, however, rather worried about Dora. She had been ill for some time, and did not seem to be getting better. She was not strong, and could not walk anywhere by herself. I began to carry her downstairs every morning, and upstairs every night, and my aunt came every day to look after her. My little wife was still very pretty, and cheerful, but I knew how light she was, and how weak. I began to fear she would not be with me for much longer.

"You've found little Emily!" I cried delightedly. "But where -- and how?"

"I heard she'd travelled with that wicked Steerforth to Italy, and lived there for a while. But in the end he became tired of her, and left her. She didn't know what to do, or where to go, poor thing! But she came back to London. And that's where I found my dear child! Because I've been all over Europe looking for her, but I knew she'd come back to England one day. So every night I've been searching the city streets for her. And last night I found her, hopeless and exhausted, on a bridge looking down into the river. If I hadn't found her then, I don't like to think what she would have done! But God was looking after my dear girl, and she's safe with me now." He passed his strong hand over his eyes, and smiled at me. "I've planned what we'll do, Master David, and I want to tell you about it. Emily and I are going to Australia. It's a new country, where nobody knows anything about her past. We'll be able to start a new life together. We'll be leaving in about six weeks."

"Master David!" he said gladly, when he saw me. "I've come to tell you -- you were always our friend -- I've found her!"

Early one morning when I was walking in the garden, I saw Daniel Peggotty opening the gate and coming towards me. His clothes were dusty, and he looked older than before, with white hair escaping untidily from under his hat. But his face was brown, and he looked healthy and strong.

"Very sensible," I said. "And what about the rest of your family? Are Ham and Peggotty going to Australia too?"

"Well, my friend," I said, shaking hands firmly with the old boatman, "I wish you and Emily all the best in your new life."

"No, they aren't. Poor Ham will never be the same again. I really think his heart is broken. But he's got a good job, and is very popular in Yarmouth, so he'll stay there. My sister wants to stay too, partly because of you, Master David, and partly to look after Ham. She cooks and cleans for him in Yarmouth, you know."

"I'll do my duty, whether I'm in England or Australia," said Daniel. "And I'll never be separated from my little Emily again!"