a I B RA R.Y 
 
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THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 OF W M. THACKERAY 
 
 
 The History of 
 Pendennis 
 
 
 
 His Fortunes and 3KCisfortunes 
 His Friends, and His 
 Qreatest Enemy 
 
 
 
 Volume III 
 
 
 
 
 
 COLONIAL PRESS COMPANY 
 BOSTON and &CEW YORK 
 
v.il 
 
m 
 
 T2V 
 
 W» ■ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Critical Chapter 1 
 
 II. Convalescence 16 
 
 III. Fanny's Occupation 's gone 35 
 
 IV. In which Fanny engages a new Medical 
 
 Man 52 
 
 V. Foreign Ground 69 
 
 VI. " Fairoaks to Let " 87 
 
 VII. Old Friends 103 
 
 VIII. Explanations 122 
 
 IX. Conversations 133 
 
 X. The Way of the World 154 
 
 XI. Which accounts, perhaps, for Chapter X 177 
 
 XII. Phillis and Corydon 198 
 
 XIII. Temptation 206 
 
 XIV. In which Pen begins his Canvass. . . . 223 
 XV. In which Pen begins to doubt his Election 237 
 
 XVI. In which the Major is bidden to Stand 
 
 and Deliver 257 
 
 XVII. In which the Major neither yields his 
 
 . Money nor his Life 273 
 
 XVIII. In which Pendennis counts his Eggs . . 286 
 
 XIX. Fiat Justitia 296 
 
 XX. In which the Decks begin to clear . . 308 
 
 199001 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGK 
 
 XXI. Mr. and Mrs. Sam Huxter 320 
 
 XXII. Shows how Arthur, had better have taken 
 
 a Return-Ticket 335 
 
 XXIII. A Chapter of Match-making 345 
 
 XXIV. Exeunt Omnes 358 
 
 4 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 VOL. III. 
 
 Page 
 
 Laura (Plioto-Etcliing from drawing by W. L. Taylor) 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 Fanny cashiered 2 
 
 Helen installed 18 
 
 The Captain won't go home till Morning .... 58 
 
 Mr. Arthur and Mr. Samuel 112 
 
 Mr. Huxter likes to be called a Goose .... 158 
 
 Miss Amory's Interesting Employment 204 
 
 A Recognition 235 
 
 Mr. Morgan at his ease 265 
 
 A Good Shot 278 
 
 A Discovery 382 
 
 An Escape 386 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A CRITICAL CHAPTER. 
 
 As Fanny saw the two ladies and the anxious coun- 
 tenance of the elder, who regarded her with a look of 
 inscrutable alarm and terror, the poor girl at once 
 knew that Pen's mother was before her ; there was a 
 resemblance between the widow's haggard eyes and 
 Arthur's as he tossed in his bed in fever. Fanny 
 looked wistfully at Mrs. Pendennis and at Laura 
 afterwards; there was no more expression in the 
 latter's face than if it had been a mass of stone. 
 Hard-heartedness and gloom dwelt on the figures of 
 both the new-comers ; neither showed any the faint- 
 est gleam of mercy or sympathy for Fanny. She 
 looked desperately from them to the Major behind 
 them. Old Pendennis dropped his eyelids, looking 
 up ever so stealthily from under them at Arthur's 
 poor little nurse. 
 
 "I — I wrote to you yesterday, if you please, Ma'am," 
 Fanny said, trembling in every limb as she spoke ; 
 and as pale as Laura, whose sad menacing face looked 
 over Mrs. Peodennis's shoulder. 
 
2 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Did you, Madam ? " Mrs. Pendennis said. " I 
 suppose I may now relieve you from nursing my son. 
 I am his mother, you understand." 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am. I — this is the way to his — Oh, 
 wait a minute," cried out Fanny. "I must prepare 
 you for his — " 
 
 The widow, whose face had been hopelessly cruel 
 and ruthless, here started back with a gasp and a lit- 
 tle cry, which she speedily stifled. 
 
 " He 's been so since yesterday," Fanny said, trem. 
 bling very much, and with chattering teeth. 
 
 A horrid shriek of laughter came out of Pen's 
 room, whereof the door was open ; and, after several 
 shouts, the poor wretch began to sing a college 
 drinking-song, and then to hurray and to shout as 
 if he was in the midst of a wine-party, and to 
 thump with his fist against the wainscot. He was quite 
 delirious. 
 
 " He does not know me, Ma'am," Fanny said. 
 
 "Indeed. Perhaps he will know his mother; let 
 me pass, if you please, and go in to him." And the 
 widow hastily pushed by little Fanny, and through 
 the dark passage which led into Pen's sitting-room. 
 Laura sailed by Fanny, too, without a word; and 
 Major Pendennis followed them. Fanny sat down on 
 a bench in the passage, and cried, and prayed as well 
 as she could. She would have died for him; and 
 they hated her ! They had not a word of thanks or 
 kindness for her, the fine ladies. She sat there in the 
 passage, she did not know how long. They never 
 came out to speak to her. She sat there until Doctor 
 Goodenough came to pay his second visit that day ; 
 he found the poor little thing at the door. 
 
 " What, nurse ? How 's your patient ? " asked 
 the good-natured Doctor. " Has he had any rest ? " 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 3 
 
 " Go and ask them. They 're inside," Fanny an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Who? his mother?" 
 
 Fanny nodded her head and did n't speak. 
 
 "Yon must go to bed yourself, my poor little maid," 
 said the Doctor. " You will be ill, too, if you don't." 
 
 "Oh, mayn't I come and see him: mayn't I come 
 and see him ! I — I — love him so," the little girl 
 said ; and as she spoke she fell down on her knees 
 and clasped hold of the Doctor's hand in such an 
 agony that to see her melted the kind physician's 
 heart, and caused a mist to come over his spectacles. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! Nonsense ! Nurse, has he taken 
 his draught ? Has he had any rest ? Of course you 
 must come and see him. So must I." 
 
 "They'll let me sit here, won't they, sir? I'll 
 never make no noise. I only ask to stop here," Fanny 
 said. On which the Doctor called her a stupid little 
 thing ; put her down upon the bench where Pen's 
 printer's devil used to sit so many hours ; tapped her 
 pale cheek with his finger, and bustled into the fur- 
 ther room. 
 
 Mrs. Pendennis was ensconced pale and solemn in a 
 great chair by Pen's bedside. Her watch was on the 
 bed-table by Pen's medicines. Her bonnet and cloaks 
 were laid in the window. She had her Bible in her 
 lap, without which she never travelled. Her first 
 movement, after seeing her son, had been to take 
 Fanny's shawl and bonnet which were on his drawers, 
 and bring them out and drop them down upon his study 
 table. She had closed the door upon Major Penden- 
 nis, and Laura too ; and taken possession of her son. 
 
 She had had a great doubt and terror lest Arthur 
 should not know her ; but that pang was spared to 
 her, in part at least. Pen knew his mother quite 
 
4 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 well, and familiarly smiled and nodded at her. When 
 she came in, he instantly fancied that they were at 
 home at Fairoaks ; and began to talk and chatter and 
 laugh in a rambling wild way. Laura could hear him 
 outside. His laughter shot shafts of poison into her 
 heart. It was true then. He had been guilty — and 
 with that creature ! — an intrigue with a servant-maid ; 
 and she had loved him — and he was dying most 
 likely — raving and unrepentant. The Major now 
 and then hummed out a word of remark or consola- 
 tion, which Laura scarce heard. A dismal sitting it 
 was for all parties ; and when Goodenough appeared, 
 he came like an angel into the room. 
 
 It is not only for the sick man, it is for the sick 
 man's friends that the Doctor comes. His presence 
 is often as good for them as for the patient, and they 
 long for him yet more eagerly. How we have all 
 watched after him ! what an emotion the thrill of his 
 carriage-wheels in the street, and at length at the 
 door, has made us feel ! how we hang upon his words, 
 and what a comfort we get from a smile or two, if he 
 can vouchsafe that sunshine to lighten our darkness ! 
 who has n't seen the mother prying into his face, to 
 know if there is hope for the sick infant that cannot 
 speak, and that lies yonder, its little frame battling 
 with fever ? Ah, how she looks into his eyes ! 
 What thanks if there is light there ; what grief and 
 pain if he casts them down and dares not say " hope " ! 
 Or it is the house-father who is stricken. The terri- 
 fied wife looks on, while the Physician feels his 
 patient's wrist, smothering her agonies, as the chil- 
 dren have been called upon to stay their plays and 
 their talk. Over the patient in the fever, the wife 
 expectant, the children unconscious, the Doctor stands 
 as if he were Fate, the dispenser of life and death •• 
 
Fanny Cashiered. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 5 
 
 he must let the patient off this time; the woman 
 prays so for his respite ! One can fancy how awful 
 the responsibility must be to a conscientious man: 
 how cruel the feeling that he has given the wrong 
 remedy, or that it might have been possible to do 
 better : how harassing the sympathy with survivors, 
 if the case is unfortunate — how immense the delight 
 of victory ! 
 
 Having passed through a hasty ceremony of intro- 
 duction to the new-comers, of whose arrival he had 
 been made aware by the heart-broken little nurse in 
 waiting without, the Doctor proceeded to examine the 
 patient, about whose condition of high fever there 
 could be no mistake, and on whom he thought it 
 necessary to exercise the strongest antiphlogistic rem- 
 edies in his power. He consoled the unfortunate 
 mother as best he might; and giving her the most 
 comfortable assurances on which he could venture, 
 that there was no reason to despair yet, that every- 
 thing might still be hoped from his youth, the strength 
 of his constitution, and so forth ; and having done his 
 utmost to allay the horrors of the alarmed matron, he 
 took the elder Pendennis aside into the vacant room 
 (Warrington's bedroom), for the purpose of holding a 
 little consultation. 
 
 The case was very critical. The fever, if not 
 stopped, might and would carry, off the young fellow ; 
 he must be bled forthwith : the mother must be in- 
 formed of this necessity. Why was that other young 
 lady brought with her ? She was out of place in a 
 sick-room. 
 
 " And there was another woman still, be hanged to 
 it ! " the Major said, " the — the little person who 
 opened the door. His sister-in-law had brought the 
 poor little devil's bonnet ana shawl out, and flung 
 
6 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 tliem upon the study-table. Did Goodenough know 
 anything about the — the little person ? I just 
 caught a glimpse of her as we passed in," the Major 
 said, " and begad she was uncommonly nice-looking." 
 The Doctor looked queer : the Doctor smiled — in the 
 very gravest moments, with life and death pending, 
 such strange contrasts and occasions of humor will 
 arise, and such smiles will pass, to satirize the gloom, 
 as it were, and to make it more gloomy ! 
 
 " I have it," at last he said, re-entering the study ; 
 and he wrote a couple of notes hastily at the table 
 there, and sealed one of them. Then, taking up poor 
 Fanny's shawl and bonnet, and the notes, he went out 
 in the passage to that poor little messenger, and said, 
 " Quick, nurse ; you must carry this to the surgeon, 
 and bid him come instantly : and then go to my house, 
 and ask for my servant, Harbottle, and tell him to get 
 this prescription prepared; and wait until I — until it 
 is ready. It may take a little time in preparation." 
 
 So poor Fanny trudged away with her two notes, 
 and found the apothecary, who lived in the Strand 
 hard by, and who came straightway, his lancet in his 
 pocket, to operate on his patient; and then Fanny 
 made for the Doctor's house, in Hanover Square. 
 
 The Doctor was at home again before the prescrip- 
 tion was made up, which took Harbottle, his servant, 
 such a long time in compounding ; and, during the 
 remainder of Arthur's illness, poor Fanny never 
 made her appearance in the quality of nurse at his 
 chambers any more. But for that day and the next, 
 a little figure might be seen lurking about Pen's stair- 
 case, — a sad, sad little face looked at and interrogated 
 the apothecary, and the apothecary's boy, and the 
 laundress, and the kind physician himself, as they 
 passed out of the chambers of the sick man. And on 
 
PEIvDENNlS. 
 
 7 
 
 the third day the kind Doctor's chariot stopped at 
 Shepherd's Inn, and the good, and honest, and benev- 
 olent man went into the Porter's Lodge, and tended a 
 little patient he had there, for whom the best remedy 
 he found was on the day when he was enabled to tell 
 Fanny Bolton that the crisis was over, and that there 
 was at length every hope for Arthur Pendennis. 
 
 J. Costigan, Esquire, late of her Majesty's service, 
 saw the Doctor's carriage, and criticised its horses 
 and appointments. " Green liveries, bedad ! " the 
 General said, " and as foin a pair of high-stepping bee 
 horses as ever a gentleman need sit behoind, let alone 
 a docthor. There 's no ind to the proide and ar'gance 
 of them docthors, now-a-days — not but that is a good 
 one, and a scoientific cyrakter, and a roight good fel- 
 low, bedad ; and he 's brought the poor little girl well 
 troo her faver, Bows, me boy ; " and so pleased was 
 Mr. Costigan with the Doctor's behavior and skill, 
 that, whenever he met Dr. Goodenough 's carriage in 
 future, he made a point of saluting it and the physi- 
 cian inside, in as courteous and magnificent a manner, 
 as if Dr. Goodenough had been the Lord Liftenant 
 himself, and Captain Costigan had been in his glory 
 in Phaynix Park. 
 
 The widow's gratitude to the physician knew no 
 bounds — or scarcely any bounds, at least. The kind 
 gentleman laughed at the idea of taking a fee from a 
 literary man, or the widow of a brother practitioner, 
 and she determined when she got back to Fairoaks 
 that she would send Goodenough the silver-gilt vase, 
 the jewel of the house, and the glory of the late John 
 Pendennis, preserved in green baize, and presented to 
 him at Bath, by the Lady Elizabeth Eirebrace, on the 
 recovery of her son, the late Sir Anthony Firebrace, 
 from the scarlet fever. Hippocrates, Hygeia, King 
 
8 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Bladud, and a wreath of serpents surmount the cup to 
 this day ; which was executed in their finest manner, 
 by Messrs. Abednego, of Milsom Street ; and the 
 inscription was by Mr. Birch, tutor to the young 
 baronet. 
 
 This priceless gem of art the widow determined to 
 devote to Goodenough, the preserver of her son ; and 
 there was scarcely any other favor which her grati- 
 tude would not have conferred upon him, except one, 
 which he desired most, and which was that she should 
 think a little charitably and kindly of poor Fanny, of 
 whose artless, sad story, he had got something during 
 his interviews with her, and of whom he was induced 
 to think very kindly, — not being disposed, indeed, to 
 give much credit to Pen for his conduct in the affair, 
 or not knowing what that conduct had been. He 
 knew enough, however, to be aware that the poor in- 
 fatuated little girl was without stain as yet; that 
 while she had been in Pen's room it was to see the 
 last of him, as she thought, and that Arthur was 
 scarcely aware of her presence ; and that she suffered 
 under the deepest and most pitiful grief, at the idea 
 of losing him, dead or living. 
 
 But on the one or two occasions when Goodenongh 
 alluded to Fanny, the widow's countenance, always 
 soft and gentle, assumed an expression so cruel and 
 inexorable, that the Doctor saw it was in vain to ask 
 her for justice or pity, and he broke off all entreaties, 
 and ceased making any further allusions regarding 
 his little client. There is a complaint which neither 
 poppy, nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of 
 the East could allay, in the men in his time, as we 
 are informed by a popular poet of the days of Eliza- 
 beth; and which, when exhibited in women, no 
 medical discoveries or practice subsequent — neither 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 9 
 
 homoeopathy, nor hydropathy, nor mesmerism, nor Dr. 
 Simpson, nor Dr. Locock can cure, and that is — we 
 won't call it jealousy, but rather gently denominate it 
 rivalry and emulation in ladies. 
 
 Some of those mischievous and prosaic people who 
 carp and calculate at every detail of the romancer, 
 and want to know, for instance, how, when the charac- 
 ters in the " Critic " are at a dead lock with their dag- 
 gers at each other's throats, they are to be got out of 
 that murderous complication of circumstances, may 
 be induced to ask how it was possible in a set of 
 chambers in the Temple, consisting of three rooms, 
 two cupboards, a passage and a coal-box, Arthur a sick 
 gentleman, Helen his mother, Laura her adopted 
 daughter, Martha their country attendant, Mrs. 
 Wheezer a nurse from St. Bartholomew's Hospital, 
 Mrs. Flanagan an Irish laundress, Major Pendennis a 
 retired military officer, Morgan his valet, Pidgeon 
 Mr. Arthur Pendennis's boy, and others could be ac- 
 commodated — the answer is given at once, that al- 
 most everybody in the Temple was out of town, and 
 that there was scarcely a single occupant of Pen's 
 house in Lamb Court except those who were engaged 
 round the sick-bed of the sick gentleman, about whose 
 fever we have not given a lengthy account, neither 
 shall we enlarge very much upon the more cheerful 
 theme of his recovery. 
 
 Everybody we have said was out of town, and of 
 course such a fashionable man as young Mr. Sibwright, 
 who had chambers on the second floor in Pen's stair- 
 case, could not be supposed to remain in London. 
 Mrs. Flanagan, Mr. Pendennis's laundress, was ac- 
 quainted with Mrs. Kouncy who did for Mr. Sib- 
 wright, and that gentleman's bedroom was got ready 
 for Miss Bell, or Mrs. Pendennis, when the latter 
 
10 
 
 PENDEKNIS. 
 
 should be inclined to leave her son's sick-room, to 
 try and seek for a little rest for herself. 
 
 If that young buck and flower of Baker Street, 
 Percy Sibwright, could have known who was the 
 occupant of his bedroom, how proud he would have 
 been of that apartment ! — what poems he would have 
 written about Laura ! (several of his things have ap- 
 peared in the annuals, and in manuscript in the no- 
 bility's albums) — he was a Camford man and very 
 nearly got the English Prize Poem, it was said — Sib- 
 wright, however, was absent and his bed given up to 
 Miss Bell. It was the prettiest little brass bed in the 
 world, with chintz curtains lined with pink — he had 
 a mignonette box in his bedroom window, and the 
 mere sight of his little exhibition of shiny boots, 
 arranged in trim rows over his wardrobe, was a grati- 
 fication to the beholder. He had a museum of scent, 
 pomatum, and bears'-grease pots, quite curious to ex- 
 amine, too ; and a choice selection of portraits of 
 females almost always in sadness and generally in 
 disguise or deshabille, glittered round the neat walls 
 of his elegant little bower of repose. Medora with 
 dishevelled hair was consoling herself over her banjo 
 for the absence of her Conrad — the Princesse Fleur 
 de Marie (of Rudolstein and the Mysteres de Paris) 
 was sadly ogling out of the bars of her convent cage, 
 in which, poor prisoned bird, she was moulting away 
 — Dorothea of Don Quixote was washing her eternal 
 feet : — in fine, it was such an elegant gallery as be- 
 came a gallant lover of the sex. And in Sibwright' s 
 sitting-room, while there was quite an infantine law 
 library clad in skins of fresh, new-born calf, there was 
 a tolerably large collection of classical books which 
 he could not read, and of English and French works 
 of poetry and fiction which he read a great deal too 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 11 
 
 much. His invitation cards of the past season still 
 decorated his looking-glass : and scarce anything told 
 of the lawyer but the wig-box beside the Venus upon 
 the middle shelf of the book-case, on which the name 
 of P. Sibwright, Esquire, was gilded. 
 
 With Sibwright in chambers was Mr. Bangham. 
 Mr. Bangham was a sporting man, married to a rich 
 widow. Mr. Bangham had no practice — did not 
 come to chambers thrice in a term ; went a circuit 
 for those mysterious reasons which make men go cir- 
 cuit, — and his room served as a great convenience 
 to Sibwright when that young gentleman gave his 
 little dinners. It must be confessed that these two 
 gentlemen have nothing to do with our history, will 
 never appear in it again probably, but we cannot help 
 glancing through their doors as they happen to be 
 open to us, and as we pass to Pen's rooms ; as in 
 the pursuit of our own business in life through the 
 Strand, at the Club, nay at church itself, we cannot 
 help peeping at the shops on the way, or at our neigh- 
 bor's dinner, or at the faces under the bonnets in the 
 next pew. 
 
 Very many years after the circumstances about 
 which we are at present occupied, Laura, with a 
 blush and a laugh showing much humor, owned to 
 having read a French novel once much in vogue, and 
 when her husband asked her, wondering where on 
 earth she could have got such a volume, she owned 
 that it was in the Temple, when she lived in Mr. 
 Percy Sibwright's chambers. 
 
 "And, also, I never confessed," she said, "on that 
 same occasion, what I must now own to ; that I opened 
 the japanned box, and took out that strange-looking 
 wig inside it, and put it on and looked at myself in 
 the glass in it." 
 
12 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Suppose Percy Sibwright had come in at such a 
 moment as that ? What would he have said, — the 
 enraptured rogue ? What would have been all the 
 pictures of disguised beauties in his room compared 
 to that living one ? Ah, we are speaking of old 
 times, when Sibwright was a bachelor and before he 
 got a county court, — when people were young — when 
 most people were young. Other people are young 
 now ; but we no more. 
 
 When Miss Laura played this prank with the wig, 
 you can't suppose that Pen could have been very ill 
 up-stairs ; otherwise, though she had grown to care 
 for him ever so little, common sense of feeling and 
 decorum would have prevented her from performing 
 any tricks or trying any disguises. 
 
 But all sorts of events had occurred in the course 
 of the last few days which had contributed to increase 
 or account for her gayety, and a little colony of the 
 reader's old friends and acquaintances was by this time 
 established in Lamb Court, Temple, and round Pen's 
 sick-bed there. First, Martha, Mrs. Pendennis's ser- 
 vant, had arrived from Fairoaks, being summoned 
 thence by the Major, who justly thought her presence 
 would be comfortable and useful to her mistress and 
 her young master, for neither of whom the constant 
 neighborhood of Mrs. Flanagan (who during Pen's ill- 
 ness required more spirituous consolation than ever 
 to support her) could be pleasant. Martha then made 
 her appearance in due season to wait upon Mrs. Pen- 
 dennis, nor did that lady go once to bed until the 
 faithful servant had reached her, when, with a heart 
 full of maternal thankfulness, she went and lay down 
 upon Warrington's straw mattress, and among his 
 mathematical books, as has been already described. 
 
 It is true that ere that day a great and delightful al- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 13 
 
 teration in Pen's condition had taken place. The fever, 
 subjugated by Dr. Goodenough's blisters, potions, and 
 lancet, had left the young man, or only returned at 
 intervals of feeble intermittence ; his wandering sen- 
 ses had settled in his weakened brain : he had had 
 time to kiss and bless his mother for coming to him, 
 and calling for Laura and his uncle (who were both 
 affected according to their different natures by his 
 wan appearance, his lean shrunken hands, his hollow 
 eyes and voice, his thin bearded face) to press their 
 hands and thank them affectionately ; and after this 
 greeting, and after they had been turned out of the 
 room by his affectionate nurse, he had sunk into a 
 fine sleep which had lasted for about sixteen hours, 
 at the end of which period he awoke calling out that 
 he was very hungry. If it is hard to be ill and to 
 loathe food, oh, how pleasant to be getting well and 
 to be feeling hungry — how hungry ! Alas, the joys 
 of convalescence become feebler with increasing years, 
 as other joys do — and then — and then comes that 
 illness when one does not convalesce at all. 
 
 On the day of this happy event, too, came another 
 arrival in Lamb Court. This was introduced into the 
 Pen- Warrington sitting-room by large puffs of tobacco 
 smoke — the puffs of smoke were followed by an in- 
 dividual with a cigar in his mouth, and a carpet-bag 
 under his arm — this was Warrington, who had run 
 back from Norfolk, when Mr. Bows thoughtfully wrote 
 to inform him of his friend's calamity. But he had 
 been from home when Bows's letter had reached his 
 brother's house — the Eastern Counties did not then 
 boast of a railway (for we beg the reader to under- 
 stand that we only commit anachronisms when we 
 choose, and when by a daring violation of those natu- 
 ral laws some great ethical truth is to be advanced) 
 
14 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 — in fine, Warrington only appeared with the rest of 
 the good lnck upon the lucky day after Pen's conva- 
 lescence may have been said to have begun. 
 
 His surprise was, after all, not very great when he 
 found the chambers of his sick friend occupied, and 
 his old acquaintance the Major seated demurely in an 
 easy-chair (Warrington had let himself into the rooms 
 with his own pass-key), listening, or pretending to 
 listen, to a young lady who was reading to him a play 
 of Shakspeare in a low sweet voice. The lady stopped 
 and started, and laid down her book, at the apparition 
 of the tall traveller with the cigar and the carpet-bag. 
 He blushed, he flung the cigar into the passage : he 
 took off his hat, and dropped that too, and going up 
 to the Major, seized that old gentleman's hand, and 
 asked questions about Arthur. 
 
 The Major answered in a tremulous, though cheery 
 voice — it was curious how emotion seemed to olden 
 him — and returning Warrington's pressure with a 
 shaking hand, told him the news — of Arthur's happy 
 crisis, of his mother's arrival — with her young charge 
 
 — with Miss — 
 
 " You need not tell me her name," Mr. Warrington 
 said with great animation, for he was affected and 
 elated with the thought of his friend's recovery — ■ 
 " you need not tell me your name. I knew at once 
 it was Laura." And he held out his hand and took 
 hers. Immense kindness and tenderness gleamed 
 from under his rough eyebrows, and shook his voice 
 as he gazed at her and spoke to her. " And this is 
 Laura ! " his looks seemed to say. " And this is War- 
 rington," the generous girl's heart beat back. " Ar- 
 thur's hero — the brave and the kind — he has come 
 hundreds of miles to succor him, when he heard of his 
 friend's misfortune ! " 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 15 
 
 u Thank you, Mr. Warrington," was all that Laura 
 said, however : and as she returned the pressure of 
 his kind hand, she blushed so, that she was glad the 
 lamp was behind her to conceal her flushing face. 
 
 As these two were standing in this attitude, the 
 door of Pen's bed-chamber was opened stealthily as 
 his mother was wont to open it, and Warrington saw 
 another lady, who first looked at him, and then turn- 
 ing round towards the bed, said, " Hsh ! " and put up 
 her hand. 
 
 It was to Pen Helen was turning, and giving cau- 
 tion. He called out with a feeble, tremulous, but 
 cheery voice, " Come in, Stunner — come in Warring- 
 ton. I knew it was you — by the — by the smoke, old 
 boy," he said, as holding his worn hand out, and with 
 tears at once of weakness and pleasure in his eyes, 
 he greeted his friend. 
 
 "I — I beg pardon, Ma'am, for smoking," Warring- 
 ton said, who now almost for the first time blushed 
 for his wicked propensity. 
 
 Helen only said, " God bless you, Mr. Warrington." 
 She was so happy, she would have liked to kiss George. 
 Then, and after the friends had had a brief, very 
 brief interview, the delighted and inexorable mother, 
 giving her hand to Warrington, sent him out of the 
 room too, back to Laura and the Major, who had not 
 resumed their play of Cymbeline where they had left 
 it off at the arrival of the rightful owner of Pen's 
 chambers. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 CONVALESCENCE. 
 
 Our duty now is to record a fact concerning Pen- 
 dennis, which, however shameful and disgraceful, 
 when told regarding the chief personage and god- 
 father of a novel, must, nevertheless, be made known 
 to the public who reads his veritable memoirs. Hav- 
 ing gone to bed ill with fever, and suffering to a cer- 
 tain degree under the passion of love, after he had 
 gone through his physical malady, and had been bled 
 and had been blistered, and had had his head shaved, 
 and had been treated and medicamented as the Doc- 
 tor ordained : — it is a fact, that, when he rallied up 
 from his bodily ailment, his mental malady had like- 
 wise quitted him, and he was no more in love with 
 Fanny Bolton than you or I, who are much too wise, 
 or too moral, to allow our hearts to go gadding after 
 porters' daughters. 
 
 He laughed at himself as he lay on his pillow, 
 thinking of this second cure which had been effected 
 upon him. He did not care the least about Fanny 
 now: he wondered how he ever should have cared: 
 and according to his custom made an autopsy of that 
 dead passion, and anatomized his own defunct sensa- 
 tion for his poor little nurse. What could have made 
 him so hot and eager about her but a few weeks back ? 
 Not her wit, not her breeding, not her beauty — there 
 were hundreds of women better-looking than she. It 
 was out of himself that the passion had gone : it did not 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 17 
 
 reside in her. She was the same ; but the eyes which 
 saw her were changed; and, alas, that it should be 
 so ! were not particularly eager to see her any more. 
 He felt very well disposed towards the little thing, 
 and so forth, but as for violent personal regard, such 
 as he had but a few weeks ago, it had fled under the 
 influence of the pill and' lancet, which had destroyed 
 the fever in his frame. And an immense source of 
 comfort and gratitude it was to Pendennis (though 
 there was something selfish in that feeling, as in most 
 others of our young man), that he had been enabled 
 to resist temptation at the time when the danger was 
 greatest, and had no particular cause of self-reproach 
 as he remembered his conduct towards the young girl. 
 As from a precipice down which he might have fallen, 
 so from the fever from which he had recovered, he re- 
 viewed the Fanny Bolton snare, now that he had 
 escaped out of it, but I 'm not sure that he was not 
 ashamed of the very satisfaction which he experi- 
 enced. It is pleasant, perhaps, but it is humiliating 
 to own that you love no more. 
 
 Meanwhile the kind smiles and tender watchfulness 
 of the mother at his bedside, filled the young man 
 with peace and security. To see that health was re- 
 turning, was all the unwearied nurse demanded: to 
 execute any caprice or order of her patient's, her 
 chiefest joy and reward. He felt himself environed 
 by her love, and thought himself almost as grateful 
 for it as he had been when weak and helpless in 
 childhood. 
 
 Some misty notions regarding the first part of his 
 illness, and that Fanny had nursed him, Pen may 
 have had, but they were so dim that he could not 
 realize them with accuracy, or distinguish them from 
 what he knew to be delusions which had occurred and 
 
18 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 were remembered during the delirium of his fever. 
 So as he had not thought proper on former occasions 
 to make any allusions about Fanny Bolton to his 
 mother, of course he could not now confide to her his 
 sentiments regarding Fanny, or make this worthy 
 lady a confidante. It was on both sides an unlucky 
 precaution and want of confidence ; and a word or two 
 in time might have spared the good lady, and those 
 connected with her, a deal of pain and anguish. 
 
 Seeing Miss Bolton installed as nurse and tender to 
 Pen, I am sorry to say Mrs. Pendennis had put the 
 worst construction on the fact of the intimacy of 
 these two unlucky young persons, and had settled in 
 her own mind that the accusations against Arthur 
 were true. Why not have stopped to inquire ? — 
 There are stories to a man's disadvantage that the 
 women who are fondest of him are always the most 
 eager to believe. Isn't a man's wife often the first 
 to be jealous of him ? Poor Pen got a good stock of 
 this suspicious kind of love from the nurse who was 
 now watching over him ; and the kind and pure crea- 
 ture thought that her boy had gone through a malady 
 much more awful and debasing than the mere physi- 
 cal fever, and was stained by crime as well as weak- 
 ened by illness. The consciousness of this she had 
 to bear perforce silently, and to try to put a mask of 
 cheerfulness and confidence over her inward doubt 
 and despair and horror. 
 
 When Captain Shandon, at Boulogne, read the next 
 number of the " Pall Mall Gazette," it was to remark 
 to Mrs. Shandon that Jack Finucane's hand was no 
 longer visible in the leading articles, and that Mr. 
 Warrington must be at work there again. " I know 
 the crack of his whip in a hundred, and the cut which 
 the fellow's thong leaves. There 's Jack Bludyer. 
 
Helen Installed. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 19 
 
 goes to work like a butcher, and mangles a subject. 
 Mr. Warrington finishes a man, and lays his cuts 
 neat and regular, straight down the back, and draw- 
 ing blood every line ; " at which dreadful metaphor, 
 Mrs. Shandon said, " Law, Charles, how can you talk 
 so ! I always thought Mr. Warrington very high, 
 but a kind gentleman ; and I 'm sure he was most 
 kind to the children." Upon which Shandon said, 
 " Yes ; he 's kind to the children ; but he 's savage 
 to the men ; and to be sure, my dear, you don't un- 
 derstand a word about what I'm saying; and it's 
 best you should n't ; for it 's little good comes out 
 of writing for newspapers ; and it 's better here, liv- 
 ing easy at Boulogne, where the wine 's plenty, and 
 the brandy costs but two francs a bottle. Mix us 
 another tumbler, Mary, my dear ; we '11 go back into 
 harness soon. ' Cras ingens iterabimus sequor ' — bad 
 luck to it." 
 
 In a word, Warrington went to work with all his 
 might, in place of his prostrate friend, and did Pen's 
 portion of the " Pall Mall Gazette " " with a ven- 
 geance," as the saying is. He wrote occasional arti- 
 cles and literary criticisms ; he attended theatres and 
 musical performances, and discoursed about them 
 with his usual savage energy. His hand was too 
 strong for such sma?l subjects, and it pleased him to 
 tell Arthur's mother, and uncle, and Laura, that there 
 was no hand in all the band of penmen more grace- 
 ful and light, more pleasant and more elegant, than 
 Arthur's. " The people in this country, ma'am, don't 
 understand what style is, or they would see the merits 
 of our young one," he said to Mrs. Pendennis. " I 
 call him ours, Ma'am, for I bred him ; and I am as 
 proud of him as you are ; and, bating a little wilful- 
 ness, and a little selfishness, and a little dandinca- 
 
20 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 tion, I don't know a more honest, or loyal, or gentle 
 creature. His pen is wicked sometimes, but he is as 
 kind as a young lady — as Miss Laura here — and I 
 believe he would not do any living mortal harm." 
 
 At this, Helen, though she heaved a deep, deep 
 sigh, and Laura, though she, too, was sadly wounded, 
 nevertheless were most thankful for Warrington's 
 good opinion of Arthur, and loved him for being so 
 attached to their Pen. And Major Pendennis was 
 loud in his praises of Mr. Warrington, — more loud 
 and enthusiastic than it was the Major's wont to be. 
 " He is a gentleman, my dear creature," he said to 
 Helen, "every inch a gentleman, my good madam 
 — the Suffolk Warringtons — Charles the First's 
 baronets : — what could he be but a gentleman, come 
 out of that family ? — father, — Sir Miles Warring- 
 ton ; ran away with — beg your pardon, Miss Bell.. 
 Sir Miles was a very well-known man in London, and 
 a friend of the Prince of Wales. This gentleman is 
 a man of the greatest talents, the very highest accom- 
 plishments, — sure to get on, if he had a motive to 
 put his energies to work." 
 
 Laura blushed for herself whilst the Major was 
 talking and praising Arthur's hero. As she looked 
 at Warrington's manly face, and dark, melancholy 
 eyes, this young person had been speculating about 
 him, and had settled in her mind that he must have 
 been the victim of an unhappy attachment; and as 
 she caught herself so speculating, why, Miss Bell 
 blushed. 
 
 Warrington got chambers hard by, — Grenier's 
 chambers in Flag Court ; and having executed Pen's 
 task with great energy in the morning, his delight 
 and pleasure of an afternoon was to come and sit 
 with the sick man's company in the sunny autumn 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 21 
 
 evenings ; and lie had the honor more than once of 
 giving Miss Bell his arm for a walk in the Temple 
 Gardens ; to take which pastime, when the frank 
 Laura asked of Helen permission, the Major eagerly 
 said, " Yes, yes, begad — of course you go out with 
 him — it 's like the country, you know ; everybody 
 goes out with everybody in the Gardens, and there 
 are beadles, you know, and that sort of thing — 
 everybody walks in the Temple Gardens." If the 
 great arbiter of morals did not object, why should 
 simple Helen ? She was glad that her girl should 
 have such fresh air as the river could give, and to 
 see her return with heightened color and spirits from 
 these harmless excursions. 
 
