The History of Pendennis, Volume 2

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  FOREIGN GROUND.

  Worth Major Pendennis fulfilled his promise to Warrington so far as tosatisfy his own conscience, and in so far to ease poor Helen withregard to her son, as to make her understand that all connectionbetween Arthur and the odious little gate-keeper was at an end, andthat she need have no further anxiety with respect to an imprudentattachment or a degrading marriage on Pen's part. And that youngfellow's mind was also relieved (after he had recovered the shock tohis vanity) by thinking that Miss Fanny was not going to die of lovefor him, and that no unpleasant consequences were to be apprehendedfrom the luckless and brief connection.

  So the whole party were free to carry into effect their projectedContinental trip, and Arthur Pendennis, rentier, voyageant avec MadamePendennis and Mademoiselle Bell, and George Warrington, particulier,age de 32 ans, taille 6 pieds (Anglais), figure ordinaire, cheveuxnoirs, barbe idem, &c., procured passports from the consul of H.M. theKing of the Belgians at Dover, and passed over from that port toOstend, whence the party took their way leisurely, visiting Bruges andGhent on their way to Brussels and the Rhine. It is not our purpose todescribe this oft-traveled tour, or Laura's delight at the tranquiland ancient cities which she saw for the first time, or Helen's wonderand interest at the Beguine convents which they visited, or the almostterror with which she saw the black-veiled nuns with out-stretchedarms kneeling before the illuminated altars, and beheld the strangepomps and ceremonials of the Catholic worship. Bare-footed friars inthe streets, crowned images of Saints and Virgins in the churchesbefore which people were bowing down and worshiping, in directdefiance, as she held, of the written law; priests in gorgeous robes,or lurking in dark confessionals, theatres opened, and people dancingon Sundays; all these new sights and manners shocked and bewilderedthe simple country lady; and when the young men after their eveningdrive or walk returned to the widow and her adopted daughter, theyfound their books of devotion on the table, and at their entranceLaura would commonly cease reading some of the psalms or the sacredpages which, of all others Helen loved. The late events connected withher son had cruelly shaken her; Laura watched with intense, thoughhidden anxiety, every movement of her dearest friend; and poor Pen wasmost constant and affectionate in waiting upon his mother, whosewounded bosom yearned with love toward him, though there was a secretbetween them, and an anguish or rage almost on the mother's part, tothink that she was dispossessed somehow of her son's heart, or thatthere were recesses in it which she must not or dared not enter. Shesickened as she thought of the sacred days of boyhood when it had notbeen so--when her Arthur's heart had no secrets, and she was his allin all: when he poured his hopes and pleasures, his childish griefs,vanities, triumphs into her willing and tender embrace; when her homewas his nest still; and before fate, selfishness, nature, had drivenhim forth on wayward wings--to range on his own flight--to sing hisown song--and to seek his own home and his own mate. Watching thisdevouring care and racking disappointment in her friend, Laura oncesaid to Helen, "If Pen had loved me as you wished, I should havegained him, but I should have lost you, mamma, I know I should; and Ilike you to love me best. Men do not know what it is to love as we do,I think,"--and Helen, sighing, agreed to this portion of the younglady's speech, though she protested against the former part. For mypart, I suppose Miss Laura was right in both statements, and withregard to the latter assertion especially, that it is an old andreceived truism--love is an hour with us: it is all night and all daywith a woman. Damon has taxes, sermon, parade, tailors' bills,parliamentary duties, and the deuce knows what to think of; Delia hasto think about Damon--Damon is the oak (or the post), and stands up,and Delia is the ivy or the honey-suckle whose arms twine about him.Is it not so, Delia? Is it not your nature to creep about his feet andkiss them, to twine round his trunk and hang there; and Damon's tostand like a British man with his hands in his breeches pocket, whilethe pretty fond parasite clings round him?

