CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
REPORTS PROGRESS IN CERTAIN HOMELY MATTERS OF LOVE, HATRED, JEALOUSY,AND REVENGE
'Hallo, Pecksniff!' cried Mr Jonas from the parlour. 'Isn't somebodya-going to open that precious old door of yours?'
'Immediately, Mr Jonas. Immediately.'
'Ecod,' muttered the orphan, 'not before it's time neither. Whoever itis, has knocked three times, and each one loud enough to wake the--' hehad such a repugnance to the idea of waking the Dead, that he stoppedeven then with the words upon his tongue, and said, instead, 'the SevenSleepers.'
'Immediately, Mr Jonas; immediately,' repeated Pecksniff. 'ThomasPinch'--he couldn't make up his mind, in his great agitation, whether tocall Tom his dear friend or a villain, so he shook his fist at himPRO TEM--'go up to my daughters' room, and tell them who is here. Say,Silence. Silence! Do you hear me, sir?
'Directly, sir!' cried Tom, departing, in a state of much amazement, onhis errand.
'You'll--ha, ha, ha!--you'll excuse me, Mr Jonas, if I close this doora moment, will you?' said Pecksniff. 'This may be a professional call.Indeed I am pretty sure it is. Thank you.' Then Mr Pecksniff, gentlywarbling a rustic stave, put on his garden hat, seized a spade, andopened the street door; calmly appearing on the threshold, as if hethought he had, from his vineyard, heard a modest rap, but was not quitecertain.
Seeing a gentleman and lady before him, he started back in as muchconfusion as a good man with a crystal conscience might betray in meresurprise. Recognition came upon him the next moment, and he cried:
'Mr Chuzzlewit! Can I believe my eyes! My dear sir; my good sir! Ajoyful hour, a happy hour indeed. Pray, my dear sir, walk in. You findme in my garden-dress. You will excuse it, I know. It is an ancientpursuit, gardening. Primitive, my dear sir. Or, if I am not mistaken,Adam was the first of our calling. MY Eve, I grieve to say is no more,sir; but'--here he pointed to his spade, and shook his head as if hewere not cheerful without an effort--'but I do a little bit of Adamstill.'
He had by this time got them into the best parlour, where the portraitby Spiller, and the bust by Spoker, were.
'My daughters,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'will be overjoyed. If I could feelweary upon such a theme, I should have been worn out long ago, my dearsir, by their constant anticipation of this happiness and their repeatedallusions to our meeting at Mrs Todgers's. Their fair young friend,too,' said Mr Pecksniff, 'whom they so desire to know and love--indeedto know her, is to love--I hope I see her well. I hope in saying,"Welcome to my humble roof!" I find some echo in her own sentiments.If features are an index to the heart, I have no fears of that. Anextremely engaging expression of countenance, Mr Chuzzlewit, my dearsir--very much so!'
'Mary,' said the old man, 'Mr Pecksniff flatters you. But flattery fromhim is worth the having. He is not a dealer in it, and it comes from hisheart. We thought Mr--'
'Pinch,' said Mary.
'Mr Pinch would have arrived before us, Pecksniff.'
'He did arrive before you, my dear sir,' retorted Pecksniff, raising hisvoice for the edification of Tom upon the stairs, 'and was about, I daresay, to tell me of your coming, when I begged him first to knock at mydaughters' chamber, and inquire after Charity, my dear child, who is notso well as I could wish. No,' said Mr Pecksniff, answering their looks,'I am sorry to say, she is not. It is merely an hysterical affection;nothing more, I am not uneasy. Mr Pinch! Thomas!' exclaimed Pecksniff,in his kindest accents. 'Pray come in. I shall make no stranger of you.Thomas is a friend of mine, of rather long-standing, Mr Chuzzlewit, youmust know.'
'Thank you, sir,' said Tom. 'You introduce me very kindly, and speak ofme in terms of which I am very proud.'
'Old Thomas!' cried his master, pleasantly 'God bless you!'
Tom reported that the young ladies would appear directly, and thatthe best refreshments which the house afforded were even then inpreparation, under their joint superintendence. While he was speaking,the old man looked at him intently, though with less harshness than wascommon to him; nor did the mutual embarrassment of Tom and theyoung lady, to whatever cause he attributed it, seem to escape hisobservation.