 Laura and Helen had come, you must know, to a 
 little explanation. When the news arrived of Pen's 
 alarming illness, Laura insisted upon accompanying 
 the terrified mother to London, would not hear of 
 the refusal which the still angry Helen gave her, 
 and, when refused a second time yet more sternly, 
 and when it seemed that the poor lost lad's life was 
 despaired of, and when it was known that his conduct 
 was such as to render all thoughts of union hopeless, 
 Laura had, with many tears, told her mother a secret 
 with which every observant person who reads this 
 story is acquainted already. Now she never could 
 marry him, was she to be denied the consolation of 
 owning how fondly, how truly, how entirely she had 
 loved him ? The mingling tears of the women ap- 
 peased the agony of their grief somewhat, and the 
 sorrows and terrors of their journey were at least in 
 so far mitigated that they shared them together. 
 
 What could Fanny expect when suddenly brought 
 up for sentence before a couple of such judges ? 
 Nothing but swift condemnation, awful punishment, 
 
22 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 merciless dismissal ! Women are cruel critics in 
 cases such as that in which poor Fanny was impli- 
 cated ; and we like them to be so : for, besides the 
 guard which a man places round his own harem, and 
 the defences which a woman has in her heart, her faith, 
 and honor, has n't she all her own friends of her own 
 sex to keep watch that she does not go astray, and to 
 tear her to pieces if she is found erring ? When our 
 Mahmouds or Selims of Baker Street or Belgrave 
 Square visit their Fatimas with condign punishment, 
 their mothers sew up Fatima's sack for her, and her 
 sisters and sisters-in-law see her well under water. 
 And this present writer does not say nay j he protests 
 most solemnly he is a Turk too. He wears a turban 
 and a beard like another, and is all for the sack prac- 
 tice, Bismillah ! But 0 you spotless, who have the 
 right of capital punishment vested in you, at least be 
 very cautious that you make away with the proper (if 
 so she may be called) person. Be very sure of the fact 
 before you order the barge out : and don't pop your 
 subject into the Bosphorus, until you are quite certain 
 chat she deserves it. This is all I would urge in poor 
 Fatima's behalf — absolutely all — not a word more, 
 by the beard of the Prophet. If she's guilty, down 
 with her — heave over the sack, away with it into 
 the Golden Horn bubble and squeak, and justice 
 being done, give way, men, and let us pull back to 
 supper. 
 
 So the Major did not in any way object to War- 
 rington's continued promenades with Miss Laura, but, 
 like a benevolent old gentleman, encouraged in every 
 way the intimacy of that couple. Were there any 
 exhibitions in town ? he was for Warrington conduct- 
 ing her to them. If Warrington had proposed to 
 take her to Vauxhall itself, this most complaisant of 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 23 
 
 men would have seen no harm, — nor would Helen, if 
 Pendennis the elder had so ruled it, — nor would 
 there have been any harm between two persons whose 
 honor was entirely spotless, — between Warrington, 
 who saw in intimacy a pure, and high-minded, and 
 artless woman for the first time in his life, — and 
 Laura, who too for the first time was thrown into the 
 constant society of a gentleman of great natural parts 
 and powers of pleasing ; who possessed varied acquire- 
 ments, enthusiasm, simplicity, humor, and that fresh- 
 ness of mind which his simple life and habits gave 
 him, and which contrasted so much with Pen's dandy 
 indifference of manner and faded sneer. In War- 
 rington's very uncouthness there was a refinement 
 which the other's finery lacked. In his energy, his 
 respect, his desire to please, his hearty laughter, or 
 simple confiding pathos, what a difference to Sultan 
 Pen's yawning sovereignty and languid acceptance of 
 homage ! What had made Pen at home such a dandy 
 and such a despot ? The women had spoiled him, as 
 we like them and as they like to do. They had 
 cloyed him with obedience, and surfeited him with 
 sweet respect and submission, until he grew weary of 
 the slaves who waited upon him, and their caresses 
 and cajoleries excited him no more. Abroad, he was 
 brisk and lively, and eager and impassioned enough 
 — most men are, so constituted and so nurtured. — 
 Does this, like the former sentence, run a chance of 
 being misinterpreted, and does any one dare to sup- 
 pose that the writer would incite the women to revolt ? 
 Never, by the whiskers of the Prophet, again he says. 
 He wears a beard, and he likes his women to, be 
 slaves. What man does n't ? What man would be 
 henpecked, I say ? We will cut off all the heads in 
 Christendom or Turkeydom rather than that. 
 
24 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Well, then, Arthur being so languid, and indifferent, 
 
 and careless about the favors bestowed upon him, how 
 came it that Laura should have such a love and rap- 
 turous regard for him, that a mere inadequate expres- 
 sion of it should have kept the girl talking all the 
 way from Fairoaks to London, as she and Helen 
 travelled in the post-chaise ? As soon as Helen had 
 finished one story about the dear fellow, and narrated, 
 with a hundred sobs and ejaculations, and looks up to 
 heaven, some thrilling incidents which occurred about 
 the period when the hero was breeched, Laura began 
 another equally interesting and equally ornamented 
 with tears, and told how heroically he had a tooth 
 out or wouldn't have it out, or how daringly he 
 robbed a bird's nest, or how magnanimously he spared 
 it ; or how he gave a shilling to the old woman on the 
 common, or went without his bread and butter for the 
 beggar-boy who came into the yard — and so on. One 
 to another the sobbing women sang laments upon 
 their hero, who, my worthy reader has long since 
 perceived, is no more a hero than either one of us. 
 Being as he was, why should a sensible girl be so 
 fond of him? 
 
 This point has been argued before in a previous 
 unfortunate sentence (which lately drew down all the 
 wrath of Ireland upon the writer's head), and which 
 said that the greatest rascal-cutthroats have had 
 somebody to be fond of them, and if those monsters, 
 why not ordinary mortals ? And with whom shall a 
 young lady fall in love but with the person she sees ? 
 She is not supposed to lose her heart in a dream, like 
 a Princess in the " Arabian Nights ; " or to plight her 
 young affections to the portrait of a gentleman in the 
 Exhibition, or a sketch in the " Illustrated London 
 News." You have an instinct within you which in- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 25 
 
 clines you to attach yourself to some one ; you meet 
 Somebody : you hear Somebody constantly praised : 
 you walk, or ride, or waltz, or talk, or sit in the same 
 pew at church with Somebody : you meet again, and 
 again, and — " Marriages are made in heaven," your 
 dear mamma says, pinning your orange-flower wreath 
 on, with her blessed eyes dimmed with tears — and 
 there is a wedding breakfast, and you take off your 
 white satin and retire to your coach-and-four, and you 
 and he are a happy pair. — Or, the affair is broken 
 off, and then, poor dear wounded heart ! why then you 
 meet Somebody Else, and twine your young affections 
 round number two. It is your nature so to do. Do 
 you suppose it is all for the man's sake that you love, 
 and not a bit for your own ? Do you suppose you 
 would drink if you were not thirsty, or eat if you 
 were not hungry ? 
 
 So then Laura liked Pen because she saw scarcely 
 anybody else at Fairoaks except Doctor Portman and 
 Captain Glanders, and because his mother constantly 
 praised her Arthur, and because he was gentleman- 
 like, tolerably good-looking and witty, and because, 
 above all, it was of her nature to like somebody. 
 And having once received this image into her heart, 
 she there tenderly nursed it and clasped it — she 
 there, in his long absences and her constant solitudes, 
 silently brooded over it and fondled it — and when 
 after this she came to London, and had an opportunity 
 of becoming rather intimate with Mr. George Warring- 
 ton, what on earth was to prevent her from thinking 
 him a most odd, original, agreeable, and pleasing 
 person ? 
 
 A long time afterwards, when these days were over, 
 and Fate in its own way had disposed of the various 
 persons now assembled in the dingy building in Lamb 
 
26 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Court, perhaps some of them looked back and thought 
 how happy the time was, and how pleasant had been 
 their evening talks and little walks and simple recrea- 
 tions round the sofa of Pen the convalescent. The 
 Major had a favorable opinion of September in London 
 from that time forward, and declared at his clubs and 
 in society that the dead season in town was often 
 pleasant, doosed pleasant, begad! He used to go 
 home to his lodgings in Bury Street of a night, 
 wondering that it was already so late, and that the 
 evening had passed away so quickly. He made his 
 appearance at the Temple pretty constantly in the 
 afternoon, and tugged up the long black staircase with 
 quite a benevolent activity and perseverance. And 
 he made interest with the chef at Bays's (that re- 
 nowned cook, the superintendence of whose work 
 upon Gastronomy compelled the gifted author to stay 
 in the metropolis), to prepare little jellies, delicate 
 clear soups, aspics, and other trifles good for invalids, 
 which Morgan the valet constantly brought down to 
 the little Lamb Court colony. And the permission 
 to drink a glass or two of pure sherry being accorded 
 to Pen by Doctor Goodenough, the Major told with 
 almost tears in his eyes how his noble friend the 
 Marquis of Steyne, passing through London on his 
 way to the Continent, had ordered any quantity of his 
 precious, his priceless Amontillado, that had been a 
 present from King Ferdinand to the noble Marquis, 
 to be placed at the disposal of Mr. Arthur Pendennis. 
 The widow and Laura tasted it with respect (though 
 they did n't in the least like the bitter flavor), but 
 the invalid was greatly invigorated by it, and War- 
 rington pronounced it superlatively good, and pro- 
 posed the Major's health in a mock speech after 
 dinner on the first day when the wine was served, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 27 
 
 and that of Lord Steyne and the aristocracy in 
 general. 
 
 Major Pendennis returned thanks with the utmost 
 gravity, and in a speech in which he used the words 
 " the present occasion," at least the proper number of 
 times. Pen cheered with his feeble voice from his arm- 
 chair. Warrington taught Miss Laura to cry " Hear ! 
 hear ! " and tapped the table with his knuckles. 
 Pidgeon the attendant grinned, and honest Doctor 
 Goodenough found the party so merrily engaged, when 
 he came in to pay his faithful gratuitous visit. 
 
 Warrington knew Sibwright, who lived below, and 
 that gallant gentleman, in reply to a letter informing 
 him of the use to which his apartments had been 
 put, wrote back the most polite and flowery letter of 
 acquiescence. He placed his chambers at the service 
 of their fair occupants, his bed at their disposal, his 
 carpets at their feet. Everybody was kindly disposed 
 towards the sick man and his family. His heart (and 
 his mother's too, as we may fancy) melted within him 
 at the thought of so much good feeling and good 
 nature. Let Pen's biographer be pardoned for allud- 
 ing to a time not far distant when a somewhat similar 
 mishap brought him a providential friend, a kind 
 physician, and a thousand proofs of a most touching 
 and surprising kindness and sympathy. 
 
 There was a piano in Mr. Sibwright's chamber 
 (indeed this gentleman, a lover of all the arts, per- 
 formed himself — and exceedingly ill too — upon the 
 instrument ; and had had a song dedicated to him — 
 the words by himself, the air by his devoted friend 
 Leopoldo Twankidillo — and at this music-box, as Mr. 
 Warrington called it, Laura, at first with a great deal 
 of tremor and blushing (which became her very much), 
 played and sang, sometimes of an evening, simple airs, 
 
28 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and old songs of home. Her voice was a rich con- 
 tralto, and Warrington, who scarcely knew one tune 
 from another, and who had but one tune or bray in 
 his repertoire, — a most discordant imitation of God 
 save the King, — sat rapt in delight listening to these 
 songs. He could follow their rhythm if not their har- 
 mony ; and he could watch, with a constant and daily 
 growing enthusiasm, the pure and tender and generous 
 creature who made the music. 
 
 I wonder how that poor pale little girl in the black 
 bonnet, who used to stand at the lamp-post in Lamb 
 Court sometimes of an evening, looking up to the 
 open windows from which the music came, liked to 
 hear it. When Pen's bedtime came the songs were 
 hushed. Lights appeared in the upper room: his 
 room, whither the widow used to conduct him ; and 
 then the Major and Mr. Warrington, and sometimes 
 Miss Laura, would have a game at ecarte or backgam- 
 mon ; or she would sit by working a pair of slippers 
 in worsted — a pair of gentleman's slippers — they 
 might have been for Arthur or for George or for 
 Major Pendennis : one of those three would have 
 given anything for the slippers. 
 
 Whilst such business as this was going on within, 
 a rather shabby old gentleman would come and lead 
 away the pale girl in the black bonnet, who had no 
 right to be abroad in the night air, and the Temple 
 porters, the few laundresses, and other amateurs 
 who had been listening to the concert, would also 
 disappear. 
 
 Just before ten o'clock there was another musical 
 performance, namely that of the chimes of St. Clem- 
 ent's clock in the Strand, which played the clear 
 cheerful notes of a psalm, before it proceeded to ring 
 its ten fatal strokes. As they were ringing, Laura 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 29 
 
 began to fold up the slippers ; Martha from Fairoaks 
 appeared with a bed-candle, and a constant smile on 
 her face ; the Major said, " God bless my soul, is it 
 so late ? " Warrington and he left their unfinished 
 game, and got up and shook hands with Miss Bell. 
 Martha from Fairoaks lighted them out of the pass- 
 age and down the stair, and, as they descended, they 
 could hear her bolting and locking "the sporting 
 door " after them, upon her young mistress and her- 
 self. If there had been any danger, grinning Martha 
 said she would have got down " that thai* hooky 
 soord which hungup in gantleman's room," — mean- 
 ing the Damascus scimitar with the name of the 
 Prophet engraved on the blade and the red-velvet 
 scabbard, which Percy Sibwright, Esquire, brought 
 back from his tour in the Levant, along with an Alba- 
 nian dress, and which he wore with such elegant 
 effect at Lady Mullinger's fancy ball, Gloucester 
 Square, Hyde Park. It entangled itself in Miss 
 Kewsey's train, who appeared in the dress in which 
 she, with her mamma, had been presented to their 
 sovereign (the latter by the L — d Ch-nc-ll-r's lady), 
 and led to events which have nothing to do with this 
 history. Is not Miss Kewsey now Mrs. Sibwright ? 
 Has Sibwright not got a county court ? — Good night, 
 Laura and Fairoaks Martha. Sleep well and wake 
 happy, pure and gentle lady. 
 
 Sometimes after these evenings Warrington would 
 walk a little way with Major Pendennis — just a 
 little way — just as far as the Temple gate — as the 
 Strand — as Charing Cross — as the Club — he was 
 not going into the club ? Well, as far as Bury Street, 
 where he would laughingly shake hands on the Ma- 
 jor's own doorstep. They had been talking about 
 Laura all the way. It was wonderful how enthusias- 
 
30 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 tic the Major, who, as we know, used to dislike her, 
 had grown to be regarding the young lady. — 
 "Dev'lish fine girl, begad. Dev'lish well-mannered 
 girl — my sister-in-law has the manners of a duchess 
 and would bring up any girl well. Miss Bell's a 
 little countrified. But the smell of the hawthorn is 
 pleasant, demmy. How she blushes. Your London 
 girls would give many a guinea for a bouquet like 
 that — natural flowers, begad ! And she 's a little 
 money too — nothing to speak of — but a pooty little 
 bit of money." In all which opinions no doubt Mr. 
 Warrington agreed; and though he laughed as he 
 shook hands with the Major, his face fell as he left 
 his veteran companion ; and he strode back to cham- 
 bers, and smoked pipe after pipe long into the night, 
 and wrote article upon article, more and more savage, 
 in lieu of friend Pen disabled. 
 
 Well, it was a happy time for almost all parties con- 
 cerned. Pen mended daily. Sleeping and eating 
 were his constant occupations. His appetite was 
 something frightful. He was ashamed of exhibiting 
 it before Laura, and almost before his mother who 
 laughed and applauded him. As the roast chicken 
 of his dinner went away he eyed the departing friend 
 with sad longing, and began to long for jelly, or tea, 
 or what not. He was like an ogre in devouring. 
 The Doctor cried stop, but Pen would not. Nature 
 called out to him more loudly than the Doctor and 
 that kind and friendly physician handed him over 
 with a very good grace to the other healer. 
 
 And here let us speak very tenderly and in the 
 strictest confidence of an event which befell him, and 
 to which he never liked an allusion. During his de- 
 lirium the ruthless Goodenough ordered ice to be put 
 to his head, and all his lovely hair to be cut. It was 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 31 
 
 done in the time of — of the other nurse, who left 
 every single hair of course in a paper for the widow- 
 to count and treasure up. She never believed but 
 that the girl had taken away some of it, but then 
 women are so suspicious upon these matters. 
 
 When this direful loss was made visible to Major 
 Pendennis, as of course it was the first time the elder 
 saw the poor young man's shorn pate, and when Pen 
 was quite out of danger, and gaining daily vigor, the 
 Major, with something like blushes and a queer wink 
 of his eyes, said he knew of a — a person — a coiffeur, 
 in fact — a good man, whom he would send down to 
 the Temple, and who would — a — apply — a — a 
 temporary remedy to that misfortune- 
 Laura looked at Warrington with the archest spar- 
 kle in her eyes — Warrington fairly burst out into a 
 boohoo of laughter: even the widow was obliged to 
 laugh ; and the Major erubescent confounded the im- 
 pudence of the young folks, and said when he had his 
 hair cut he would keep a lock of it for Miss Laura. 
 
 Warrington voted that Pen should wear a barris- 
 ter's wig. There was Sibwright's down below, which 
 would become him hugely. Pen said " Stuff," and 
 seemed as confused as his uncle ; and the end was 
 that a gentleman from Burlington Arcade waited next 
 day upon Mr. Pendennis, and had a private interview 
 with him in his bedroom ; and a week afterwards the 
 same individual appeared with a box under his arm, 
 and an ineffable grin of politeness on his face, and an- 
 nounced that he had brought 'ome Mr. Pendennis's 
 'ead of 'air. 
 
 It must have been a grand but melancholy sight to 
 see Pen in the recesses of his apartment, sadly con- 
 templating his ravaged beauty and the artificial 
 means of hiding its ruin. He appeared at length in 
 
32 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 the 'ead of 'air ; but Warrington laughed so that Pen 
 grew sulky, and went back for his velvet cap, a neat 
 turban which the fondest of mammas had worked for 
 him. Then Mr. Warrington and Miss Bell got some 
 flowers off the ladies' bonnets and made a wreath, with 
 which they decorated the wig and brought it out in 
 procession, and did homage before it. In fact they 
 indulged in a hundred sports, jocularities, waggeries 
 and petits jeux innocens : so that the second and third 
 floors of Number 6, Lamb Court, Temple, rang with 
 more cheerfulness and laughter than had been known 
 in those precincts for many a long day. 
 
 At last, after about ten days of this life, one eve- 
 ning when the little spy of the court came out to take 
 her usual post of observation at the lamp, there was 
 no music from the second-floor window, there were no 
 lights in the third-story chambers, the windows of 
 each were open, and the occupants were gone. Mrs. 
 Flanagan, the laundress, told Fanny what had hap- 
 pened. The ladies and all the party had gone to 
 Richmond for change of air. The antique travelling 
 chariot was brought out again and cushioned with 
 many pillows for Pen and his mother; and Miss 
 Laura went in the most affable manner in the omnibus 
 under the guardianship of Mr. George Warrington. 
 He came back and took possession of his old bed that 
 night in the vacant and cheerless chambers, and to his 
 old books and his old pipes, but not perhaps to his 
 old sleep. 
 
 The widow had left a jar full of flowers upon his 
 table, prettily arranged, and when he entered they 
 filled the solitary room with odor. They were memo- 
 rials of the kind, gentle souls who had gone away, and 
 who had decorated for a little while that lonely, 
 cheerless place. He had had the happiest days of his 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 33 
 
 whole life, George felt — he knew it now they were 
 just gone : he went and took up the flowers and put 
 his face to them, smelt them — perhaps kissed them. 
 As he put them down, he rubbed his rough hand 
 across his eyes with a bitter word and laugh. He 
 would have given his whole life and soul to win that 
 prize which Arthur rejected. Did she want fame ? 
 He would have won it for her : — devotion ? — a 
 great heart full of pent-up tenderness and manly love 
 and gentleness was there for her, if she might take it. 
 But it might not be. Fate had ruled otherwise. 
 "Even if I could, she would not have me," George 
 thought. " What has an ugly, rough old fellow like 
 me, to make any woman like him ? I 'm getting old, 
 and I 've made no mark in life. I 've neither good 
 looks, nor youth, nor money, nor reputation. A man 
 must be able to do something besides stare at her and 
 offer on his knees his uncouth devotion, to make a 
 woman like him. What can I do ? Lots of young 
 fellows have passed me in the race — what they call 
 the prizes of life did n't seem to me worth the trouble 
 of the struggle. But for her. If she had been mine 
 and liked a diamond — ah ! should n't she have worn 
 it ! Psha, what a fool I am to brag of what I would 
 have done ! We are the slaves of destiny. Our lots 
 are shaped for us, and mine is ordained long ago. 
 Come, let us have a pipe, and put the smell of these 
 flowers out of court. Poor little silent flowers ! 
 You '11 be dead to-morrow. What business had you 
 to show your red cheeks in this dingy place ? 99 
 
 By his bed-side George found a new Bible which 
 the widow had placed there, with a note inside saying 
 that she had not seen the book amongst his collection 
 in a room where she had spent a number of hours, and 
 wher* God had vouchsafed to her prayers the life of 
 
34 
 
 PENDEKNIS. 
 
 her son, and that she gave to Arthur's friend the best 
 thing she could, and besought him to read in the volume 
 sometimes, and to keep it as a token of a grateful 
 mother's regard and affection. Poor George mourn- 
 fully kissed the book as he had done the flowers ; and 
 the morning found him still reading in its awful 
 pages, in which so many stricken hearts, in which so 
 many tender and faithful souls have found comfort 
 under calamity, and refuge and hope in affliction. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 fanny's occupation 's gone. 
 
 Good Helen, ever since her son's illness, had taken, 
 as we have seen, entire possession of the young man, 
 of his drawers and closets and all which they con- 
 tained : whether shirts that wanted buttons, or stock- 
 ings that required mending, or, must it be owned ? 
 letters that lay amongst those articles of raiment, 
 and which of course it was necessary that somebody 
 should answer during Arthur's weakened and incapa- 
 ble condition. Perhaps Mrs. Pendennis was laudably 
 desirous to have some explanations about the dreadful 
 Fanny Bolton mystery, regarding which she had never 
 breathed a word to her son, though it was present 
 in her mind always, and occasioned her inexpressible 
 anxiety and disquiet. She had caused the brass 
 knocker to be screwed off the inner door of the 
 chambers, whereupon the postman's startling double 
 rap would, as she justly argued, disturb the rest of her 
 patient, and she did not allow him to see any letter 
 which arrived, whether from boot-makers who impor- 
 tuned him, or hatters who had a heavy account to 
 make up against next Saturday, and would be very 
 much obliged if Mr. Arthur Pendennis would have the 
 kindness to settle, etc. Of these documents, Pen, who 
 was always freehanded and careless, of course had his 
 share, and though no great one, one quite enough to 
 alarm his scrupulous and conscientious mother. She 
 had some savings ; Pen's magnificent self-denial, and 
 
36 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 her own economy, amounting from her great simplicity 
 and avoidance of show to parsimony almost, had ena- 
 bled her to put by a little sum of money, a part of 
 which she delightedly consecrated to the paying off 
 the young gentleman's obligations. At this price, 
 many a worthy youth and respected reader would hand 
 over his correspondence to his parents ; and perhaps 
 there is no greater test of a man's regularity and easi- 
 ness of conscience, than his readiness to face the post- 
 man. Blessed is he who is made happy by the sound 
 of a rat-tat ! The good are eager for it, but the naughty 
 tremble at the sound thereof. So it was very kind of 
 Mrs. Pendennis doubly to spare Pen the trouble of 
 hearing or answering letters during his illness. 
 
 There could have been nothing in the young man's 
 chests of drawers and wardrobes which could be con- 
 sidered as inculpating him in any way, nor any satis- 
 factory documents regarding the Fanny Bolton affair 
 found there, for the widow had to ask her brother-in- 
 law if he knew anything about the odious transaction, 
 and the dreadful intrigue in which her son was en- 
 gaged. When they were at Richmond one day, and 
 Pen with Warrington had taken a seat on a bench on 
 the terrace, the widow kept Major Pendennis in con- 
 sultation, and laid her terrors and perplexities before 
 him, such of them at least (for as is the wont of men 
 and women, she did not make quite a clean confession, 
 and I suppose no spendthrift asked for a schedule of 
 his debts, no lady of fashion asked by her husband for 
 her dressmaker's bills ever sent in the whole of them 
 yet) — such, we say, of her perplexities, at least, as she 
 chose to confide to her Director for the time being. 
 
 When, then, she asked the Major what course she 
 ought to pursue, about this dreadful — this horrid 
 affair, and whether he knew anything regarding it, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 37 
 
 the old gentleman puckered up his face, so that you 
 could not tell whether he was smiling or not ; gave 
 the widow one queer look with his little eyes ; cast 
 them down to the carpet again, and said, " My dear, 
 good creature, I don't know anything about it ; and I 
 don't wish to know anything about it; and, as you 
 ask me my opinion, I think you had best know 
 nothing about it too. Young men will be young men ; 
 and, begad, my good ma'am, if you think our boy 
 is a Jo — " 
 
 "Pray, spare me this," Helen broke in, looking 
 very stately. 
 
 "My dear creature, I did not commence the con- 
 versation, permit me to say," the Major said, bowing 
 very blandly. 
 
 " I can't bear to hear such a sin — such a dreadful 
 sin — spoken of in such a way," the widow said, with 
 tears of annoyance starting from her eyes. " I can't 
 bear to think that my boy should commit such a 
 crime. I wish he had died, almost, before he had 
 done it. I don't know how I survive it myself ; for 
 it is breaking my heart, Major Pendennis, to think 
 that his father's son — my child — whom I remember 
 so good — oh, so good, and full of honor ! — should be 
 fallen so dreadfully low, as to — as to — " 
 
 "As to flirt with a little grisette, my dear creat- 
 ure ? " said the Major. "Egad, if all the mothers in 
 England were to break their hearts because — Nay, 
 nay; upon my word and honor, now, don't agitate 
 yourself, don't cry. I can't bear to see a woman's 
 tears — I never could — never. But how do we know 
 that anything serious has happened? Has Arthur 
 said anything?" 
 
 " His silence confirms it," sobbed Mrs. Pendennis, 
 behind her pocket-handkerchief. 
 
38 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Not at all. There are subjects, my dear, about 
 which a young fellow cannot surely talk to his 
 mamma," insinuated the brother-in-law. 
 
 " She has written to him," cried the lady, behind 
 the cambric. 
 
 "What, before he was ill ? Nothing more likely." 
 
 "No, since," the mourner with the batiste mask 
 gasped out ; " not before ; that is, I don't think so — 
 that is, I — " 
 
 "Only since; and you have — yes, I understand. 
 I suppose when he was too ill to read his own cor- 
 respondence, you took charge of it, did you ? " 
 
 "I am the most unhappy mother in the world," 
 cried out the unfortunate Helen. 
 
 " The most unhappy mother in the world, because 
 your son is a man and not a hermit ! Have a care, 
 my dear sister. If you have suppressed any letters 
 to him, you may have done yourself a great injury ; 
 and, if I know anything of Arthur's spirit, may cause 
 a difference between him and you, which you '11 rue 
 all your life — a difference that 's a dev'lish deal 
 more important, my good madam, than the little — 
 little — trumpery cause which originated it." 
 
 "There was only one letter," broke out Helen — 
 "only a very little one — only a few words. Here 
 it is — oh — how can you, how can you speak so ? " 
 
 When the good soul said " only a very little one," 
 the Major could not speak at all, so inclined was he 
 to laugh, in spite of the agonies of the poor soul be- 
 fore him, and for whom he had a hearty pity and 
 liking too. But each was looking at the matter with 
 his or her peculiar eyes and view of morals, and the 
 Major's morals, as the reader knows, were not those 
 of an ascetic. 
 
 " I recommend you," he gravely continued, " if you 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 39 
 
 can, to seal it up — those letters ain't unfrequently 
 sealed with wafers — and to put it amongst Pen's 
 other letters, and let him have them when he calls 
 for them. Or if we can't seal it, we mistook it for a 
 bill." 
 
 "I can't tell my son a lie," said the widow. It 
 had been put silently into the letter-box two days 
 previous to their departure from the Temple, and had 
 been brought to Mrs. Pendennis by Martha. She had 
 never seen Fanny's handwriting, of course ; but when 
 the letter was put into her hands, she knew the au- 
 thor at once. She had been on the watch for that 
 letter every day since Pen had been ill. She had 
 opened some of his other letters because she wanted 
 to get at that one. She had the horrid paper poison- 
 ing her bag at that moment. She took it out and 
 offered it to her brother-in-law. 
 
 " Arthur Pendennis, Esq." he read, in a timid little 
 sprawling handwriting, and with a sneer on his face. 
 " No, my dear, I won't read any more. But you, who 
 have read it, may tell me what the letter contains — 
 only prayers for his health in bad spelling you say — 
 and a desire to see him ? Well — there 's no harm 
 in that. And as you ask me" — here the Major 
 began to look a little queer for his own part, and put 
 on his demure look — " as you ask me, my dear, for 
 information, why, I don't mind telling you that — ah 
 — that — Morgan, my man, has made some inquiries 
 regarding this affair, and that — my friend Doctor 
 Goodenough also looked into it — and it appears that 
 this person was greatly smitten with Arthur ; that 
 he paid for her and took her to Vauxhall Gardens, as 
 Morgan heard from an old acquaintance of Pen's and 
 ours, an Irish gentleman, who was very nearly once 
 having the honor of being the — from an Irishman, 
 
40 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 in fact ; — that the girl's father, a violent man of in- 
 toxicated habits, has beaten her mother, who persists 
 in declaring her daughter's entire innocence to her 
 husband on the one hand, while on the other she told 
 Goodenough that Arthur had acted like a brute to her 
 child. And so you see the story remains in a mys- 
 tery. Will you have it cleared up ? I have but to 
 ask Pen, and he will tell me at once — he is as honor- 
 able a man as ever lived." 
 
 "Honorable! " said the widow, with bitter scorn. 
 " Oh, brother, what is this you call honor ? If my 
 boy has been guilty, he must marry her. I would go 
 down on my knees and pray him to do so." 
 
 " Good God ! are you mad ? " screamed out the 
 Major; and remembering former passages in Arthur's 
 history and Helen's, the truth came across his mind 
 that, were Helen to make this prayer to her son, he 
 would marry the girl : he was wild enough and obsti- 
 nate enough to commit any folly when a woman he 
 loved was in the case. " My dear sister, have you lost 
 your senses ? " he continued (after an agitated pause, 
 during which the above dreary reflection crossed him); 
 and in a softened tone, " What right have we to sup- 
 pose that anything has passed between this girl and 
 him ? Let 's see the letter. Her heart is breaking ; 
 pray, pray, write to me — home unhappy — unkind 
 father — your nurse — poor little Fanny — spelt, as 
 you say, in a manner to outrage all sense of decorum. 
 But, good heavens ! my dear, what is there in this ? 
 only that the little devil is making love to him still. 
 Why she did n't come into his chambers, until he was 
 so delirous that he didn't know her. What-d'you- 
 call-'em, Flanagan, the laundress, told Morgan, my 
 man, so. She came in company of an old fellow, an 
 old Mr. Bows, who came most kindly down to Still- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 41 
 
 brook and brought me away — by the way, I left him 
 in the cab, and never paid the fare ; and dev'lish kind 
 it was of him. No, there 's nothing in the story." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Thank Heaven — thank God ! " 
 Helen cried. " I '11 take the letter to Arthur and ask 
 him now. Look at him there. He 's on the terrace 
 with Mr. Warrington. They are talking to some chil- 
 dren. My boy was always fond of children. He 's 
 innocent, thank God — thank God ! Let me go to 
 him." 
 
 Old Pendennis had his own opinion. When he 
 briskly took the not guilty side of the case, but a 
 moment before, very likely the old gentleman had a 
 different view from that which he chose to advocate, 
 and judged of Arthur by what he himself would have 
 done. If she goes to Arthur, and he speaks the truth, 
 as the rascal will, it spoils all, he thought. And he 
 tried one more effort. 
 
 " My dear, good soul," he said, taking Helen's hand 
 and kissing it, " as your son has not acquainted you 
 with this affair, think if you have any right to ex- 
 amine it. As you believe him to be a man of honor, 
 what right have you to doubt his honor in this in- 
 stance. Who is his accuser ? An anonymous scoun- 
 drel who has brought no specific charge against him. 
 If there were any such, wouldn't the girl's parents 
 have come forward ? He is not called upon to rebut, 
 nor you to entertain an anonymous accusation ; and 
 as for believing him guilty because a girl of that rank 
 happened to be in his rooms acting as nurse to him, 
 begad you might as will insist upon his marrying 
 that dem'd old Irish gin-drinking laundress, Mrs. 
 Flanagan." 
 
 The widow burst out laughing through her tears — • 
 the victory was gained by the old general. 
 
42 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Marry Mrs. Flanagan, by G-ed," lie continued, tap- 
 ping her slender hand. " No. The boy has told you 
 nothing about it, and you know nothing about it. The 
 boy is innocent — of course. And what, my good soul, 
 is the course for us to pursoo ? Suppose he is at- 
 tached to this girl — don't look sad again, it 's merely 
 a supposition — and begad a young fellow may have 
 an attachment, may n't he ? — Directly he gets well 
 he will be at her again." 
 
 " He must come home ! We must go off directly to 
 Fairoaks," the widow cried out. 
 
 " My good creature, he '11 bore himself to death at 
 Fairoaks. He '11 have nothing to do but to think about 
 his passion there. There 's no place in the world for 
 making a little passion into a big one, and where a 
 fellow feeds on his own thoughts, like a lonely coun- 
 try-house where there 's nothing to do. We must 
 occupy him : amuse him : we must take him abroad : 
 he's never been abroad except to Paris for a lark. 
 We must travel a little. He must have a nurse with 
 him, to take great care of him, for Goodenough says 
 he had a dev'lish narrow squeak of it (don't look 
 frightened), and so you must come and watch: and 
 I suppose you '11 take Miss Bell, and I should like to 
 usk Warrington to come. Arthur 's dev'lish fond of 
 Warrington. He can't do without Warrington. War- 
 rington's family is one of the oldest in England, and 
 he is one of the best young fellows I ever met in my 
 life. I like him exceedingly." 
 
 "Does Mr. Warrington know anything about this 
 — this affair ? " asked Helen. He had been away, 
 I know, for two months before it happened ; Pen 
 wrote me so." 
 
 " Not a word — I — I We asked him about it. I Ve 
 pumped him. He never heard of the transaction, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 43 
 
 never ; I pledge you my word," cried out the Major, 
 in some alarm. "And, my dear, I think you had 
 much best not talk to him about it — much best not 
 
 — of course not: the subject is most delicate and 
 painful." 
 
 The simple widow took her brother's hand and 
 pressed it. " Thank you, brother," she said. " You 
 have been very, very kind to me. You have given 
 me a great deal of comfort. I '11 go to my room, and 
 think of what you have said. This illness and these 
 
 — these emotions — have agitated me a great deal ; 
 and I 'm not very strong, you know. But I '11 go and 
 thank God that my boy is innocent. He is innocent. 
 Is n't he, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dearest creature, yes," said the old fellow, 
 kissing her affectionately, and quite overcome by her 
 tenderness. He looked after her as she retreated, 
 with a fondness which was rendered more piquant, as 
 it were, by the mixture of a certain scorn which ac- 
 companied it. " Innocent ! " he said ; " I M swear, till 
 I was black in the face, he was innocent, rather than 
 give that good soul pain." 
 