  Old Pendennis had only accompanied our friends to the water's edge,and left them on board the boat, giving the chief charge of the littleexpedition to Warrington. He himself was bound on a brief visit to thehouse of a great man, a friend of his, after which sojourn he proposedto join his sister-in-law at the German watering-place, whither theparty was bound. The major himself thought that his long attentions tohis sick family had earned for him a little relaxation--and though thebest of the partridges were thinned off, the pheasants were still tobe shot at Stillbrook, where the noble owner still was; old Pendennisbetook himself to that hospitable mansion and disported there withgreat comfort to himself. A royal duke, some foreigners of note, someillustrious statesmen, and some pleasant people visited it: it did theold fellow's heart good to see his name in the "Morning Post," amongthe list of the distinguished company which the Marquis of Steyne wasentertaining at his country house at Stillbrook. He was a very usefuland pleasant personage in a country house. He entertained the youngmen with queer little anecdotes and _grivoises_ stories on theirshooting parties, or in their smoking-room, where they laughed at himand with him. He was obsequious with the ladies of a morning, in therooms dedicated to them. He walked the new arrivals about the park andgardens, and showed them the _carte du pays_, and where there was thebest view of the mansion, and where the most favorable point to lookat the lake: he showed where the timber was to be felled, and wherethe old road went before the new bridge was built, and the hill cutdown; and where the place in the wood was where old Lord Lynxdiscovered Sir Phelim O'Neal on his knees before her ladyship, &c.&c.; he called the lodge keepers and gardeners by their names; he knewthe number of domestics that sat down in the housekeeper's room, andhow many dined in the servants' hall; he had a word for every body,and about every body, and a little against every body. He wasinvaluable in a country house, in a word: and richly merited andenjoyed his vacation after his labors. And perhaps while he was thusdeservedly enjoying himself with his country friends, the major wasnot ill-pleased at transferring to Warrington the command of thefamily expedition to the Continent, and thus perforce keeping him inthe service of the ladies--a servitude which George was only toowilling to undergo for his friend's sake, and for that of a societywhich he found daily more delightful. Warrington was a good Germanscholar and was willing to give Miss Laura lessons in the language,who was very glad to improve herself, though Pen, for his part, wastoo weak or lazy now to resume his German studies. Warrington acted ascourier and interpreter; Warrington saw the baggage in and out ofships, inns, and carriages, managed the money matters, and put thelittle troop into marching order. Warrington found out where theEnglish church was, and, if Mrs. Pendennis and Miss Laura wereinclined to go thither, walked with great decorum along with them.Warrington walked by Mrs. Pendennis's donkey, when that lady went outon her evening excursions; or took carriages for her; or got"Galignani" for her; or devised comfortable seats under the lime treesfor her, when the guests paraded after dinner, and the Kursaal band atthe bath, where our tired friends stopped, performed their pleasantmusic under the trees. Many a fine whiskered Prussian or French dandy,come to the bath for the "_Trente et quarante_" cast glances oflonging toward the pretty, fresh-colored English girl who accompaniedthe pale widow, and would have longed to take a turn with her at thegalop or the waltz. But Laura did not appear in the ball-room,except once or twice, when Pen vouchsafed to walk with her; and as forWarrington that rough diamond had not had the polish of a dancingmaster, and he did not know how to waltz--though he would have likedto learn, if he could have had such a partner as Laura. Such apartner! psha, what had a stiff bachelor to do with partners andwaltzing? what was he about, dancing attendance here? drinking insweet pleasure at a risk he knows not of what after sadness andregret, and lonely longing? But yet he staid on. You would have saidhe was the widow's son, to watch his constant care and watchfulness ofher; or that he was an adventurer, and wanted to marry her fortune, orat any rate, that he wanted some very great treasure or benefit from her--and very likely he did--for ours, as the reader has possi
bly alreadydiscovered, is a Selfish Story, and almost every person, according to hisnature, more or less generous than George, and according to the way ofthe world as it seems to us, is occupied about Number One. So Warringtonselfishly devoted himself to Helen, who selfishly devoted herself to Pen,who selfishly devoted himself to himself at this present period, havingno other personage or object to occupy him, except, indeed, his mother'shealth, which gave him a serious and real disquiet; but though theysate together, they did not talk much, and the cloud was alwaysbetween them.