'Pecksniff,' he said after a pause, rising and taking him aside towardsthe window, 'I was much shocked on hearing of my brother's death. Wehad been strangers for many years. My only comfort is that he musthave lived the happier and better man for having associated no hopes orschemes with me. Peace to his memory! We were play-fellows once; and itwould have been better for us both if we had died then.'
Finding him in this gentle mood, Mr Pecksniff began to see another wayout of his difficulties, besides the casting overboard of Jonas.
'That any man, my dear sir, could possibly be the happier for notknowing you,' he returned, 'you will excuse my doubting. But that MrAnthony, in the evening of his life, was happier in the affection of hisexcellent son--a pattern, my dear sir, a pattern to all sons--and in thecare of a distant relation who, however lowly in his means of servinghim, had no bounds to his inclination; I can inform you.'
'How's this?' said the old man. 'You are not a legatee?'
'You don't,' said Mr Pecksniff, with a melancholy pressure of his hand,'quite understand my nature yet, I find. No, sir, I am not a legatee. Iam proud to say I am not a legatee. I am proud to say that neither of mychildren is a legatee. And yet, sir, I was with him at his own request.HE understood me somewhat better, sir. He wrote and said, "I am sick. Iam sinking. Come to me!" I went to him. I sat beside his bed, sir, andI stood beside his grave. Yes, at the risk of offending even you, I didit, sir. Though the avowal should lead to our instant separation, andto the severing of those tender ties between us which have recently beenformed, I make it. But I am not a legatee,' said Mr Pecksniff, smilingdispassionately; 'and I never expected to be a legatee. I knew better!'
'His son a pattern!' cried old Martin. 'How can you tell me that? Mybrother had in his wealth the usual doom of wealth, and root of misery.He carried his corrupting influence with him, go where he would; andshed it round him, even on his hearth. It made of his own child agreedy expectant, who measured every day and hour the lessening distancebetween his father and the grave, and cursed his tardy progress on thatdismal road.'
'No!' cried Mr Pecksniff, boldly. 'Not at all, sir!'
'But I saw that shadow in his house,' said Martin Chuzzlewit, 'the lasttime we met, and warned him of its presence. I know it when I see it, doI not? I, who have lived within it all these years!'
'I deny it,' Mr Pecksniff answered, warmly. 'I deny it altogether. Thatbereaved young man is now in this house, sir, seeking in change of scenethe peace of mind he has lost. Shall I be backward in doing justice tothat young man, when even undertakers and coffin-makers have been movedby the conduct he has exhibited; when even mutes have spoken in hispraise, and the medical man hasn't known what to do with himself inthe excitement of his feelings! There is a person of the name of Gamp,sir--Mrs Gamp--ask her. She saw Mr Jonas in a trying time. Ask HER, sir.She is respectable, but not sentimental, and will state the fact. A lineaddressed to Mrs Gamp, at the Bird Shop, Kingsgate Street, High Holborn,London, will meet with every attention, I have no doubt. Let her beexamined, my good sir. Strike, but hear! Leap, Mr Chuzzlewit, but look!Forgive me, my dear sir,' said Mr Pecksniff, taking both his hands, 'ifI am warm; but I am honest, and must state the truth.'
In proof of the character he gave himself, Mr Pecksniff suffered tearsof honesty to ooze out of his eyes.
The old man gazed at him for a moment with a look of wonder, repeatingto himself, 'Here now! In this house!' But he mastered his surprise, andsaid, after a pause:
'Let me see him.'
'In a friendly spirit, I hope?' said Mr Pecksniff. 'Forgive me, sir buthe is in the receipt of my humble hospitality.'
'I said,' replied the old man, 'let me see him. If I were disposed toregard him in any other than a friendly spirit, I should have said keepus apart.'
'Certainly, my dear sir. So you would. You are frankness itself, I know.I will break this happin
ess to him,' said Mr Pecksniff, as he left theroom, 'if you will excuse me for a minute--gently.'
He paved the way to the disclosure so very gently, that a quarter of anhour elapsed before he returned with Mr Jonas. In the meantime the youngladies had made their appearance, and the table had been set out for therefreshment of the travellers.