 Having achieved this victory, the fatigued and 
 happy warrior laid himself down on the sofa, and 
 put his yellow silk pocket-handkerchief over his face ? 
 and indulged in a snug little nap, of which the dreams, 
 no doubt, were very pleasant, as he snored with re- 
 freshing regularity. The young men sat, meanwhile, 
 dawdling away the sunshiny hours on the terrace, 
 very happy, and Pen, at least, very talkative. He 
 was narrating to Warrington a plan for a new novel, 
 and a new tragedy. Warrington laughed at the idea 
 of his writing a tragedy. By Jove, he would show 
 that he could ; and he began to spout some of the 
 lines of his play. 
 
44 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 The little solo on the wind instrument which the 
 Major was performing was interrupted by the entrance 
 of Miss Bell. She had been on a visit to her old 
 friend, Lady Eockminster, who had taken a summer 
 villa in the neighborhood ; and who, hearing of Ar- 
 thur's illness, and his mother's arrival at Eichmond, 
 had visited the latter ; and, for the benefit of the for- 
 mer, whom she didn't like, had been prodigal of 
 grapes, partridges, and other attentions. For Laura 
 the old lady had a great fondness, and longed that she 
 should come and stay with her ; but Laura could not 
 leave her mother at this juncture. Worn out by con- 
 stant watching over Arthur's health, Helen's own had 
 suffered very considerably ; and Doctor Goodenough 
 had had reason to prescribe for her as well as for his 
 younger patient. 
 
 Old Pendennis started up on the entrance of the 
 young lady. His slumbers were easily broken. He 
 made her a gallant speech — he had been full of gal- 
 lantry towards her of late. Where had she been 
 gathering those roses which she wore on her cheeks ? 
 How happy he was to be disturbed out of his dreams 
 by such a charming reality ! Laura had plenty of 
 humor and honesty; and these two caused her to 
 have on her side something very like a contempt for 
 the old gentleman. It delighted her to draw out his 
 worldliness, and to make the old habitue of clubs and 
 drawing-rooms tell his twaddling tales about great 
 folks, and expound his views of morals. 
 
 Not in this instance, however, was she disposed to 
 be satirical. She had been to drive with Lady Eock- 
 minster in the Park, she said ; and she had brought 
 home game for Pen, and flowers for mamma. She 
 looked very grave about mamma. She had just been 
 with Mrs. Pendennis. Helen was very much worn, 
 
PEXDENXIS. 
 
 45 
 
 and she feared she was very, very ill. Her large eyes 
 filled with tender marks of the sympathy which 
 she felt in her beloved friend's condition. She was 
 alarmed abont her. Could not that good — that 
 dear Dr. Goodenough — cure her ? 
 
 "Arthur's illness, and other mental anxiety," the 
 Major slowly said, " had, no doubt, shaken Helen." 
 A burning blush upon the girl's face showed that she 
 understood the old man's allusions. But she looked 
 him full in the face and made no reply. " He might 
 have spared me that," she thought. "What is he 
 aiming at in recalling that shame to me ? " 
 
 That he had an aim in view is very possible. The 
 old diplomatist seldom spoke without some such end. 
 Doctor Goodenough had talked to him, he said, about 
 their dear friend's health, and she wanted rest and 
 change of scene — yes, change of scene. Painful cir- 
 cumstances which had occurred must be forgotten and 
 never alluded to ; he begged pardon for even hinting 
 at them to Miss Bell — he never should do so again — 
 nor, he was sure, would she. Everything must be 
 done to soothe and comfort their friend, and his pro- 
 posal was that they should go abroad for the autumn 
 to a watering-place in the Rhine neighborhood, where 
 Helen might rally her exhausted spirits, and Arthur 
 try and become a new man. Of course, Laura would 
 not forsake her mother. 
 
 Of course not. It was about Helen, and Helen 
 only — that is, about Arthur too for her sake, that 
 Laura was anxious. She would go abroad or any- 
 where with Helen. 
 
 And Helen having thought the matter over for an 
 hour in her room, had by that time grown to be as 
 anxious for the tour as any school-boy, who has been 
 reading a book of voyages, is eager to go to sea. 
 
4G 
 
 PENDENNIS, 
 
 Whither should they go ? the farther the better — to 
 some place so remote that even recollection could not 
 follow them thither : so delightful that Pen should 
 never want to leave it — anywhere so that he could 
 be happy. She opened her desk with trembling fin- 
 gers and took out her banker's book, and counted up 
 her little savings. If more was wanted, she had the 
 diamond cross. She would borrow from Laura again. 
 " Let us go — let us go," she thought ; " directly he 
 can bear the journey let us go away. Come, kind 
 Doctor Goodenough — come quick, and give us leave 
 to quit England." 
 
 The good Doctor drove over to dine with them that 
 very day. " If you agitate yourself so," he said to 
 her, " and if your heart beats so, and if you persist in 
 being so anxious about a young gentleman who is get- 
 ting well as fast as he can, we shall have you laid up, 
 and Miss Laura to watch you ; and then it will be 
 her turn to be ill, and I should like to know how the 
 deuce a doctor is to live who is obliged to come and 
 attend you all for nothing ? Mrs. Goodenough is 
 already jealous of you, and says, with perfect jus- 
 tice, that I fall in love with my patients. And you 
 must please to get out of the country as soon as 
 ever you can, that I may have a little peace in my 
 family." 
 
 When the plan of going abroad was proposed to 
 Arthur, it was received by that gentleman with the 
 greatest alacrity and enthusiasm. He longed to be 
 off at once. He let his mustachios grow from that 
 very moment, in order, I suppose, that he might get 
 his mouth into training for a perfect French and Ger- 
 man pronunciation ; and he was seriously disquieted 
 in his mind because the mustachios, when they came, 
 were of a decidedly red color. He had looked for- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 47 
 
 ward to an autumn at Fairoaks ; and perhaps the idea 
 of passing two or three months there did not amuse 
 the young man. " There is not a soul to speak to in 
 the place," he said to Warrington. "I can't stand 
 old Portman's sermons, and pompous after-dinner 
 conversation. I know all old Glanders's stories about 
 ' the Peninsular war. The Claverings are the only 
 Christian people in the neighborhood, and they are 
 not to be at home before Christmas, my uncle says : 
 besides, Warrington, I want to get out of the country. 
 Whilst you were away, confound it, I had a tempta- 
 tion, from which I am very thankful to have escaped, 
 and which I count that even my illness came very 
 luckily to put an end to." And here he narrated to 
 his friend the circumstances of the Vauxhall affair, 
 with which the reader is already acquainted. 
 
 Warrington looked very grave when he heard this 
 story. Putting the moral delinquency out of the 
 question, he was extremely glad for Arthur's sake 
 that the latter had escaped from a danger which 
 might have made his whole life wretched ; " which 
 certainly," said Warrington, " would have occasioned 
 the wretchedness and ruin of the other party. And 
 your mother and — and your friends — what a pain it 
 would have been to them ! " urged Pen's companion, 
 little knowing what grief and annoyance these good 
 people had already suffered. 
 
 " Not a word to my mother ! " Pen cried out, in a 
 state of great alarm. " She would never get over it. 
 An esclandre of that sort would kill her, I do believe. 
 And," he added, with a knowing air, and as if, like a 
 young rascal of a Lovelace, he had been engaged in 
 what are called affaires de cceur all his life ; " the 
 best way when a danger of that sort menaces, is not 
 to face it, but to turn one's back on it and run." 
 
48 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " And were you very much smitten ? " Warrington 
 asked. 
 
 " Hm ! " said Lovelace. " She dropped her h's, but 
 she was a dear little girl." 
 
 O Clarissas of this life, O you poor little ignorant 
 vain foolish maidens ! if you did but know the way in 
 which the Lovelaces speak of you: if you could but 
 hear Jack talking to Tom across the coffee-room of a 
 Club ; or see Ned taking your poor little letters out 
 of his cigar-case, and handing them over to Charley, 
 and Billy, and Harry across the mess-room table, you 
 would not be so eager to write, or so ready to listen t 
 There 's a sort of crime which is not complete unless 
 the lucky rogue boasts of it afterwards ; and the man 
 who betrays your honor in the first place, is pretty 
 sure, remember that, to betray your secret too. 
 
 " It 's hard to fight, and it 's easy to fall," Warring- 
 ton said gloomily. "And as you say, Pendennis, 
 when a danger like this is imminent, the best way is 
 to turn your back on it and run." 
 
 AftGr this little discourse upon a subject about 
 which Pen would have talked a great deal more elo- 
 quently a month back, the conversation reverted to 
 the plans for going abroad, and Arthur eagerly 
 pressed his friend to be of the party. Warrington 
 was a part of the family — a part of the cure. Ar- 
 thur said he should not have half the pleasure with- 
 out Warrington. 
 
 But George said No, he could n't go. He must stop 
 at home and take Pen's place. The other remarked 
 that that was needless, for Shandon was now come 
 back to London, and Arthur was entitled to a holiday. 
 
 "Don't press me," Warrington said, "I can't go. 
 I 've particular engagements. I 'm best at home. 
 I've not got the money to travel, that's the long 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 49 
 
 and short of it — for travelling costs money, you 
 know." 
 
 This little obstacle seemed fatal to Pen. He men- 
 tioned it to his mother : Mrs. Pendennis was very 
 sorry ; Mr. Warrington had been exceedingly kind ; 
 but she supposed he knew best about his affairs. 
 And then, no doubt, she reproached herself for selfish- 
 ness in wishing to carry the boy off and have him to 
 herself altogether. 
 
 " What is this I hear from Pen, my dear Mr. War- 
 rington ? " the Major asked one day, when the pair 
 were alone and after Warrington's objection had been 
 stated to him. " Not go with us ? We can't hear of 
 such a thing — Pen won't get well without you. I 
 promise you, I 'm not going to be his nurse. He 
 must have somebody with him that's stronger and 
 gayer and better able to amuse him than a rheumatic 
 old fogy like me. I shall go to Carlsbad very likely, 
 when I 've seen you people settle down. Travelling 
 costs nothing now-a-days — or so little ! And — and 
 pray, Warrington, I remember that I was your father's 
 very old friend, and if you and your brother are not 
 on such terms as to enable you to — to anticipate your 
 younger brother's allowance, I beg you to make me 
 your banker, for has n't Pen been getting into your 
 debt these three weeks past, during which you have 
 been doing what he informs me is his work, with such 
 exemplary talent and genius, begad ? " 
 
 Still, in spite of this kind offer and unheard-of gen- 
 erosity on the part of the Major, George Warrington 
 refused, and said he would stay at home. But it was 
 with a faltering voice and an irresolute accent which 
 showed how much he would like to go, though his 
 tongue persisted in saying nay. 
 
50 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 But the Major's persevering benevolence was not to 
 be balked in this way. At the tea-table that evening, 
 Helen happening to be absent from the room for the 
 moment, looking for Pen who had gone to roost, old 
 Penclennis returned to the charge, and rated Warring- 
 ton for refusing to join in their excursion. "Is n't it 
 ungallant, Miss Bell ? " he said, turning to that young 
 lady. " Is n't it unfriendly ? Here we have been the 
 happiest party in the world, and this odious selfish 
 creature breaks it up ! " 
 
 Miss Bell's long eyelashes looked down towards he* 
 tea-cup : and Warrington blushed hugely but did not 
 speak. Neither did Miss Bell speak : but when he 
 blushed she blushed too. 
 
 " You ask him to come, my dear," said the benevo- 
 lent old gentleman, " and then perhaps he will listen 
 to you — " 
 
 " Why should Mr. Warrington listen to me ? " asked 
 the young lady, putting the query to her tea-spoon 
 seemingly, and not to the Major. 
 
 "Ask him j you have not asked him," said Pen's 
 artless uncle. 
 
 " I should be very glad, indeed, if Mr. Warrington 
 would come," remarked Laura to the tea-spoon. 
 
 " Would you ? " said George. 
 
 She looked up and said "Yes." Their eyes met. 
 " I will go anywhere you ask me, or do anything," 
 said George lowly, and forcing out the words as if 
 they gave him pain. 
 
 Old Pendennis was delighted; the affectionate old 
 creature clapped his hands and cried, " Bravo ! bravo ! 
 It 's a bargain — a bargain, begad ! Shake hands on 
 it, young people ! " And Laura, with a look full of 
 tender brightness, put out her hand to Warrington. 
 He took hers ; his face indicated a strange agitation. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 51 
 
 He seemed to be about to speak, when, from Pen's 
 neighboring room Helen entered, looking at them as 
 the candle which she held lighted her pale frightened 
 face. 
 
 Laura blushed more red than ever and withdrew 
 her hand. 
 
 " What is it ? " Helen asked. 
 
 " It 's a bargain we have been making, my dear crea- 
 ture," said the Major in his most caressing voice. 
 "We have just bound over Mr. Warrington in a 
 promise to come abroad with us." 
 
 " Indeed ! " Helen said. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN WHICH FANNY ENGAGES *A NEW MEDICAL MAN. 
 
 Could Helen have suspected that, with Pen's re- 
 turning strength, his unhappy partiality for little 
 Fanny would also reawaken ? Though she never 
 spoke a word regarding that young person, after her 
 conversation with the Major, and though, to all ap- 
 pearance, she utterly ignored Fanny's existence, yet 
 Mrs. Pendennis kept a particularly close watch upon 
 all Master Arthur's actions ; on the plea of ill-health, 
 would scarcely let him out of her sight ; and was es- 
 pecially anxious that he should be spared the trouble 
 of all correspondence for the present at least. Very 
 likely Arthur looked at his own letters with some 
 tremor ; very likely, as he received them at the family 
 table, feeling his mother's watch upon him (though 
 the good soul's eye seemed fixed upon her tea-cup or 
 her book), he expected daily to see a little hand- 
 writing, which he would have known, though he had 
 never seen it yet, and his heart beat as he received 
 the letters to his address. Was he more pleased or 
 annoyed, that, day after day, his expectations were 
 not realized; and was his mind relieved, that there 
 came no letter from Fanny ? Though, no doubt, in 
 these matters, when Lovelace is tired of Clarissa (or 
 the contrary), it is best for both parties to break at 
 once, and each, after the failure of the attempt at 
 union, to go his own way, and pursue his course 
 through life solitary ; yet our self-love, or our pity, or 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 53 
 
 our sense of decency, does not like that sudden bank- 
 ruptcy. Before we announce to the world that our 
 firm of Lovelace and Co. can't meet its engagements, 
 we try to make compromises ; we have mournful 
 meetings of partners : we delay the putting up of the 
 shutters, and the dreary announcement of the failure. 
 It must come : but we pawn our jewels to keep things 
 going a little longer. On the whole, I dare say, Pen 
 was rather annoyed that he had no remonstrances 
 from Fanny. What ! could she part from him, and 
 never so much as once look round? could she sink, 
 and never once hold a little hand out, or cry, " Help, 
 Arthur ! " Well, well : they don't all go down who 
 venture on that voyage. Some few drown when the 
 vessel founders ; but most are only ducked, and 
 scramble to shore. And the reader's experience of 
 A. Pendennis, Esquire, of the Upper Temple, will 
 enable him to state whether that gentleman belonged 
 to the class of persons who were likely to sink or to 
 swim. 
 
 Though Pen was as yet too weak to walk half a 
 mile ; and might not, on account of his precious 
 health, be trusted to take a drive in a carriage by 
 himself, and without a nurse in attendance ; yet 
 Helen could not keep watch over Mr. Warrington 
 too, and had no authority to prevent that gentleman 
 from going to London if business called him thither. 
 Indeed, if he had gone and stayed, perhaps the widow, 
 from reasons of her own, would have been glad ; but 
 she checked these selfish wishes as soon as she 
 ascertained or owned them; and, remembering War- 
 rington's great regard and services, and constant 
 friendship for her boy, received him as a member of 
 her family almost, with her usual melancholy kind- 
 ness and submissive acquiescence. Yet somehow, one 
 
54 
 
 PENDENN1S. 
 
 morning when his affairs called him to town, she 
 divined what Warrington's errand was, and that he 
 was gone to London to get news about Fanny for 
 Pen. 
 
 Indeed, Arthur had had some talk with his friend, 
 and told him more at large what his adventures had 
 been with Fanny (adventures which the reader knows 
 already), and what were his feelings respecting her. 
 He was very thankful that he had escaped the great 
 danger, to which Warrington said Amen heartily; 
 that he had no great fault wherewith to reproach him- 
 self in regard of his behavior to her, but that if they 
 parted, as they must, he would be glad to say a God 
 bless her, and to hope that she would remember him 
 kindly. In his discourse with Warrington he spoke 
 upon these matters with so much gravity, and so much 
 emotion, that George, who had pronounced himself 
 most strongly for the separation too, began to fear 
 that his friend was not so well cured as he boasted of 
 being; and that, if the two were to come together 
 again, all the danger and the temptation might have 
 to be fought once more. And with what result ? " It 
 is hard to struggle, Arthur, and it is easy to fall," 
 Warrington said : " and the best courage for us poor 
 wretches is to fly from danger. I would not have 
 been what I am now, had I practised what I preach." 
 
 " And what did you practise, George ? " Pen asked 
 eagerly. " I knew there was something. Tell us 
 about it, Warrington." 
 
 " There was something that can't be mended, and 
 that shattered my whole fortunes early," Warrington 
 answered. "I said I would tell you about it some 
 day, Pen; and will, but not now. Take the moral 
 without the fable now, Pen, my boy : and if you want 
 to see a man whose whole life has been Wrecked, by 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 55 
 
 an unlucky rock against which he struck as a boy — ■ 
 here he is, Arthur, and so I warn you." 
 
 We have shown how Mr. Huxter, in writing home 
 to his Clavering friends, mentioned that there was a 
 fashionable club in London of which he was an atten- 
 dant, and that he was there in the habit of meeting 
 an Irish officer of distinction, who, amongst other 
 news, had given that intelligence regarding Penden- 
 nis which the young surgeon had transmitted to 
 Clavering. This club was no other than the Back 
 Kitchen, where the disciple of Saint Bartholomew 
 was accustomed to meet the General, the peculiarities 
 of whose brogue, appearance, disposition, and general 
 conversation, greatly diverted many young gentlemen 
 who used the Back Kitchen as a place of nightly en- 
 tertainment and refreshment. Huxter, who had a fine 
 natural genius for mimicking everything, whether it 
 was a favorite tragic or comic actor, a cock on a dung- 
 hill, a corkscrew going into a bottle and a cork issuing 
 thence, or an Irish officer of genteel connections who 
 offered himself as an object of imitation with only 
 too much readiness, talked his talk, and twanged his 
 poor old long-bow whenever drink, a hearer, and an 
 opportunity occurred, studied our friend the General 
 with peculiar gusto, and drew the honest fellow out 
 many a night. A bait, consisting of sixpennyworth 
 of brandy-and-water, the worthy old man was sure to 
 swallow : and under the influence of this liquor, who 
 was more happy than he to tell his stories of his 
 daughter's triumphs and his own, in love, war, drink, 
 and polite society ? Thus Huxter was enabled to 
 present to his friends many pictures of Costigan : of 
 Costigan fighting a jewel in the Phaynix — of Costi- 
 gan and his interview with the Juke of York — of 
 
56 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Costigan at his sonunlaw's teeble, surrounded by the 
 nobilitee of his countree — of Costigan, when crying 
 drunk, at which time he was in the habit of confi- 
 dentially lamenting his daughter's ingratichewd, and 
 stating that his gray hairs were hastening to a pray- 
 machure greeve. And thus our friend was the means 
 of bringing a number of young fellows to the Back 
 Kitchen, who consumed the landlord's liquors whilst 
 they relished the General's peculiarities, so that mine 
 host pardoned many of the latter's foibles, in consid- 
 eration of the good which they brought to his house. 
 Not the highest position in life was this certainly, or 
 one which, if we had a reverence for an old man, we 
 would be anxious that he should occupy : but of this 
 aged buffoon it may be mentioned that he had no 
 particular idea that his condition of life was not a 
 high one, and that in his whiskeyed blood there was 
 not a black drop, nor in his muddled brains a bitter 
 feeling, against any mortal being. Even his child, 
 his cruel Emily, he would have taken to his heart and 
 forgiven with tears ; and what more can one say of 
 the Christian charity of a man than that he is actually 
 ready to forgive those who have done him every kind- 
 ness, and with whom he is wrong in a dispute ? 
 
 There was some idea amongst the young men who 
 frequented the Back Kitchen, and made themselves 
 merry with the society of Captain Costigan, that the 
 Captain made a mystery regarding his lodgings for 
 fear of duns, or from a desire of privacy, and lived 
 in some wonderful place. Nor would the landlord 
 of the premises, when questioned upon this subject, 
 answer any inquiries ; his maxim being that he only 
 knew gentlemen who frequented that room, in that 
 room ; that when they quitted that room, having 
 paid their scores as gentlemen, and behaved as gen- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 57 
 
 tlemen, his communication with them ceased ; and 
 that, as a gentleman himself, he thought it was only 
 impertinent curiosity to ask where any other gentle- 
 man lived. Costigan, in his most intoxicated and 
 confidential moments, also evaded any replies to 
 questions or hints addressed to him on this subject : 
 there was no particular secret about it, as we have 
 seen, who have had more than once the honor of 
 entering his apartments, but in the vicissitudes of a 
 long life he had been pretty often in the habit of re- 
 siding in houses where privacy was necessary to his 
 comfort, and where the appearance of some visitors 
 would have brought him anything but pleasure. 
 Hence all sorts of legends were formed by wags or 
 credulous persons respecting his place of abode. It 
 was stated that he slept habitually in a watch-box in 
 the City ; in a cab at a mews, where a cab proprietor 
 gave him a shelter : in the Duke of York's Column, 
 etc., the wildest of these theories being put abroad 
 by the facetious and imaginative Huxter. For 
 Huxey, when not silenced by the company of 
 " swells," and when in the society of his own friends, 
 was a very different fellow to the youth whom we 
 have seen cowed by Pen's impertinent airs, and, 
 adored by his family at home, was the life and soul 
 of the circle whom he met, either round the festive 
 board or the dissecting-table. 
 
 On one brilliant September morning, as Huxter 
 was regaling himself with a cup of coffee at a stall 
 in Covent Garden, having spent a delicious night 
 dancing at Vauxhall, he spied the General reeling 
 down Henrietta Street, with a crowd of hooting 
 blackguard boys at his heels, who had left their 
 beds under the arches of the river betimes, and were 
 prowling about already for breakfast, and the strange 
 
58 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 livelihood of the day. The poor old General was not 
 in that condition when the sneers and jokes of these 
 young beggars had much effect upon him: the cab- 
 men and watermen at the cab-stand knew him, and 
 passed their comments upon him : the policemen 
 gazed after him, and warned the boys off him, with 
 looks of scorn and pity : what did the scorn and pity 
 of men, the jokes of ribald children, matter to the 
 General ? He reeled along the street with glazed 
 eyes, having just sense enough to know whither he 
 was bound, and to pursue his accustomed beat home- 
 wards. He went to bed not knowing how he had 
 reached it, as often as any man in London. He woke 
 and found himself there, and asked no questions ; and 
 he was tacking about on this daily though perilous 
 voyage, when, from his station at the coffee-stall, 
 Huxter spied him. To note his friend, to pay his 
 twopence (indeed, he had but eightpence left, or he 
 would have had a cab from Vauxhall to take him 
 home), was with the eager Huxter the work of an 
 instant — Costigan dived down the alleys by Drury- 
 lane Theatre, where gin-shops, oyster-shops, and 
 theatrical wardrobes abound, the proprietors of which 
 were now asleep behind their shutters, as the pink 
 morning lighted up their chimneys ; and through 
 these courts Huxter followed the General, until he 
 reached Oldcastle Street, in which is the gate of 
 Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 Here, just as he was within sight of home, a luck- 
 less slice of orange peel came between the General's 
 heel and the pavement, and caused the poor old fel- 
 low to fall backwards. 
 
 Huxter ran up to him instantly, and after a pause, 
 during which the veteran, giddy with his fall and his 
 previous whiskey, gathered, as he best might, his 
 
The Captain won't go Home till Morntngl 
 
PENDENNI9- 
 
 59 
 
 dizzy brains together, the young surgeon lifted up the 
 limping General, and very kindly and good-naturedly 
 offered to conduct him to his home. For some time, 
 and in reply to the queries which the student of med- 
 icine put to him, the muzzy General refused to say 
 where his lodgings were, and declared that they were 
 hard by, and that he could reach them without diffi- 
 culty ; and he disengaged himself from Huxter's arm, 
 and made a rush, as if to get to his own home unat- 
 tended : but he reeled and lurched so, that the young 
 surgeon insisted upon accompanying him, and, with 
 many soothing expressions and cheering and consola- 
 tory phrases, succeeded in getting the General's dirty 
 old hand under what he called his own fin, and led 
 the old fellow, moaning piteously, across the street. 
 He stopped when he came to the ancient gate, orna- 
 mented with the armorial bearings of the venerable 
 Shepherd. u Here 't is," said he, drawing up at the 
 portal, and he made a successful pull at the gate-bell, 
 which presently brought out old Mr. Bolton, the 
 porter, scowling fiercely, and grumbling as he was 
 used to do every morning when it became his turn to 
 let in that early bird. 
 
 Costigan tried to hold Bolton for a moment in 
 genteel conversation, but the other surlily would not. 
 " Don't bother me," he said ; " go to your hown bed, 
 Capting, and don't keep honest men out of theirs." 
 So the Captain tacked across the square and reached 
 his own staircase, up which he stumbled with the 
 worthy Huxter at his heels. Costigan had a key of 
 his own, which Huxter inserted into the keyhole for 
 him, so that there was no need to call up little Mr. 
 Bows from the sleep into which the old musician had 
 not long since fallen, and Huxter having aided to 
 disrobe his tipsy patient, and ascertained that no 
 
60 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 bones were broken, helped him to bed, and applied 
 compresses and water to one of his knees and shins, 
 which, with the pair of trousers which encased them, 
 Costigan had severely torn in his fall. At the Gen- 
 eral's age, and with his habit of body, such wounds 
 as he had inflicted on himself are slow to heal : a 
 good deal of inflammation ensued, and the old fellow 
 lay ill for some days suffering both pain and fever. 
 
 Mr. Huxter undertook the case of his interesting 
 patient with great confidence and alacrity, and con- 
 ducted it with becoming skill. He visited his friend 
 day after day, and consoled him with lively rattle 
 and conversation, for the absence of the society which 
 Costigan needed, and of which he was an ornament ; 
 and he gave special instructions to the invalid's nurse 
 about the quantity of whiskey which the patient was 
 to take — instructions which, as the poor old fellow 
 could not for many days get out of his bed or sofa 
 himself, he could not by any means infringe. Bows, 
 Mrs. Bolton, and our little friend Fanny, when able 
 to do so, officiated at the General's bedside, and the 
 old warrior was made as comfortable as possible un- 
 der his calamity. 
 
 Thus Huxter, whose affable manners and social 
 turn made him quickly intimate with persons in 
 whose society he fell, became pretty soon intimate in 
 Shepherd's Inn, both with our acquaintances in the 
 garrets and those in the Porter's Lodge. He thought 
 he had seen Fanny somewhere : he felt certain that 
 he had ; but it is no wonder that he should not accu- 
 rately remember her, for the poor little thing never 
 chose to tell him where she had met him : he himself 
 had seen her at a period, when his own views both of 
 persons and of right and wrong were clouded by the 
 excitement of drinking and dancing, and also little 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 61 
 
 Fanny was very much changed and worn by the fever 
 and agitation, and passion and despair, which the 
 past three weeks had poured upon the head of that 
 little victim. Borne down was the head now, and 
 very pale and wan the face ; and many and many a 
 time the sad eyes had looked into the postman's, as 
 he came to the Inn, and the sickened heart had sunk 
 as he passed away. When Mr. Costigan's accident 
 occurred, Fanny was rather glad to have an oppor- 
 tunity of being useful and doing something kind — 
 something that would make her forget her own little 
 sorrows perhaps : she felt she bore them better whilst 
 she did her duty, though I dare say many a tear 
 dropped into the old Irishman's gruel. Ah me ! stir 
 the gruel well, and have courage, little Fanny ! If 
 everybody who has suffered from your complaint 
 were to die of it straightway, what a fine year the 
 undertakers would have ! 
 
 Whether from compassion for his only patient, or 
 delight in his society, Mr. Huxter found now occasion 
 to visit Costigan two or three times in the day at 
 least, and if any of the members of the Porter's 
 Lodge family were not in attendance on the General, 
 the young doctor was sure to have some particular 
 directions to address to fchem at their own place of 
 habitation. He was a kind fellow ; he made or pur- 
 chased toys for the children ; he brought them apples 
 and brandy balls ; he brought a mask and frightened 
 them with it, and caused a smile upon the face of 
 pale Fanny. He called Mrs. Bolton Mrs. B., and was 
 very intimate, familiar, and facetious with that lady, 
 quite different from that " aughty artless beast," as 
 Mrs. Bolton now denominated a certain young gentle- 
 man of our acquaintance, and whom she now vowed 
 she never could abear. 
 
C2 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 It was from this lady, who was very free in her 
 conversation, that Huxter presently learnt what was 
 the illness which was evidently preying upon little 
 Fan, and what had been Fen's behavior regarding her. 
 Mrs. Bolton's account of the transaction was not, it 
 may be imagined, entirely an impartial narrative. 
 One would have thought from her story that the 
 young gentleman had employed a course of the most 
 persevering and flagitious artifices to win the girl's 
 heart, had broken the most solemn promises made to 
 her, and was a wretch to be hated and chastised by 
 every champion of woman. Huxter, in his present 
 frame of mind respecting Arthur, and suffering under 
 the latter's contumely, was ready, of course, to take 
 all for granted that was said in the disfavor of this 
 unfortunate convalescent. But why did he not write 
 home to Clavering, as he had done previously, giving 
 an account of Pen's misconduct, and of the particulars 
 regarding it, which had now come to his knowledge ? 
 He once, in a letter to his brother-in-law, announced 
 that that nice young man, Mr. Pendennis, had escaped 
 narrowly from a fever, and that no doubt all Clavering, 
 where he was so popular, would be pleased at his 
 recovery : and he mentioned that he had an interesting 
 case of compound fracture, an officer of distinction, 
 which kept him in town ; but as for Fanny Bolton, he 
 made no more mention of her in his letters — no more 
 than Pen himself had made mention of her. 0 you 
 mothers at home, how much do you think you know 
 about your lads ? How much do you think you 
 know ? 
 
 But with Bows, there was no reason why Huxter 
 should not speak his mind, and so, a very short time 
 after his conversation with Mrs. Bolton, Mr. Sam 
 talked to the musician about his early acquaintance 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 63 
 
 with Pendennis ; described him as a confounded con- 
 ceited blackguard, and expressed a determination to 
 punch his impudent head as soon as ever he should be 
 well enough to stand up like a man. 
 
 Then it was that Bows on his part spoke, and told 
 his version of the story, whereof Arthur and little 
 Fan were the hero and heroine ; how they had met by 
 no contrivance of the former, but by a blunder of the 
 old Irishman, now in bed with a broken shin — how 
 Pen had acted with manliness and self-control in the 
 business — how Mrs. Bolton was an idiot ; and he re- 
 lated the conversation which he, Bows, had had with 
 Pen, and the sentiments uttered by the young man. 
 Perhaps Bows's story caused some twinges of con- 
 science in the breast of Pen's accuser, and that 
 gentleman frankly owned that he had been wrong 
 with regard to Arthur, and withdrew his project for 
 punching Mr. Pendennis's head. 
 
 But the cessation of his hostility for Pen did not 
 diminish Huxter's attentions to Fanny, which unlucky 
 Mr. Bows marked with his usual jealousy and bitter- 
 ness of spirit. " I have but to like anybody," the old 
 fellow thought, " and somebody is sure to be preferred 
 to me. It has been the same ill luck with me since I 
 was a lad, until now that I am sixty years old. What 
 can I expect better than to be laughed at ? It is for 
 the young to succeed, and to be happy, and not for 
 old fools like me. I 've played a second fiddle all 
 through life," he said, with a bitter laugh ; " how can 
 I suppose the luck is to change after it has gone 
 against me so long ? " This was the selfish way in 
 which Bows looked at the state of affairs : though few 
 persons would have thought there was any cause for 
 his jealousy, who looked at the pale and grief-stricken 
 countenance of the hapless little girl, its object. 
 
64 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Fanny received Huxter's good-natured efforts at con- 
 solation and kind attentions kindly. She laughed 
 now and again at his jokes and games with her little 
 sisters, but relapsed quickly into a dejection which 
 ought to have satisfied Mr. Bows that the new-comer 
 had no place in her heart as yet, had jealous Mr. 
 Bows been enabled to see with clear eyes. 
 
 But Bows did not. Fanny attributed Pen's silence 
 somehow to Bows's interference. Fanny hated him. 
 Fanny treated Bows with constant cruelty and injus- 
 tice. She turned from him when he spoke — she 
 loathed his attempts at consolation. A hard life had 
 Mr. Bows and a cruel return for his regard. 
 
 When Warrington came to Shepherd's Inn as Pen's 
 ambassador, it was for Mr. Bows's apartments he in- 
 quired (no doubt upon a previous agreement with the 
 principal for whom he acted in this delicate negotia- 
 tion), and he did not so much as catch a glimpse of 
 Miss Fanny when he stopped at the inn-gate and 
 made his inquiry. Warrington was, of course, di- 
 rected to the musician's chambers, and found him tend- 
 ing the patient there, from whose chamber he came out 
 to wait upon his guest. We have said that they had 
 been previously known to one another, and the pair 
 shook hands with sufficient cordiality. After a little 
 preliminary talk, Warrington said that he had come 
 from his friend Arthur Pendennis, and from his 
 family, to thank Bows for his attention at the com- 
 mencement of Pen's illness, and for his kindness in 
 hastening into the country to fetch the Major. 
 
 Bows replied that it was but his duty : he had 
 never thought to have seen the young gentleman 
 alive again when he went in search of Pen's relatives, 
 and he was very glad of Mr. Pendennis's recovery, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 65 
 
 and that he had his friends with him. "Lucky are 
 they who have friends, Mr. Warrington/' said the 
 musician. " I might be up in this garret and nobody 
 would care for me, or mind whether I was alive or 
 dead." 
 
 " What ! not the General, Mr. Bows ? " Warrington 
 asked. 
 
 " The General likes his whiskey bottle more than 
 anything in life," the other answered; "we live to- 
 gether from habit and convenience ; and he cares for 
 me no more than you do. What is it you want to 
 ask me, Mr. Warrington ? You ain't come to visit 
 me, I know very well. Nobody comes to visit me. 
 It is about Fanny, the porter's daughter, you are 
 come — I see that very well. Is Mr. Pendennis, now 
 he has got well, anxious to see her again ? Does his 
 lordship the Sultan propose to throw his 'ankerchief 
 to her ? She has been very ill, sir, ever since the 
 day when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors — 
 kind of a lady, was n't it ? The poor girl and myself 
 found the young gentleman raving in a fever, know- 
 ing nobody, with nobody to tend him but his drunken 
 laundress — she watched day and night by him. I 
 set off to fetch his uncle. Mamma comes and turns 
 Fanny to the right about. Uncle comes and leaves 
 me to pay the cab. Carry my compliments to the 
 ladies and gentleman, and say we are both very 
 thankful, very. Why, a countess could n't have be- 
 haved better ; and for an apothecary's lady, as I 'm 
 given to understand Mrs. Pendennis was — I 'm sure 
 her behavior is most uncommon aristocratic and 
 genteel. She ought to have a double gilt pestle and 
 mortar to her coach." 
 
