“I know that fellow,” he said, fetching his breath at every word, and pointing his trembling finger towards Lewsome. “He's the greatest liar alive. What's his last tale? Ha, ha! You're rare fellows, too! Why, that uncle of mine is childish; he's even a greater child than his brother, my father, was, in his old age; or than Chuffey is. What the devil do you mean,” he added, looking fiercely at John Westlock and Mark Tapley (the latter had entered with Lewsome), “by coming here, and bringing two idiots and a knave with you to take my house by storm? Hallo, there! Open the door! Turn these strangers out!”
“I tell you what,” cried Mr Tapley, coming forward, “if it wasn't for your name, I'd drag you through the streets of my own accord, and single-handed I would! Ah, I would! Don't try and look bold at me. You can't do it! Now go on, sir,” this was to old Martin. “Bring the murderin” wagabond upon his knees! If he wants noise, he shall have enough of it; for as sure as he's a shiverin” from head to foot I'll raise a uproar at this winder that shall bring half London in. Go on, sir! Let him try me once, and see whether I'm a man of my word or not.”
With that, Mark folded his arms, and took his seat upon the windowledge, with an air of general preparation for anything, which seemed to imply that he was equally ready to jump out himself, or to throw Jonas out, upon receiving the slightest hint that it would be agreeable to the company.
Old Martin turned to Lewsome:
“This is the man,” he said, extending his hand towards Jonas. “Is it?”
“You need do no more than look at him to be sure of that, or of the truth of what I have said,” was the reply. “He is my witness.”
“Oh, brother!” cried old Martin, clasping his hands and lifting up his eyes. “Oh, brother, brother! Were we strangers half our lives that you might breed a wretch like this, and I make life a desert by withering every flower that grew about me! Is it the natural end of your precepts and mine, that this should be the creature of your rearing, training, teaching, hoarding, striving for; and I the means of bringing him to punishment, when nothing can repair the wasted past!”
He sat down upon a chair as he spoke, and turning away his face, was silent for a few moments. Then with recovered energy he proceeded:
“But the accursed harvest of our mistaken lives shall be trodden down. It is not too late for that. You are confronted with this man, you monster there; not to be spared, but to be dealt with justly. Hear what he says! Reply, be silent, contradict, repeat, defy, do what you please. My course will be the same. Go on! And you,” he said to Chuffey, “for the love of your old friend, speak out, good fellow!”
“I have been silent for his love!” cried the old man. “He urged me to it. He made me promise it upon his dying bed. I never would have spoken, but for your finding out so much. I have thought about it ever since; I couldn't help that; and sometimes I have had it all before me in a dream; but in the day-time, not in sleep. Is there such a kind of dream?” said Chuffey, looking anxiously in old Martin's face.
As Martin made him an encouraging reply, he listened attentively to his voice, and smiled.
“Ah, aye!” he cried. “He often spoke to me like that. We were at school together, he and I. I couldn't turn against his son, you know—his only son, Mr Chuzzlewit!”
“I would to Heaven you had been his son!” said Martin.
“You speak so like my dear old master,” cried the old man with a childish delight, “that I almost think I hear him. I can hear you quite as well as I used to hear him. It makes me young again. He never spoke unkindly to me, and I always understood him. I could always see him too, though my sight was dim. Well, well! He's dead, he's dead. He was very good to me, my dear old master!”
He shook his head mournfully over the brother's hand. At this moment Mark, who had been glancing out of the window, left the room.
“I couldn't turn against his only son, you know,” said Chuffey. “He has nearly driven me to do it sometimes; he very nearly did tonight. Ah!” cried the old man, with a sudden recollection of the cause. “Where is she? She's not come home!”
“Do you mean his wife?” said Mr Chuzzlewit.
“Yes.”
“I have removed her. She is in my care, and will be spared the present knowledge of what is passing here. She has known misery enough, without that addition.”
Jonas heard this with a sinking heart. He knew that they were on his heels, and felt that they were resolute to run him to destruction. Inch by inch the ground beneath him was sliding from his feet; faster and faster the encircling ruin contracted and contracted towards himself, its wicked centre, until it should close in and crush him.
And now he heard the voice of his accomplice stating to his face, with every circumstance of time and place and incident; and openly proclaiming, with no reserve, suppression, passion, or concealment; all the truth. The truth, which nothing would keep down; which blood would not smother, and earth would not hide; the truth, whose terrible inspiration seemed to change dotards into strong men; and on whose avenging wings, one whom he had supposed to be at the extremest corner of the earth came swooping down upon him.
He tried to deny it, but his tongue would not move. He conceived some desperate thought of rushing away, and tearing through the streets; but his limbs would as little answer to his will as his stark, stiff staring face. All this time the voice went slowly on, denouncing him. It was as if every drop of blood in the wood had found a voice to jeer him with.
When it ceased, another voice took up the tale, but strangely; for the old clerk, who had watched, and listened to the whole, and had wrung his hands from time to time, as if he knew its truth and could confirm it, broke in with these words:
“No, no, no! you're wrong; you're wrong—all wrong together! Have patience, for the truth is only known to me!”
“How can that be,” said his old master's brother, “after what you have heard? Besides, you said just now, above-stairs, when I told you of the accusation against him, that you knew he was his father's murderer.”
“Aye, yes! and so he was!” cried Chuffey, wildly. “But not as you suppose—not as you suppose. Stay! Give me a moment's time. I have it all here—all here! It was foul, foul, cruel, bad; but not as you suppose. Stay, stay!”
He put his hands up to his head, as if it throbbed or pained him. After looking about him in a wandering and vacant manner for some moments, his eyes rested upon Jonas, when they kindled up with sudden recollection and intelligence.
“Yes!” cried old Chuffey, “yes! That's how it was. It's all upon me now. He—he got up from his bed before he died, to be sure, to say that he forgave him; and he came down with me into this room; and when he saw him—his only son, the son he loved—his speech forsook him; he had no speech for what he knew—and no one understood him except me. But I did—I did!”
Old Martin regarded him in amazement; so did his companions. Mrs Gamp, who had said nothing yet; but had kept two-thirds of herself behind the door, ready for escape, and one-third in the room, ready for siding with the strongest party; came a little further in and remarked, with a sob, that Mr Chuffey was “the sweetest old creetur goin”.”
“He bought the stuff,” said Chuffey, stretching out his arm towards Jonas while an unwonted fire shone in his eye, and lightened up his face; “he bought the stuff, no doubt, as you have heard, and brought it home. He mixed the stuff—look at him!—with some sweetmeat in a jar, exactly as the medicine for his father's cough was mixed, and put it in a drawer; in that drawer yonder in the desk; he knows which drawer I mean! He kept it there locked up. But his courage failed him or his heart was touched—my God! I hope it was his heart! He was his only son!— and he did not put it in the usual place, where my old master would have taken it twenty times a day.”
The trembling figure of the old man shook with the strong emotions that possessed him. But, with the same light in his eye, and with his arm outstretched, and with his grey hair stirring on his head, he seemed to grow in size, and was like a man inspired. Jonas shrunk from looking at him, and cowered down into the chair by which he had held. It seemed as if this tremendous Truth could make the dumb speak.
“I know it every word now!” cried Chuffey. “Every word! He put it in that drawer, as I have said. He went so often there, and was so secret, that his father took notice of it; and when he was out, had it opened. We were there together, and we found the mixture—Mr Chuzzlewit and I. He took it into his possession, and made light of it at the time; but in the night he came to my bedside, weeping, and told me that his own son had it in his mind to poison him. “Oh, Chuff,” he said, “oh, dear old Chuff! a voice came into my room to-night, and told me that this