Now, however well Mr Pecksniff, in his morality, had taught Jonas thelesson of dutiful behaviour to his uncle, and however perfectly Jonas,in the cunning of his nature, had learnt it, that young man's bearing,when presented to his father's brother, was anything but manly orengaging. Perhaps, indeed, so singular a mixture of defiance andobsequiousness, of fear and hardihood, of dogged sullenness and anattempt at enraging and propitiation, never was expressed in any onehuman figure as in that of Jonas, when, having raised his downcasteyes to Martin's face, he let them fall again, and uneasily closingand unclosing his hands without a moment's intermission, stood swinginghimself from side to side, waiting to be addressed.
'Nephew,' said the old man. 'You have been a dutiful son, I hear.'
'As dutiful as sons in general, I suppose,' returned Jonas, looking upand down once more. 'I don't brag to have been any better than othersons; but I haven't been any worse, I dare say.'
'A pattern to all sons, I am told,' said the old man, glancing towardsMr Pecksniff.
'Ecod!' said Jonas, looking up again for a moment, and shaking his head,'I've been as good a son as ever you were a brother. It's the pot andthe kettle, if you come to that.'
'You speak bitterly, in the violence of your regret,' said Martin, aftera pause. 'Give me your hand.'
Jonas did so, and was almost at his ease. 'Pecksniff,' he whispered,as they drew their chairs about the table; 'I gave him as good as hebrought, eh? He had better look at home, before he looks out of window,I think?'
Mr Pecksniff only answered by a nudge of the elbow, which might eitherbe construed into an indignant remonstrance or a cordial assent; butwhich, in any case, was an emphatic admonition to his chosen son-in-lawto be silent. He then proceeded to do the honours of the house with hisaccustomed ease and amiability.
But not even Mr Pecksniff's guileless merriment could set such aparty at their ease, or reconcile materials so utterly discordantand conflicting as those with which he had to deal. The unspeakablejealously and hatred which that night's explanation had sown inCharity's breast, was not to be so easily kept down; and more thanonce it showed itself in such intensity, as seemed to render a fulldisclosure of all the circumstances then and there, impossible to beavoided. The beauteous Merry, too, with all the glory of her conquestfresh upon her, so probed and lanced the rankling disappointment of hersister by her capricious airs and thousand little trials of Mr Jonas'sobedience, that she almost goaded her into a fit of madness, and obligedher to retire from table in a burst of passion, hardly less vehementthan that to which she had abandoned herself in the first tumult of herwrath. The constraint imposed upon the family by the presence amongthem for the first time of Mary Graham (for by that name old MartinChuzzlewit had introduced her) did not at all improve this state ofthings; gentle and quiet though her manner was. Mr Pecksniff's situationwas peculiarly trying; for, what with having constantly to keep thepeace between his daughters; to maintain a reasonable show of affectionand unity in his household; to curb the growing ease and gaiety ofJonas, which vented itself in sundry insolences towards Mr Pinch, andan indefinable coarseness of manner in reference to Mary (they being thetwo dependants); to make no mention at all of his having perpetually toconciliate his rich old relative, and to smooth down, or explainaway, some of the ten thousand bad appearances and combinations of badappearances, by which they were surrounded on that unlucky evening--whatwith having to do this, and it would be difficult to sum up how muchmore, without the least relief or assistance from anybody, it may beeasily imagined that Mr Pecksniff had in his enjoyment something morethan that usual portion of alloy which is mixed up with the best ofmen's delights. Perhaps he had never in his life felt such relief aswhen old Martin, looking at his watch, announced that it was time to go.
'We have rooms,' he said, 'at the Dragon, for the present. I have afancy for the evening walk. The nights are dark just now; perhaps MrPinch would not object to light us home?'
'My dear sir!' cried Pecksniff, 'I shall be delighted. Merry, my child,the lantern.'
'The lantern, if you please, my dear,' said Martin; 'but I couldn'tthink of taking your father out of doors to-night; and, to be brief, Iwon't.'
Mr Pecksniff already had his hat in his hand, but it was so emphaticallysaid that he paused.
'I take Mr Pinch, or go alone,' said Martin. 'Which shall it be?'
'It shall be Thomas, sir,' cried Pecksniff, 'since you are so resoluteupon it. Thomas, my friend, be very careful, if you please.'
Tom was in some need of this injunction, for he felt so nervous, andtrembled to such a degree, that he found it difficult to hold thelantern. How much more difficult when, at the old man's bidding she drewher hand through his--Tom Pinch's--arm!
'And so, Mr Pinch,' said Martin, on the way, 'you are very comfortablysituated here; are you?'