 It was from Mr. Huxter that Bows had learned 
 Pen's parentage, no doubt, and if he took Pen's part 
 
C6 
 
 TENDENNIS. 
 
 against the young surgeon, and Fanny's against Mr. 
 Pendennis, it was because the old gentleman was in 
 so savage a mood, that his humor was to contradict 
 everybody. 
 
 Warrington was curious, and not ill pleased at the 
 musician's taunts and irascibility. "I never heard 
 of these transactions," he said, "or got but a very 
 imperfect account of them from Major Pendennis. 
 What was a lady to do ? I think (I have never 
 spoken with her on the subject) she had some notion 
 that the young woman and my friend Pen were on 
 
 — on terms of — of an intimacy which Mrs. Penden- 
 nis could not, of course, recognize — " 
 
 " Oh, of course not, sir. Speak out, sir ; say what 
 you mean at once, that the young gentleman of the 
 Temple had made a victim of the girl of Shepherd's 
 Inn, eh ? And so she was to be turned out of doors 
 
 — or brayed alive in the double gilt pestle and mortar, 
 by Jove ! No, Mr. Warrington, there was no such 
 thing : there was no victimizing, or if there was, Mr. 
 Arthur was the victim, not the girl. He is an honest 
 fellow, he is, though he is conceited, and a puppy 
 sometimes. He can feel like a man, and run away 
 from temptation like a man. I own it, though I surfer 
 by it, I own it. He has a heart, he has : but the girl 
 has n't, sir. That girl will do anything to win a man, 
 and fling him away without a pang, sir. If she 's 
 flung away herself, sir, she '11 feel it and cry. She 
 had a fever when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of 
 doors ; and she made love to the Doctor, Doctor Good- 
 enough, who came to cure her. Now she has taken 
 on with another chap — another sawbones, ha, ha ! 
 d — it, sir, she likes the pestle and mortar, and hangs 
 round the pill boxes, she 's so fond of 'em, and she 
 has got a fellow from Saint Bartholomew's, who grins 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 67 
 
 through a horse-collar for her sisters, and charms 
 away her melancholy. Go and see, sir : very likely 
 he 's in the lodge now. If you want news about Miss 
 Fanny, you must ask at the Doctor's shop, sir, not of 
 an old fiddler like me — Good-by, sir. There 's my 
 patient calling." 
 
 And a voice was heard from the Captain's bedroom, 
 a well-known voice, which said, " I 'd loike a dthrop 
 of dthrink, Bows, I 'm thirstee." And not sorry, per- 
 haps, to hear that such was the state of things, and 
 that Pen's forsaken was consoling herself, Warring- 
 ton took his leave of the irascible musician. 
 
 As luck would have it, he passed the lodge door 
 just as Mr. Huxter was in the act of frightening the 
 children with the mask whereof we have spoken, and 
 Fanny was smiling languidly at his farces. Warring- 
 ton laughed bitterly. " Are all women like that ? " 
 he thought. " I think there 's one that 's not," he 
 added, with a sigh. 
 
 At Piccadilly, waiting for the Richmond omnibus, 
 George fell in with Major Pendennis, bound in the 
 same direction, and he told the old gentleman of 
 what he had seen and heard respecting Fanny. 
 
 Major Pendennis was highly delighted: and as 
 might be expected of such a philosopher, made pre- 
 cisely the same observation as that which had es- 
 caped from Warrington. " All women are the same," 
 he saicL " La petite se console. Daymy, when I used 
 to read ' Tel^maque ' at school, Calypso ne pouvait se 
 consoler, — you know the rest, Warrington, — I used 
 to say it was absard. Absard, by Gad, and so it is. 
 And so she 's got a new soupirant, has she, the little 
 porteress ? Dayvlish nice little girl. How mad Pen 
 will be — eh, Warrington? But we must break it to 
 him gently, or he '11 be in such a rage that he will be 
 
68 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 going after her again. We must menager the young 
 fellow." 
 
 " I think Mrs. Pendennis ought to know that Pen 
 acted very well in the business. She evidently thinks 
 him guilty, and according to Mr. Bows, Arthur be- 
 haved like a good fellow," Warrington said. 
 
 "My dear Warrington," said the Major, with a look 
 of some alarm. " In Mrs. Pendennis's agitated state 
 of health and that sort of thing, the best way, I think, 
 is not to say a single word about the subject — or, stay, 
 leave it to me : and I '11 talk to her — break it to her 
 gently, you know, and that sort of thing. I give you 
 my word I will. And so Calypso 's consoled, is she ? " 
 And he sniggered over this gratifying truth, happy in 
 the corner of the omnibus during the rest of the 
 journey. 
 
 Pen was very anxious to hear from his envoy what 
 had been the result of the latter's mission; and as 
 soon as the two young men could be alone, the ambas- 
 sador spoke in reply to Arthur's eager queries. 
 
 "You remember your poem, Pen, of ' Ariadne in 
 Naxos,'" Warrington said; "devilish bad poetry it 
 was, to be sure." 
 
 " Apres ? " asked Pen, in a great state of excitement. 
 
 "When Theseus left Ariadne, do you remember 
 what happened to her, young fellow ? " 
 
 " It 's a lie ! You don't mean that ! " cried out Pen, 
 starting up, his face turning red. 
 
 " Sit down, stoopid," Warrington said, and with two 
 fingers pushed Pen back into his seat again. "It's 
 better for you as it is, young one," he said sadly, in 
 reply to the savage flush in Arthur's face. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 FOREIGN GROUND. 
 
 Major Pendennis fulfilled his promise to War- 
 rington so far as to satisfy his own conscience, and in 
 so far to ease poor Helen with regard to her son, as to 
 make her understand that all connection between 
 Arthur and the odious little gate-keeper was at an 
 end, and that she need have no farther anxiety with 
 respect to an imprudent attachment or a degrading 
 marriage on Pen's part. And that young fellow's 
 mind was also relieved (after he had recovered the 
 shock to his vanity) by thinking that Miss Fanny 
 was not going to die of love for him, and that no un- 
 pleasant consequences were to be apprehended from 
 the luckless and brief connection. 
 
 So the whole party were free to carry into effect 
 their projected Continental trip, and Arthur Penden- 
 nis, rentier, voyageant avec Madame Pendennis and 
 Mademoiselle Bell, and George Warrington, particu- 
 lier, age de 32 ans, taille 6 pieds (Anglais), figure 
 ordinaire, cheveux noirs, barbe idem, etc., procured 
 passports from the consul of H. M. the King of the 
 Belgians at Dover, and passed over from that port to 
 Ostend, whence the party took their way leisurely, 
 visiting Bruges and Ghent on their way to Brussels 
 and the Rhine. It is not our purpose to describe this 
 oft-travelled tour, or Laura's delight at the tranquil 
 and ancient cities which she saw for the first time, or 
 Helen's wonder and interest at the Beguine convents 
 
70 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 which they visited, or the almost terror with which 
 she saw the black-veiled nuns with outstretched arms 
 kneeling before the illuminated altars, and beheld the 
 strange pomps and ceremonials of the Catholic wor- 
 ship. Bare-footed friars in the streets, crowned im- 
 ages of Saints and Virgins in the churches before 
 which people were bowing down and worshipping, in 
 direct defiance, as she held, of the written law ; priests 
 in gorgeous robes, or lurking in dark confessionals, 
 theatres opened, and people dancing on Sundays; — 
 all these new sights and manners shocked and bewil- 
 dered the simple country lady ; and when the young 
 men after their evening drive or walk returned to the 
 widow and her adopted daughter, they found their 
 books of devotion on the table, and at their entrance 
 Laura would commonly cease reading some of the 
 psalms or the sacred pages which, of all others, Helen 
 loved. The late events connected with her son had 
 cruelly shaken her; Laura watched with intense, 
 though hidden anxiety, every movement of her dear- 
 est friend ; and poor Pen was most constant and af- 
 fectionate in waiting upon his mother, whose wounded 
 bosom yearned with love towards him, though there 
 was a secret between them, and an anguish or rage 
 almost on the mother's part, to think that she was 
 dispossessed somehow of her son's heart, or that there 
 were recesses in it which she must not or dared not 
 enter. She sickened as she thought of the sacred 
 days of boyhood when it had not been so — when her 
 Arthur's heart had no secrets, and she was his all in 
 all : when he poured his hopes and pleasures, his 
 childish griefs, vanities, triumphs into her willing 
 and tender embrace ; when her home was his nest 
 still; and before fate, selfishness, nature, had driven 
 him forth on wayward wings — to range on his own 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 71 
 
 flight — to sing his own song — and to seek his own 
 home and his own mate. Watching this devouring care 
 and racking disappointment in her friend, Laura once 
 said to Helen, " If Pen had loved me as you wished, I 
 should have gained him, but I should have lost you, 
 Mamma, I know I should ; and I like 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 young lady's speech, though she protested 
 against the former part. For my part, I suppose 
 Miss Laura was right in both statements, and with re- 
 gard to the latter assertion especially, that it is an old 
 and received truism — love is an hour with us ; it is 
 all night and all day with a woman. Damon has 
 taxes, sermon, parade, tailors' bills, parliamentary 
 duties, and the deuce knows what to think of ; Delia 
 has to think about Damon — Damon is the oak (or 
 the post), and stands up, and Delia is the ivy or the 
 honeysuckle whose arms twine about him. Is it not 
 so, Delia? Is it not your nature to creep about his 
 feet and kiss them, to twine round his trunk and hang 
 there , and Damon's to stand like a British man with 
 his hands in his breeches pocket, while the 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 little expedition to 
 Warrington. He himself was bound on a brief visit 
 to the house of a great man, a friend of his, after 
 which sojourn he proposed to join his sister-in-law at 
 the German watering-place, whither the party was 
 bound. The Major himself thought that his long 
 attentions to his sick family had earned for him a 
 little relaxation — and though the best of the par' 
 
72 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 tridges were thinned off, the pheasants were still to 
 be shot at Stillbrook, where the noble owner then 
 was ; old Pendennis betook himself to that hospitable 
 mansion and disported there with great comfort to 
 himself. A royal Duke, some foreigners of note, 
 some illustrious statesmen, and some pleasant people 
 visited it ; it did the old fellow's heart good to see his 
 name in the " Morning Post " amongst the list of the 
 distinguished company which the Marquis of Steyne 
 was entertaining at his country-house at Stillbrook. 
 He was a very useful and pleasant personage in a 
 country-house. He entertained the young men with 
 queer little anecdotes and grivoises stories on their 
 shooting parties or in their smoking-room, where they 
 laughed at him and with him. He was obsequious 
 with the ladies of a morning, in the rooms dedicated 
 to them. He walked the new arrivals about the park 
 and gardens, and showed them the carte du pays, and 
 where there was the best view of the mansion, and 
 where the most favorable point to look at the lake : 
 he showed where the timber was to be felled, and 
 where the old road went before the new bridge was 
 built, and the hill cut down ; and where the place in 
 the wood was where old Lord Lynx discovered Sir 
 Phelim O'Neal on his knees before her ladyship, etc., 
 etc. ; he called the lodge-keepers and gardeners by 
 their names : he knew the number of domestics that 
 sat down in the housekeeper's room, and how many 
 dined in the servants' hall ; he had a word for every- 
 body, and about everybody, and a little against every- 
 body. He was invaluable in a country-house, in a 
 word: and richly merited and enjoyed his vacation 
 after his labors. And perhaps whilst he was thus 
 deservedly enjoying himself with his country friends, 
 the Major was not ill pleased at transferring to War 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 73 
 
 rlngton the command of the family expedition to the 
 Continent, and thus perforce keeping him in the ser- 
 vice of the ladies, — a servitude which George was 
 only too willing to undergo, for his friend's sake, and 
 for that of a society which he found daily more 
 delightful. Warrington was a good German scholar, 
 and was willing to give Miss Laura lessons in the 
 language, who was very glad to improve herself ; 
 though Pen, for his part, was too weak or lazy now to 
 resume his German studies. Warrington acted as 
 courier and interpreter; Warrington saw the baggage 
 in and out of ships, inns, and carriages, managed the 
 money matters, and put the little troop into marching 
 order. Warrington found out where the English 
 church was, and, if Mrs. Pendennis and Miss Laura 
 were inclined to go thither, walked with great de- 
 corum along with them. Warrington walked by Mrs. 
 Pendennis 's donkey, when that lady went out on her 
 evening excursions ; or took carriages for her ; or got 
 " Galignani " for her ; or devised comfortable seats 
 under the lime-trees for her, when the guests paraded 
 after dinner, and the Kursaal band at the bath, where 
 our tired friends stopped, performed their pleasant 
 music under the trees. Many a fine whiskered Prus- 
 sian or French dandy, come to the bath for the 
 " Trente-et-quarante" cast glances of longing towards 
 the pretty fresh-colored English girl who accompanied 
 the pale widow, and would have longed to take a 
 turn with her at the galop 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 for 
 Warrington, that rough diamond had not had the 
 polish of a dancing-master, and he did not know how 
 to waltz, — though he would have liked to learn, if he 
 could have had such a partner as Laura — Such a 
 
74 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 partner ! psha, what had a stiff bachelor to do with 
 
 partners and waltzing ? what was he about, dancing 
 attendance here ? drinking in sweet pleasure at a risk 
 he knows not of what after sadness, and regret, and 
 lonely longing ? But yet he stayed on. You would 
 have said he was the widow's son, to watch his 
 constant care and watchfulness of her; or that he 
 was an adventurer, and wanted to marry her fortune, 
 or, at any rate, that he wanted some very great treas- 
 ure or benefit from her, — and very likely he did, — 
 for ours, as the reader has possibly already discovered, 
 is a Selfish Story, and almost every person, according 
 to his nature, more or less generous than George, and 
 according to the way of the world as it seems to us, is 
 occupied about Number One. So Warrington selfishly 
 devoted himself to Helen, who selfishly devoted her- 
 self to Pen, who selfishly devoted himself to himself 
 at this present period, having no other personage or 
 object to occupy him, except, indeed, his mother's 
 health, which gave him a serious and real disquiet ; 
 but though they sat together, they did not talk much, 
 and the cloud was always between them. 
 
 Every day Laura looked for Warrington, and re- 
 ceived him with more frank and eager welcome. He 
 found himself talking to her as he did n't know him- 
 self that he could talk. He found himself perform- 
 ing acts of gallantry which astounded him after the 
 performance : he found himself looking blankly in the 
 glass at the crows' feet round his eyes, and at some 
 streaks of white in his hair, and some intrusive silver 
 bristles in his grim, blue beard. He found himself 
 looking at the young bucks at the bath — at the blond, 
 tight-waisted Germans — at the capering Frenchmen, 
 with their lacquered mustachios and trim varnished 
 boots — at the English dandies, Pen amongst them, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 75 
 
 with their calm domineering air, and insolent lan- 
 guor : and envied each one of these some excellence 
 or quality of youth, or good looks, which he pos- 
 sessed, and of which Warrington felt the need. And 
 every night, as the night came, he quitted the little 
 circle with greater reluctance ; and, retiring to his 
 own lodging in their neighborhood, felt himself the 
 more lonely and unhappy. The widow could not help 
 seeing his attachment. She understood, now, why 
 Major Pendennis (always a tacit enemy of her dar- 
 ling project) had been so eager that Warrington should 
 be of their party. Laura frankly owned her great, 
 her enthusiastic, regard for him : and Arthur would 
 make no movement. Arthur did not choose to see 
 what was going on ; or did not care to prevent, or 
 actually encouraged, it. She remembered his often 
 having said that he could not understand how a man 
 proposed to a woman twice. She was in torture — at 
 secret feud with her son, of all objects in the world 
 the dearest to her — in doubt, which she dared not 
 express to herself, about Laura — averse to Warring- 
 ton, the good and generous. No wonder that the heal- 
 ing waters of Rosenbad did not do her good, or that 
 Doctor van Glauber, the bath physician, when he came 
 to visit her, found that the poor lady made no pro- 
 gress to recovery. Meanwhile Pen got well rapidly ; 
 slept with immense perseverance twelve hours out of 
 the twenty-four ; ate huge meals ; and, at the end of 
 a couple of months, had almost got back the bodily 
 strength and weight which he iiad possessed before 
 his illness. 
 
 After they had passed some fifteen days at their 
 place of rest and refreshment, a letter came from 
 Major Pendennis announcing his speedy arrival at 
 Rosenbad, and, soon after the letter, the Major him- 
 
76 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 self made his appearance accompanied by Morgan his 
 faithful valet, without whom the old gentleman could 
 not move. When the Major travelled he wore a jaunty 
 and juvenile travelling costume ; to see his back still 
 you would have taken him for one of the young fel- 
 lows whose slim waist and youthful appearance War- 
 rington was beginning to envy. It was not until the 
 worthy man began to move, that the observer re- 
 marked that Time had weakened his ancient knees, 
 and had unkindly interfered to impede the action of 
 the natty little varnished boots in which the gay old 
 traveller still pinched his toes. There were magnates, 
 both of our own country and of foreign nations, pres- 
 ent that autumn at Rosenbad. The elder Pendennis 
 read over the strangers' list with great gratification 
 on the night of his arrival, was pleased to find several 
 of his acquaintances among the great folks, and would 
 have the honor of presenting his nephew to a German 
 Grand Duchess, a Russian Princess, and an English 
 Marquis, before many days were over : nor was Pen 
 by any means averse to making the acquaintance of 
 these great personages, having a liking for polite life, 
 and all the splendors and amenities belonging to it. 
 That very evening the resolute old gentleman, lean- 
 ing on 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-et-quarante. He did not 
 play to lose, he said, or to win ; but he did as other 
 folks did, and betted his napoleon and took his luck 
 as it came. He pointed out the Russians and Span- 
 iards gambling for heaps of gold, and denounced their 
 eagerness as something sordid and barbarous ; an Eng- 
 lish gentleman should play where the fashion is play, 
 but should not elate or depress himself at the sport ; 
 and he told how he had seen his friend the Marquis 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 77 
 
 of Steyne, when Lord Gaunt, lose eighteen thousand 
 at a sitting, and break the bank three nights running 
 at Paris, without ever showing the least emotion at 
 his defeat or victory — " And that 's what I call being 
 an English gentleman, Pen, my dear boy," the old gen- 
 tleman said, warming as he prattled about his recol- 
 lections — "what I call the great manner only remains 
 with us and with a few families in France." And as 
 Eussian Princesses passed him, whose reputation had 
 long ceased to be doubtful, and damaged English ladies, 
 who are constantly seen in company of their faithful 
 attendant for the time being in these gay haunts of 
 dissipation, the old Major, with eager garrulity and 
 mischievous relish, told his nephew wonderful par- 
 ticulars regarding the lives of these heroines : and 
 diverted the young man with a thousand scandals. 
 Egad, he felt himself quite young again, he remarked 
 to Pen, as, rouged and grinning, her enormous chas- 
 seur behind her bearing her shawl, the Princess Ob- 
 stropski smiled and recognized and accosted him. 
 He remembered her in '14 when she was an actress 
 of the Paris Boulevard, and the Emperor Alexander's 
 aide-de-camp Obstropski (a man of great talents, who 
 knew a good deal about the Emperor Paul's death, 
 and was a devil to play) married her. He most cour- 
 teously and respectfully asked leave to call upon the 
 Princess, and to present to her his nephew, Mr. Arthur 
 Pendennis; and he pointed out to the latter a half- 
 dozen of other personages whose names were as fa- 
 mous, and whose histories were as edifying. What 
 would poor Helen have thought, could she have heard 
 those tales, or known to what kind of people her 
 brother-in-law was presenting her son ? Only once, 
 leaning on Arthur's arm, she had passed through the 
 room where the green tables were prepared for play, 
 
78 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and the croaking croupiers were calling out their fatal 
 words of Rouge gagne and Couleur perd. She had 
 shrunk terrified out of the Pandemonium, imploring 
 Pen, extorting from him a promise, on his word of 
 honor, that he would never play at those tables ; and 
 the scene which so frightened the simple widow, only 
 amused the worldly old veteran, and made him young 
 again ! He could breathe the air cheerfully which 
 stifled her. Her right was not his right : his food 
 was her , poison. Human creatures are constituted 
 thus differently, and with this variety the marvellous 
 world is peopled. To the credit of Mr. Pen, let it be 
 said, that he kept honestly the promise made to his 
 mother, and stoutly told his uncle of his intention to 
 abide by it. 
 
 When the Major arrived, his presence somehow cast 
 a damp upon at least three of the persons of our little 
 party — upon Laura, who had anything but respect 
 for him ; upon Warrington, whose manner towards 
 him showed an involuntary haughtiness and con- 
 tempt ; and upon the timid and alarmed widow, who 
 dreaded lest he should interfere with her darling, 
 though almost desperate projects for her boy. And, 
 indeed, the Major, unknown to himself, was the 
 bearer of tidings which were to bring about a catas- 
 trophe in the affairs of all our friends. 
 
 Pen with his two ladies had apartments in the town 
 of Eosenbad ; honest Warrington had lodgings hard 
 by ; the Major, on arrival at Eosenbad, had, as befitted 
 his dignity, taken up his quarters at one of the great 
 hotels, at the Roman Emperor or the Four Seasons, 
 where two or three hundred gamblers, pleasure-seek- 
 ers, or invalids, sat down and over-ate themselves 
 daily at the enormous table-d' hote. To this hotel 
 Pen went on the morning after the Major's arrival, 
 
FENDENNIS. 
 
 79 
 
 dutifully to pay his respects to his uncle, and found 
 the latter's sitting-room duly prepared and arranged 
 by Mr. Morgan, Avith the Major's hats brushed, and 
 his coats laid out: his despatch-boxes and umbrella- 
 cases, his guide-books, passports, maps, and other 
 elaborate necessaries of the English traveller, all as 
 trim and ready as they could be in their master's own 
 room in Jermyn Street. Everything was ready, from 
 the medicine-bottle fresh filled from the pharmacien's, 
 down to the old fellow's prayer-book, without which 
 he never travelled, for he made a point of appearing 
 at the English church at every place which he honored 
 with a stay. " Everybody did it," he said ; " every 
 English gentleman did it : " and this pious man would 
 as soon have thought of not calling upon the English 
 ambassador in a continental town, as of not showing 
 himself at the national place of worship. 
 
 The old gentleman had been to take one of the 
 baths for which Rosen bad is famous, and which 
 everybody takes, ind his after-bath toilet was not yet 
 completed when Pen arrived. The elder called out 
 to Arthur in a cheery voice from the inner apartment, 
 in which he and Morgan were engaged, and the valet 
 presently came in, bearing a little packet to Pen's 
 address — Mr. Arthur's letters and papers, Morgan 
 said, which he had brought from Mr. Arthur's cham- 
 bers in London, and which consisted chiefly of num- 
 bers of the "Pall Mall Gazette," which our friend 
 Mr. Finucane thought his collaborateur would like to 
 see. The papers were tied together: the letters in 
 an envelope, addressed to Pen, in the last-named 
 gentleman's handwriting. 
 
 Amongst the letters there was a little note ad- 
 dressed, as a former letter we have heard of had been, 
 to " Arthur Pendennis, Esquire," which Arthur opened 
 
80 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 with a start and a blush, and read with a very keen 
 pang of interest, and sorrow, and regard. She had 
 come to Arthur's house, Fanny Bolton said — and 
 found that he was gone — gone away to Germany 
 without ever leaving a word for her — or answer to 
 her last letter, in which she prayed but for one word 
 of kindness — or the books which he had promised 
 her in happier times, before he was ill, and which she 
 should like to keep in remembrance of him. She said 
 she would not reproach those who had found her at 
 his bedside when he was in the fever, and knew nobody, 
 and who had turned the poor girl away without a 
 word. She thought she should have died, she said, of 
 that, but Doctor Goodenough had kindly tended her, 
 and kep her life, when, perhaps, the keeping of it 
 was of no good, and she forgave everybody : and as 
 for Arthur, she would pray for him forever. And 
 when he was so ill, and they cut off his hair, she had 
 made so free as to keep one little lock for herself, and 
 that she owned. And might she still keep it, or 
 would his mamma order that that should be gave up 
 too ? She was willing to obey him in all things, and 
 could n't but remember that once he was so kind, oh ! 
 so good and kind ! to his poor Fanny. 
 
 When Major Pendennis, fresh and smirking from 
 his toilet, came out of his bedroom to his sitting-room, 
 he found Arthur, with this note before him, and an 
 expression of savage anger on his face, which sur- 
 prised the elder gentleman. " What news from Lon- 
 don, my boy?" he rather faintly asked; "are the 
 duns at you, that you look so glum ? 99 
 
 " Do you know anything about this letter, sir ? " 
 Arthur asked. 
 
 " What letter, my good sir ? " said the other dryly, 
 at once perceiving what had happened. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 81 
 
 " You know what I mean — about, about Miss — 
 about Fanny Bolton — the poor 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 ? Who sent her out of my chambers ? 
 Who intercepted her letters to me ? Who dared to 
 do it ? Did you do it, Uncle ? " 
 
 " It 's not my practice to tamper with gentlemen's 
 letters, or to answer damned impertinent questions," 
 Major Pendennis cried out, in a great tremor of emo- 
 tion and indignation. "There was a girl in your 
 rooms when I cam3 up at great personal inconven- 
 ience, daymy — and to meet with 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 beg your pardon, Uncle. You were, 
 you always have been, most kind to me : but I say 
 again, did you say anything harsh to this poor girl ? 
 Did you send her away from me ? " 
 
 " I never spoke a word to the girl," the uncle said, 
 u and I never sent her away from you, and know no 
 more about her, and wish to know no more about her, 
 than about the man in the moon." 
 
 " Then it 's my mother that did it," Arthur broke 
 out. " Did my mother send 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 '11 never forgive the person who did it," said 
 Arthur, bouncing up and seizing his hat. 
 
 The Major cried out, " Stop, Arthur, for God's sake, 
 stop ! " but before he had uttered his sentence, Arthur 
 had rushed out of the room, and at the next minute 
 the Major saw him striding rapidly down the street 
 that led towards his home. 
 
82 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Get breakfast ! " said the old fellow to Morgan, 
 and he wagged his head and sighed as he looked ont 
 of the window. " Poor Helen — poor sonl ! There '11 
 be a row. I knew there would: and begad all the 
 fat's in the fire." 
 
 When Pen reached home he only found Warring- 
 ton in the ladies' drawing-room, waibing their arrival 
 in order to conduct them to the place where the little 
 English colony at Rosenbad held their Sunday church. 
 Helen and Laura had not appeared as yet ; the former 
 was ailing, and her daughter was with her. Pen's 
 wrath was so great that he could not defer expressing 
 it. He flung Fanny's letter across the table to his 
 friend. " Look there, Warrington," he said ; " she 
 tended me in my illness, she rescued me out of the 
 jaws of death, and this is the way they have treated 
 the dear little creature. They have kept her letters 
 from me ; they have treated me like a child, and 
 her like a dog, poor thing! My mother has done 
 this." 
 
 " If she has, you must remember it is your mother," 
 Warrington interposed. 
 
 " It only makes the crime the greater, because it is 
 she who has done it," 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 of 
 her. I ought ! I will ! I am shocked at the cruelty 
 which has been shown her. What ? She gave me 
 her all, and this is her return ! She sacrifices every- 
 thing for me, and they spurn her." 
 
 u Hush ! " said Warrington, " they can hear you 
 from the next room." 
 
 " Hear ? let them hear ! " Pen cried out, only so 
 much the louder. " Those may overhear my talk 
 who intercept my letters. I say this poor girl has 
 
PENDENMS. 
 
 83 
 
 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 pale and stern face. She 
 looked at Pen with glances from which beamed pride, 
 defiance, aversion. " Arthur, your mother is very 
 ill," she said ; " 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," Pen answered. " And I have more to 
 say before I have done." 
 
 " I should think what you have to say will hardly 
 be fit for me to hear," Laura said, haughtily. 
 
 " You are welcome to hear it or not, as you like," 
 said Mr. Pen. " I shall go in now, and speak to my 
 mother." 
 
 Laura came rapidly forward, so that she should not 
 be overheard by her friend within. " Not now, sir," 
 she said to Pen. "You may kill her if you do. 
 Your conduct has gone far enough to make her 
 wretched." 
 
 " What conduct ? " cried out Pen, in a fury. " Who 
 dares impugn it ? Who dares meddle with me ? Is 
 it you who are the instigator of this persecution ? " 
 
 " I said before it was a subject of which it did not 
 become me to hear or to speak," Laura said. " But as 
 for mamma, if she had acted otherwise than she did 
 with regard to — to the person about whom you 
 seem to take such an interest, it would have been I 
 that must have quitted your house, and not that — 
 that person." 
 
 " By heavens ! this is too much," Pen cried out, 
 with a violent execration. 
 
 "Perhaps that is what you wished," Laura said, 
 tossing her head up. " No more of this, if you please ; 
 
84 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 F am not accustomed to hear such subjects spoken of in 
 such language ; " and with a stately curtsy tiie young 
 lady passed to her friend's room, looking her adversary 
 full in the face as she retreated and closed the door 
 upon him. 
 
 Pen was bewildered with wonder, perplexity, fury, 
 at this monstrous and unreasonable persecution. He 
 burst out into a loud and bitter laugh as Laura quitted 
 him, and with sneers and revilings, as a man who 
 jeers under an operation, ridiculed at once his own 
 pain and his persecutor's anger. The laugh, which 
 was one of bitter humor, and no unmanly or unkindly 
 expression of suffering under most cruel and un- 
 merited torture, was heard in the next apartment, as 
 some of his unlucky previous expressions had been, 
 and, like them, entirely misinterpreted by the hearers. 
 It struck like a dagger into the wounded and tender 
 heart of Helen ; it pierced Laura, and inflamed the 
 high-spirited girl with scorn and anger. " And it was 
 to this hardened libertine," she thought — " to this 
 boaster of low intrigues, that I have given my heart 
 away." " He breaks the most sacred laws," thought 
 Helen. " He prefers the creature of his passion to his 
 own mother ; and when he is upbraided, he laughs, and 
 glories in his crime. ' She gave me her all,' I heard 
 him say it," argued the poor widow ; " and he boasts 
 of it, and laughs, and breaks his mother's heart." 
 The emotion, the shame, the grief, the mortification 
 almost killed her. She felt she should die of his 
 unkindness. 
 
 Warrington thought of Laura's speech — " Perhaps 
 that is what you wished." " She loves Pen still," he 
 said. "It was jealousy made her speak." — "Come 
 away, Pen. Come away and let us go to church and 
 get calm. You must explain this matter to your 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 85 
 
 mother. She does not appear to know the truth : nor 
 do you quite, my good fellow. Come away, and let us 
 talk about it." And again he muttered to himself, 
 " 1 Perhaps that is what you wished.' Yes, she loves 
 him. Why should n't she love him ? Whom else 
 would I have her love ? What can she be to me but 
 the dearest and the fairest and the best of women ? " 
 
 So, leaving the women similarly engaged within, 
 the two gentlemen walked away, each occupied with 
 his own thoughts, and silent for a considerable space. 
 " I must set this matter right," thought honest 
 George, " as she loves him still — I must set his 
 mother's mind right about the other woman." And 
 with this charitable thought, the good fellow began 
 to tell more at large what Bows had said to him re- 
 garding Miss Bolton's behavior and fickleness, and 
 he described how the girl was no better than a light- 
 minded flirt ; and, perhaps, he exaggerated the good- 
 humor and contenteclness 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 and rage on that old man's part; and 
 instead of allaying Pen's renascent desire to see his 
 little conquest again, Warrington's accounts inflamed 
 and angered Pendennis, and made him more anxious 
 than before to set himself right, as he persisted in 
 phrasing it, with Fanny. They arrived at the church- 
 door presently; but scarce one word of the service, 
 and not a syllable of Mr. Shamble's sermon, did either 
 of them comprehend, probably — so much was each 
 engaged with his own private speculations. The 
 Major came up to them after the service, with his 
 well-brushed hat and wig, and his jauntiest, most 
 cheerful air. He complimented them upon being seen 
 
86 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 at church ; again he said that every comme-il-faut per- 
 son made a point of attending the English service 
 abroad; and he walked back with the young men, 
 prattling to them in garrulous good-humor, and mail- 
 ing bows to his acquaintances as they passed; and 
 thinking innocently that Pen and George were both 
 highly delighted by his anecdotes, which they suffered 
 to run on, in a scornful and silent acquiescence. 
 
 At the time of Mr. Shamble's sermon (an erratic 
 Anglican divine, hired for the season at places of 
 English resort, and addicted to debts, drinking and 
 even to roulette, it was said), Pen, chafing under the 
 persecution which his womankind inflicted upon him, 
 had been meditating a great act of revolt and of jus- 
 tice, as he had worked himself up to believe; and 
 Warrington on his part had been thinking that a 
 crisis in his affairs had likewise come, and that it was 
 necessary for him to break away from a connection 
 which every day made more and more wretched and 
 dear to him. Yes, the time was come. He took 
 those fatal words, " Perhaps that is what you wished," 
 as a text for a gloomy homily, which he preached to 
 himself, in the dark crypt of his own heart, whilst Mr. 
 Shamble was feebly giving utterance to his sermon. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "fairoaks to let." 
 
 Our poor widow (with the assistance of her faithful 
 Martha of Fairoaks, who laughed and wondered at the 
 German ways, and superintended the affairs of the 
 simple household) had made a little feast in honor of 
 Major Pendennis's arrival, of which, however, only 
 the Major and his two younger friends partook, for 
 Helen sent to say that she was too unwell to dine at 
 their table, and Laura bore her company. The Major 
 talked for the party, and did not perceive, or choose 
 to perceive, what a gloom and silence pervaded the 
 other two sharers of the modest dinner. . It was even- 
 ing before Helen and Laura came into the sitting- 
 room to join the company there. She came in leaning 
 on Laura, with her back to the waning light, so that 
 Arthur could not see how pallid and woe-stricken her 
 face was ; and as she went up to Pen, whom she had 
 not seen during the day, and placed her fond arms on 
 his shoulder and kissed him tenderly, Laura left her, 
 and moved away to another part of the room. Pen 
 remarked that his mother's voice and her whole frame 
 trembled, her hand was clammy cold as she put it up 
 to his forehead, piteously embracing him. The spec- 
 tacle of her misery only added, somehow, to the wrath 
 and testiness of the young man. He scarcely returned 
 the kiss which the suffering lady gave him : and the 
 countenance with which he met the appeal of her look 
 was hard and cruel. " She persecutes me," he thought 
 
88 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 within himself, " and she comes to me with the air of 
 a martyr." " Yon look very ill, my child," she said. 
 " I don't like to see you look in that way." And she 
 tottered to a sofa, still holding one of his passive 
 hands in her thin cold clinging fingers. 
 
 "I have had much to annoy me, Mother," Pen said 
 with a throbbing breast: and as he spoke Helen's 
 heart began to beat so, that she sat almost dead and 
 speechless with terror. 
 
 Warrington, Laura, and Major Pendennis, all re- 
 mained breathless, aware that the storm was about 
 to break. 
 
 " I have had letters from London," Arthur continued, 
 " and one that has given me more pain than I ever had 
 in my life. It tells me that former letters of mine 
 have been intercepted and purloined away from 
 me ; — that — that a young creature who has shown 
 the greatest love and care for me, has been most 
 cruelly used by — by you, Mother." 
 
