第44章

It was a very long time before Tom said `Certainly;' so long, that he might have taken a nap in the interval, but he did say it at last.

`Now, there is one odd coincidence connected with his love-story' said Martin, `which brings it to an end. You remember what you told me last night as we were coming here, about your pretty visitor in the church?'

`Surely I do,' said Tom, rising from his stool, and seating himself in the chair from which the other had lately risen, that he might see his face. `Undoubtedly.'

`That was she.'

`I knew what you were going to say,' cried Tom, looking fixedly at him, and speaking very softly. `You don't tell me so?'

`That was she,' repeated the young man. `After what I have heard from Pecksniff, I have no doubt that she came and went with my grandfather.

Don't you drink too much of that sour wine, or you'll have a fit of some sort, Pinch, I see.'

`It is not very wholesome, I am afraid,' said Tom, setting down the empty glass he had for some time held. `So that was she, was it?'

Martin nodded assent: and adding, with a restless impatience, that if he had been a few days earlier he would have seen her; and that now she might be, for anything he knew, hundreds of miles away; threw himself, after a few turns across the room, into a chair, and chafed like a spoilt child.

Tom Pinch's heart was very tender, and he could not bear to see the most indifferent person in distress; still less one who had awakened an interest in him, and who regarded him (either in fact, or as he supposed) with kindness, and in a spirit of lenient construction. Whatever his own thoughts had been a few moments before--and to judge from his face they must have been pretty serious--he dismissed them instantly, and gave his young friend the best counsel and comfort that occurred to him.

`All will be well in time,' said Tom, `I have no doubt; and some trial and adversity just now will only serve to make you more attached to each other in better days. I have always read that the truth is so, and I have a feeling within me, which tells me how natural and right it is that it should be. That never ran smooth yet,' said Tom, with a smile which, despite the homeliness of his face, was pleasanter to see than many a proud beauty's brightest glance: `what never ran smooth yet, can hardly be expected to change its character for us; so we must take it as we find it, and fashion it into the very best shape we can, by patience and good-humour. I have no power at all; I needn't tell you that; but I have an excellent will; and if I could ever be of use to you, in any way whatever, how very glad I should be!'

`Thank you,' said Martin, shaking his hand. `You're a good fellow, upon my word, and speak very kindly. Of course you know,' he added, after a moment's pause, as he drew his chair towards the fire again, `I should not hesitate to avail myself of your services if you could help me at all; but mercy on us!' Here he rumpled his hair impatiently with his hand, and looked at Tom as if he took it rather ill that he was not somebody else:

`you might as well be a toasting-fork or a frying-pan, Pinch, for any help you can render me.'

`Except in the inclination,' said Tom, gently.

`Oh! to be sure. I meant that, of course. If inclination went for anything, I shouldn't want help. I tell you what you may do, though, if you will, and at the present moment too.'

`What is that?' demanded Tom.

`Read to me.'

`I shall be delighted,' cried Tom, catching up the candle with enthusiasm.

`Excuse my leaving you in the dark a moment, and I'll fetch a book directly.

What will you like? Shakspeare?'

`Aye!' replied his friend, yawning and stretching himself. `He'll do.

I am tired with the bustle of to-day, and the novelty of every-thing about me; and in such a case, there's no greater luxury in the world, I think, than being read to sleep. You won't mind my going to sleep, if I can?'

`Not at all!' cried Tom.

`Then begin as soon as you like. You needn't leave off when you see me getting drowsy (unless you feel tired), for it's pleasant to wake gradually to the sounds again. Did you ever try that?'

`No, I never tried that,' said Tom `Well! You can, you know, one of these days when we're both in the right humour. Don't mind leaving me in the dark. Look sharp!'

Mr. Pinch lost no time in moving away; and in a minute or two returned with one of the precious volumes from the shelf beside his bed. Martin had in the meantime made himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit, by constructing before the fire a temporary sofa of three chairs with Mercy's stool for a pillow, and lying down at full-length upon it.

`Don't be too loud, please,' he said to Pinch.

`No, no,' said Tom.

`You're sure you're not cold'

`Not at all!' cried Tom.

`I am quite ready, then.'

Mr. Pinch accordingly, after turning over the leaves of his book with as much care as if they were living and highly cherished creatures, made his own selection, and began to read. Before he had completed fifty lines his friend was snoring.

`Poor fellow!' said Tom, softly, as he stretched out his head to peep at him over the backs of the chairs. `He is very young to have so much trouble. How trustful and generous in him to bestow all this confidence in me. And that was she, was it?'

But suddenly remembering their compact, he took up the poem at the place where he had left off, and went on reading; always forgetting to snuff the candle, until its wick looked like a mushroom. He gradually became so much interested, that he quite forgot to replenish the fire; and was only reminded of his neglect by Martin Chuzzlewit starting up after the lapse of an hour or so, and crying with a shiver.

`Why, it's nearly out, I declare! No wonder I dreamed of being frozen.

Do call for some coals. What a fellow you are, Pinch!'