Tom answered, with even more than his usual enthusiasm, that he wasunder obligations to Mr Pecksniff which the devotion of a lifetime wouldbut imperfectly repay.
'How long have you known my nephew?' asked Martin.
'Your nephew, sir?' faltered Tom.
'Mr Jonas Chuzzlewit,' said Mary.
'Oh dear, yes,' cried Tom, greatly relieved, for his mind was runningupon Martin. 'Certainly. I never spoke to him before to-night, sir!'
'Perhaps half a lifetime will suffice for the acknowledgment of HISkindness,' observed the old man.
Tom felt that this was a rebuff for him, and could not but understand itas a left-handed hit at his employer. So he was silent. Mary felt thatMr Pinch was not remarkable for presence of mind, and that he could notsay too little under existing circumstances. So SHE was silent. Theold man, disgusted by what in his suspicious nature he considered ashameless and fulsome puff of Mr Pecksniff, which was a part of Tom'shired service and in which he was determined to persevere, set him downat once for a deceitful, servile, miserable fawner. So HE was silent.And though they were all sufficiently uncomfortable, it is fair to saythat Martin was perhaps the most so; for he had felt kindly towards Tomat first, and had been interested by his seeming simplicity.
'You're like the rest,' he thought, glancing at the face of theunconscious Tom. 'You had nearly imposed upon me, but you have lostyour labour. You are too zealous a toad-eater, and betray yourself, MrPinch.'
During the whole remainder of the walk, not another word was spoken.First among the meetings to which Tom had long looked forward witha beating heart, it was memorable for nothing but embarrassmentand confusion. They parted at the Dragon door; and sighing as heextinguished the candle in the lantern, Tom turned back again over thegloomy fields.
As he approached the first stile, which was in a lonely part, made verydark by a plantation of young firs, a man slipped past him and went onbefore. Coming to the stile he stopped, and took his seat upon it.Tom was rather startled, and for a moment stood still, but he steppedforward again immediately, and went close up to him.
It was Jonas; swinging his legs to and fro, sucking the head of a stick,and looking with a sneer at Tom.
'Good gracious me!' cried Tom, 'who would have thought of its being you!You followed us, then?'
'What's that to you?' said Jonas. 'Go to the devil!'
'You are not very civil, I think,' remarked Tom.
'Civil enough for YOU,' retorted Jonas. 'Who are you?'
'One who has as good a right to common consideration as another,' saidTom mildly.
'You're a liar,' said Jonas. 'You haven't a right to any consideration.You haven't a right to anything. You're a pretty sort of fellow to talkabout your rights, upon my soul! Ha, ha!--Rights, too!'
'If you proceed in this way,' returned Tom, reddening, 'you will obligeme to
talk about my wrongs. But I hope your joke is over.'
'It's the way with you curs,' said Mr Jonas, 'that when you know a man'sin real earnest, you pretend to think he's joking, so that you may turnit off. But that won't do with me. It's too stale. Now just attend to mefor a bit, Mr Pitch, or Witch, or Stitch, or whatever your name is.'
'My name is Pinch,' observed Tom. 'Have the goodness to call me by it.'
'What! You mustn't even be called out of your name, mustn't you!' criedJonas. 'Pauper' prentices are looking up, I think. Ecod, we manage 'em alittle better in the city!'
'Never mind what you do in the city,' said Tom. 'What have you got tosay to me?'
'Just this, Mister Pinch,' retorted Jonas, thrusting his face so closeto Tom's that Tom was obliged to retreat a step. 'I advise you to keepyour own counsel, and to avoid title-tattle, and not to cut in whereyou're not wanted. I've heard something of you, my friend, and yourmeek ways; and I recommend you to forget 'em till I am married to oneof Pecksniff's gals, and not to curry favour among my relations, butto leave the course clear. You know, when curs won't leave the courseclear, they're whipped off; so this is kind advice. Do you understand?Eh? Damme, who are you,' cried Jonas, with increased contempt, 'thatyou should walk home with THEM, unless it was behind 'em, like any otherservant out of livery?'
'Come!' cried Tom, 'I see that you had better get off the stile, and letme pursue my way home. Make room for me, if you please.'
'Don't think it!' said Jonas, spreading out his legs. 'Not till Ichoose. And I don't choose now. What! You're afraid of my making yousplit upon some of your babbling just now, are you, Sneak?'