 "For God's sake, stop," cried out Warrington. 
 " She 's ill — don't you see she is ill ? " 
 
 " Let him go on," said the widow, faintly. 
 
 " Let him go on and kill her," said Laura, rushing 
 up to her mother's side. " Speak on, sir, and see her 
 die," 
 
 " It is you who are cruel," cried Pen, more exasper- 
 ated and more savage, because his own heart, naturally 
 soft and weak, revolted indignantly at the injustice of 
 the very suffering which was laid at his door. " It is 
 you who are cruel, who attribute all this pain to me : 
 it is you who are cruel with your wicked reproaches, 
 your wicked doubts of me, your wicked persecutions 
 of those who love me, — yes, those who love me, and 
 who brave everything for me, and whom you despise 
 and trample upon because they are of lower degree 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 89 
 
 than you. Shall I tell you what I will do, '• — what I 
 am resolved to do, now that I know what your con- 
 duct has been? — I will go back to this poor girl 
 whom you turned out of my doors, and ask her to 
 come back and share my home with me. I '11 defy 
 the pride which persecutes her, and the pitiless sus- 
 picion which insults her and me." 
 
 " Do you mean, Pen, that you — " here the widow, 
 with eager eyes and outstretched hands, was break- 
 ing out, but Laura stopped her : " Silence, hush, dear 
 mother," she cried, and the widow hushed. Sav- 
 agely as Pen spoke, she was only too eager to hear 
 what more he had to say. " Go on, Arthur, go on, 
 Arthur," was all she said, almost swooning away 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " By Gad, I say he sha'n't go on, or I won't hear 
 him, by Gad," the Major said, trembling too in his 
 wrath. " If you choose, sir, after all we 've done for 
 you, after all I've done for you, myself, to insult 
 your mother and disgrace your name, by allying your- 
 self with a low-born kitchen-girl, go and do it, by Gad, 
 
 — but let us, Ma'am, have no more to do with him. I 
 wash my hands of you, sir, — I wash my hands of you. 
 I 'm an old fellow, — I ain't long for this world. I 
 come of as ancient and honorable a family as any in 
 England, and I did hope, before I went off the hooks, 
 by Gad, that the fellow that I 'd liked, and brought 
 up, and nursed through life, by Jove, would do some- 
 thing to show me that our name — yes, the name of 
 Pendennis, was left undishonored behind us ; but if he 
 won't, dammy, I say, amen. By G — , both my father 
 and my brother Jack were the proudest men in Eng- 
 land, and I never would have thought that there 
 would come this disgrace to my name, — never — and 
 
 — and I'm ashamed that it's Arthur Pendennis.' 1 
 
90 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 The old fellow's voice here broke off into a sob: 
 it was the second time that Arthur had brought 
 tears from those wrinkled lids. 
 
 The sound of his breaking voice stayed Pen's anger 
 instantly, and he stopped pacing the room, as he had 
 been doing until that moment. Laura was by Helen's 
 sofa ; and Warrington had remained hitherto an al- 
 most silent but not uninterested spectator of the 
 family storm. As the parties were talking, it had 
 grown almost dark ; and after the lull which succeeded 
 the passionate outbreak of the Major, George's deep 
 voice, as it here broke trembling into the twilight 
 room, was heard with no small emotion by all. 
 
 " Will you let me tell you something about myself, 
 my kind friends ? " he said, — " you have been so 
 good to me, Ma'am — you have been so kind to me, 
 Laura — I hope I may call you so sometimes — my 
 dear Pen and I have been such friends that — that 
 I have long wanted to tell you my story such as 
 it is, and would have told it to you earlier but 
 that it is a sad one and contains another's secret. 
 However, it may do good for Arthur to know it — it 
 is right that every one here should. It will divert 
 you from thinking about a subject which, out of a fatal 
 misconception, has caused a great deal of pain to all of 
 you. May I please tell you, Mrs. Pendennis ? " 
 
 " Pray speak," was all Helen said ; and indeed she 
 was not much heeding ; her mind was full of another 
 idea with which Pen's words had supplied her, and she 
 was in a terror of hope that what he had hinted might 
 be as she wished. 
 
 George filled himself a bumper of wine and emptied 
 it, and began to speak. " You all of you know how 
 you see me," he said, — "a man without a desire to 
 make an advance in the world : careless about reputa- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 91 
 
 tion ; and living in a garret and from hand to month, 
 though I have friends and a name, and I dare say 
 capabilities of my own, that would serve me if I had a 
 mind. But mind I have none. I shall die in that 
 garret most likely, and alone. I nailed myself to that 
 doom in early life. Shall I tell you what it was that in- 
 terested me about Arthur years ago, and made me in- 
 clined towards him when I first saw him ? The men 
 from our college at Oxbridge brought up accounts of 
 that early affair with the Chatteris actress, about 
 whom Pen has often talked to me since $ and who, 
 but for the Major's generalship, might have been your 
 daughter-in-law, Ma'am. I can't see Pen in the dark, 
 but he blushes I 'm sure ; and I dare say Miss Bell 
 does ; and my friend Major Pendennis, I dare say, 
 laughs as he ought to do — for he won. What would 
 have been Arthur's lot now had he been tied at nine- 
 teen to an illiterate woman older than himself, with 
 no qualities in common between them, to make one a 
 companion for the other, no equality, no confidence, 
 and no love speedily ? What could he have been but 
 most miserable ? And when he spoke just now and 
 threatened a similar union, be sure it was but a threat 
 occasioned by anger, which you must give me leave 
 to say, Ma'am, was very natural on his part, for after 
 a generous and manly conduct — let me say who know 
 the circumstances well — most generous and manly 
 and self-denying (which is rare with him), — he has 
 met from some friends of his with a most unkind 
 suspicion, and has had to complain of the unfair 
 treatment of another innocent person, towards whom 
 he and you all are under much obligation." 
 
 The widow was going to get up here, and Warring- 
 ton, seeing her attempt to rise, said, " Do 1 tire you, 
 Ma'am ? " 
 
92 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "Ono — go on — go on," said Helen, delighted, and 
 
 he continued. 
 
 " I liked him, you see, because of that early history 
 of his, which had come to my ears in college gossip, 
 and because I like a man, if you will pardon me for 
 saying so, Miss Laura, who shows that he can have a 
 great unreasonable attachment for a woman. That was 
 why we became friends — and are all friends here — 
 for always, are n't we ? " he added in a lower voice, 
 leaning over to her, " and Pen has been a great comfort 
 and companion to a lonely and unfortunate man. 
 
 " I am not complaining of my lot, you see ; for no 
 man's is what he would have it ; and up in my garret, 
 where you left the flowers, and with my old books and 
 my pipe for a wife, I am pretty contented, and only 
 occasionally envy other men, whose careers in life are 
 more brilliant, or who can solace their ill fortune by 
 what Fate and my own fault has deprived me of — the 
 affection of a woman or a child." Here there came a 
 sigh from somewhere near Warrington in the dark, and 
 a hand was held out in his direction, which, however, 
 was instantly withdrawn, for the prudery of our fe- 
 males is such, that before all expression of feeling, or 
 natural kindness and regard, a woman is taught to 
 think of herself and the proprieties, and to be ready 
 to blush at the very slightest notice ; and checking, 
 as, of course, it ought, this spontaneous motion, mod- 
 esty drew up again, kindly friendship shrank back 
 ashamed of itself, and Warrington resumed his his- 
 tory. " My fate is such as I made it, and not lucky 
 for me or for others involved in it. 
 
 " I, too, had an adventure before I went to college ; 
 and there was no one to save me as Major Pendennis 
 saved Pen. Pardon me, Miss Laura, if I tell this 
 story before you. It is as well that you all of you 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 93 
 
 should hear my confession. Before I went to college, 
 as a boy of eighteen, I was at a private tutor's, and 
 there, like Arthur, I became attached, or fancied I was 
 attached, to a woman of a much lower degree and a 
 greater age than my own. You shrink from me — " 
 
 " No, I don't," Laura said, and here the hand went 
 out resolutely, and laid itself in Warrington's. She 
 had divined his story from some previous hints let 
 fall by him, and his first words at its commencement. 
 
 " She was a yeoman's daughter in the neighbor- 
 hood," Warrington said, with rather a faltering voice, 
 "and I fancied — what all young men fancy. Her 
 parents knew who my father was, and encouraged me, 
 with all sorts of coarse artifices and scoundrel flat- 
 teries, which I see now, about their house. To do 
 her justice, I own she never cared for me, but was 
 forced into what happened by the threats and com- 
 pulsion of her family. Would to God that I had not 
 been deceived : but in these matters we are deceived 
 because we wish to be so, and I thought I loved that 
 poor woman. 
 
 " What could come of such a marriage ? I found, 
 before long, that I was married to a boor. She could 
 not comprehend one subject that interested me. Her 
 dulness palled upon me till I grew to loathe it. And 
 after some time of a wretched, furtive union — I must 
 tell you all — I found letters somewhere (and such let- 
 ters they were ! ) which showed me that her heart, 
 such as it was, had never been mine, but had always 
 belonged to a person of her own degree. 
 
 "At my father's death, I paid what debts I had 
 contracted at college, and settled every shilling which 
 remained to me in an annuity upon — upon those who 
 bore my name, on condition that they should hide 
 themselves away, and not assume it. They have 
 
94 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 kept that condition, as they would break it, for more 
 money. If I had earned fame or reputation, that 
 woman would have come to claim it : if I had made 
 a name for myself, those who had no right to it would 
 have borne it ; and I entered life at twenty, God help 
 me — hopeless and ruined beyond remission. I was 
 the boyish victim of vulgar cheats, and, perhaps, it is 
 only of late I have found out how hard — ah, how 
 hard — it is to forgive them. I told you the moral 
 before, Pen ; and now I have told you the fable. Be- 
 ware how you marry out of your degree. I was made 
 for a better lot than this, I think: but God has 
 awarded me this one — and so, you see, it is for me 
 to look on, and see others successful and others 
 happy, with a heart that shall be as little bitter as 
 possible." 
 
 " By Gad, sir," cried the Major, in high good-humor, 
 " I intended you to marry Miss Laura here." 
 
 " And, by Gad, Master Shallow, I owe you a thou, 
 sand pound," Warrington said. 
 
 " How d' ye mean a thousand ? it was only a pony, 
 sir," replied the Major simply, at which the other 
 laughed. 
 
 As for Helen, she was so delighted, that she started 
 up, and said, " God bless you — God forever bless you, 
 Mr. Warrington ; " and kissed both his hands, and ran 
 up to Pen, and fell into his arms. 
 
 " Yes, dearest mother," he said as he held her to 
 him, and with a noble tenderness and emotion, em- 
 braced and, forgave her. " I am innocent, and my 
 dear, dear mother has done me a wrong." 
 
 " Oh, yes, my child, I have wronged you, thank 
 God, I have wronged you ! " Helen whispered. 
 " Come away, Arthur — not here — I want to ask 
 my child to forgive me — and — and my God, to 
 
PENDEXNIS. 
 
 95 
 
 forgive me ; and to bless you, and love you, my 
 son." 
 
 He led her, tottering, into her room, and closed the 
 door, as the three touched spectators of the reconcilia- 
 tion looked on in pleased silence. Ever after, ever 
 after, the tender accents of that voice faltering 
 sweetly at his ear — the look of the sacred eyes 
 beaming with an affection unutterable — the quiver 
 of the fond lips smiling mournfully — were remem- 
 bered by the young man. And at his best moments, 
 and at his hours of trial and grief, and at his times 
 of success or well-doing, the mother's face looked 
 down upon him, and blessed him with its gaze of 
 pity and purity, as he saw it in that night when she 
 yet lingered with him ; and when she seemed, ere she 
 quite left him, an angel, transfigured and glorified 
 with love — for which love, as for the greatest of the 
 bounties and wonders of God's provision for us, let 
 us kneel and thank Our Father. 
 
 The moon had risen by this time ; Arthur recol- 
 lected well afterwards how it lighted up his mother's 
 sweet pale face. Their talk, or his rather, for she 
 scarcely could speak, was more tender and confidem 
 tial than it had been for years before. He was the 
 frank and generous boy of her early days and love. 
 He told her the story, the mistake regarding which 
 had caused her so much pain — his struggles to fly 
 from temptation, and his thankfulness that he had 
 been able to overcome it. He never would do the girl 
 wrong, never ; or wound his own honor or his mother's 
 pure heart. The threat that he would return was 
 uttered in a moment of exasperation, of which he re- 
 pented. He never would see her again. But his mother 
 said, Yes he should ; and it was she who had been 
 proud and culpable — and she would like to give Fanny 
 
96 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Bolton something — and she begged her dear boy's 
 pardon for opening the letter — and she would write 
 to the young girl, if — if she had time. Poor thing ! 
 was it not natural that she should love her Arthur ? 
 And again she kissed him, and she blessed him. 
 
 As they were talking the clock struck nine, and 
 Helen reminded him how, when he was a little boy, 
 she used to go up to his bedroom at that hour, and 
 hear him say Our Father. And once more, oh, once 
 more, the young man fell down at his mother's sacred 
 knees, and sobbed out the prayer which the Divine 
 Tenderness uttered for us, and which has been echoed 
 for twenty ages since by millions of sinful and hum- 
 bled men. And as he spoke the last words of the 
 supplication, the mother's head fell down on her 
 boy's, and her arms closed round him, and together 
 they repeated the words "for ever and ever," and 
 " Amen." 
 
 A little time after, it might have been a quarter of 
 an hour, Laura heard Arthur's voice calling from 
 within, " Laura ! Laura ! " She rushed into the room 
 instantly, and found the young man still on his knees, 
 and holding his mother's hand. Helen's head had 
 sunk back and was quite pale in the moon. Pen 
 looked round, scared with a ghastly terror. " Help, 
 Laura, help ! " he said — " she 's fainted — she 's — " 
 
 Laura screamed, and fell by the side of Helen. 
 The shriek brought Warrington and Major Penden- 
 nis and the servants to the room. The sainted wo- 
 man was dead. The last emotion of her soul here 
 was joy, to be henceforth uncheckered and eternal. 
 The tender heart beat no more ; it was to have no 
 more pangs, no more doubts, no more griefs and 
 trials. Its last throb was love ; and Helen's last 
 breath was a benediction. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 97 
 
 The melancholy party bent their way speedily home- 
 wards, and Helen was laid by her husband's side at 
 Clavering, in the old church where she had prayed so 
 often. For a while Laura went to stay with Dr. Port- 
 man, who read the service over his dear sister departed, 
 amidst his own sobs and those of the little congrega- 
 tion which assembled round Helen's tomb. There 
 were not many who cared for her, or who spoke of her 
 when gone. Scarcely more than of a nun in a clois- 
 ter did people know of that pious and gentle lady. A 
 few words among the cottagers whom her bounty was 
 accustomed to relieve, a little talk from house to house 
 at Clavering, where this lady told how their neighbor 
 died of a complaint of the heart ; whilst that specu- 
 lated upon the amount of property which the widow 
 had left ; and a third wondered whether Arthur would 
 let Fairoaks or live in it, and expected that he would 
 not be long getting through his property, — this was 
 all, and except with one or two who cherished her 
 the kind soul was forgotten by the next market-day. 
 Would you desire that grief for you should last for a 
 few more weeks ? and does after-life seem less soli- 
 tary, provided that our names, when we "go down 
 into silence," are echoing on this side of the grave yet 
 for a little while, and human voices are still talking 
 about us ? She was gone, the pure soul, whom only two 
 or three loved and knew. The great blank she left 
 was in Laura's heart, to whom her love had been every, 
 thing, and who had now but to worship her memory. 
 " I am glad that she gave me her blessing before she 
 went away," Warrington said to Pen; and as for 
 Arthur, with a humble acknowledgment and wonder 
 at so much affection, he hardly dared to ask of Heaven 
 to make him worthy of it, though he felt that a saint 
 there was interceding for him. 
 
98 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 All the lady's affairs were found in perfect order, 
 and her little property ready for transmission to her 
 son, in trust for whom she held it. Papers in her 
 desk showed that she had long been aware of the 
 complaint, one of the heart, under which she labored, 
 and knew that it would suddenly remove her : and a 
 prayer was found in her handwriting, asking that her 
 end might be, as it was, in the arms of her son. 
 
 Laura and Arthur talked over her sayings, all of 
 which the former most fondly remembered, to the 
 young man's shame somewhat, who thought how 
 much greater her love had been for Helen than his 
 own. He referred himself entirely to Laura to know 
 what Helen would have wished should be done ; what 
 poor persons she would have liked to relieve ; what 
 legacies or remembrances she would have wished to 
 transmit. They packed up the vase which Helen in 
 her gratitude had destined to Dr. Goodenough, and 
 duly sent it to the kind Doctor ; a silver coffee-pot, 
 which she used, was sent off to Dr. Portman ; a dia- 
 mond ring, with her hair, was given with affectionate 
 greeting to Warrington. 
 
 It must have been a hard day for poor Laura when 
 she went over to Fairoaks first, and to the little room 
 which she had occupied, and which was hers no more, 
 and to the widow's own blank chamber in which those 
 two had passed so many beloved hours. There, of 
 course, were the clothes in the wardrobe, the cushion 
 on which she prayed, the chair at the toilet: the 
 glass that was no more to reflect her dear sad face. 
 After she had been here a while, Pen knocked and led 
 her down stairs to the parlor again, and made her 
 drink a little wine, and said, " God bless you," as she 
 touched the glass. "Nothing shall ever be changed 
 in your room," he said — " it is always your room — 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 99 
 
 ft is always my sister's room. Shall it not be so, 
 Laura ? " and Laura said, " Yes ! " 
 
 Among the widow's papers was found a packet, 
 marked by the widow " Letters from Laura's father," 
 and which Arthur gave to her. They were the letters 
 which had passed between the cousins in the early 
 days before the marriage of either of them. The ink 
 was faded in which they were written : the tears dried 
 out that both perhaps had shed over them ; the grief 
 healed now whose bitterness they chronicled ; the 
 friends doubtless united whose parting on earth had 
 caused to both pangs so cruel. And Laura learned 
 fully now for the first time what the tie was which 
 had bound her so tenderly to Helen : how faithfully 
 her more than mother had cherished her father's 
 memory, how truly she had loved him, how meekly 
 resigned him. 
 
 One legacy of his mother's Pen remembered, of 
 which Laura could have no cognizance. It was that 
 wish of Helen's to make some present to Fanny Bol- 
 ton ; and Pen wrote to her, putting his letter under an 
 envelope to Mr. Bows, and requesting that gentleman 
 to read it before he delivered it to Fanny. "Dear 
 Fanny," Pen said, " I have to acknowledge two letters 
 from you, one of which was delayed in my illness " 
 (Pen found the first letter in his mother's desk after 
 her decease, and the reading it gave him a strange 
 pang), " and to thank you, my kind nurse and friend, 
 who watched me so tenderly during my fever. And I 
 have to tell you that the last words of my dear mother, 
 who is no more, were words of good-will and gratitude 
 to you for nursing me : and she said she would have 
 written to you, had she had time — that she would 
 like to ask your pardon if she had harshly treated 
 you — and that she would beg you to show your for- 
 
too 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 giveness by accepting some token of friendship and 
 regard from her." Pen concluded by saying that his 
 friend George Warrington, Esq., of Lamb Court Tem- 
 ple, was trustee of a little sum of money, of which the 
 interest would be paid to her until she became of age, 
 or changed her name, which would always be affec- 
 tionately remembered by her grateful friend, A. Pen- 
 dennis. The sum was in truth but small, although 
 enough to make a little heiress of Fanny Bolton; 
 whose parents were appeased, and whose father said 
 Mr. P. had acted quite as the gentleman — though 
 Bows growled out that to plaster a wounded heart 
 with a bank-note was an easy kind of sympathy ; 
 and poor Fanny felt only too clearly that Pen's 
 letter was one of farewell. 
 
 "Sending hundred-pound notes to porters' daugh- 
 ters is all dev'lish well," old Major Pendennis said to 
 his nephew (whom, as the proprietor of Fairoaks and 
 the head of the family, he now treated with marked 
 deference and civility), "and as there was a little 
 ready money at the bank, and your poor mother 
 wished it, there's perhaps no harm done. But, my 
 good lad, I 'd have you to remember that you 've not 
 above five hundred a-year, though, thanks to me, the 
 world gives you credit for being a doosid deal better 
 off; and, on my knees, I beg you, my boy, don't 
 break into your capital. Stick to it, sir ; don't specu- 
 late with it, sir ; keep your land, and don't borrow on 
 it. Tatham tells me that the Chatteris branch of the 
 railway may — will almost certainly pass through 
 Chatteris, and if it can be brought on this side of the 
 Brawl, sir, and through your fields, they '11 be worth 
 a dev'lish deal of money, and your five hundred a- 
 year will jump up to eight or nine. Whatever it is, 
 keep it, I implore you keep it. And I say, Pen, I 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 101 
 
 think you should give up living in those dirty cham- 
 bers in the Temple and get a decent lodging. And I 
 should have a man, sir, to wait upon me ; and a horse 
 or two in town in the season. All this will pretty 
 well swallow up your income, and I know you must 
 live close. But remember you have a certain place in 
 society, and you can't afford to cut a poor figure in 
 the world. What are you going to do in the winter ? 
 You don't intend to stay down here, or, I suppose, to 
 go on writing for that — what-d'-ye-call-'em — that 
 newspaper ? " 
 
 " Warrington and I are going abroad again, sir, for 
 a little, and then we shall see what is to be done," 
 Arthur replied. 
 
 " And you '11 let Fairoaks, of course. Good school 
 in the neighborhood ; cheap country : dev'lish nice 
 place for East India colonels, or families wanting to 
 retire. I '11 speak about it at the club ; there are lots 
 of fellows at the club want a place of that sort." 
 
 " I hope Laura will live in it for the winter, ab 
 least, and will make it her home," Arthur replied : at 
 which the Major pish'd and psha'd, and said that 
 there ought to be convents, begad, for English ladies, 
 and wished that Miss Bell had not been there to inter- 
 fere with the arrangements of the family, and that she 
 would mope herself to death alone in that place. 
 
 Indeed, it would have been a very dismal abode for 
 poor Laura, who was not too happy either in Doctor 
 Portman's household, and in the town where too 
 many things reminded her of the dear parent whom 
 she had lost. But old Lady Eockminster, who adored 
 her young friend Laura, as soon as she read in the 
 paper of her loss, and of her presence in the country, 
 rushed over from Baymouth, where the old lady was 
 staying, and insisted that Laura should remain six 
 
102 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 months, twelve months, all her life with her; and 
 to her ladyship's house, Martha from Fairoaks, as 
 /efc^fe de cKambre, accompanied hS^5ung%iistress. 
 
 Pen and Warrington saw her depart. It was diffi- 
 cult to say which of the young men seemed to regard 
 her the most , tenderly. " Your cousin is pert and 
 rather vulgar, my dear, but he seems to have a good 
 heart," little Lady Eockminster said, who said her 
 say about everybody — " but I like Bluebeard best. 
 Tell me, is he touche au coeur ? " 
 
 " Mr. Warrington has been long — engaged," Laura 
 said, dropping her eyes. 
 
 "Nonsense, child! And good heavens, my dear! 
 that 's a pretty diamond cross. What do you mean 
 by wearing it in the morning ? " 
 
 "Arthur — my brother, gave it me just now. It 
 was — it was — " She could not finish the sentence. 
 The carriage passed over the bridge, and by the dear, 
 dear gate of Fairoaks — home no more. 
 
stival, at which 
 m Downs, that 
 whom we have 
 s istory, were as- 
 
 nfortable open 
 le ground by a 
 ngay, of Pater- 
 his glory, and 
 Ion, for whom, 
 uaintance, the 
 ined a steady 
 himself with a 
 at the sticks 
 his bald pate, 
 the drinking- 
 in attendance 
 
 on the two ladies, to whom gentlemen of their acquain- 
 tance, and connected with the publishing house, came 
 up to pay a visit. 
 
 Among others, Mr. Archer came up to make her his 
 bow, and told Mrs. Bungay who was on the course. 
 Yonder was the Prime Minister: his lordship had 
 just told him to back Borax for the race ; but Archer 
 thought Muffineer the better horse. He pointed out 
 countless dukes and grandees to the delighted Mrs. 
 Bungay. "Look yonder in the Grand Stand," he said. 
 
102 
 
 months, tweh 
 to her ladysl 
 fe^^ de c'liai 
 
 Pen and W 
 cult to say wh 
 her the most 
 rather vulgar, 
 heart," little 
 say about evt 
 Tell me, is he 
 
 "Mr. Warri 
 said, dropping 
 
 " Nonsense, 
 that's a prett 
 by wearing it i 
 
 " Arthur — \ 
 was — it was - 
 The carriage p 
 dear gate of Fi 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 It chanced at that great English festival, at which 
 all London takes a holiday npon Epsom Downs, that 
 a great number of the personages to whom we have 
 been introduced in the course of this history, were as- 
 sembled to see the Derby. In a comfortable open 
 carriage, which had been brought to the ground by a 
 pair of horses, might be seen Mrs. Bungay, of Pater- 
 noster Row, attired like Solomon in all his glory, and 
 having by her side modest Mrs. Shandon, for whom, 
 since the commencement of their acquaintance, the 
 worthy publisher's lady had maintained a steady 
 friendship. Bungay, having recreated himself with a 
 copious luncheon, was madly shying at the sticks 
 hard by, till the perspiration ran off his bald pate. 
 Shandon was shambling about among the drinking- 
 tents and gypsies : Finucane constant in attendance 
 on the two ladies, to whom gentlemen of their acquain- 
 tance, and connected with the publishing house, came 
 up to pay a visit. 
 
 Among others, Mr. Archer came up to make her his 
 bow, and told Mrs. Bungay who was on the course. 
 Yonder was the Prime Minister : his lordship had 
 just told him to back Borax for the race ; but Archer 
 thought Muffineer the better horse. He pointed out 
 countless dukes and grandees to the delighted Mrs. 
 Bungay. "Look yonder in the Grand Stand," he said. 
 
104 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " There sits the Chinese Ambassador with the Manda- 
 rins of his suite. Fou-choo-Foo brought me over let- 
 ters of introduction from the Governor-General of 
 India, my most intimate friend, and I was for some 
 time very kind to him, and he had his chopsticks laid 
 for him at my table whenever he chose to come and 
 dine. But he brought his own cook with him, and — 
 would you believe it, Mrs. Bungay ? — one day, when 
 I was out, and the Ambassador was with Mrs. Archer 
 in our garden eating gooseberries, of which the Chi- 
 nese are passionately fond, the beast of a cook, seeing 
 my wife's dear little Blenheim spaniel (that we had 
 from the Duke of Marlborough himself, whose ances- 
 tor's life Mrs. Archer's great-great-grandfather saved at 
 the battle of Malplaquet), seized upon the poor little 
 devil, cut his throat, and skinned him, and served him 
 up stuffed with forced-meat in the second course." 
 " Law ! " said Mrs. Bungay. 
 
 " You may fancy my wife's agony when she knew 
 what had happened ! The cook came screaming up- 
 stairs, and told us that she had found poor Fido's skin 
 in the area, just after we had all of us tasted of the 
 dish ! She never would speak to the Ambassador 
 again — never ; and, upon my word, he has never 
 been to dine with us since. The Lord Mayor, who 
 did me the honor to dine, liked the dish very much ; 
 and, eaten with green peas, it tastes rather like 
 duck." 
 
 " You don't say so, now ! " cried the astonished pub- 
 lisher's lady. 
 
 " Fact, upon my word. Look at that lady in blue, 
 seated by the Ambassador: that is Lady Flamingo, 
 and they say she is going to be married to him, and 
 return to Pekin with his Excellency. She is getting 
 her feet squeezed down on purpose. But she '11 only 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 105 
 
 cripple herself, and will never be able to do it — never. 
 My wife has the smallest foot in England, and wears 
 shoes for a six-years-old child ; but what is that to a 
 Chinese lady's foot, Mrs. Bungay ? " 
 
 "Who is that carriage as Mr. Pendennis is with, 
 Mr. Archer?" Mrs. Bungay presently asked. "He 
 and Mr. Warrington was here jest now. He 's 
 'aughty in his manners, that Mr. Pendennis, and well 
 he may be, for I 'm told he keeps tip-top company. 
 'As he 'ad a large fortune left him, Mr. Archer ? He 's 
 in black still, I see." 
 
 " Eighteen hundred a-year in land, and twenty-two 
 thousand five hundred in the Three-and-a-half per 
 Cents ; that 's about it," said Mr. Archer. 
 
 " Law ! why you know everything, Mr. A. ! " cried 
 the lady of Paternoster Row. 
 
 " I happen to know, because I was called in about 
 poor Mrs. Pendennis's will," Mr. Archer replied. 
 " Pendennis's uncle, the Major, seldom does anything 
 without me ; and as he is likely to be extravagant, 
 we've tied up the property, so that he can't make 
 ducks-and-drakes with it. — How do you do, my 
 lord ? — Do you know that gentleman, ladies ? You 
 have read his speeches in the House ; it is Lord 
 Rochester." 
 
 "Lord Fiddlestick," cried out Finucane, from the 
 box. " Sure it 's Tom Staples, of the ' Morning Ad- 
 vertiser,' Archer." 
 
 " Is it ? " Archer said, simply. " Well, I 'm very 
 short-sighted, and upon my word I thought it was 
 Rochester. That gentleman with the double opera- 
 glass (another nod) is Lord John ; and the tall man 
 with him, don 't you know him ? is Sir James." 
 
 " You know 'em because you see 'em in the House," 
 growled Finucane. 
 
106 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "I know them because they are kind enough to 
 allow me to call them my most intimate friends," 
 Archer continued. " Look at the Duke of Hamp- 
 shire ; what a pattern of a fine old English gentleman ! 
 He never misses 'the Derby.' ' Archer, 5 he said to 
 me only yesterday, ' I have been at sixty -five Derbies ! 
 appeared on the field for the first time on a piebald 
 pony when I was seven years old, with my father, 
 the Prince of Wales, and Colonel Hanger ; and only 
 missing two races, — one when I had the measles at 
 Eton, and one in the Waterloo year, when I was with 
 my friend Wellington in Flanders. ' " 
 
 " And who is that yellow carriage, with the pink 
 and yellow parasols, that Mr. Pendennis is talking to, 
 and ever so many gentlemen ? " asked Mrs. Bungay. 
 
 " That is Lady Clavering, of Clavering Park, next 
 estate to my friend Pendennis. That is the young 
 son and heir upon the box ; he 's awfully tipsy, the 
 little scamp ! and the young lady is Miss Amory, 
 Lady Clavering's daughter by a first marriage, and un- 
 commonly sweet upon my friend Pendennis ; but I 've 
 reason to think he has his heart fixed elsewhere. You 
 have heard of young Mr. Foker — the great brewer, 
 Poker, you know — he was going to hang himself in 
 consequence of a fatal passion for Miss Amory, who 
 refused him, but was cut down just in time by his 
 valet, and is now abroad, under a keeper." 
 
 " How happy that young fellow is ! " sighed Mrs. 
 Bungay. " Who 'd have thought when he came so 
 quiet and demure to dine with us, three or four years 
 ago, he would turn out such a grand character ! 
 Why, I saw his name at Court the other day, and pre- 
 sented by the Marquis of Steyne and all ; and in 
 every party of the nobility his name 's down as sure 
 as a gun." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 107 
 
 " I introduced him a good deal when he first came 
 up to town," Mr. Archer said, "and his uncle, Major 
 Pendennis, did the rest. Hallo ! There 's Cobden 
 here, of all men in the world ! I must go and speak 
 to him. Good-by, Mrs. Bungay. Good morning, 
 Mrs. Shandon." 
 
 An hour previous to this time, and at a different 
 part of the course, there might have been seen an old 
 stage-coach, on the battered roof of which a crowd of 
 shabby raffs were stamping and hallooing, as the great 
 event of the day — the Derby race — rushed over the 
 green sward, and by the shouting millions of people 
 assembled to view that magnificent scene. This was 
 Wheeler's (the "Harlequin's Head") drag, which 
 had brought down a company of choice spirits from 
 Bow Street, with a slap-up luncheon in the "boot." 
 As the whirling race flashed by, each of the choice spir- 
 its bellowed out the name of the horse or the colors 
 which he thought or he hoped might be foremost. 
 "The Cornet!" "It's Muffineer!" "It's blue 
 sleeves ! " " Yallow cap ! yallow cap ! yattow cap ! " 
 and so forth, yelled the gentlemen sportsmen, during 
 that delicious and thrilling minute before the contest 
 was decided; and as the fluttering signal blew out, 
 showing the number of the famous horse Podasokus 
 as winner of the race, one of the gentlemen on the 
 " Harlequin's Head " drag sprang up off the roof, as 
 if he was a pigeon and about to fly away to London or 
 York with the news. 
 
 But his elation did not lift him many inches from his 
 standing place, to which he came down again on the 
 instant, causing the boards of the crazy old coach- 
 roof to crack with the weight of his joy. " Hurra, 
 hurra ! " he bawled out, " Podasokus is the horse ! 
 Supper for ten, Wheeler, my boy. Ask you all round 
 of course, and damn the expense." 
 
108 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 And the gentlemen on the carriage, the shabby 
 swaggerers, the dubious bucks, said, " Thank you — 
 congratulate you, Colonel ; sup with you with pleas- 
 ure : " and whispered to one another, " The Colonel 
 stands to win fifteen hundred, and he got the odds 
 from a good man, too." 
 
 And each of the shabby bucks and dusky dandies 
 began to eye his neighbor with suspicion, lest that 
 neighbor, taking his advantage, should get the 
 Colonel into a lonely place and borrow money of him. 
 And the winner on Podasokus could not be alone dur- 
 ing the whole of that afternoon, so closely did his 
 friends watch him and each other. 
 
 At another part of the course you might have seen 
 a vehicle, certainly more modest, if not more shabby 
 than that battered coach which had brought down the 
 choice spirits from the " Harlequin's Head ; " this 
 was cab No. 2002, which had conveyed a gentleman 
 and two ladies from the cab-stand in the Strand ; 
 whereof one of the ladies, as she sat on the box of the 
 cab enjoying with her mamma and their companion a 
 repast of lobster-salad and bitter ale, looked so fresh 
 and pretty that many of the splendid young dandies 
 who were strolling about the course, and enjoying 
 themselves at the noble diversion of Sticks, and talk- 
 ing to the beautifully dressed ladies in the beautiful 
 carriages on the hill, forsook these fascinations to 
 have a glance at the smiling and rosy-cheeked lass on 
 the cab. The blushes of youth and good-humor man- 
 tled on the girl's cheeks, and played over that fair 
 countenance like the pretty shining cloudlets on the 
 serene sky overhead ; the elder lady's cheek was 
 red too; but that was a permanent mottled rose, 
 deepening only as it received fresh draughts of pale 
 ale and brandy-and-water, until her face emulated the 
 rich shell of the lobster which she devoured. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 109 
 
 The gentleman who escorted these two ladies was 
 most active in attendance upon them : here on the 
 course, as he had been during the previous journey. 
 During the whole of that animated and delightful 
 drive from London, his jokes had never ceased. He 
 spoke up undauntedly to the most awful drags full of 
 the biggest and most solemn guardsmen as to the 
 humblest donkey-chaise in which Bob the dustman 
 was driving Molly to the race. He had fired aston- 
 ishing volleys of what is called " chaff " into endless 
 windows as he passed ; into lines of grinning girls' 
 schools ; into little regiments of shouting urchins 
 hurraing behind the railings of their Classical and 
 Commercial Academies ; into casements whence smil- 
 ing maid-servants, and nurses tossing babies, or de- 
 mure old maiden ladies with dissenting countenances, 
 were looking. And the pretty girl in the straw bon- 
 net with pink ribbon, and her mamma, the devourer 
 of lobsters, had both agreed that when he was in 
 " spirits," there was nothing like that Mr. Sam. He 
 had crammed the cab with trophies won from the 
 bankrupt proprietors of the Sticks hard by, and with 
 countless pincushions, wooden apples, backy-boxes, 
 Jack-in-the-boxes, and little soldiers. He had brought 
 up a gypsy with a tawny child in her arms to tell the 
 fortunes of the ladies : and the only cloud which 
 momentarily obscured the sunshine of that happy 
 party, was when the teller of fate informed the young 
 lady that she had had reason to beware of a fair man, 
 who was false to her : that she had had a bad illness, 
 and that she would find that a dark man would prove 
 true. 
 
