ever deal again with an ill-advised and unawakened nature, hiding the strength it thinks its weakness, I will have long and merciful consideration for it.”
“You had for me; even for me,” she answered. “I quite believe it. I said the words you have repeated, when my distress was very sharp and hard to bear; I say them now for others; but I cannot urge them for myself. You spoke to me after you had seen and watched me day by day. There was great consideration in that. You might have spoken, perhaps, more kindly; you might have tried to invite my confidence by greater gentleness; but the end would have been the same.”
He shook his head in doubt, and not without some inward selfreproach.
“How can I hope,” she said, “that your interposition would have prevailed with me, when I know how obdurate I was! I never thought at all; dear Mr Chuzzlewit, I never thought at all; I had no thought, no heart, no care to find one; at that time. It has grown out of my trouble. I have felt it in my trouble. I wouldn't recall my trouble such as it is and has been—and it is light in comparison with trials which hundreds of good people suffer every day, I know— I wouldn't recall it to-morrow, if I could. It has been my friend, for without it no one could have changed me; nothing could have changed me. Do not mistrust me because of these tears; I cannot help them. I am grateful for it, in my soul. Indeed I am!”
“Indeed she is!” said Mrs Todgers. “I believe it, sir.”
“And so do I!” said Mr Chuzzlewit. “Now, attend to me, my dear. Your late husband's estate, if not wasted by the confession of a large debt to the broken office (which document, being useless to the runaways, has been sent over to England by them; not so much for the sake of the creditors as for the gratification of their dislike to him, whom they suppose to be still living), will be seized upon by law; for it is not exempt, as I learn, from the claims of those who have suffered by the fraud in which he was engaged. Your father's property was all, or nearly all, embarked in the same transaction. If there be any left, it will be seized on, in like manner. There is no home THERE.”
“I couldn't return to him,” she said, with an instinctive reference to his having forced her marriage on. “I could not return to him.”
“I know it,” Mr Chuzzlewit resumed; “and I am here because I know it. Come with me! From all who are about me, you are certain (I have ascertained it) of a generous welcome. But until your health is re-established, and you are sufficiently composed to bear that welcome, you shall have your abode in any quiet retreat of your own choosing, near London; not so far removed but that this kind-hearted lady may still visit you as often as she pleases. You have suffered much; but you are young, and have a brighter and a better future stretching out before you. Come with me. Your sister is careless of you, I know. She hurries on and publishes her marriage, in a spirit which (to say no more of it) is barely decent, is unsisterly, and bad. Leave the house before her guests arrive. She means to give you pain. Spare her the offence, and come with me!”
Mrs Todgers, though most unwilling to part with her, added her persuasions. Even poor old Chuffey (of course included in the project) added his. She hurriedly attired herself, and was ready to depart, when Miss Pecksniff dashed into the room.
Miss Pecksniff dashed in so suddenly, that she was placed in an embarrassing position. For though she had completed her bridal toilette as to her head, on which she wore a bridal bonnet with orange flowers, she had not completed it as to her skirts, which displayed no choicer decoration than a dimity bedgown. She had dashed in, in fact, about half-way through, to console her sister, in her affliction, with a sight of the aforesaid bonnet; and being quite unconscious of the presence of a visitor, until she found Mr Chuzzlewit standing face to face with her, her surprise was an uncomfortable one.
“So, young lady!” said the old man, eyeing her with strong disfavour. “You are to be married to-day!”
“Yes, sir,” returned Miss Pecksniff, modestly. “I am. I—my dress is rather—really, Mrs Todgers!”
“Your delicacy,” said old Martin, “is troubled, I perceive. I am not surprised to find it so. You have chosen the period of your marriage unfortunately.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Chuzzlewit,” retorted Cherry; very red and angry in a moment; “but if you have anything to say on that subject, I must beg to refer you to Augustus. You will scarcely think it manly, I hope, to force an argument on me, when Augustus is at all times ready to discuss it with you. I have nothing to do with any deceptions that may have been practiced on my parent,” said Miss Pecksniff, pointedly; “and as I wish to be on good terms with everybody at such a time, I should have been glad if you would have favoured us with your company at breakfast. But I will not ask you as it is; seeing that you have been prepossessed and set against me in another quarter. I hope I have my natural affections for another quarter, and my natural pity for another quarter; but I cannot always submit to be subservient to it, Mr Chuzzlewit. That would be a little too much. I trust I have more respect for myself, as well as for the man who claims me as his Bride.”
“Your sister, meeting—as I think; not as she says, for she has said nothing about it—with little consideration from you, is going away with me,” said Mr Chuzzlewit.
“I am very happy to find that she has some good fortune at last,” returned Miss Pecksniff, tossing her head. “I congratulate her, I am sure. I am not surprised that this event should be painful to her—painful to her—but I can't help that, Mr Chuzzlewit. It's not my fault.”
“Come, Miss Pecksniff!” said the old man, quietly. “I should like to see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better parting on your side, in such circumstances. It would make me your friend. You may want a friend one day or other.”
“Every relation of life, Mr Chuzzlewit, begging your pardon; and every friend in life,” returned Miss Pecksniff, with dignity, “is now bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my own, I cannot want a friend. When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, once for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my impression of the religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at that altar to which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at any time, much less in a moment of triumph, towards any one; much less towards my sister. On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you didn't hear me say so, I am not to blame. And as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on an occasion when he may naturally be supposed to be—to be impatient—really, Mrs Todgers!—I must beg your leave, sir, to retire.”
After these words the bridal bonnet disappeared; with as much state as the dimity bedgown left in it.
Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister without speaking; and led her out. Mrs Todgers, with her holiday garments fluttering in the wind, accompanied them to the carriage, clung round Merry's neck at parting, and ran back to her own dingy house, crying the whole way. She had a lean, lank body, Mrs Todgers, but a well- conditioned soul within. Perhaps the good Samaritan was lean and lank, and found it hard to live. Who knows!
Mr Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyes, that, until she had shut her own door, they did not encounter Mr Tapley's face.
“Why, Mark!” he said, as soon as he observed it, “what's the matter?”
“The wonderfulest ewent, sir!” returned Mark, pumping at his voice in a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his efforts. “A coincidence as never was equalled! I'm blessed if here ain't two old neighbours of ourn, sir!”
“What neighbours?” cried old Martin, looking out of window. “Where?”
“I was a-walkin” up and down not five yards from this spot,” said Mr Tapley, breathless, “and they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I thought they was! It's the wonderfulest ewent that ever happened. Bring a feather, somebody, and knock me down with it!”
“What do you mean!” exclaimed old Martin, quite as much excited by the spectacle of Mark's excitement as that strange person was himself. “Neighbours, where?”
“Here, sir!” replied Mr Tapley. “Here in the city of London! Here upon these very stones! Here they are, sir! Don't I know “em? Lord love their welcome faces, don't I know “em!”
With which ejaculations Mr Tapley not only pointed to a decentlooking man and woman standing by, but commenced embracing them alternately, over and over again, in Monument Yard.
“Neighbours, WHERE? old Martin shouted; almost maddened by his ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door.
“Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!” cried Mark. “Neighbours in the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn't she nurse us! Didn't he help us! Shouldn't we both have died without “em! Haven't they come a-strugglin” back, without a single child for their consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!”
Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were performing some frantic and outlandish dance.