'I am not afraid of many things, I hope,' said Tom; 'and certainly notof anything that you will do. I am not a tale-bearer, and I despise allmeanness. You quite mistake me. Ah!' cried Tom, indignantly. 'Is thismanly from one in your position to one in mine? Please to make room forme to pass. The less I say, the better.'
'The less you say!' retorted Jonas, dangling his legs the more, andtaking no heed of this request. 'You say very little, don't you? Ecod, Ishould like to know what goes on between you and a vagabond member of myfamily. There's very little in that too, I dare say!'
'I know no vagabond member of your family,' cried Tom, stoutly.
'You do!' said Jonas.
'I don't,' said Tom. 'Your uncle's namesake, if you mean him, is novagabond. Any comparison between you and him'--Tom snapped his fingersat him, for he was rising fast in wrath--'is immeasurably to yourdisadvantage.'
'Oh indeed!' sneered Jonas. 'And what do you think of his deary--hisbeggarly leavings, eh, Mister Pinch?'
'I don't mean to say another word, or stay here another instant,'replied Tom.
'As I told you before, you're a liar,' said Jonas, coolly. 'You'll stayhere till I give you leave to go. Now, keep where you are, will you?'
He flourished his stick over Tom's head; but in a moment it was spinningharmlessly in the air, and Jonas himself lay sprawling in the ditch. Inthe momentary struggle for the stick, Tom had brought it into violentcontact with his opponent's forehead; and the blood welled out profuselyfrom a deep cut on the temple. Tom was first apprised of this by seeingthat he pressed his handkerchief to the wounded part, and staggered ashe rose, being stunned.
'Are you hurt?' said Tom. 'I am very sorry. Lean on me for a moment.You can do that without forgiving me, if you still bear me malice. But Idon't know why; for I never offended you before we met on this spot.'
He made him no answer; not appearing at first to understand him, or evento know that he was hurt, though he several times took his handkerchieffrom the cut to look vacantly at the blood upon it. After one of theseexaminations, he looked at Tom, and then there was an expression inhis features, which showed that he understood what had taken place, andwould remember it.
Nothing more passed between them as they went home. Jonas kept a littlein advance, and Tom Pinch sadly followed, thinking of the grief whichthe knowledge of this quarrel must occasion his excellent benefactor.When Jonas knocked at the door, Tom's heart beat high; higher when MissMercy answered it, and seeing her wounded lover, shireked aloud; higher,when he followed them into the family parlour; higher than at any othertime, when Jonas spoke.
'Don't make a noise about it,' he said. 'It's nothing worth mentioning.I didn't know the road; the night's very dark; and just as I came upwith Mr Pinch'--he turned his face towards Tom, but not his eyes--'I ranagainst a tree. It's only skin deep.'
'Cold water, Merry, my child!' cried Mr Pecksniff. 'Brown paper!Scissors! A piece of old linen! Charity, my dear, make a bandage. Blessme, Mr Jonas!'
'Oh, bother YOUR nonsense,' returned the gracious son-in-law elect. 'Beof some use if you can. If you can't, get out!'
Miss Charity, though called upon to lend her aid, sat upright in onecorner, with a smile upon her face, and didn't move a finger. ThoughMercy laved the wound herself; and Mr Pecksniff held the patient's headbetween his two hands, as if without that assistance it must inevitablycome in half; and Tom Pinch, in his guilty agitation, shook a bottle ofDutch Drops until they were nothing but English Froth, and in his otherhand sustained a formidable carving-knife, really intended to reduce theswelling, but apparently designed for the ruthless infliction of anotherwound as soon as that was dressed; Charity rendered not the leastassistance, nor uttered a word. But when Mr Jonas's head was bound up,and he had gone to bed, and everybody else had retired, and the housewas quiet, Mr Pinch, as he sat mournfully on his bedstead, ruminating,heard a gentle tap at his door; and opening it, saw her, to his greatastonishment, standing before him with her finger on her lip.
'Mr Pinch,' she whispered. 'Dear Mr Pinch! Tell me the truth! You didthat? There was some quarrel between you, and you struck him? I am sureof it!'
It was the first time she had ever spoken kindly to Tom, in all the manyyears they had passed together. He was stupefied with amazement.
'Was it so, or not?' she eagerly demanded.
'I was very much provoked,' said Tom.
'Then it was?' cried Charity, with sparkling eyes.