 The girl looked very much abashed at this news : 
 her mother and the young man interchanged signs of 
 wonder and intelligence. Perhaps the conjurer had 
 
110 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 used the same words to a hundred different carriages 
 on that day. 
 
 Making his way solitary amongst the crowd and 
 the carriages, and noting, according to his wont, the 
 various circumstances and characters which the ani- 
 mated scene presented, a young friend of ours came 
 suddenly upon cab 2002, and the little group of per- 
 sons assembled on the outside of the vehicle. As he 
 caught sight of the young lady on the box, she started 
 and turned pale : her mother became redder than 
 ever: the heretofore gay and triumphant Mr. Sam 
 immediately assumed a fierce and suspicious look, 
 and his eyes turned savagely from Fanny Bolton 
 (whom the reader, no doubt, has recognized in the 
 young lady of the cab) to Arthur Pendennis, advanc- 
 ing to meet her. 
 
 Arthur, too, looked dark and suspicious on per- 
 ceiving Mr. Samuel Huxter in company with his old 
 acquaintances : but his suspicion was that of alarmed 
 morality, and, I dare say, highly creditable to Mr. 
 Arthur : like the suspicion of Mrs. Lynx, when she 
 sees Mr. Brown and Mrs. Jones talking together, or 
 when she remarks Mrs. Lamb twice or thrice in a 
 handsome opera-box. There may be no harm in the 
 conversation of Mr. B. and Mrs. J. : and Mrs. Lamb's 
 opera-box (though she notoriously can't afford one) 
 may be honestly come by: but yet a moralist like 
 Mrs. Lynx has a right to the little precautionary 
 fright : and Arthur was no doubt justified in adopting 
 that severe demeanor of his. 
 
 Fanny's heart began to patter violently : Huxter's 
 fists, plunged into the pockets of his paletot, clenched 
 themselves involuntarily, and armed themselves, as 
 it were, in ambush : Mrs. Bolton began to talk with 
 all her might, and with a wonderful volubility : and 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Lor ! she was so 'appy to see Mr. Pendennis, and how 
 well he was a lookin', and we 'd been talkin' about Mr. 
 P. only jest before ; had n't we, Fanny ? and if this 
 was the famous Hepsom races that they talked so 
 mu?h about, she didn't care, for her part, if she 
 never saw them again. And how was Major Pen- 
 dennis, and that kind Mr. Warrington, who brought 
 Mr. P.'s great kindness to Fanny ; and she never 
 would forget it, never : and Mr. Warrington was so 
 tall, he almost broke his 'ead up against their lodge 
 door. You recollect Mr. Warrington a knockin' of 
 his head — don't you, Fanny ? 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Bolton was discoursing, I wonder how 
 many thousands of thoughts passed through Fanny's 
 mind, and what dear times, sad struggles, lonely 
 griefs, and subsequent shame-faced consolations were 
 recalled to her ? What pangs had the poor little 
 thing, as she thought how much she had loved him, 
 and that she loved him no more ? There he stood, 
 about whom she was going to die ten months since, 
 dandified, supercilious, with a black crape to his 
 white hat, and jet buttons in his shirt front : and a 
 pink in his coat, that some one else had probably 
 given him : with the tightest lavender-colored gloves 
 sewn with black : and the smallest of canes. And 
 Mr. Huxter wore no gloves, and great Blucher boots, 
 and smelt very much of tobacco certainly ; and 
 looked, oh, it must be owned, he looked as if a bucket 
 of water would do him a great deal of good ! All 
 these thoughts, and a myriad of others, rushed 
 through Fanny's mind as her mamma was delivering 
 herself of her speech, and as the girl, from under her 
 eyes, surveyed Pendennis — surveyed him entirely 
 from head to foot, the circle on his white forehead 
 that his hat left when he lifted it (his beautiful, 
 
112 
 
 PENDEKNIS. 
 
 beautiful hair had grown again), the trinkets at his 
 watch-chain, the ring on his hand under his glove, 
 the neat shining boot, so, so unlike Sam's high-low \ 
 
 — and after her hand had given a little twittering 
 pressure to the lavender-colored kid grasp which was 
 held out to it, and after her mother had delivered 
 herself of her speech, all Fanny could find to say was, 
 — " This is Mr. Samuel Huxter whom you knew 
 formerly I believe, sir ; Mr. Samuel, you know you 
 knew Mr. Pendennis formerly — and — and, will you 
 take a little refreshment ? " 
 
 These little words, tremulous and uncolored as they 
 were, yet were understood by Pendennis in such a 
 manner as to take a great load of suspicion from off 
 his mind — of remorse, perhaps, from his heart. The 
 frown on the countenance of the prince of Fairoaks 
 disappeared, and a good-natured smile and a knowing 
 twinkle of the eyes illuminated his highness's counte- 
 nance. " I am very thirsty," he said, " and I will be 
 glad to drink your health, Fanny ; and I hope Mr. Hux- 
 ter will pardon me for having been very rude to him 
 the last time we met, and when I was so ill and out of 
 spirits, that indeed I scarcely knew what I said." 
 And herewith the lavender-colored dexter kid-glove 
 was handed out, in token of amity, to Huxter. 
 
 The dirty fist in the young surgeon's pocket was 
 obliged to undouble itself, and come out of its ambush 
 disarmed. The poor fellow himself felt, as he laid it 
 in Pen's hand, how hot his own was, and how black — 
 it left black marks on Pen's gloves ; he saw them, 
 
 — he would have liked to have clenched it again and 
 dashed it into the other's good-humored face ; and 
 have seen, there upon that ground, with Fanny, with 
 all England looking on, which was the best man — he 
 Sam Huxter of Bartholomew's, or that grinning dandy. 
 
Mr. Arthur and Mr. Samuel. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 113 
 
 Pen, with ineffable good-humor, took a glass — he 
 did n't mind what it was — he was content to drink 
 after the ladies ; and he filled it with frothing luke- 
 warm beer, which he pronounced to be delicious, and 
 which he drank cordially to the health of the party. 
 
 As he was drinking and talking on in an engaging 
 manner, a young lady in a shot dove-colored dress, 
 with a white parasol lined with pink, and the pret- 
 tiest dove-colored boots that ever stepped, passed by 
 Pen, leaning on the arm of a stalwart gentleman with 
 a military mustache. 
 
 The young lady clenched her little fist, and gave a 
 mischievous side-look as she passed Pen. He of the 
 mustachios burst out into a jolly laugh. He had 
 taken off his hat to the ladies of cab No. 2002. You 
 should have seen Fanny Bolton's eyes watching after 
 the dove-colored young lady ! Immediately Huxter 
 perceived the direction which they took, they ceased 
 looking after the dove-colored nymph, and they turned 
 and looked into Sam Huxter's orbs with the most art- 
 less good-humored expression. 
 
 " What a beautiful creature ! 99 Fanny said. " What 
 a lovely dress ! Did you remark, Mr. Sam, such little, 
 little hands ? " 
 
 " It was Capting Strong," said Mrs. Bolton : " and 
 who was the young woman, I wonder ? " 
 
 u A neighbor of mine in the country — Miss Amory," 
 Arthur said, — " Lady Clavering's daughter. You 've 
 seen Sir Francis often in Shepherd's Inn, Mrs. 
 Bolton." 
 
 As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in 
 three volumes — love — faithlessness — splendid mar- 
 riage at St. George's Hanover Square — broken-hearted 
 maid — and Sam Huxter was not the hero of that 
 story — poor Sam, who by this time had got out an 
 
114 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 exceedingly rank Cuba cigar, and was smoking it 
 under Fanny's little nose. 
 
 After that confounded prig Pendennis joined and 
 left the party, the sun was less bright to Sam Huxter, 
 the sky less blue — the Sticks had no attraction for 
 him — the bitter beer was hot and undrinkable — the 
 world was changed. He had a quantity of peas and a 
 tin pea-shooter in the pocket of the cab for amusement 
 on the homeward route. He didn't take them out, 
 and forgot their existence until some other wag, on 
 their return from the races, fired a volley into Sam's 
 sad face ; upon which salute, after a few oaths indica- 
 tive of surprise, he burst into a savage and sardonic 
 laugh. 
 
 But Fanny was charming all the way home. She 
 coaxed, and snuggled, and smiled. She laughed pretty 
 laughs; she admired everything; she took out the 
 darling little Jack-in-the-boxes, and was so obliged to 
 Sam. And when they got home, and Mr. Huxter, 
 still with darkness on his countenance, was taking a 
 frigid leave of her — she burst into tears, and said he 
 was a naughty, unkind thing. 
 
 Upon which, with a burst of emotion almost as em- 
 phatic as hers, the young surgeon held the girl in his 
 arms — swore that she was an angel, and that he was 
 a jealous brute ; owned that he was unworthy of her, 
 and that he had no right to hate Pendennis; and 
 asked her, implored her, to say once more that she — 
 
 That she what ? — The end of the question and 
 Fanny's answer were pronounced by lips that were so 
 near each other, that no bystander could hear the 
 words. Mrs. Bolton only said, " Come, come, Mr. H., 
 — no nonsense, if you please ; and I think you 've 
 acted like a wicked wretch, and been most uncommon 
 cruel to Fanny, that I do." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 115 
 
 When Arthur left No. 2002, he went to pay his re- 
 spects to the carriage to which, and to the side of her 
 mamma, the dove-colored author of " Mes Larmes 99 had 
 by this time returned. Indefatigable old Major Pen- 
 dennis was in waiting upon Lady Clavering, and had 
 occupied the back seat in her carriage ; the box being 
 in possession of young Hopeful, under the care of 
 Captain Strong. 
 
 A number of dandies, and men of a certain fashion 
 — of military bucks, of young rakes of the public offices, 
 of those who may be styled men's men rather than 
 ladies' — had come about the carriage during its sta- 
 tion on the hill — and had exchanged a word or two 
 with Lady Clavering, and a little talk (a little " chaff 99 
 some of the most elegant of the men styled their con- 
 versation) with Miss Amory. They had offered her 
 sportive bets, and exchanged with her all sorts of free 
 talk and knowing innuendoes. They pointed out to 
 her who was on the course : and the " who 99 was not 
 always the person a young lady should know. 
 
 When Pen came up to Lady Clavering's carriage, he 
 had to push his way through a crowd of these young 
 bucks who were paying their court to Miss Amory, in 
 order to arrive as near that young lady, who beckoned 
 him by many pretty signals to her side. 
 
 " Je l'ai vue," she said ; " elle a de bien beaux yeux ; 
 vous etes un monstre ! 99 
 
 " Why monster ? 99 said Pen, with a laugh ; " Honi 
 soit qui mal y pense. My young friend, yonder, is as 
 well protected as any young lady in Christendom. 
 She has her mamma on one side, her pretendu on the 
 other. Could any harm happen to a girl between 
 those two ? " 
 
 " One does not know what may or may not arrive," 
 said Miss Blanche, in French, " when a girl has the 
 
116 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 mind, and when she is pursued by a wicked monster 
 like you. Figure to yourself, Colonel, that I come to 
 find Monsieur, your nephew, near to a cab, by two 
 ladies, and a man, oh, such a man ! and who ate lob- 
 sters, and who laughed, who laughed ! " 
 
 " It did not strike me that the man laughed," Pen 
 said. " And as for lobsters, I thought he would have 
 liked to eat me after the lobsters. He shook hands 
 with me, and griped me so, that he bruised my glove 
 black and blue. He is a young surgeon. He comes 
 from Clavering. Don't you remember the gilt pestle 
 and mortar in High Street ? " 
 
 " If he attends you when you are sick," continued 
 Miss Amory, " he will kill you. He will serve you 
 right ; for you are a monster." 
 
 The perpetual recurrence to the word " monster " 
 jarred upon Pen. " She speaks about these matters a 
 great deal too lightly," he thought. " If I had been a 
 monster, as she calls it, she would have received me 
 just the same. This is not the way in which an Eng- 
 lish lady should speak or think. Laura would not 
 speak in that way, thank God ; " and as he thought 
 so, his own countenance fell. 
 
 "Of what are you thinking? Are you going to 
 bonder me at present ? " Blanche asked. " Major, 
 scold your mechant nephew. He does not amuse me 
 at all. He is as bete as Captain Crackenbury." 
 
 " What are you saying about me, Miss Amory ? " said 
 the guardsman, with a grin. " If it 's anything good, 
 say it in English, for I don't understand French whea 
 it 's spoke so devilish quick." 
 
 " It ainH anything good, Crack," said Cracken- 
 bury's fellow, Captain Clinker. " Let 's come away, 
 and don't spoil sport. They say Pendennis is sweet 
 upon her." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 117 
 
 " I 'm told lie 's a devilish clever fellow," sighed 
 Crackenbury. " Lady Violet Lebas says he 's a devilish 
 clever fellow. He wrote a work, or a poem, or some- 
 thing ; and he writes those devilish clever things in 
 the — in the papers, you know. Dammy, I wish / 
 was a clever fellow, Clinker." 
 
 " That 's past wishing for, Crack, my boy," the other 
 said. " I can't write a good book, but I think I can 
 make a pretty good one on the Derby. What a flat 
 Clavering is ! And the Begum ! I like that old 
 Begum. She's worth ten of her daughter. How 
 pleased the old girl was at winning the lottery ! " 
 
 " Clavering 's safe to pay up, ain't he ? " asked 
 Captain Crackenbury. 
 
 " I hope so," said his friend ; and they disappeared, 
 to enjoy themselves among the Sticks. 
 
 Before the end of the day's amusements, many more 
 gentlemen of Lady Clavering's acquaintance came up 
 to her carriage, and chatted with the party which it 
 contained. The worthy lady was in high spirits and 
 good-humor, laughing and talking according to her 
 wont, and offering refreshments to all her friends, 
 until her ample baskets and bottles were emptied, and 
 her servants and postilions were in such a royal state 
 of excitement as servants and postilions commonly 
 are upon the Derby day. 
 
 The Major remarked that some of the visitors to 
 the carriage appeared to look with rather queer and 
 meaning glances towards its owner. " How easily she 
 takes it ! " one man whispered to another. " The 
 Begum 's made of money," the friend replied. " How 
 easily she takes what ? " thought old Pendennis. 
 " Has anybody lost any money ? " Lady Clavering 
 said she was happy in the morning because Sir 
 Francis had promised her not to bet. 
 
118 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Mr. Welbore, the country neighbor of the Claver- 
 ings, was passing the carriage, when he was called 
 back by the Begum, who rallied him for wishing to 
 cut her. " Why did n't he come before ? Why didn't 
 he come to lunch ? " Her ladyship was in great de- 
 light, she told him — she told everybody, that she had 
 won five pounds in a lottery. As she conveyed this 
 piece of intelligence to him, Mr. Welbore looked so 
 particularly knowing, and withal melancholy, that a 
 dismal apprehension seized upon Major Pendennis. 
 " He would go and look after the horses and those ras- 
 cals of postilions, who were so long in coming round." 
 When he came back to the carriage, his usually be- 
 nign and smirking countenance was obscured by some 
 sorrow. " What is the matter with you now ? 99 the 
 good-natured Begum asked. The Major pretended a 
 headache from the fatigue and sunshine of the day. 
 The carriage wheeled off the course and took its way 
 Londonwards, not the least brilliant equipage in that 
 vast and picturesque procession. The tipsy drivers 
 dashed gallantly over the turf, amidst the admiration 
 of foot-passengers, the ironical cheers of the little 
 donkey-carriages and spring vans, and the loud objur- 
 gations of horse-and-chaise men, with whom the reck- 
 less post-boys came in contact. The jolly Begum 
 looked the picture of good-humor as she reclined on 
 her splendid cushions ; the lovely Sylphide smiled 
 with languid elegance. Many an honest holiday- 
 maker with his family wadded into a tax-cart, many 
 a cheap dandy working his way home on his weary 
 hack, admired the brilliant turn-out, and thought, no 
 doubt, how happy those " swells " must be. Strong 
 sat on the box still, with a lordly voice calling to the 
 post-boys and the crowd. Master Frank had been put 
 inside of the carriage and was asleep there by the 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 119 
 
 side of the Major, dozing away the effects of the con- 
 stant luncheon and champagne of which he had freely- 
 partaken. 
 
 The Major was revolving in his mind meanwhile 
 the news the receipt of which had made him so grave. 
 " If Sir Francis Clavering goes on in this way," Pen- 
 dennis the elder thought, " this little tipsy rascal will 
 be as bankrupt as his father and grandfather before 
 him. The Begum's fortune can't stand such drains 
 upon it : no fortune can stand them : she has paid his 
 debts half a dozen times already. A few years more 
 of the turf, and a few coups like this will ruin her." 
 
 " Don't you think we could get up races at Claver- 
 ing, Mamma ? " Miss Amory asked. " Yes, we must 
 have them there again. There were races there in the 
 old times, the good old times. It 's a national amuse- 
 ment, you know : and we could have a Clavering ball : 
 and we might have dances for the tenantry, and rustic 
 sports in the park — Oh, it would be charming." 
 
 " Capital fun," said mamma. " Would n't it, Major ? " 
 
 " The turf is a very expensive amusement, my dear 
 lady," Major Pendennis answered, with such a rueful 
 face, that the Begum rallied him, and asked laughingly 
 whether he had lost money on the race ? 
 
 After a slumber of about an hour and a half, the 
 heir of the house began to exhibit symptoms of wake- 
 fulness, stretching his youthful arms over the Major's 
 face, and kicking his sister's knees as she sat opposite 
 to him. When the amiable youth was quite restored 
 to consciousness, he began a sprightly conversation. 
 
 " I say, Ma," he said, " I 've gone and done it this 
 time, I have." 
 
 *' What have you gone and done, Franky, dear ? " 
 asked mamma. 
 
 " How much is seventeen half-crowns ? Two pound 
 
120 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and half a crown, ain't it ? I drew Borax in our 
 lottery, but I bought Podasokus and Man-milliner 
 of Leggat minor for two open tarts and a bottle of 
 ginger-beer." 
 
 " You little wicked gambling creature, how dare you 
 begin so soon ? " cried Miss Amory. 
 
 " Hold your tongue, if you please. Who ever asked 
 your leave, Miss ? " the brother said. " And I say, 
 Ma — " 
 
 " Well, Franky, dear ? " 
 
 " You '11 tip me all the same, you know, when I go 
 back — " and here he broke out into a laugh. " I say, 
 Ma, shall I tell you something ? " 
 
 The Begum expressed her desire to hear this some- 
 thing, and her son and heir continued : — 
 
 "When me and Strong was down at the Grand 
 Stand after the race, and I was talking to Leggat 
 minor, who was there with his governor, I saw pa 
 look as savage as a bear. And I say, Ma, Leggat 
 minor told me that he heard his governor say that 
 pa had lost seven thousand backing the favorite. 
 I '11 never back the favorite when I 'm of age. No, 
 no — hang me if I do : leave me alone, Strong, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Captain Strong ! Captain Strong ! is this true ? " 
 cried out the unfortunate Begum. " Has Sir Francis 
 been betting again ? He promised me he would n't. 
 He gave me his word of honor he would n't." 
 
 Strong, from his place on the box, had overheard 
 the end of young Clavering's communication, and 
 was trying in vain to stop his unlucky tongue. 
 
 " I 'm afraid it 's true, Ma'am," he said, turning 
 round. " I deplore the loss as much as you can. 
 He promised me as he promised you ; but the play 
 is too strong for him ! he can't refrain from it." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 121 
 
 Lady Clavering at this sad news burst into a fit of 
 tears. She deplored her wretched fate as the most 
 miserable of women. She declared she would separ- 
 ate, and pay no more debts for this ungrateful man. 
 She narrated with tearful volubility a score of stories 
 only too authentic, which showed how her husband 
 had deceived, and how constantly she had befriended 
 him : and in this melancholy condition, whilst young 
 Hopeful was thinking about the two guineas which 
 he himself had won ; and the Major revolving, in his 
 darkened mind, whether certain plans which he had 
 been forming had better not be abandoned ; the 
 splendid carriage drove up at length to the Begum's 
 house in Grosvenor Place ; the idlers and boys linger- 
 ing about the place to witness, according to public 
 wont, the close of the Derby day, and cheering the 
 carriage as it drew up, and envying the happy folks 
 who descended from it. 
 
 " And it 's for the son of this man that I am made 
 a beggar ! " Blanche said, quivering with anger, as 
 she walked up-stairs leaning on the Major's arm — 
 " for this cheat — for this black-leg — for this liar — 
 for this robber of women." 
 
 "Calm yourself, my dear Miss Blanche," the old 
 gentleman said; "I pray calm yourself. You have 
 been hardly treated, most unjustly. But remember 
 that you have always a friend in me; and trust to 
 an old fellow who will try and serve you." 
 
 And the young lady, and the heir of the hopeful 
 house of Clavering, having retired to their beds, the 
 remaining three of the Epsom party remained for 
 some time in deep consultation. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 EXPLANATIONS. 
 
 Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has 
 passed since an event described a few pages back. 
 Arthur's black coat is about to be exchanged for a 
 blue one. His person has undergone other more 
 pleasing and remarkable changes. His wig has been 
 laid aside, and his hair, though somewhat thinner, 
 has returned to public view. And he has had the 
 honor of appearing at Court in the uniform of a 
 Cornet of the Clavering troop of the — shire Yeo- 
 manry Cavalry, being presented to the Sovereign by 
 \\the Marquis of Steyne. 
 
 This was a measure strongly and pathetically urged 
 by Arthur's uncle. The Major would not hear of a 
 year passing before this ceremony of gentlemanhood 
 was gone through. The old gentleman thought that 
 his nephew should belong to some rather more select 
 Club than the Polyanthus ; and has announced every- 
 where in the world his disappointment that the young 
 man's property has turned out not by any means as 
 well as he could have hoped, and is under fifteen 
 hundred a-year. 
 
 That is the amount at which Pendennis's property 
 is set down in the world — where his publishers begin 
 to respect him much more than formerly, and where 
 even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. For 
 if the pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry peo- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 123 
 
 pie of very different expectations — at any rate, he 
 will be eligible for the plain ones : and if the brilliant 
 and fascinating Mira is to hook an Earl, poor little 
 Beatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, 
 must hang on to some boor through life, and why 
 should not Mr. Pendennis be her support ? In the 
 very first winter after the accession to his mother's 
 fortune, Mrs. Hawxby in a country-house caused her 
 Beatrice to learn billiards from Mr. Pendennis, and 
 would be driven by nobody but him in the pony-car- 
 riage, because he was literary and her Beatrice was 
 literary too, and declared that the young man, under 
 the instigation of his horrid old uncle, had behaved 
 mo'st infamously in trifling with Beatrice's feelings. 
 The truth is the old gentleman, who knew Mrs. 
 Hawxby's character, and how desperately that lady 
 would practise upon unwary young men, had come to 
 the country-house in question and carried Arthur out 
 of the danger of her immediate claws, though not out 
 of the reach of her tongue. The elder Pendennis 
 would have had his nephew pass a part of the 
 Christmas at Clavering, whither the family had re- 
 turned; but Arthur had not the heart for that, 
 Clavering was too near poor old Fairoaks ; and that 
 was too full of sad recollections for the young man. 
 
 We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until 
 their reappearance upon the Epsom race-ground, and 
 must give a brief account of them in the interval. 
 During the past year, the world has not treated any 
 member of the Clavering family very kindly. Lady 
 Clavering, one of the best-natured women that ever 
 enjoyed a good dinner, or made a slip in grammar, 
 has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by 
 constant family grievances, and disputes such as 
 make the efforts of the best French cook unpalatable, 
 
124 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and the most delicately stuffed sofa-cushion hard to 
 lie on. " I 'd rather have a turnip, Strong, for dessert, 
 than that pine-apple, and all them Muscatel grapes, 
 from Clavering," says poor Lady Clavering, looking 
 at her dinner-table, and confiding her griefs to her 
 faithful friend, " if I could but have a little quiet to 
 eat it with. Oh, how much happier I was when I 
 was a widow, and before all this money fell in 
 to me ! 99 
 
 The Clavering family had indeed made a false start 
 in life, and had got neither comfort, nor position, nor 
 thanks for the hospitalities which they administered, 
 nor a return of kindness from the people whom they 
 entertained. The success of their first London season 
 was doubtful ; and their failure afterwards notorious. 
 " Human patience was not great enough to put up 
 with Sir Francis Clavering," people said. " He was 
 too hopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You 
 could not say what, but there was a taint about the 
 house and its entourages. Who was the Begum, with 
 her money, and without her h's, and where did she 
 come from? What an extraordinary little piece of 
 conceit the daughter was, with her Gallicized graces 
 and daring affectations, not fit for well-bred English 
 girls to associate with ! What strange people were 
 those they assembled round about them ! Sir Francis 
 Clavering was a gambler, living notoriously in the 
 society of black-legs and profligates. Hely Clinker, 
 who was in his regiment, said that he not only 
 cheated at cards, but showed the white feather. 
 What could Lady Rockminster have meant by taking 
 her up ? " After the first season, indeed, Lady Rock- 
 minster, who had taken up Lady Clavering, put her 
 down ; the great ladies would not take their daughters 
 to her parties : the young men who attended them 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 125 
 
 behaved with the most odious freedom and scornful 
 familiarity ; and poor Lady Clavering herself avowed 
 that she was obliged to take what she called "the 
 canal " into her parlor, because the tiptops would n't 
 come. 
 
 She had not the slightest ill-will towards "the 
 canal," the poor dear lady, or any pride about herself, 
 or idea that she was better than her neighbor ; but 
 she had taken implicitly the orders which on her 
 entry into the world her social godmother had given 
 her : she had been willing to know whom they knew, 
 and ask whom they asked. The " canal," in fact, 
 was much pleasanter than what is called " society ; " 
 but, as we said before, that to leave a mistress is 
 easy, while, on the contrary, to be left by her is cruel ; 
 so you may give up society without any great pang, 
 or anything but a sensation of relief at the parting ; 
 but severe are the mortifications and pains you have 
 if society gives up you. 
 
 One young man of fashion we have mentioned, who 
 at least it might have been expected would have 
 been found faithful amongst the faithless, and Harry 
 Foker, Esq. was indeed that young man. But he had 
 not managed matters with prudence ; and the un- 
 happy passion at first confided to Pen, became noto- 
 rious and ridiculous to the town, was carried to the 
 ears of his weak and fond mother, and finally brought 
 under the cognizance of the bald-headed and inflexible 
 Foker senior. 
 
 When Mr. Foker learned this disagreeable news, 
 there took place between him and his son a violent 
 and painful scene which ended in the poor little 
 gentleman's banishment from England for a year, 
 with a positive order to return at the expiration of 
 that time and complete his marriage with his cousin j 
 
126 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 or to retire into private life and three hundred a 
 year altogether, and never see parent or brewery 
 more. Mr. Henry Foker went away then, carrying 
 with him that grief and care which passes free at the 
 strictest Custom-houses, and which proverbially ac- 
 companies the exile, and with this crape over his 
 eyes, even the Parisian Boulevard looked melancholy 
 to him, and the sky of Italy black. 
 
 To Sir Francis Clavering, that year was a most 
 unfortunate one. The events described in the last 
 chapter came to complete the ruin of the year. It 
 was that year of grace in which, as our sporting 
 readers may remember, Lord Harrowhill's horse (he 
 was a classical young nobleman, and named his stud 
 out of the Iliad) — when Podasokus won the Derby, 
 to the dismay of the knowing ones, who pronounced 
 the winning horse's name in various extraordinary 
 ways, and who backed Borax, who was nowhere in 
 the race. Sir Francis Clavering, who was intimate 
 with some of the most rascally characters of the turf, 
 and, of course, had valuable "information," had laid 
 heavy odds against the winning horse, and backed the 
 favorite freely, and the result of his dealings was, as 
 his son correctly stated to poor Lady Clavering, a 
 loss of seven thousand pounds. 
 
 Indeed, it was a cruel blow upon the lady, who had 
 discharged her husband's debts many times over : who 
 had received as many times his oaths and promises of 
 amendment; who had paid his money-lenders and 
 horse-dealers ; who had furnished his town and coun- 
 try houses, and who was called upon now instantly to 
 meet this enormous sum, the penalty of her cowardly 
 husband's extravagance. 
 
 It has been described in former pages how the elder 
 Pendennis had become the adviser of the Clavering 
 
PENDEXXIS. 
 
 127 
 
 family, and, in his quality of intimate friend of the 
 house, had gone over every room of it, and even seen 
 that ugly closet which we all of us have, and in which, 
 according to the proverb, the family skeleton is locked 
 up. About the Baronet's pecuniary matters, if the 
 Major did not know, it was because Clavering himself 
 did not know them, and hid them from himself and 
 others in such a hopeless entanglement of lies, that 
 it was impossible for advisor or attorney or principal 
 to get an accurate knowledge of his affairs. But, con- 
 cerning Lady Clavering, the Major was much better 
 informed; and when the unlucky mishap of the 
 Derby arose, he took upon himself to become com- 
 pletely and thoroughly acquainted with all her means, 
 whatsoever they were; and was now accurately in- 
 formed of the vast and repeated sacrifices which 
 the widow Amory had made in behalf of her present 
 husband. 
 
 He did not conceal, — and he had won no small 
 favor from Miss Blanche by avowing it, — his opinion, 
 that Lady Clavering's daughter had been hardly treated 
 at the expense of her son, by her second marriage : 
 and in his conversations with Lady Clavering had 
 fairly hinted that he thought Miss Blanche ought to 
 have a better provision. We have said that he had 
 already given the widow to understand that he knew 
 all the particulars of her early and unfortunate his- 
 tory, having been in India at the time when — when 
 the painful circumstances occurred which had ended 
 in her parting from her first husband. He could tell 
 her where to find the Calcutta newspaper which con- 
 tained the account of Amory's trial, and he showed, 
 and the Begum was not a little grateful to him for 
 his forbearance, how, being aware all along of this 
 mishap which had befallen her, he had kept all know- 
 
128 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 ledge of it to himself, and been constantly the friend 
 of her family. 
 
 "Interested motives, my dear Lady Clavering," he 
 said, " of course I may have had. We all have inter- 
 ested motives, and mine, I don't conceal from you, 
 was to make a marriage between my nephew and 
 your daughter." To which Lady Clavering, perhaps 
 with some surprise that the Major should choose her 
 family for a union with his own, said she was quite 
 willing to consent. 
 
 But frankly he said, " My dear lady, my boy has 
 but five hundred a year, and a wife with ten thousand 
 pounds to her fortune would scarcely better him. We 
 could do better for him than that, permit me to say ; 
 and he is a shrewd cautious young fellow who has 
 sown his wild oats now — who has very good parts 
 and plenty of ambition — and whose object in mar- 
 rying is to better himself. If you and Sir Francis 
 chose — and Sir Francis, take my word for it, will 
 refuse you nothing — you could put Arthur in a way 
 to advance very considerably in the world, and show 
 the stuff which he has in him. Of what use is that 
 seat in Parliament to Clavering, who scarcely ever 
 shows his face in the House, or speaks a word there ? 
 I 'm told by gentlemen who heard my boy at Oxbridge, 
 that he was famous as an orator, begad ! — and once 
 put his foot into the stirrup and mount him, I 've no 
 doubt he won't be the last of the field, Ma'am. I 've 
 tested the chap, and know him pretty well, I think. 
 He is much too lazy, and careless, and flighty a feh 
 low, to make a jog-trot journey, and arrive, as your 
 lawyers do, at the end of their lives ! but give him a 
 start and good friends, and an opportunity, and take 
 my word for it, he '11 make himself a name that his 
 sons shall be proud of. I don't see any way for a 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 129 
 
 fellow like hini to parvenir, but by making a prudent 
 marriage — not with a beggarly heiress — to sit down 
 for life upon a miserable fifteen hundred a-year — but 
 with somebody whom he can help, and who can help 
 him forward in the world, and whom he can give a 
 good name and a station in the country, begad, in return 
 for the advantages which she brings him. It would 
 be better for you to have a distinguished son-in-law, 
 than to keep your husband on in Parliament, who 's 
 of no good to himself or to anybody else there, and 
 that 's, I say, why I 've been interested about you, and 
 offer you what I think a good bargain for both." 
 
 "You know I look upon Arthur as one of the 
 family almost now," said the good-natured Begum ; 
 " he comes and goes when he likes ; and the more I 
 think of his dear mother, the more I see there 's few 
 people so good — none so good to me. And I 'm sure 
 I cried when I heard of her death, and would have 
 gone into mourning for her myself, only black don't 
 become me. And I know who his mother wanted 
 him to marry — Laura, I mean — whom old Lady 
 Eockminster has taken such a fancy to, and no won- 
 der. She 's a better girl than my girl. I know both. 
 And my Betsy — Blanche, I mean — ain't been a com- 
 fort to me, Major. It 's Laura Pen ought to marry." 
 
 " Marry on five hundred a-year ! My dear good 
 soul, you are mad ! " Major Pendennis said. " Think 
 over what I have said to you. Do nothing in your 
 affairs with that unhappy husband of yours without 
 consulting me ; and remember that old Pendennis is 
 always your friend." 
 
 Por some time previous, Pen's uncle had held simi- 
 lar language to Miss Amory. He had pointed out to 
 her the convenience of the match which he had at 
 heart, and was bound to say, that mutual convenience 
 
130 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 was of all things the very best in the world to marry 
 upon — the only thing. " Look at your love-mar- 
 riages, my dear young creature. The love-match 
 people are the most notorious of all for quarrelling 
 afterwards ; and a girl who runs away with Jack to 
 Gretna Green, constantly runs away with Tom to 
 Switzerland afterwards. The great point in marriage 
 is for people to agree to be useful to one another. 
 The lady brings the means, and the gentleman avails 
 himself of them. My boy's wife brings the horse, 
 and begad Pen goes in and wins the plate. That 's 
 what I call a sensible union. A couple like that have 
 something to talk to each other about when they come 
 together. If you had Cupid himself to talk to — if 
 Blanche and Pen were Cupid and Psyche, begad — 
 they'd begin to yawn after a few evenings, if they 
 had nothing but sentiment to speak on." 
 
 As for Miss Amory, she was contented enough with 
 Pen as long as there was nobody better. And how 
 many other young ladies are like her? — and how 
 many love-marriages carry on well to the last ? — and 
 how many sentimental firms do not finish in bank- 
 ruptcy ? — and how many heroic passions don't 
 dwindle down into despicable indifference, or end in 
 shameful defeat? 
 