  Every day Laura looked for Warrington, and received him with morefrank and eager welcome. He found himself talking to her as he didn'tknow himself that he could talk. He found himself performing acts ofgallantry which astounded him after the performance: he found himselflooking blankly in the glass at the crow's-feet round his eyes, and atsome streaks of white in his hair, and some intrusive silver bristlesin his grim, blue beard. He found himself looking at the young bucksat the bath--at the blond, tight-waisted Germans--at the caperingFrenchmen, with their lackered mustaches and trim varnished boots--atthe English dandies, Pen among them, with their calm domineering air,and insolent languor: and envied each one of these some excellence orquality of youth, or good looks which he possessed, and of whichWarrington felt the need. And every night, as the night came, hequitted the little circle with greater reluctance; and, retiring tohis own lodging in their neighborhood, felt himself the more lonelyand unhappy. The widow could not help seeing his attachment. Sheunderstood, now, why Major Pendennis (always a tacit enemy of herdarling project) had been so eager that Warrington should be of theirparty. Laura frankly owned her great, her enthusiastic, regard forhim: and Arthur would make no movement. Arthur did not choose to seewhat was going on; or did not care to prevent, or actually encouraged,it. She remembered his often having said that he could not understandhow a man proposed to a woman twice. She was in torture--at secretfeud with her son, of all objects in the world the dearest to her--indoubt, which she dared not express to herself, about Laura--averse toWarrington, the good and generous. No wonder that the healing watersof Rosenbad did not do her good, or that Doctor von Glauber, the bathphysician, when he came to visit her, found that the poor lady made noprogress to recovery. Meanwhile Pen got well rapidly; slept withimmense perseverance twelve hours out of the twenty-four; ate hugemeals; and, at the end of a couple of months, had almost got back thebodily strength and weight which he had possessed before his illness.

  After they had passed some fifteen days at their place of rest andrefreshment, a letter came from Major Pendennis announcing his speedyarrival at Rosenbad, and, soon after the letter, the major himselfmade his appearance accompanied by Morgan his faithful valet, withoutwhom the old gentleman could not move. When the major traveled he worea jaunty and juvenile traveling costume; to see his back still youwould have taken him for one of the young fellows whose slim waist andyouthful appearance Warrington was beginning to envy. It was not untilthe worthy man began to move, that the observer remarked that Time hadweakened his ancient knees, and had unkindly interfered to impede theaction of the natty little varnished boots in which the old travelerstill pinched his toes. There were magnates both of our own countryand of foreign nations present that autumn at Rosenbad. The elderPendennis read over the strangers' list with great gratification onthe night of his arrival, was pleased to find several of hisacquaintances among the great folks, and would have the honor ofpresenting his nephew to a German Grand Duchess, a Russian Princess,and an English Marquis, before many days were over: nor was Pen by anymeans averse to making the acquaintance of these great personages,having a liking for polite life, and all the splendors and amenitiesbelonging to it. That very evening the resolute old gentlemen, leaningon his nephew's arm, made his appearance in the halls of the Kursaal,and lost or won a napoleon or two at the table of _Trente etquarante_. He did not play to lose, he said, or to win, but he did asother folks did, and betted his napoleon and took his luck as it came.He pointed out the Russians and Spaniards gambling for heaps of gold,and denounced their eagerness as something sordid and barbarous; anEnglish gentleman should play where the fashion is play, but shouldnot elate or depress himself at the sport; and he told how he had seenhis friend the Marquis of Steyne, when Lord Gaunt, lose eighteenthousand at a sitting, and break the bank three nights running atParis, without ever showing the least emotion at his defeat orvictory--"And that's what I call being an English gentleman, Pen, mydear boy," the old gentleman said, warming as he prattled about hisrecollections--"what I call the great manner only remains with us andwith a few families in France." And as Russian princesses passed him,whose reputation had long ceased to be doubtful, and damaged Englishladies, who are constantly seen in company of their faithful attendantfor the time being in these gay haunts of dissipation, the old major,with eager garrulity and mischievous relish told his nephew wonderfulparticulars regarding the lives of these heroines; and diverted theyoung man with a thousand scandals. Egad, he felt himself quite youngagain, he remarked to Pen, as, rouged and grinning, her enormouschasseur behind her bearing her shawl, the Princess Obstropski smiledand recognized and accosted him. He remembered her in '14 when she wasan actress of the Paris Boulevard, and the Emperor Alexander'said-de-camp Obstropski (a man of great talents, who knew a good dealabout the Emperor Paul's death, and was a devil to play) married her.He most courteously and respectfully asked leave to call upon theprincess, and to present to her his nephew, Mr. Arthur Pendennis; andhe pointed out to the latter a half-dozen of other personages whosenames were as famous, and whose histories were as edifying. What wouldpoor Helen have thought, could she have heard those tales, or known towhat kind of people her brother-in-law was presenting her son? Onlyonce, leaning on Arthur's arm, she had passed through the room wherethe green tables were prepared for play, and the croaking croupierswere calling out their fatal words of _Rouge gagne_ and _Couleurperd_. She had shrunk terrified out of the pandemonium, imploring Pen,extorting from him a promise, on his word of honor, that he wouldnever play at those tables; and the scene which so frightened thesimple widow, only amused the worldly old veteran, and made him youngagain! He could breath the air cheerfully which stifled her. Her rightwas not his right: his food was her poison. Human creatures areconstituted thus differently, and with this variety the marvelousworld is peopled. To the credit of Mr. Pen, let it be said, that hekept honestly the promise made to his mother, and stoutly told hisuncle of his intention to abide by it.