'Ye-yes. We had a struggle for the path,' said Tom. 'But I didn't meanto hurt him so much.'
'Not so much!' she repeated, clenching her hand and stamping her foot,to Tom's great wonder. 'Don't say that. It was brave of you. I honouryou for it. If you should ever quarrel again, don't spare him for theworld, but beat him down and set your shoe upon him. Not a word of thisto anybody. Dear Mr Pinch, I am your friend from tonight. I am alwaysyour friend from this time.'
She turned her flushed face upon Tom to confirm her words by itskindling expression; and seizing his right hand, pressed it to herbreast, and kissed it. And there was nothing personal in this to renderit at all embarrassing, for even Tom, whose power of observation was byno means remarkable, knew from the energy with which she did it that shewould have fondled any hand, no matter how bedaubed or dyed, that hadbroken the head of Jonas Chuzzlewit.
Tom went into his room, and went to bed, full of uncomfortable thoughts.That there should be any such tremendous division in the family as heknew must have taken place to convert Charity Pecksniff into his friend,for any reason, but, above all, for that which was clearly the real one;that Jonas, who had assailed him with such exceeding coarseness, shouldhave been sufficiently magnanimous to keep the secret of their quarrel;and that any train of circumstances should have led to the commission ofan assault and battery by Thomas Pinch upon any man calling himselfthe friend of Seth Pecksniff; were matters of such deep and painfulcogitation that he could not close his eyes. His own violence, inparticular, so preyed upon the generous mind of Tom, that coupling itwith the many former occasions on which he had given Mr Pecksniff painand anxiety (occasions of which that gentleman often reminded him), hereally began to regard himself as destined by a mysterious fate to bethe evil genius and bad angel of his patron. But he fell asleep at last,and dreamed--new source of waking uneasiness--that he had betrayed histrust, and run away with Mary Graham.
It m
ust be acknowledged that, asleep or awake, Tom's position inreference to this young lady was full of uneasiness. The more he sawof her, the more he admired her beauty, her intelligence, the amiablequalities that even won on the divided house of Pecksniff, and in afew days restored, at all events, the semblance of harmony and kindnessbetween the angry sisters. When she spoke, Tom held his breath, soeagerly he listened; when she sang, he sat like one entranced. Shetouched his organ, and from that bright epoch even it, the old companionof his happiest hours, incapable as he had thought of elevation, began anew and deified existence.
God's love upon thy patience, Tom! Who, that had beheld thee, for threesummer weeks, poring through half the deadlong night over the jinglinganatomy of that inscrutable old harpsichord in the back parlour, couldhave missed the entrance to thy secret heart: albeit it was dimly knownto thee? Who that had seen the glow upon thy cheek when leaning down tolisten, after hours of labour, for the sound of one incorrigible note,thou foundest that it had a voice at last, and wheezed out a flatsomething, distantly akin to what it ought to be, would not have knownthat it was destined for no common touch, but one that smote, thoughgently as an angel's hand, upon the deepest chord within thee! And ifa friendly glance--aye, even though it were as guileless as thine own,Dear Tom--could have but pierced the twilight of that evening, when, ina voice well tempered to the time, sad, sweet, and low, yet hopeful, shefirst sang to the altered instrument, and wondered at the change;and thou, sitting apart at the open window, kept a glad silence and aswelling heart--must not that glance have read perforce the dawning of astory, Tom, that it were well for thee had never been begun!
Tom Pinch's situation was not made the less dangerous or difficult bythe fact of no one word passing between them in reference to Martin.Honourably mindful of his promise, Tom gave her opportunities of allkinds. Early and late he was in the church; in her favourite walks; inthe village, in the garden, in the meadows; and in any or all of theseplaces he might have spoken freely. But no; at all such times shecarefully avoided him, or never came in his way unaccompanied. It couldnot be that she disliked or distrusted him, for by a thousand littledelicate means, too slight for any notice but his own, she singledhim out when others were present, and showed herself the very soul ofkindness. Could it be that she had broken with Martin, or had neverreturned his affection, save in his own bold and heightened fancy? Tom'scheek grew red with self-reproach as he dismissed the thought.