 These views of life and philosophy tfie Major was 
 constantly, according to his custom, inculcating on 
 Pen, whose mind was such that he could see the right 
 on both sides of many questions, and, comprehending 
 the sentimental life which was quite out of the reach 
 of the honest Major's intelligence, could understand 
 the practical life too, and accommodate himself, or 
 think he could accommodate himself, to it. So it 
 came to pass that during the spring succeeding his 
 mother's death he was a good deal under the influence 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 131 
 
 of his uncle's advice, and domesticated in Lady Cover- 
 ing's house ; and in a measure was accepted by Miss 
 Amory without being a suitor, and was received with- 
 out being engaged. The young people were extremely 
 familiar, without being particularly sentimental, and 
 met and parted with each other in perfect good-humor. 
 "And I," thought Pendennis, "am the fellow who 
 eight years ago had a grand passion, and last year was 
 raging in a fever about Briseis ! " 
 
 Yes, it was the same Pendennis, and time had 
 brought to him, as to the rest of us, its ordinary con- 
 sequences, consolations, developments. "We alter very 
 little. When we talk of this man or that woman 
 being no longer the same person whom we remember 
 in youth, and remark (of course to deplore) changes 
 in our friends, we don't, perhaps, calculate that cir- 
 cumstance only brings out the latent defect or quality, 
 and does not create it. The selfish languor and in- 
 difference of to-day's possession is the consequence of 
 the selfish ardor of yesterday's pursuit : the scorn and 
 weariness which cries vanitas vanitatum is but the 
 lassitude of the sick appetite palled with pleasure : 
 the insolence of the successful parvenu is only the 
 necessary continuance of the career of the needy 
 struggler : our mental changes are like our gray hairs 
 or our wrinkles — but the fulfilment of the plan of 
 mortal growth and decay : that which is snow-white 
 now was glossy black once ; that which is sluggish 
 obesity to-day was boisterous rosy health a few years 
 back ; that calm weariness, benevolent, resigned, and 
 disappointed, was ambition, fierce and violent, but a 
 few years since, and has only settled into submissive 
 repose after many a battle and defeat. Lucky he who 
 can bear his failure so generously, and give up his 
 
132 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 broken sword to Fate the Conqueror with a manly 
 and humble heart ! Are you not awe-stricken, you, 
 friendly reader, who, taking the page up for a mo- 
 ment's light reading, lay it down, perchance, for a 
 graver reflection, — to think how you, who have con- 
 summated your success or your disaster, may be 
 holding marked station, or a hopeless and nameless 
 place, in the crowd — who have passed through how 
 many struggles of defeat, success, crime, remorse, to 
 yourself only known ! — who may have loved and 
 grown cold, wept and laughed again, how often ! — 
 to think how you are the same You, whom in child- 
 hood you remember, before the voyage of life began ? 
 It has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, 
 the people huzzaing and the guns saluting, — and the 
 lucky captain bows from the ship's side, and there is 
 a care under the star on his breast which nobody 
 knows of: or you are wrecked, and lashed, hopeless, 
 to a solitary spar out at sea : — the sinking man and 
 the successful one are thinking each about home, very 
 likely, and remembering the time when they were 
 children ; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning out of 
 sight; alone in the midst of the crowd applauding 
 you. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 Our good-natured Begum was at first so much en- 
 raged at this last instance of her husband's duplicity 
 and folly, that she refused to give Sir Francis Claver- 
 ing any aid in order to meet his debts of honor, and 
 declared that she would separate from him, and leave 
 him to the consequences of his incorrigible weakness 
 and waste. After that fatal day's transactions at the 
 Derby, the unlucky gambler was in such a condition 
 of mind that he was disposed to avoid everybody ; 
 alike his turf-associates with whom he had made 
 debts which he trembled lest he should not have the 
 means of paying, and his wife, his long-suffering 
 banker, on whom he reasonably doubted whether he 
 should be allowed any longer to draw. When Lady 
 Clavering asked the next morning whether Sir Francis 
 was in the house, she received answer that he had not 
 returned that night, but had sent a messenger to his 
 valet, ordering him to forward clothes and letters by 
 the bearer. Strong knew that he should have a visit 
 or a message from him in the course of that or the 
 subsequent day, and accordingly got a note beseeching 
 him to call upon his distracted friend, F. C, at Short's 
 Hotel, Blackfriars, and ask for Mr. Francis there. 
 For the Baronet was a gentleman of that peculiarity 
 of mind that he would rather tell a lie than not, and 
 always began a contest with fortune by running away 
 
134 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and hiding himself. The Boots of Mr. Short's estab- 
 lishment, who carried Clavering's message to Gros- 
 venor Place, and brought back his carpet-bag, was 
 instantly aware who was the owner of the bag, and 
 he imparted his information to the footman who 
 was laying the breakfast-table, who carried down the 
 news to the servants' hall, who took it to Mrs. Bon- 
 ner, my lady's housekeeper and confidential maid, 
 who carried it to my lady. And thus every single 
 person in the Grosvenor Place establishment knew 
 that Sir Francis was in hiding, under the name of 
 Francis, at an inn in the Blackfriars Road. And Sir 
 Francis's coachman told the news to other gentlemen's 
 coachmen, who carried it to their masters, and to the 
 neighboring Tattersall's, where very gloomy anticipa- 
 tions were formed that Sir Francis Clavering was 
 about to make a tour in the Levant. 
 
 In the course of that day the number of letters ad- 
 dressed to Sir Francis Clavering, Bart., which found 
 their way to his hall table, was quite remarkable. 
 The French cook sent in his account to my lady ; the 
 tradesmen who supplied her ladyship's table, and 
 Messrs. Finer and Gimcrack, the mercers and orna- 
 mental dealers, and Madame Crinoline, the eminent 
 milliner, also forwarded their little bills to her 
 ladyship, in company with Miss Amory's private, 
 and by no means inconsiderable, account at each 
 establishment. 
 
 In the afternoon of the day after the Derby, when 
 Strong (after a colloquy with his principal at Short's 
 Hotel, whom he found crying and drinking Curacoa) 
 called to transact business according to his custom at 
 Grosvenor Place, he found all these suspicious docu- 
 ments ranged in the Baronet's study ; and began to open 
 them and examine them with a rueful countenance. 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 135 
 
 Mrs. Bonner, my lady's maid and housekeeper, came 
 down upon him whilst engaged in this occupation. 
 Mrs. Bonner, a part of the family, and as necessary to 
 her mistress as the Chevalier was to Sir Francis, was 
 of course on Lady Clavering's side in the dispute be- 
 tween her and her husband, and as by duty bound 
 even more angry than her ladyship herself. 
 
 " She won't pay, if she takes my advice," Mrs. Bon- 
 ner said. " You '11 please to go back to Sir Francis, 
 Captain — and he lurking about in a low public-house 
 and don't dare to face his wife like a man ! — and say 
 that we won't pay his debts no longer. We made a 
 man of him, we took him out of jail (and other folks 
 too perhaps), we 've paid his debts over and over again 
 — we set him up in Parliament and gave him a house 
 in town and country, and where he don't dare show 
 his face, the shabby sneak ! We 've given him the 
 horse he rides and the dinner he eats and the very 
 clothes he has on his back ; and we will give him no 
 more. Our fortune, such as is left of it, is left to our- 
 selves, and we won't waste any more of it on this 
 ungrateful man. We '11 give him enough to live upon 
 and leave him, that 's what we '11 do : and that 's what 
 you may tell him from Susan Bonner." 
 
 Susan Bonner's mistress hearing of Strong's arri- 
 val sent for him at this juncture, and the Chevalier 
 went up to her ladyship not without hopes that he 
 should find her more tractable than her factotum 
 Mrs. Bonner. Many a time before had he pleaded 
 his client's cause with Lady Clavering and caused 
 her good-nature to relent. He tried again once more. 
 He painted in dismal colors the situation in which he 
 had found Sir Francis : and would not answer for 
 any consequences which might ensue if he could not 
 find means of meeting his engagements. 
 
136 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "Kill hisself," laughed Mrs. Bonner, "kill hisself, 
 will he ? Dying 's the best thing he could do." 
 Strong vowed that he had found him with the razors 
 on the table ; but at this, in her turn, Lady Clavering 
 laughed bitterly. " He '11 do himself no harm, as 
 long as there 's a shilling left of which he can rob a 
 poor woman. His life 's quite safe, Captain : you 
 may depend upon that. Ah ! it was a bad day that 
 ever I set eyes on him." 
 
 "He's worse than the first man," cried out my 
 lady's aide-de-camp. " He was a man, he was — a 
 wild devil, but he had the courage of a man — 
 whereas this fellow — what 's the use of my lady 
 paying his bills, and selling her diamonds, and for- 
 giving him ? He '11 be as bad again next year. The 
 very next chance he has he '11 be a cheating of her, 
 and robbing of her ; and her money will go to keep 
 a pack of rogues and swindlers — I don't mean you, 
 Captain — you've been a good friend to us enough, 
 bating we wish we 'd never set eyes on you." 
 
 The Chevalier saw from the words which Mrs. 
 Bonner had let slip regarding the diamonds, that 
 the kind Begum was disposed to relent once more 
 at least, and that there were hopes still for his 
 principal. 
 
 " Upon my word, Ma'am," he said, with a real feel- 
 ing of sympathy for Lady Clavering's troubles, and 
 admiration for her untiring good-nature, and with a 
 show of enthusiasm which advanced not a little his 
 graceless patron's cause — " anything you say against 
 Clavering, or Mrs. Bonner here cries out against me, 
 is no better than we deserve, both of us, and it was 
 an unlucky day for you when you saw either. He 
 has behaved cruelly to you : and if you were not the 
 most generous and forgiving woman in the world, I 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 137 
 
 know there would be no chance for him. But you 
 can't let the father of your son be a disgraced man, 
 and send little Frank into the world with such a 
 stain upon him. Tie him down; bind him by any 
 promises you like : I vouch for him that he will 
 subscribe them." 
 
 "And break 'em," said Mrs. Bonner. 
 
 " And keep 'em this time," cried out Strong. " He 
 must keep them. If you could have seen how he 
 wept, Ma'am ! ' Oh, Strong, 7 he said to me, i it 's not 
 for myself I feel now : it 's for my boy — it 's for the 
 best woman in England, whom I have treated basely 
 — I know I have.' He did n't intend to bet upon 
 this race, Ma'am — indeed he didn't. He was cheated 
 into it: all the ring was taken in. He thought he 
 might make the bet quite safely, without the least 
 risk. And it will be a lesson to him for all his life 
 long. To see a man cry — Oh, it 's dreadful." 
 
 " He don't think much of making my dear Missus 
 cry," said Mrs. Bonner — " poor dear soul ! — look if 
 he does, Captain." 
 
 " If you 've the soul of a man, Clavering," Strong 
 said to his principal, when he recounted this scene to 
 him, "you'll keep your promise this time: and, so 
 help me, Heaven ! if you break word with her, I '11 
 turn against you and tell all." 
 
 " What, all ? " cried Mr. Francis, to whom his 
 ambassador brought the news back at Short's Hotel, 
 where Strong found the Baronet crying and drinking 
 Curaqoa. 
 
 " Psha ! Do you suppose I am a fool ? " burst out 
 Strong. " Do you suppose I could have lived so long 
 in the world, Frank Clavering, without having my 
 eyes about me ? You know I have but to speak and 
 
138 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 you are a beggar to-morrow. And I am not the only 
 
 man who knows your secret." 
 
 " Who else does ? " gasped Clavering. 
 
 " Old Pendennis does, or I am very much mistaken. 
 He recognized the man the first night he saw him, 
 when he came drunk into your house." 
 
 " He knows it, does he ? " shrieked out Clavering. 
 "Damn him — kill him." 
 
 " You 'd like to kill us all, would n't you, old boy ? " 
 said Strong, with a sneer, puffing his cigar. 
 
 The Baronet dashed his weak hand against his 
 forehead ; perhaps the other had interpreted his wish 
 rightly. "Oh, Strong!" he cried, "if I dared, I'd 
 put an end to myself, for I 'm the d — est miserable 
 dog in all England. It 's that that makes me so wild 
 and reckless. It 's that which makes me take to 
 drink (and he drank, with a trembling hand, a bumper 
 of his fortifier — the Curacoa), and to live about with 
 these thieves. I know they 're thieves, every one of 
 'em, d — d thieves. And — and how can I help it ? 
 — and I did n't know it, you know — and, by Gad, 
 I 'm innocent — and until I saw the d — d scoundrel 
 first, I knew no more about it than the dead — and 
 I '11 fly, and I '11 go abroad out of the reach of the 
 confounded hells, and I '11 bury myself in a forest, by 
 Gad ! and hang myself up to a tree — and, oh — I 'm 
 the most miserable beggar in all England ! " And so 
 with more tears, shrieks, and curses, the impotent 
 wretch vented his grief and deplored his unhappy 
 fate ; and, in the midst of groans and despair and 
 blasphemy, vowed his miserable repentance. 
 
 The honored proverb which declares that to be 
 an ill wind which blows good to nobody, was verified 
 in the case of Sir Francis Clavering, and another of 
 the occupants of Mr. Strong's chambers in Shepherd's 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 139 
 
 Inn. The man was " good," by a lucky hap, with whom 
 Colonel Altamont made his bet ; and on the settling 
 day of the Derby — as Captain Clinker, who was ap- 
 pointed to settle Sir Francis Clavering's book for him 
 (for Lady Clavering, by the advice of Major Penden- 
 nis, would not allow the Baronet to liquidate his 
 own money transactions), paid over the notes to the 
 Baronet's many creditors — Colonel Altamont had the 
 satisfaction of receiving the odds of thirty to one in 
 fifties, which he had taken against the winning horse 
 of the day. 
 
 Numbers of the Colonel's friends were present on 
 the occasion to congratulate him on his luck — all 
 Altamont' s own set and the gents who met in the 
 private parlor of the convivial Wheeler, my host of the 
 Harlequin's Head, came to witness their comrade's 
 good fortune, and would have liked, with a generous 
 sympathy for success, to share in it. "Now was the 
 time," Tom Diver had suggested to the Colonel, " to 
 have up the specie ship that was sunk in the Gulf of 
 Mexico, with the three hundred and eighty thousand 
 dollars on board, besides bars and doubloons." "The 
 Tredyddlums were very low — to be bought for an 
 old song — never was such an opportunity for buying 
 shares," Mr. Keightley insinuated ; and Jack Holt 
 pressed forward his tobacco-smuggling scheme, the 
 audacity of which pleased the Colonel more than any 
 other of the speculations proposed to him. Then of 
 the Harlequin's Head boys ; there was Jack Back- 
 straw, who knew of a pair of horses which the Colonel 
 must buy ; Tom Fleet, whose satirical paper, " The 
 Swell," wanted but two hundred pounds of capital to 
 be worth a thousand a-year to any man — " with such 
 a power and influence, Colonel, you rogue, and the 
 entree of all the green-rooms in London," Tom urged ; 
 
140 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 whilst little Moss Abrams entreated the Colonel not 
 to listen to these absurd fellows with their humbug- 
 ging speculations, but to invest his money in some 
 good bills which Moss could get for him, and which 
 would return him fifty per cent as safe as the Bank 
 of England. 
 
 Each and all of these worthies came round the 
 Colonel with their various blandishments ; but he had 
 courage enough to resist them, and to button up his 
 notes in the pocket of his coat, and go home to Strong, 
 and " sport " the outer door of the chambers. Honest 
 Strong had given his fellow-lodger good advice about 
 all his acquaintances ; and though, when pressed, he 
 did not mind frankly taking twenty pounds himself 
 out of the Colonel's winnings, Strong was a great deal 
 too upright to let others cheat him. 
 
 He was not a bad fellow when in good fortune, this 
 Altamont. He ordered a smart livery for Grady, and 
 made poor old Costigan shed tears of quickly dried 
 gratitude by giving him a five-pound note after a snug 
 dinner at the Back Kitchen, and he bought a green 
 shawl for Mrs. Bolton, and a yellow one for Fanny : 
 the most brilliant " sacrifices " of a Regent Street 
 haberdasher's window. And a short time after this, 
 upon her birthday, which happened in the month of 
 June, Miss Amory received from " a friend " a parcel 
 containing an enormous brass-inlaid writing-desk, in 
 which there was a set of amethysts, the most hideous 
 eyes ever looked upon, — a musical snuff-box, and two 
 Keepsakes of the year before last, and accompanied 
 with a couple of gown-pieces of the most astounding 
 colors, the receipt of which goods made the Sylphide 
 laugh and wonder immoderately. Now it is a fact 
 that Colonel Altamont had made a purchase of cigars 
 and French silks from some duffers in Fleet Street 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 141 
 
 about this period ; and he was found by Strong in 
 the open Auction-Room in Cheapside, having invested 
 some money in two desks, several pairs of richly plated 
 candlesticks, a dinner epergne, and a bagatelle-board. 
 The dinner epergne remained at chambers, and figured 
 at the banquets there, which the Colonel gave pretty 
 freely. It seemed beautiful in his eyes, until Jack 
 Holt said it looked as if it had been taken "in a bill." 
 And Jack Holt certainly knew. 
 
 The dinners were pretty frequent at chambers, and 
 Sir Francis Clavering condescended to partake of them 
 constantly. His own house was shut up : the succes- 
 sor of Mirobolant, who had sent in his bills so prema- 
 turely, was dismissed by the indignant Lady Clavering : 
 the luxuriance of the establishment was greatly pruned 
 and reduced. One of the large footmen was cashiered, 
 upon which the other gave warning, not liking to serve 
 without his mate, or in a family where on'y one foot- 
 man was kep\ General and severe economical reforms 
 were practised by the Begum in her whole household, 
 in consequence of the extravagance of which her grace- 
 less husband had been guilty. The Major was her 
 ladyship's friend ; Strong on the part of poor Claver- 
 ing ; her ladyship's lawyer, and the honest Begum 
 herself, executed these reforms with promptitude and 
 severity. After paying the Baronet's debts, the settle- 
 ment of which occasioned considerable public scan- 
 dal, and caused the Baronet to sink even lower in the 
 world's estimation than he had been before, Lady 
 Clavering quitted London for Tunbridge Wells in high 
 dudgeon, refusing to see her reprobate husband, whom 
 nobody pitied. Clavering remained in London pa- 
 tiently, by no means anxious to meet his wife's just 
 indignation, and sneaked in and out of the House of 
 Commons, whence he and Captain Kaff and Mr. Marker 
 
142 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 would go to have a game at billiards and a cigar : or 
 showed in the sporting public-houses ; or he might be 
 seen lurking about Lincoln's Inn and his lawyers', 
 where the principals kept him for hours waiting, and 
 the clerks winked at each other, as he sat in their 
 office. No wonder that he relished the dinners at 
 Shepherd's Inn, and was perfectly resigned there : 
 resigned ? he was so happy nowhere else ; he was 
 wretched amongst his equals, who scorned him — but 
 here he was the chief guest at the table, where they 
 continually addressed him with "Yes, Sir Francis," 
 and " No, Sir Francis ; " where he told his wretched 
 jokes, and where he quavered his dreary little French 
 song, after Strong had sung his jovial chorus, and 
 honest Costigan had piped his Irish ditties. Such a 
 jolly menage as Strong's, with Grady's Irish stew, and 
 the Chevalier's brew of punch after dinner, would have 
 been welcome to many a better man than Clavering, 
 the solitude of whose great house at home frightened 
 him, where he was attended only by the old woman 
 who kept the house, and his valet who sneered at 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, dammit," said he, to his friends in Shep- 
 herd's Inn. " That fellow of mine, I must turn him 
 away, only I owe him two years' wages, curse him, 
 and can't ask my lady. He brings me my tea cold 
 of a morning, with a dem'd leaden tea-spoon, and he 
 says my lady 's sent all the plate to the banker's be- 
 cause it ain't safe. — Now ain't it hard that she won't 
 trust me with a single tea-spoon ; ain't it ungentle- 
 manlike, Altamont ? You know my lady 's of low 
 birth — that is — I beg your pardon — hem — that 
 is, it 's most cruel of her not to show more confi- 
 dence in me. And the very servants begin to laugh 
 — the dam scoundrels ! I '11 break every bone in 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 143 
 
 their great hulking bodies, curse 'em, I will. — They 
 don't answer my bell : and — and my man was at 
 Vauxhall last night with one of my dress shirts and 
 my velvet waistcoat on, — I know it was mine — the 
 confounded impudent blackguard — and he went on 
 dancing before my eyes, confound him ! I 'm sure 
 he '11 live to be hanged — he deserves to be hanged 
 — all those infernal rascals of valets." 
 
 He was very kind to Altamont now : he listened to 
 the Colonel's loud stories when Altamont described 
 how — when he was working his way home once from 
 New Zealand, where he had been on a whaling ex- 
 pedition — he and his comrades had been obliged to 
 shirk on board at night, to escape from their wives, 
 by Jove — and how the poor devils put out in their 
 canoes when they saw the ship under sail, and pad- 
 dled madly after her : how he had been lost in the 
 bush once for three months in New South Wales, 
 when he was there once on a trading speculation : 
 how he had seen Boney at Saint Helena, and been 
 presented to him with the rest of the officers of the 
 Indiaman of which he was a mate — to all these tales 
 (and over his cups Altamont told many of them ; and 
 it must be owned, lied and bragged a great deal) Sir 
 Francis now listened with great attention ; making a 
 point of drinking wine with Altamont at dinner, and 
 of treating him with every distinction. 
 
 " Leave him alone, I know what he 's a coming to," 
 Altamont said, laughing to Strong, who remonstrated 
 with him, "and leave me alone: I know what I'm 
 a telling, very well. I was officer on board an In- 
 diaman, so I was : I traded to New South Wales, 
 so I did, in a ship of my own, and lost her. I be- 
 came officer to the Nawaub, so I did ; only me and 
 my royal master have had a difference, Strong — 
 
144 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 that 's it. Who 's the better or the worse for what 
 I tell ? — or knows anything about me ? The other 
 chap is dead — shot in the bush, and his body reckog- 
 nized at Sydney. If I thought anybody would split, 
 do you think I would n't wring his neck ? I 've done 
 as good before now, Strong — I told you how I did 
 for the overseer before I took leave — but in fair 
 fight I mean — in fair fight ; or, rayther, he had the 
 best of it. He had his gun and bay'net, and I had 
 only an axe. Fifty of 'em saw it — ay, and cheered 
 
 me when I did it — and I 'd do it again, him, 
 
 would n't I ? I ain't afraid of anybody ; and I 'd 
 have the life of the man who split upon me. That 's 
 my maxim, and pass me the liquor — You would n't 
 turn on a man. I know you. You 're an honest 
 feller, and will stand by a feller, and have looked 
 death in the face like a man. But as for that lily- 
 livered sneak — that poor lyin' swindlin' cringin' cur 
 of a Clavering — who stands in my shoes — stands 
 in my shoes, hang him ! I '11 make him pull my 
 boots off and clean 'em, I will. Ha, ha ! " Here he 
 burst out into a wild laugh, at which Strong got up and 
 put away the brandy-bottle. The other still laughed 
 good-humoredly. " You 're right, old boy," he said ; 
 " you always keep your head cool, you do — and when 
 I begin to talk too much — I say, when I begin to 
 pitch, I authorize you, and order you, and command 
 you, to put away the brandy-bottle." 
 
 The event for which, with cynical enjoyment, Alta- 
 mont had been on the look-out, came very speedily. 
 One day, Strong being absent upon an errand for his 
 principal, Sir Francis made his appearance in the 
 chambers, and found the envoy of the Nawaub alone. 
 He abused the world in general for being heartless 
 and unkind to him : he abused his wife for being un- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 145 
 
 generous to him : he abused Strong for being ungrate- 
 ful — hundreds of pounds had he given Ned Strong — 
 been his friend for life and kept him out of jail, by 
 Jove, — and now Ned was taking her ladyship's side 
 against him and abetting her in her infernal unkind 
 treatment of him. " They 've entered into a conspiracy 
 to keep me penniless, Altamont," the Baronet said : 
 " they don't give me as much pocket-money as Frank 
 has at school." 
 
 "Why don't you go down to Richmond and borrow 
 of him, Clavering ? " Altamont broke out with a 
 savage laugh. " He would n't see his poor old beggar 
 of a father without pocket-money, would he ? " 
 
 " I tell you, I 've been obliged to humiliate myself 
 cruelly," Clavering said. "Look here, sir, — look 
 here, at these pawn-tickets ! Fancy a Member of Par- 
 liament and an old English Baronet, by Gad ! obliged 
 to put a drawing-room clock and a Buhl inkstand up 
 the spout ; and a gold duck's head paper-holder, that 
 I dare say cost my wife five pound, for which they 'd 
 only give me fifteen-and-six ! Oh, it 's a humiliating 
 thing, sir, poverty to a man of my habits ; and it 's 
 made me shed tears, sir, — tears ; and that d — d valet 
 of mine — curse him, I wish he was hanged ! — has 
 had the confounded impudence to threaten to tell my 
 lady : as if the things in my own house were n't my 
 own, to sell or to keep, or to fling out of window if I 
 choose — by Gad! the confounded scoundrel." 
 
 " Cry a little ; don't mind cryin' before me — it '11 
 relieve you, Clavering," the other said. " Why, I say, 
 old feller, what a happy feller I once thought you, and 
 what a miserable son of a gun you really are ! " 
 
 " It 's a shame that they treat me so, ain't it ? " Clav- 
 ering went on, — for though ordinarily silent and apa- 
 thetic, about his own griefs the Baronet could whine 
 
146 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 for an hour at a time. "And — and, by Gad, sir, I 
 
 have n't got the money to pay the very cab that 's 
 waiting for me at the door; and the porteress, that 
 Mrs. Bolton, lent me three shillin's, and I don't like to 
 ask her for any more : and I asked that d — d old Cos- 
 tigan, the confounded old penniless Irish miscreant, 
 and he had n't got a shillin', the beggar ; and Campion 's 
 out of town, or else he 'd do a little bill for me, I know 
 he would." 
 
 " I thought you swore on your honor to your wife 
 that you would n't put your name to paper/' said Mr. 
 Altamont, puffing at his cigar. 
 
 " Why does she leave me without pocket-money 
 then ? Damme, I must have money," cried out the 
 Baronet. " Oh, Am — , Oh, Altamont, I 'm the most 
 miserable beggar alive." 
 
 " You 'd like a chap to lend you a twenty-pound note, 
 would n't you, now ? " the other asked. 
 
 " If you would, I 'd be grateful to you for ever — for 
 ever, my dearest friend," cried Clavering. 
 
 " How much would you give ? Will you give a fifty- 
 pound bill, at six months, for half down and half in 
 plate ? " asked Altamont. 
 
 " Yes, I would, so help me , and pay it on the 
 
 day," screamed Clavering. " I '11 make it payable at 
 my banker's : I '11 do anything you like." 
 
 "Well, I was only chaffing you. I'll give you 
 twenty pound." 
 
 " You said a pony," interposed Clavering ; " my 
 dear fellow, you said a pony, and I '11 be eternally 
 obliged to you ; and I '11 not take it as a gift — only as 
 a loan, and pay you back in six months. I take my 
 oath I will." 
 
 " Well — well — there 's the money, Sir Francis 
 Clavering. I ain't a bad fellow. When I 've money 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 147 
 
 in my pocket, dammy, I spend it like a man. Here 's 
 five-and-twenty for you. Don't be losing it at the 
 hells now. Don't be making a fool of yourself. Go 
 down to Clavering Park, and it '11 keep you ever so 
 long. You need n't 'ave butchers' meat : there 's pigs, 
 I dare say, on the premises : and you can shoot rabbits 
 for dinner, you know, every day till the game comes 
 in. Besides, the neighbors will ask you about to din- 
 ner, you know, sometimes, for you are a Baronet, 
 though you have outrun the constable. And you 've 
 got this comfort, that /'m off your shoulders for a 
 good bit to come — p'raps this two years — if I don't 
 play ; and I don't intend to touch the confounded 
 black and red : and by that time my lady, as you call 
 her — Jimmy, I used to say — will have come round 
 again ; and you '11 be ready for me, you know, and 
 come down handsomely to yours truly." 
 
 At this juncture of their conversation Strong re- 
 turned, nor did the Baronet care much about prolong- 
 ing the talk, having got the money ; and he made his 
 way from Shepherd's Inn, and went home and bullied 
 his servant in a manner so unusually brisk and inso. 
 lent, that the man concluded his master must have 
 pawned some more of the house furniture, or, at any 
 rate, have come into possession of some ready money. 
 
 M And yet I 've looked over the house, Morgan, and 
 I don't think he has took any more of the things," 
 Sir Francis's valet said to Major Pendennis's man, as 
 they met at their Club soon after. " My lady locked 
 up a'most all the bejewtary afore she went away, and 
 he could n't take away the picters and looking- 
 glasses in a cab: and he wouldn't spout the fenders 
 and fire-irons — he ain't so bad as that. But he 's got 
 money somehow. He 's so dam'd imperent when he 
 
148 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 have. A few nights ago I sor him at Vauxhall, 
 where I was a poikin with Lady Hemly Badewood's 
 gals — a wery pleasant room that is, and an uncom- 
 mon good lot in it, hall except the 'ousekeeper, and 
 she 's methodisticle — I was a poikin — you 're too old a 
 cove to polk, Mr. Morgan — and 'ere 's your 'ealth — 
 and I 'appened to 'ave on some of Clavering's abber- 
 dashery, and he sor it too : and he did n't dare so 
 much as speak a word." 
 
 " How about the house in St. J ohn's Wood ? " Mr. 
 Morgan asked. 
 
 " Execution in it. — Sold up hevery thing : ponies, 
 and pianna, and brougham, and all. Mrs. Montague 
 Rivers hoff to Boulogne, — non est inwentus, Mr. Mor- 
 gan. It 's my belief she put the execution in herself: 
 and was tired of him." 
 
 " Play much ? " asked Morgan. 
 
 "Not since the smash. "When your Governor, and 
 the lawyers, and my lady and him had that tremendu- 
 ous scene : he went down on his knees, my lady told 
 Mrs. Bonner, as told me, — and swoar as he never 
 more would touch a card or a dice, or put his name to 
 a bit of paper ; and my lady was a goin' to give him 
 the notes down to pay his liabilities after the race : 
 only your Governor said, (which he wrote it on a 
 piece of paper, and passed it across the table to the 
 lawyer and my lady), that some one else had better 
 book up for him, for he 'd have kep' some of the 
 money. He's a sly old cove, your Gov'nor." 
 
 The expression of "old cove," thus flippantly ap- 
 plied by the younger gentleman to himself and his 
 master, displeased Mr. Morgan exceedingly. On the 
 first occasion, when Mr. Lightfoot used the obnoxious 
 expression, his comrade's anger was only indicated by 
 a silent frown ; but on the second offence, Morgan, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 149 
 
 who was smoking his cigar elegantly, and holding it 
 on the tip of his penknife, withdrew the cigar from 
 his lips, and took his young friend to task. 
 
 " Don't call Major Pendennis an old cove, if you '11 
 'ave the goodness, Lightfoot, and don't call me an old 
 cove, nether. Such words ain't used in society ; and 
 we have lived in the fust society, both at 'ome and 
 foring. We've been intimate with the fust states- 
 men of Europe. When we go abroad we dine with 
 Prince Metternich and Louy Philup reg'lar. We go 
 here to the best houses, the tip tops, I tell you. We 
 ride with Lord John and the noble Whycount at the 
 edd of Foring Affairs. We dine with the Hearl of 
 Burgrave, and are consulted by the Marquis of 
 Steyne, in every think. We ought to know a thing or 
 two, Mr. Lightfoot. You 're a young man ; I'm aa 
 old cove, as you say. We've both seen the world, 
 and we both know that it ain't money, nor bein' a 
 Baronet, nor 'avin' a town and country 'ouse, nor a 
 paltry five or six thousand a year." 
 
 " It 's ten, Mr. Morgan," cried Mr. Lightfoot, with 
 great animation. 
 
 "It may have been, sir," Morgan said, with calm 
 severity; "it may have been, Mr. Lightfoot, but it 
 ain't six now, nor five, sir. It 's been doosedly dipped 
 and cut into, sir, by the confounded extravygance of 
 your master, with his helbow shakin', and his bill dis- 
 counting and his cottage in the Regency Park, and 
 his many wickednesses. He 's a bad un, Mr. Light- 
 foot, — a bad lot sir, and that you know. And it ain't 
 money, sir, — not such money as that, at any rate, 
 come from a Calcuttar attorney, and I dussay wrung 
 out of the pore starving blacks — that will give a 
 pusson position in society, as you know very well. 
 We 've no money, but we go everywhere ; there 's not 
 
150 
 
 PENDENNJS. 
 
 a housekeeper's room, sir, in this town of any consi- 
 quince, where James Morgan ain't welcome. And it 
 was me who got you into this Club, Lightfoot, as you 
 very well know, though I am an old cove, and they 
 would have blackballed you without me as sure as 
 your name is Frederic." 
 
 " I know they would, Mr. Morgan," said the other, 
 with much humility. 
 
 "Well, then, don't call me an old cove, sir. It 
 ain't gentlemanlike, Frederic Lightfoot, which I 
 knew you when you was a cab-boy, and when your 
 father was in trouble, and got you the place you have 
 now when the Frenchman went away. And if you 
 think, sir, that because you 're making up to Mrs. 
 Bonner, who may have saved her two thousand pound 
 — and I daresay she has in five-and-twenty years, as she 
 have lived confidential maid to Lady Clavering — yet, 
 sir, you must remember who put you into that service, 
 and you knows what you were before, sir, and it don't 
 become you, Frederic Lightfoot, to call me an old 
 cove." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Morgan — I can't do more 
 than make an apology — will you have a glass, sir, 
 and let me drink your 'ealth ? " 
 
 "You know I don't take sperrits, Lightfoot," re- 
 plied Morgan, appeased. "And so you and Mrs. 
 Bonner is going to put up together, are you ? " 
 
 " She 's old, but two thousand pound 's a good bit, 
 you see, Mr. Morgan. And we '11 get the < Clavering 
 Arms ' for a very little ; and that '11 be no bad thing 
 when the railroad runs through Clavering. And when 
 we are there, I hope you '11 come and see us, Mr. 
 Morgan." 
 
 "It's a stoopid place, and no society," said Mr. 
 Morgan. "I know it well. In Mrs. Pendennis's 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 151 
 
 time we used to go down reg'lar, and the hair re- 
 freshed me after the London racket." 
 
 " The railroad will improve Mr. Arthur's property," 
 remarked Lightf oot. " What 's about the figure of it, 
 should you say, sir ? " 
 
 " Under fifteen hundred, sir," answered Morgan ; 
 at which the other, who knew the extent of poor 
 Arthur's acres, thrust his tongue in his cheek, but 
 remained wisely silent. 
 
 " Is his man any good, Mr. Morgan ? " Lightfoot 
 resumed. 
 
 " Pidgeon ain't used to society as yet ; but he 's 
 young and has good talents, and has read a good deal, 
 and I dessay he will do very well," replied Morgan. 
 " He would n't quite do for this kind of thing, Light- 
 foot, for he ain't seen the world yet." 
 
 When the pint of sherry for which Mr. Lightfoot 
 called, upon Mr. Morgan's announcement that he de- 
 clined to drink spirits, had been discussed by the two 
 gentlemen, who held the wine up to the light, and 
 smacked their lips, and winked their eyes at it, and 
 rallied the landlord as to the vintage, in the most ap- 
 proved manner of connoisseurs, Morgan's ruffled equa- 
 nimity was quite restored, and he was prepared to 
 treat his young friend with perfect good-humor. 
 