  When the major arrived, his presence somehow cast a damp upon at leastthree persons of our little party--upon Laura, who had any thing butrespect for him; upon Warrington, whose manner toward him showed aninvoluntary haughtiness and contempt; and upon the timid and alarmedwidow, who dreaded lest he should interfere with her darling, thoughalmost desperate projects for her boy. And, indeed, the major, unknownto himself, was the bearer of tidings which were to bring about acatastrophe in the affairs of all our friends.

  Pen with his two ladies had apartments in the town of Rosenbad; honestWarrington had lodgings hard by; the major, on arrival at Rosenbad,had, as befitted his dignity, taken up his quarters at one of thegreat hotels, at the Roman Emperor or the Four Seasons, where two orthree hundred gamblers, pleasure-seekers, or invalids, sate down andover-ate themselves daily at the enormous table d'hote. To this hotelPen went on the morning after the major's arrival dutifully to pay hisrespects to his uncle, and found the latter's sitting-room dulyprepared and arranged by Mr. Morgan, with the major's hats brushed,and his coats laid out: his dispatch-boxes and umbrella-cases, hisguide-books, passports, maps, and other elaborate necessaries of theEnglish traveler, all as trim and ready as they could be in theirmaster's own room in Jermyn-street. Every thing was ready, from themedicine-bottle fresh filled from the pharmacien's, down to the oldfellow's prayer-book, without which he never traveled, for he made apoint of appearing at the English church at every place which hehonored with a stay. "Every body did it," he said; "every Englishgentleman did it," and this piou
s man would as soon have thought ofnot calling upon the English embassador in a continental town, as ofnot showing himself at the national place of worship.

  The old gentleman had been to take one of the baths for which Rosenbadis famous, and which every body takes, and his after-bath toilet wasnot yet completed when Pen arrived. The elder called out to Arthur ina cheery voice from the inner apartment, in which he and Morgan wereengaged, and the valet presently came in, bearing a little packet toPen's address--Mr. Arthur's letters and papers, Morgan said, which hehad brought from Mr. Arthur's chambers in London, and which consistedchiefly of numbers of the "Pall Mall Gazette," which our friend Mr.Finucane thought his _collaborateur_ would like to see. The paperswere tied together: the letters in an envelope, addressed to Pen, inthe last-named gentleman's handwriting.

  Among the letters there was a little note addressed, as a formerletter we have heard of had been, to "Arthur Pendennis, Esquire,"which Arthur opened with a start and a blush, and read with a verykeen pang of interest, and sorrow, and regard. She had come toArthur's house, Fanny Bolton said--and found that he was gone--goneaway to Germany without ever leaving a word for her--or answer to herlast letter, in which she prayed but for one word of kindness--or thebooks which he had promised her in happier times, before he was ill,and which she would like to keep in remembrance of him. She said shewould not reproach those who had found her at his bedside when he wasin the fever, and knew nobody, and who had turned the poor girl awaywithout a word. She thought she should have died, she said, of that,but Doctor Goodenough had kindly tended her, and kept her life, when,perhaps, the keeping of it was of no good, and she forgave every body:and as for Arthur, she would pray for him forever. And when he was soill, and they cut off his hair, she had made so free as to keep onelittle lock for herself, and that she owned. And might she still keepit, or would his mamma order that that should be gave up too? She waswilling to obey him in all things, and couldn't but remember that oncehe was so kind, oh! so good and kind! to his poor Fanny. When MajorPendennis, fresh and smirking from his toilet, came out of his bedroomto his sitting-room, he found Arthur with this note before him, and anexpression of savage anger on his face, which surprised the eldergentleman. "What news from London, my boy?" he rather faintly asked;"are the duns at you that you look so glum?"