All this time old Martin came and went in his own strange manner, or satamong the rest absorbed within himself, and holding little intercoursewith any one. Although he was unsocial, he was not willful in otherthings, or troublesome, or morose; being never better pleased thanwhen they left him quite unnoticed at his book, and pursued their ownamusements in his presence, unreserved. It was impossible to discern inwhom he took an interest, or whether he had an interest in any of them.Unless they spoke to him directly, he never showed that he had ears oreyes for anything that passed.
One day the lively Merry, sitting with downcast eyes under a shady treein the churchyard, whither she had retired after fatiguing herself bythe imposition of sundry trials on the temper of Mr Jonas, felt thata new shadow came between her and the sun. Raising her eyes in theexpectation of seeing her betrothed, she was not a little surprised tosee old Martin instead. Her surprise was not diminished when he took hisseat upon the turf beside her, and opened a conversation thus:
'When are you to be married?'
'Oh! dear Mr Chuzzlewit, my goodness me! I'm sure I don't know. Not yetawhile, I hope.'
'You hope?' said the old man.
It was very gravely said, but she took it for banter, and giggledexcessively.
'Come!' said the old man, with unusual kindness, 'you are young,good-looking, and I think good-natured! Frivolous you are, and love tobe, undoubtedly; but you must have some heart.'
'I have not given it all away, I can tell you,' said Merry, nodding herhead shrewdly, and plucking up the grass.
'Have you parted with any of it?'
She threw the grass about, and looked another way, but said nothing.
Martin repeated his question.
'Lor, my dear Mr Chuzzlewit! really you must excuse me! How very odd youare.'
'If it be odd in me to desire to know whether you love the young manwhom I understand you are to marry, I AM very odd,' said Martin. 'Forthat is certainly my wish.'
'He's such a monster, you know,' said Merry, pouting.
'Then you don't love him?' returned the old man. 'Is that your meaning?'
'Why, my dear Mr Chuzzlewit, I'm sure I tell him a hundred times a daythat I hate him. You must have heard me tell him that.'
'Often,' said Martin.
'And so I do,' cried Merry. 'I do positively.'
'Being at the same time engaged to marry him,' observed the old man.
'Oh yes,' said Merry. 'But I told the wretch--my dear Mr Chuzzlewit, Itold him when he asked me--that if I ever did marry him, it should onlybe that I might hate and tease him all my life.'
She had a suspicion that the old man regarded Jonas with anything butfavour, and intended these remarks to be extremely captivating. He didnot appear, however, to regard them in that light by any means; for whenhe spoke again, it was in a tone of severity.
'Look about you,' he said, pointing to the graves; 'and remember thatfrom your bridal hour to the day which sees you brought as low as these,and laid in such a bed, there will be no appeal against him. Think, andspeak, and act, for once, like an accountable creature. Is any controlput upon your inclinations? Are you forced into this match? Are youinsidiously advised or tempted to contract it, by any one? I will notask by whom; by any one?'
'No,' said Merry, shrugging her shoulders. 'I don't know that I am.'
'Don't know that you are! Are you?'
'No,' replied Merry. 'Nobody ever said anything to me about it. If anyone had tried to make me have him, I wouldn't have had him at all.'
'I am told that he was at first supposed to be your sister's admirer,'said Martin.
'Oh, good gracious! My dear Mr Chuzzlewit, it would be very hard to makehim, though he IS a monster, accountable for other people's vanity,'said Merry. 'And poor dear Cherry is the vainest darling!'
'It was her mistake, then?'
'I hope it was,' cried Merry; 'but, all along, the dear child has beenso dreadfully jealous, and SO cross, that, upon my word and honour, it'simpossible to please her, and it's of no use trying.'
'Not forced, persuaded, or controlled,' said Martin, thoughtfully. 'Andthat's true, I see. There is one chance yet. You may have lapsed intothis engagement in very giddiness. It may have been the wanton act of alight head. Is that so?'
'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit,' simpered Merry, 'as to light-headedness, therenever was such a feather of a head as mine. It's perfect balloon, Ideclare! You never DID, you know!'
He waited quietly till she had finished, and then said, steadilyand slowly, and in a softened voice, as if he would still invite herconfidence:
'Have you any wish--or is there anything within your breast thatwhispers you may form the wish, if you have time to think--to bereleased from this engagement?'
Again Miss Merry pouted, and looked down, and plucked the grass, andshrugged her shoulders. No. She didn't know that she had. She was prettysure she hadn't. Quite sure, she might say. She 'didn't mind it.'
'Has it ever occurred to you,' said Martin, 'that your married life mayperhaps be miserable, full of bitterness, and most unhappy?'
Merry looked down again; and now she tore the grass up by the roots.
'My dear Mr Chuzzlewit, what shocking words! Of course, I shall quarrelwith him. I should quarrel with any husband. Married people alwaysquarrel, I believe. But as to being miserable, and bitter, and all thosedreadful things, you know, why I couldn't be absolutely that, unless healways had the best of it; and I mean to have the best of it myself. Ialways do now,' cried Merry, nodding her head and giggling very much;'for I make a perfect slave
of the creature.'
'Let it go on,' said Martin, rising. 'Let it go on! I sought to knowyour mind, my dear, and you have shown it me. I wish you joy. Joy!' herepeated, looking full upon her, and pointing to the wicket-gate whereJonas entered at the moment. And then, without waiting for his nephew,he passed out at another gate, and went away.
'Oh, you terrible old man!' cried the facetious Merry to herself. 'Whata perfectly hideous monster to be wandering about churchyards in thebroad daylight, frightening people out of their wits! Don't come here,Griffin, or I'll go away directly.'
Mr Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon the grass at her side, inspite of this warning, and sulkily inquired:
'What's my uncle been a-talking about?'
'About you,' rejoined Merry. 'He says you're not half good enough forme.'
'Oh, yes, I dare say! We all know that. He means to give you somepresent worth having, I hope. Did he say anything that looked like it?'
'THAT he didn't!' cried Merry, most decisively.
'A stingy old dog he is,' said Jonas. 'Well?'
'Griffin!' cried Miss Mercy, in counterfeit amazement; 'what are youdoing, Griffin?'
'Only giving you a squeeze,' said the discomfited Jonas. 'There's noharm in that, I suppose?'
'But there is great deal of harm in it, if I don't consider itagreeable,' returned his cousin. 'Do go along, will you? You make me sohot!'
Mr Jonas withdrew his arm, and for a moment looked at her more like amurderer than a lover. But he cleared his brow by degrees, and brokesilence with:
'I say, Mel!'
'What do you say, you vulgar thing--you low savage?' cried his fairbetrothed.
'When is it to be? I can't afford to go on dawdling about here halfmy life, I needn't tell you, and Pecksniff says that father's being solately dead makes very little odds; for we can be married as quiet as weplease down here, and my being lonely is a good reason to the neighboursfor taking a wife home so soon, especially one that he knew. As tocrossbones (my uncle, I mean), he's sure not to put a spoke in thewheel, whatever we settle on, for he told Pecksniff only this morning,that if YOU liked it he'd nothing at all to say. So, Mel,' said Jonas,venturing on another squeeze; 'when shall it be?'
'Upon my word!' cried Merry.
'Upon my soul, if you like,' said Jonas. 'What do you say to next week,now?'
'To next week! If you had said next quarter, I should have wondered atyour impudence.'
'But I didn't say next quarter,' retorted Jonas. 'I said next week.'
'Then, Griffin,' cried Miss Merry, pushing him off, and rising. 'I sayno! not next week. It shan't be till I choose, and I may not choose itto be for months. There!'
He glanced up at her from the ground, almost as darkly as he had lookedat Tom Pinch; but held his peace.
'No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his eye shall dictate to me orhave a voice in the matter,' said Merry. 'There!'
Still Mr Jonas held his peace.
'If it's next month, that shall be the very earliest; but I won't saywhen it shall be till to-morrow; and if you don't like that, it shallnever be at all,' said Merry; 'and if you follow me about and won'tleave me alone, it shall never be at all. There! And if you don't doeverything I order you to do, it shall never be at all. So don't followme. There, Griffin!'
And with that, she skipped away, among the trees.
'Ecod, my lady!' said Jonas, looking after her, and biting a pieceof straw, almost to powder; 'you'll catch it for this, when you AREmarried. It's all very well now--it keeps one on, somehow, and you knowit--but I'll pay you off scot and lot by-and-bye. This is a plaguey dullsort of a place for a man to be sitting by himself in. I never couldabide a mouldy old churchyard.'
As he turned into the avenue himself, Miss Merry, who was far ahead,happened to look back.
'Ah!' said Jonas, with a sullen smile, and a nod that was not addressedto her. 'Make the most of it while it lasts. Get in your hay while thesun shines. Take your own way as long as it's in your power, my lady!'