  "Do you know any thing about this letter, sir?" Arthur asked.

  "What letter, my good sir?" said the other drily, at once perceivingwhat had happened.

  "You know what I mean--about, about Miss--about Fanny Bolton--thepoor dear little girl," Arthur broke out. "When was she in my room?Was she there when I was delirious--I fancied she was--was she? Whosent her out of my chambers? Who intercepted her letters to me? Whodared to do it? Did you do it, uncle?"

  "It's not my practice to tamper with gentlemen's letters, or to answerdamned impertinent questions," Major Pendennis cried out, in a greattremor of emotion and indignation. "There was a girl in your roomswhen I came up at great personal inconveinence, daymy--and to meetwith a return of this kind for my affection to you, is not pleasant,by Gad, sir--not at all pleasant."

  "That's not the question, sir," Arthur said hotly--"and--and, I begyour pardon, uncle. You were, you always have been, most kind to me:but I say again, did you say any thing harsh to this poor girl. Didyou send her away from me?"

  "I never spoke a word to the girl," the uncle said, "and I never senther away from you, and know no more about her, and wish to know nomore about her, than about the man in the moon."

  "Then it's my mother that did it," Arthur broke out. "Did my mothersend that poor child away?"

  "I repeat I know nothing about it, sir," the elder said testily."Let's change the subject, if you please."

  "I'll never forgive the person who did it," said Arthur, bouncing upand seizing his hat.

  The major cried out, "Stop, Arthur, for God's sake, stop;" but beforehe had uttered his sentence Arthur had rushed out of the room, and atthe next minute the major saw him striding rapidly down the streetthat led toward his home.

  "Get breakfast!" said the old fellow to Morgan, and he wagged his headand sighed as he looked out of the window. "Poor Helen--poor soul!There'll be a row. I knew there would: and begad all the fat's inthe fire."

  When Pen reached home he only found Warrington in the ladies'drawing-room, waiting their arrival in order to conduct them to theroom where the little English colony at Rosenbad held their Sundaychurch. Helen and Laura had not appeared as yet; the former wasailing, and her daughter was with her. Pen's wrath was so great thathe could not defer expressing it. He flung Fanny's letter across thetable to his friend. "Look there, Warrington," he said; "she tended mein my illness, she rescued me out of the jaws of death, and this isthe way they have treated the dear little creature. They have kept herletters from me; they have treated me like a child, and her like adog, poor thing! My mother has done this."

  "If she has, you must remember it is your mother," Warringtoninterposed.

  "It only makes the crime the greater, because it is she who has doneit," Pen answered. "She ought to have been the poor girl's defender,not her enemy: she ought to go down on her knees and ask pardon ofher. I ought! I will! I am shocked at the cruelty which has been shownher. What? She gave me her all, and this is her return! She sacrificesevery thing for me, and they spurn her."

  "Hush!" said Warrington, "they can hear you from the next room."

  "Hear; let them hear!" Pen cried out, only so much the louder. "Thosemay overhear my talk who intercept my letters. I say this poor girlhas been shamefully used, and I will do my best to right her; I will."

  The door of the neighboring room opened and Laura came forth with paleand stern face. She looked at Pen with glances from which beamedpride, defiance, aversion. "Arthur, your mother is very ill," shesaid; "it is a pity that you should speak so loud as to disturb her."

  "It is a pity that I should have been obliged to speak at all," Penanswered. "And I have more to say before I have done."

  "I should think what you have to say will hardly be fit for me tohear," Laura said, haughtily.

  "You are welcome to hear it or not, as you like," said Mr. Pen. "Ishall go in now and speak to my mother."

  Laura came rapidly forward, so that she should not be overheard by herfriend within. "Not now, sir," she said to Pen. "You may kill her ifyou do. Your conduct has gone far enough to make her wretched."

  "What conduct?" cried out Pen, in a fury. "Who dares impugn it? Whodares meddle with me? Is it you who are the instigator of thispersecution?"

  "I said before it was a subject of which it did not become me to hearor to speak," Laura said. "But as for mamma, if she had actedotherwise than she did with regard to--to the person about whom youseem to take such an interest, it would have been I that must havequitted your house, and not that--that person."

  "By heavens! this is too much," Pen cried out, with a violentexecration.

  "Perhaps that is what you wished," Laura said, tossing her head up."No more of this, if you please; I am not accustomed to hear suchsubjects spoken of in such language;" and with a stately courtesy theyoung lady passed to her friend's room, looking her adversary full inthe face as she retreated and closed the door upon him.

  Pen was bewildered with wonder, perplexity, fury, at this monstrousand unreasonable persecution. He burst out into a loud and bitterlaugh as Laura quitted him, and with sneers and revilings, as a manwho jeers under an operation, ridiculed at once his own pain and hispersecutor's anger. The laugh, which was one of bitter humor, and nounmanly or unkindly expression of suffering under most cruel andunmerited torture, was heard in the next apartment, as some of hisunlucky previous expressions had been, and, like them, entirelymisinterpreted by the hearers. It struck like a dagger into thewounded and tender heart of Helen; it pierced Laura, and inflamed thehigh-spirited girl, with scorn and anger. "And it was to this hardenedlibertine," she thought--"to this boaster of low intrigues, that Ihad given my heart away." "He breaks the most sacred laws," tho
ughtHelen. "He prefers the creature of his passion to his own mother; andwhen he is upbraided, he laughs, and glories in his crime. 'She gaveme her all,' I heard him say it," argued the poor widow; "and heboasts of it, and laughs, and breaks his mother's heart." The emotion,the shame, the grief, the mortification almost killed her. She feltshe should die of his unkindness.

  Warrington thought of Laura's speech--"Perhaps that is what youwished." "She loves Pen still," he said. "It was jealousy made herspeak."--"Come away, Pen. Come away, and let us go to church and getcalm. You must explain this matter to your mother. She does not appearto know the truth: nor do you quite, my good fellow. Come away, andlet us talk about it." And again he muttered to himself, "'Perhapsthat is what you wished.' Yes, she loves him. Why shouldn't she lovehim? Whom else would I have her love? What can she be to me but thedearest, and the fairest, and the best of women?"

  So, leaving the women similarly engaged within, the two gentlemenwalked away, each occupied with his own thoughts, and silent for aconsiderable space. "I must set this matter right," thought honestGeorge, "as she loves him still--I must set his mind right about theother woman." And with this charitable thought, the good fellow beganto tell more at large what Bows had said to him regarding MissBolton's behavior and fickleness, and he described how the girl was nobetter than a little light-minded flirt; and, perhaps, he exaggeratedthe good humor and contentedness which he had himself, as he thought,witnessed in her behavior in the scene with Mr. Huxter.

  Now, all Bows's statements had been colored by an insane jealousy andrage on that old man's part; and instead of allaying Pen's renascentdesire to see his little conquest again, Warrington's accountsinflamed and angered Pendennis, and made him more anxious than beforeto set himself right, as he persisted in phrasing it, with Fanny. Theyarrived at the church-door presently; but scarce one word of theservice, and not a syllable of Mr. Shamble's sermon, did either ofthem comprehend, probably--so much was each engaged with his ownprivate speculations. The major came up to them after the service,with his well-brushed hat and wig, and his jauntiest, most cheerfulair. He complimented them upon being seen at church; again he saidthat every _comme-il-faut_ person made a point of attending theEnglish service abroad; and he walked back with the young men,prattling to them in garrulous good-humor, and making bows to hisacquaintances as they passed; and thinking innocently that Pen andGeorge were both highly delighted by his anecdotes, which theysuffered to run on in a scornful and silent acquiescence.

  At the time of Mr. Shamble's sermon (an erratic Anglican divine hiredfor the season at places of English resort, and addicted to debts,drinking, and even to roulette, it was said), Pen, chafing under thepersecution which his womankind inflicted upon him, had beenmeditating a great act of revolt and of justice, as he had workedhimself up to believe; and Warrington on his part had been thinkingthat a crisis in his affairs had likewise come, and that it wasnecessary for him to break away from a connection which every day mademore and more wretched and dear to him. Yes, the time was come. Hetook those fatal words, "Perhaps that is what you wished," as a textfor a gloomy homily, which he preached to himself, in the dark pew ofhis own heart, while Mr. Shamble was feebly giving utterance to hissermon.