 " What d 'you think about Miss Amory, Lightfoot 
 — tell us in confidence, now — Do you think we 
 should do well — you understand — if we make Miss 
 A. into Mrs. A. P., comprendy vous ? " 
 
 "She and her ma's always quarrelin'," said Mr. 
 Lightfoot. " Bonner is more than a match for the old 
 lady, and treats Sir Francis like — like this year spill, 
 which I fling into the grate. But she dare n't say a 
 word to Miss Amory. No more dare none of us. 
 When a visitor comes in, she smiles and languishes, 
 
152 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 yon 'd think that bntter would n't melt in her month : 
 and the minute he is gone, very likely, she flares up 
 like a little demon, and says things fit to send you 
 wild. If Mr. Arthur comes, it's 'Do let's sing that 
 there delightful song ! ' or, ' Come and write me them 
 pooty verses in this halbum ! ' and very likely she 's 
 been a rilin' her mother, or sticking pins into her 
 maid, a minute before. She do stick pins into her 
 and pinch her. Mary Hann showed me one of her 
 arms quite black and blue ; and I recklect Mrs. Bon- 
 ner, who 's as jealous of me as a old cat, boxed her 
 ears for showing me. And then you should see Miss 
 at luncheon, when there 's nobody but the family. 
 She makes b'lieve she never heats, and my ! you 
 should only jest see her. She has Mary Hann to 
 bring her up plum-cakes and creams into her bed- 
 room; and the cook 's the only man in the house she 's 
 civil to. Bonner says, how, the second season in 
 London, Mr. Soppington was a goin' to propose for 
 her, and actially came one day, and sor her fling a 
 book into the fire, and scold her mother so, that he 
 went down softly by the back droring-room door, 
 which he came in by; and next thing we heard of 
 him was, he was married to Miss Rider. Oh, she 's 
 a devil, that little Blanche, and that's my candig 
 apinium, Mr. Morgan." 
 
 " Apinion, not apinium, Lightfoot, my good fellow," 
 Mr. Morgan said, with parental kindness ; and then 
 asked of his own bosom, with a sigh, why the deuce 
 does my Governor want Master Arthur to marry such 
 a girl as this ? and the tete-a-tete of the two gentlemen 
 was broken up by the entry of other gentlemen, mem- 
 bers of the Club — when fashionable town-talk, poli- 
 tics, cribbage, and other amusements ensued, and the 
 conversation became general. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 153 
 
 The Gentlemen's Club was held in the parlor of the 
 " Wheel of Fortune " public-house, in a snug little by- 
 lane, leading out of one of the great streets of May 
 Fair, and frequented by some of the most select 
 gentlemen about town. Their masters' affairs, debts, 
 intrigues, adventures ; their ladies' good and bad 
 qualities and quarrels with their husbands ; all the 
 family secrets were here discussed with perfect free- 
 dom and confidence : and here, when about to enter 
 into a new situation, a gentleman was enabled to get 
 every requisite information regarding the family of 
 which he proposed to become a member. Liveries, it 
 may be imagined, were excluded from this select 
 precinct; and the powdered heads of the largest 
 metropolitan footmen might bow down in vain en- 
 treating admission into the Gentleman's Club. These 
 outcast giants in plush took their beer in an outer 
 apartment of the " Wheel of Fortune," and could no 
 more get an entry into the Club room than a Pall 
 Mall tradesman or a Lincoln's Inn attorney could get 
 admission into Bays's or Spratt's. And it is because 
 the conversation which we have been permitted to 
 overhear here, in some measure explains the characters 
 and bearings of our story, that we have ventured to 
 introduce the reader into a society so exclusive. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 A short time after the piece of good fortune which 
 befell Colonel Altamont at Epsom, that gentleman 
 put into execution his projected foreign tour, and the 
 chronicler of the polite world who goes down to 
 London Bridge for the purpose of taking leave of the 
 people of fashion who quit this country, announced 
 that among the company on board the Soho to Ant- 
 werp last Saturday, were " Sir Robert, Lady, and the 
 Misses Hodge ; Mr. Serjeant Kewsy, and Mrs. and 
 Miss Kewsy; Colonel Altamont, Major Coddy," etc. 
 The Colonel travelled in state, and as became a gentle- 
 man : he appeared in a rich travelling costume ; he 
 drank brandy-and-water freely during the passage, 
 and was not sick, as some of the other passengers 
 were ; and he was attended by his body servant, the 
 faithful Irish legionary who had been for some time 
 in waiting upon himself and Captain Strong in their 
 chambers of Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 The Chevalier partook of a copious dinner at Black- 
 wall with his departing friend the Colonel, and one or 
 two others, who drank many healths to Altamont at 
 that liberal gentleman's expense. " Strong, old boy," 
 the Chevalier's worthy chum said, " if you want a 
 little money, now 's your time. I 'm your man. 
 You 're a good feller, and have been a good feller to 
 me, and a twenty-pound note more or less will make no 
 odds to me." But Strong said, No, he did n't want 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 155 
 
 any money; he was flush, quite flush — "that is, not 
 flush enough to pay you back your last loan, Altamont, 
 but quite able to carry on for some time to come — " 
 and so, with a not uncordial greeting between them, 
 the two parted. Had the possession of money really 
 made Altamont more honest and amiable than he had 
 hitherto been, or only caused him to seem more 
 amiable in Strong's eyes ? Perhaps he really was 
 better ; and money improved him. Perhaps it was 
 the beauty of wealth Strong saw and respected. But 
 he argued within himself, " This poor devil, this un- 
 lucky outcast of a returned convict, is ten times as 
 good a fellow as my friend Sir Francis Clavering, 
 Bart. He has pluck and honesty in his way. He 
 will stick to a friend, and face an enemy. The other 
 never had courage to do either. And what is it that 
 has put the poor devil under a cloud ? He was only 
 a little wild, and signed his father-in-law's name. 
 Many a man has done worse, and come to no wrong, 
 and holds his head up. Clavering does. No, he don't 
 hold his head up; he never did in his best days." 
 And Strong, perhaps, repented him of the falsehood 
 which he had told to the free-handed Colonel, that he 
 was not in want of money ; but it was a falsehood on 
 the side of honesty, and the Chevalier could not bring 
 down his stomach to borrow a second time from his 
 outlawed friend. Besides, he could get on. Clavering 
 had promised him some : not that Clavering's promises 
 were much to be believed, but the Chevalier was of a 
 hopeful turn, and trusted in many chances of catching 
 his patron, and waylaying some of those stray remit- 
 tances and supplies, in the procuring of which for his 
 principal lay Mr. Strong's chief business. 
 
 He had grumbled about Altamont' s companionship 
 in the Shepherd's Inn chambers ; but he found those 
 
156 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 lodgings more glum now without his partner than 
 with him. The solitary life was not agreeable to his 
 social soul; and he had got into extravagant and 
 luxurious habits, too, having a servant at his com- 
 mand to run his errands, to arrange his toilettes, and 
 to cook his meal. It was rather a grand and touching 
 sight now to see the portly and handsome gentleman 
 painting his own boots, and broiling his own mutton- 
 chop. It has been before stated that the Chevalier 
 had a wife, a Spanish lady of Vittoria, who had gone 
 back to her friends, after a few months' union with 
 the Captain, whose head she broke with a dish. He 
 began to think whether he should not go back and see 
 his Juanita. The Chevalier was growing melancholy 
 after the departure of his friend the Colonel ; or, to 
 use his own picturesque expression, was " down on his 
 luck." These moments of depression and intervals of 
 ill-fortune occur constantly in the lives of heroes. 
 Marius at Minturnae, Charles Edward in the High- 
 lands, Napoleon before Elba : — what great man has 
 not been called upon to face evil fortune ? 
 
 From Clavering no supplies were to be had for 
 some time. The five-and-twenty pounds, or "pony" 
 which the exemplary Baronet had received from Mr. 
 Altamont, had fled out of Clavering's keeping as 
 swiftly as many previous ponies. He had been down 
 the river with a choice party of sporting gents, who 
 dodged the police and landed in Essex, where they 
 put up Billy Bluck to fight Dick the cabman, whom 
 the Baronet backed, and who had it all his own way 
 for thirteen rounds, when, by an unlucky blow in the 
 windpipe, Billy killed him. "It's always my luck, 
 Strong," Sir Francis said ; " the betting was three to 
 one on the cabman, and I thought myself as sure of 
 thirty pounds, as if I had it in my pocket. And 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 157 
 
 clammy, 1 owe my man Lightfoot fourteen pound now 
 which, he 's lent and paid for me : and he duns me — 
 the confounded impudent blackguard : and I wish to 
 Heaven I knew of any way of getting a bill done, or 
 of screwing a little out of my lady! I'll give you 
 half, Ned, upon my soul and honor, I '11 give you half 
 if you can get anybody to do us a little fifty." 
 
 But Ned said sternly that he had given his word of 
 honor, as a gentleman, that he would be no party to 
 any future bill-transactions in which her husband 
 might engage (who had given his word of honor too), 
 and the Chevalier said that he, at least, would keep 
 his word, and would black his own boots all his life 
 rather than break his promise. And what is more, 
 he vowed he would advise Lady Clavering that Sir 
 Francis was about to break his faith towards her, 
 upon the very first hint which he could get that such 
 was Clavering's intention. 
 
 Upon this information Sir Francis Clavering, ac- 
 cording to his custom, cried and cursed very volubly. 
 He spoke of death as his only resource. He besought 
 and implored his dear Strong, his best friend, his dear 
 old Ned, not to throw him over : and when he quitted 
 his dearest Ned, as he went down the stairs of Shep- 
 herd's Inn, swore and blasphemed at Ned as the most 
 infernal villain, and traitor, and blackguard, and cow- 
 ard under the sun, and wished Ned was in his grave, 
 and in a worse place, only he would like the con- 
 founded ruffian to live, until Frank Clavering had had 
 his revenge out of him. 
 
 In Strong's chambers the Baronet met a gentleman 
 whose visits were now, as it has been shown, very 
 frequent in Shepherd's Inn, Mr. Samuel Huxter, of 
 Clavering. That young fellow, who had poached the 
 walnuts in Clavering Park in his youth, and had seen 
 
158 PENDENNIS. 
 
 the Baronet drive through the street at home with 
 four horses, and prance up to church with powdered 
 footmen, had an immense respect for his Member, and 
 a prodigious delight in making his acquaintance. He 
 introduced himself, with much blushing and trepida- 
 tion, as a Clavering man — son of Mr. Huxter, of the 
 market-place — father attended Sir Francis's keeper, 
 Coxwood, when his gun burst and took off three fin- 
 gers — proud to make Sir Francis's acquaintance. 
 All of which introduction Sir Francis received affably. 
 And honest Huxter talked about Sir Francis to the 
 chaps at Bartholomew's ; and told Fanny, in the lodge, 
 that, after all, there was nothing like a thorough-bred 
 un, a regular good old English gentleman, one of the 
 olden time ! To which Fanny replied, that she 
 thought Sir Francis was an ojous creature — she 
 did n't know why — but she could n't abear him — 
 she was sure he was wicked, and low, and mean — 
 she knew he was ; and when Sam to this replied that 
 Sir Francis was very affable, and had borrowed half 
 a sov' of him quite kindly, Fanny burst into a laugh, 
 pulled Sam's long hair (which was not yet of irre- 
 proachable cleanliness), patted his chin, and called 
 him a stoopid, stoopid, old foolish stoopid, and said 
 that Sir Francis was . always borrering money of 
 everybody, and that Mar had actially refused him 
 twice, and had had to wait three months to get seven 
 shillings which he had borrered of 'er. 
 
 " Don't say 'er but her, borrer but borrow, actially 
 but actually, Fanny," Mr. Huxter replied — not to a 
 fault in her argument, but to grammatical errors in 
 her statement. 
 
 "Well then, her, and borrow, and hactually — there 
 then, you stoopid," said the other; and the scholar 
 made such a pretty face that the grammar-master was 
 
Mr. Huxter likes to be called a Goose. 
 
VER 
 
PEXDEXXIS. 
 
 159 
 
 quickly appeased, and would have willingly given her 
 a hundred more lessons on the spot, at the price which 
 he took for that one. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Bolton was by, and I suppose that 
 Fanny and Mr. Sam were on exceedingly familiar and 
 confidential terms by this time, and that time had 
 brought to the former certain consolations, and soothed 
 certain regrets, which are deucedly bitter when they 
 occur, but which are, no more than tooth-pulling, or 
 any other pang, eternal. 
 
 As you sit, surrounded by respect and affection; 
 happy, honored, and flattered in your old age ; your 
 foibles gently indulged ; your least words kindly cher- 
 ished ; your garrulous old stories received for the 
 hundreth time with dutiful forbearance, and never- 
 failing hypocritical smiles ; the women of your house 
 constant in their flatteries ; the young men hushed and 
 attentive when you begin to speak ; the servants awe- 
 stricken ; the tenants cap in hand, and ready to act in 
 the place of your worship's horses when your honor 
 takes a drive — it has often struck you, 0 thoughtful 
 Dives ! that this respect, and these glories, are for the 
 main part transferred, with your fee simple, to your 
 successor — that the servants will bow, and the ten- 
 ants shout, for your son as for you ; that the butler 
 will fetch him the wine (improved by a little keeping) 
 that 's now in your cellar ; and that, when your night 
 is come, and the light of your life is gone down, as 
 sure as the morning rises after you and without you, 
 the sun of prosperity and flattery shines on your heir. 
 Men come and bask in the halo of consols and acres 
 that beams round about him : the reverence is trans- 
 ferred with the estate ; of which, with all its advan- 
 tages, pleasures, respect, and good-will, he in turn 
 
160 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 becomes the life-tenant. How long do you wish or 
 expect that your people will regret you ? How much 
 time does a man devote to grief before he begins to 
 enjoy ? A great man must keep his heir at his feast 
 like a living memento mori. If he holds very much by 
 life, the presence of the other must be a constant 
 sting and warning. "Make ready to go," says the 
 successor to your honor ;"Iam waiting ; and I could 
 hold it as well as you." 
 
 What has this reference to the possible reader, to 
 do with any of the characters of this history ? Do 
 we wish to apologize for Pen because he has got a 
 white hat, and because his mourning for his mother is 
 fainter ? All the lapse of years, all the career of 
 fortune, all the events of life, however strongly they 
 may move or eagerly excite him, never can remove 
 that sainted image from his heart, or banish that 
 blessed love from its sanctuary. If he yields to 
 wrong, the dear eyes will look sadly upon him when 
 he dares to meet them ; if he does well, endures pain, 
 or conquers temptation, the ever-present love will 
 greet him, he knows, with approval and pity ; if he 
 falls, plead for him ; if he suffers, cheer him ; — be 
 with him and accompany him always until death is 
 past, and sorrow and sin are no more. Is this mere 
 dreaming, or, on the part of an idle story-teller, use- 
 less moralizing ? May not the man of the world take 
 his moment, too, to be grave and thoughtful ? Ask 
 of your own hearts and memories, brother and sis- 
 ter, if we do not live in the dead ; and (to speak 
 reverently) prove God by love ? 
 
 Of these matters Pen and Warrington often spoke 
 in many a solemn and friendly converse in after days ; 
 and Pendennis's mother was worshipped in his mem- 
 ory, and canonized there, as such a saint ought to be. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 161 
 
 Lucky he in life who knows a few such women ! A 
 kind provision of Heaven it was that sent \is such ; 
 and gave us to admire that touching and wonderful 
 spectacle of innocence, and love, and beauty. 
 
 But as it is certain that if, in the course of these 
 sentimental conversations, any outer stranger, Major 
 Pendennis for instance, had walked into Pen's cham- 
 bers, Arthur and Warrington would have stopped 
 their talk, and chosen another subject, and discoursed 
 about the Opera, or the last debate in Parliament, or 
 Miss Jones's marriage with Captain Smith, or what not 
 — so, let us imagine that the public steps in at this 
 juncture, and stops the confidential talk between 
 author and reader, and begs us to resume our remarks 
 about this world, with which both are certainly better 
 acquainted than with that other one into which we 
 have just been peeping. 
 
 On coming into his property, Arthur Pendennis at 
 first comported himself with a modesty and equa- 
 nimity which obtained his friend Warrington's praises, 
 though Arthur's uncle was a little inclined to quarrel 
 with his nephew's meanness of spirit, for not assum- 
 ing greater state and pretensions now that he had 
 entered on the enjoyment of his kingdom. He would 
 have had Arthur installed in handsome quarters, and 
 riding on showy park hacks, or in well-built cabrio- 
 lets, every day. " I am too absent," Arthur said with 
 a laugh, " to drive a cab in London ; the omnibuses 
 would cut me in two, or I should send my horse's head 
 into the ladies' carriage windows ; and you would n't 
 have me driven about by my servant like an apothe- 
 cary, uncle ? " No, Major Pendennis would on no 
 account have his nephew appear like an apothecary ; 
 the august representative of the house of Pendennis 
 must not so demean himself. And when Arthur, pur- 
 
162 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 suing his banter, said, "And yet, I dare say, sir, my 
 father was proud enough when he first set up his gig/' 
 the old Major hemmed and ha'd, and his wrinkled 
 face reddened with a blush as he answered, " You 
 know what Bonaparte said, sir, 'II faut laver son 
 linge sale en famille? There is no need, sir, for you 
 to brag that your father was a — a medical man. 
 He came of a most ancient but fallen house, and was 
 obliged to reconstruct the family fortunes, as many a 
 man of good family has done before him. You are 
 like the fellow in Sterne, sir — the Marquis who came 
 to demand his sword again. Your father got back 
 yours for you. You are a man of landed estate, by 
 Gad, sir, and a gentleman — never forget you are 
 a gentleman." 
 
 Then Arthur slyly turned on his uncle the argu- 
 ment which he had heard the old gentleman often 
 use regarding himself. 
 
 " In the society which I have the honor of frequent- 
 ing through your introduction, who cares to ask about 
 my paltry means or my humble gentility, uncle ? " 
 he asked. " It would be absurd of me to attempt to 
 compete with the great folks ; and all that they can 
 ask from us is, that we should have a decent address 
 and good manners." 
 
 " But for all that, sir, I should belong to a better 
 Club or two," the uncle answered : " I should give 
 an occasional dinner, and select my society well ; and 
 I should come out of that horrible garret in the 
 Temple, sir." And so Arthur compromised, by de- 
 cending to the second floor in Lamb Court: War- 
 rington still occupying his old quarters, and the two 
 friends being determined not to part one from the 
 other. Cultivate kindly, reader, those friendships 
 of your youth ; it is only in that generous time that 
 
PENDENNIS. 163 
 
 they are formed. How different the intimacies of 
 after days are, and how much weaker the grasp of 
 your own hand after it has been shaken about in 
 twenty years' commerce with the world, and has 
 squeezed and dropped a thousand equally careless 
 palms ! As you can seldom fashion your tongue to 
 speak a new language after twenty, the heart refuses 
 to receive friendship pretty soon : it gets too hard to 
 yield to the impression. 
 
 So Pen had many acquaintances, and being of a 
 jovial and easy turn, got more daily : but no friend 
 like Warrington ; and the two men continued to live 
 almost as much in common as the Knights of the 
 Temple, riding upon one horse (for Pen's was at 
 Warrington's service), and having their chambers 
 and their servitor in common. 
 
 Mr. Warrington had made the acquaintance of 
 Pen's friends of Grosvenor Place during their last 
 unlucky season in London, and had expressed him- 
 self no better satisfied with Sir Francis and Lady 
 Clavering and her ladyship's daughter than was the 
 public in general. " The world is right," George 
 said, " about those people. The young men laugh 
 and taJk freely before those ladies, and about them. 
 The girl sees people whom she has no right to know, 
 and talks to men with whom no girl should have an 
 intimacy. Did you see those two reprobates leaning 
 over Lady Clavering's carriage in the Park the other 
 day, and leering under Miss Blanche's bonnet ? No 
 good mother would let her daughter know those men, 
 or admit them within her doors." 
 
 " The Begum is the most innocent and good-natured 
 soul alive," interposed Pen. " She never heard any 
 harm of Captain Blackball, or read that trial in which 
 Charlie Lovelace figures. Do you suppose that hon* 
 
164 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 est ladies read and remember the Chronique Scanda- 
 leuse as well as you, you old grumbler ? " 
 
 "Would you like Laura Bell to know those fel- 
 lows ? " Warrington asked, his face turning rather 
 red. "Would you let any woman you loved be con- 
 taminated by their company ? I have no doubt that 
 the poor Begum is ignorant of their histories. It 
 seems to me she is ignorant of a great number of 
 better things. It seems to me that your honest Be- 
 gum is not a lady, Pen. It is not her fault, doubtless, 
 that she has not had the education or learned the re- 
 finements of a lady." 
 
 " She is as moral as Lady Portsea, who has all the 
 world at her balls, and as refined as Mrs. Bull, who 
 breaks the king's English, and has half a dozen dukes 
 at her table," Pen answered, rather sulkily. "Why 
 should you and I be more squeamish than the rest of 
 the world? Why are we to visit the sins of her 
 fathers on this harmless kind creature ? She never 
 did anything but kindness to you or any mortal soul. 
 As far as she knows, she does her best. She does 
 not set up to be more than she is. She gives you the 
 best dinners she can buy, and the best company she 
 can get. She pays the debts of that scamp of a hus- 
 band of hers. She spoils her boy like the most virtu- 
 ous mother in England. Her opinion about literary 
 matters, to be sure, is not worth much ; and I dare 
 say she never read a line of Wordsworth, or heard 
 of Tennyson in her life." 
 
 "No more has Mrs. Flanagan the laundress," 
 growled out Pen's Mentor ; " no more has Betty the 
 housemaid; and I have no word of blame against 
 them. But a high-souled man does n't make friends 
 of these. A gentleman does n't choose these for his 
 companions, or bitterly rues it afterwards if he do. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 165 
 
 Are you, who are setting up to be a man of the world 
 and a philosopher, to tell me that the aim of life is 
 to guttle three courses and dine off silver ? Do you 
 dare to own to yourself that your ambition in life is 
 good claret, and that you '11 dine with any, provided 
 you get a stalled ox to feed on ? You call me a 
 Cynic — why, what a monstrous Cynicism it is, which 
 you and the rest of you men of the world admit. 
 I'd rather live upon raw turnips and sleep in a 
 hollow tree, or turn backwoodsman or savage, than 
 degrade myself to this civilization, and own that a 
 French cook was the thing in life best worth living 
 for." 
 
 "Because you like a raw beef-steak and a pipe 
 afterwards," broke out Pen, "you give yourself airs 
 of superiority over people whose tastes are more 
 dainty, and are not ashamed of the world they live 
 in. Who goes about professing particular admira- 
 tion, or esteem, or friendship, or gratitude even, for 
 the people one meets every day ? If A. asks me to 
 his house, and gives me his best, I take his good 
 things for what they are worth and no more. I do 
 not profess to pay him back in friendship, but in the 
 conventional money of society. When we part, we part 
 without any grief. When we meet, we are tolerably 
 glad to see one another. If I were only to live with 
 my friends, your black muzzle, old George, is the 
 only face I should see." 
 
 "You are your uncle's pupil," said Warrington, 
 rather sadly ; " and you speak like a worldling." 
 
 " And why not ? " asked Pendennis ; " why not ac- 
 knowledge the world I stand upon, and submit to the 
 conditions of the society which we live in and live 
 by ? I am older than you, George, in spite of your 
 grizzled whiskers, and have seen much more of the 
 
166 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 world than you have in your garret here, shut up 
 with your books and your reveries and your ideas of 
 one-and-twenty. I say, I take the world as it is, and 
 being of it, will not be ashamed of it. If the time is 
 out of joint, have I any calling or strength to set it 
 right ? " 
 
 u Indeed, I don't think you have much of either/' 
 growled Pen's interlocutor. 
 
 "If I doubt whether I am better than my neigh- 
 bor," Arthur continued, — " if I concede that I am no 
 better, — I also doubt whether he is better than I. I 
 see men who begin with ideas of universal reform, 
 and who, before their beards are grown, propound 
 their loud plans for the regeneration of mankind, 
 give up their schemes after a few years of bootless 
 talking and vainglorious attempts to lead their fel- 
 lows ; and after they have found that men will no 
 longer hear them, as indeed they never were in the 
 least worthy to be heard, sink quietly into the rank 
 and file, — acknowledging their aims impracticable, or 
 thankful that they were never put into practice. The 
 fiercest reformers grow calm, and are fain to put up 
 with things as they are : the loudest Radical orators 
 become dumb, quiescent placemen: the most fervent 
 Liberals, when out of power, become humdrum Con- 
 servatives, or downright tyrants or despots in office. 
 Look at Thiers, look at Guizot, in opposition and in 
 place ! Look at the Whigs appealing to the country, 
 and the Whigs in power ! Would you say that the 
 conduct of these men is an act of treason, as the Rad- 
 icals bawl, — who would give way in their turn, were 
 their turn ever to come ? No, only that they submit 
 to circumstances which are stronger than they, — 
 march as the world marches towards reform, but at 
 the world's pace, (and the movements of the vast body 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 167 
 
 of mankind must needs be slow,) — forego this scheme 
 as impracticable, on account of opposition — that as im- 
 mature, because against the sense of the majority, — 
 are forced to calculate drawbacks and difficulties, as 
 well as to think of reforms and advances, — and 
 compelled finally to submit, and to wait, and to 
 compromise." 
 
 " The Right Honorable Arthur Pendennis could not 
 speak better, or be more satisfied with himself, if he 
 was First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the 
 Exchequer," Warrington said. 
 
 "Self-satisfied? Why self-satisfied?" continued 
 Pen. " It seems to me that my scepticism is more 
 respectful and more modest than the revolutionary 
 ardor of other folks. Many a patriot of eighteen, 
 many a spouting-Club orator, would turn the Bishops 
 out of the House of Lords to-morrow, and throw the 
 Lords out after the Bishops, and throw the throne into 
 the Thames after the Peers and the Bench. Is that 
 man more modest than I, who take these institutions 
 as I find them, and wait for time and truth to develop, 
 or fortify, or (if you like) destroy them ? A college 
 tutor, or a nobleman's toady, who appears one fine 
 day as my right reverend lord, in a silk apron and a 
 shovel-hat, and assumes benedictory airs over me, is 
 still the same man we remember at Oxbridge, when he 
 was truckling to the tufts, and bullying the poor 
 undergraduates in the lecture-room. An hereditary 
 legislator, who passes his time with jockeys and 
 black-legs and ballet-girls, and who is called to rule 
 over me and his other betters because his grandfather 
 made a lucky speculation in the funds, or found a coal 
 or tin mine on his property, or because his stupid an- 
 cestor happened to be in command of ten thousand 
 men as brave as himself, who overcame twelve thou* 
 
168 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 sand Frenchmen, or fifty thousand Indians — such a 
 man, I say, inspires me with no more respect that the 
 bitterest democrat can feel towards him. But, such 
 as he is, he is a part of the old society to which we be- 
 long : and I submit to his lordship with acquiescence ; 
 and he takes his place above the best of us at all dinner- 
 parties, and there bides his time. I don't want to 
 chop his head off with a guillotine, or to fling mud at 
 him in the streets. When they call such a man a dis- 
 grace to his order ; and such another, who is good and 
 gentle, refined and generous, who employs his great 
 means in promoting every kindness and charity, and 
 art and grace of life, in the kindest and most gracious 
 manner, an ornament to his rank — the question as to 
 the use and propriety of the order is not in the least 
 affected one way or other. There it is, extant among 
 us, a part of our habits, the creed of many of us, the 
 growth of centuries, the symbol of a most complicated 
 tradition — there stand my lord the bishop and my 
 lord the hereditary legislator — what the French call 
 transactions both of them, — representing in their 
 present shape mail-clad barons and double-sworded 
 chiefs, (from whom their lordships the hereditaries, 
 for the most part, don't descend,) and priests, profess- 
 ing to hold an absolute truth and a divinely inherited 
 power, the which truth absolute our ancestors burned 
 at the stake, and denied there; the which divine 
 transmissible power still exists in print — to be be- 
 lieved, or not, pretty much at choice ; and of these, I 
 say, I acquiesce that they exist, and no more. If you 
 say that these schemes, devised before printing was 
 known, or steam was born: when thought was an 
 infant, scared and whipped; and truth under its 
 guardians was gagged, and swathed, and blindfolded, 
 and not allowed to lift its voice, or to look out, or to 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 169 
 
 walk under the sun; before men were permitted to 
 meet, or to trade, or to speak with each other — if 
 any one says (as some faithful souls do) that these 
 schemes are for ever, and having been changed and 
 modified constantly are to be subject to no farther 
 development or decay, I laugh, and let the man 
 speak. But I would have toleration for these, as I 
 would ask it for my own opinions ; and if they are to 
 die, I would rather they had a decent and natural 
 than an abrupt and violent death." 
 
 " You would have sacrificed to Jove," Warrington 
 said, "had you lived in the time of the Christian 
 persecutions." 
 
 "Perhaps 1 would," said Pen, with some sadness. 
 " Perhaps I am a coward, — perhaps my faith is un- 
 steady; but this is my own reserve. What I argue 
 here is, that I will not persecute. Make a faith or a 
 dogma absolute, and persecution becomes a logical 
 consequence; and Dominic burns a Jew, or Calvin an 
 Arian, or Nero a Christian, or Elizabeth or Mary a 
 Papist or Protestant ; or their father both or either, 
 according to his humor; and acting without any 
 pangs of remorse, — but on the contrary, with strict 
 notions of duty fulfilled. Make dogma absolute, and 
 to inflict or to suffer death becomes easy and neces- 
 sary ; and Mahomet's soldiers shouting ' Paradise ! 
 Paradise ! ' and dying on the Christian spears, are not 
 more or less praiseworthy than the same men slaugh- 
 tering a town full of Jews, or cutting off the heads of 
 all prisoners who would not acknowledge that there 
 was but one prophet of God." 
 
 " A little while since, young one," Warrington said, 
 who had been listening to his friend's confessions 
 neither without sympathy nor scorn, for his mood led 
 him to indulge in both, "you asked me why I re- 
 
170 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 mained out of the strife of the world, and looked on 
 at the great labor of my neighbor without taking any 
 part in the struggle ? Why, what a mere dilettante 
 you own yourself to be, in this confession of general 
 scepticism, and what a listless spectator yourself ! 
 You are six-and-twenty years old, and as blase as a 
 rake of sixty. You neither hope much, nor care 
 much, nor believe much. You doubt about other men 
 as much as about yourself. Were it made of such 
 pococuranti as you, the world would be intolerable; 
 and I had rather live in a wilderness of monkeys, and 
 listen to their chatter, than in a company of men 
 who denied everything." 
 
 "Were the world composed of Saint Bernards or 
 Saint Dominies, it would be equally odious," said Pen, 
 « and at the end of a few score years would cease to 
 exist altogether. Would you have every man with 
 his head shaved, and every woman in a cloister, — 
 carrying out to the full the ascetic principle ? 
 Would you have conventicle hymns twanging from 
 every lane in every city in the world ? Would you 
 have all the birds of the forest sing one note and fly 
 with one feather ? You call me a sceptic because I 
 acknowledge what is ; and in acknowledging that, be 
 it linnet or lark, or priest or parson ; be it, I mean, 
 any single one of the infinite varieties of the creatures 
 of God (whose very name I would be understood to 
 pronounce with reverence, and never to approach but 
 with distant awe), I say that the study and acknowl- 
 edgment of that variety amongst men especially 
 increases our respect and wonder for the Creator, Com- 
 mander, and Ordainer of all these minds, so different 
 and yet so united, — meeting in a common adoration, 
 and offering up, each according to his degree and 
 means of approaching the JDivine centre, his acknowl- 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 171 
 
 edgment of praise and worship, each singing (to recur 
 to the bird simile) his natural song." 
 
 "And so, Arthur, the hymn of a saint, or the ode 
 of a poet, or the chant of a Newgate thief, are all 
 pretty much the same in your philosophy," said 
 George. 
 
 " Even that sneer could be answered were it to the 
 point," Pendennis replied ; " but it is not ; and it could 
 be replied to you, that even to the wretched outcry of 
 the thief on the tree, the wisest and the best of all 
 teachers we know of, the untiring Comforter and 
 Consoler, promised a pitiful hearing and a certain 
 hope. Hymns of saints ! Odes of poets ! who are we 
 to measure the chances and opportunities, the means 
 of doing, or even judging, right and wrong, awarded 
 to men ; and to establish the rule for meting out their 
 punishments and rewards ? We are as insolent and 
 unthinking in judging of men's morals as of their 
 intellects. We admire this man as being a great 
 philosopher, and set down the other as a dullard, not 
 knowing either, or the amount of truth in either, 
 or being certain of the truth anywhere. We sing Te 
 Deum for this hero who has won a battle, and De 
 Profundis for that other one who has broken out of 
 prison, and has been caught afterwards by the police- 
 men. Our measure of rewards and punishments is 
 most partial and incomplete, absurdly inadequate, 
 utterly worldly, and we wish to continue it into the 
 next world. Into that next and awful world we strive 
 to pursue men, and send after them our impotent 
 party verdicts of condemnation or acquittal. We set 
 up our paltry little rods to measure Heaven immeasur- 
 able, as if, in comparison to that, Newton's mind, or 
 Pascal's or Shakspeare's, was any loftier than mine ; 
 as if the ray which travels from the sun would reach 
 
172 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 me sooner than the man who blacks my boots. 
 Measured by that altitude, the tallest and the small- 
 est among us are so alike diminutive and pitifully 
 base, that I say we should take no count of the 
 calculation, and it is a meanness to reckon the 
 difference." 
 
 " Your figure fails there, Arthur," said the other, 
 better pleased ; if even by common arithmetic we can 
 multiply as we can reduce almost infinitely, the Great 
 Reckoner must take count of all ; and the small is not 
 small, or the great great, to his infinity." 
 
 " I don't call those calculations in question," Arthur 
 said ; " I only say that yours are incomplete and 
 premature ; false in consequence, and, by every opera- 
 tion, multiplying into wider error. I do not condemn 
 the men who killed Socrates and damned Galileo. I 
 say that they damned Galileo and killed Socrates." 
 
 "And yet but a moment since you admitted the 
 propriety of acquiescence in the present, and, I sup- 
 pose, all other tyrannies ? " 
 
 " No : but that if an opponent menaces me, of whom 
 and without cost of blood and violence I can get rid, 
 I would rather wait him out, and starve him out, than 
 fight him out. Fabius fought Hannibal sceptically. 
 Who was his Roman coadjutor, whom we read of in 
 Plutarch when we were boys, who scoffed at the 
 other's procrastination and doubted his courage and 
 engaged the enemy and was beaten for his pains ? " 
 
 In these speculations and confessions of Arthur, the 
 reader may perhaps see allusions to questions which, 
 no doubt, have occupied and discomposed himself, and 
 which he may have answered by very different solutions 
 to those come to by our friend. We are not pledging 
 ourselves for the correctness of his opinions, which 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 173 
 
 readers will please to consider are delivered dramati- 
 cally, the writer being no more answerable for them 
 than for the sentiments nttered by any other character 
 of the story : our endeavor is merely to follow out, in 
 its progress, the development of the mind of a worldly 
 and selfish, but not ungenerous or unkind or truth- 
 avoiding man. And it will be seen that the lament- 
 able stage to which his logic at present has brought 
 him, is one of general scepticism and sneering ac- 
 quiescence in the world as it is ; or if you like so to 
 call it, a belief qualified with scorn in all things 
 extant. The tastes and habits of such a man prevent 
 him from being a boisterous demagogue, and his love 
 of truth and dislike of cant keep him from advancing 
 crude propositions, such as many loud reformers are 
 constantly ready with ; much more of uttering down- 
 right falsehoods in arguing questions or abusing 
 opponents, which he would die or starve rather than 
 use. It was not in our friend's nature to be able to 
 utter certain lies ; nor was he strong enough to pro- 
 test against others, except with a polite sneer ; his 
 maxim being, that he owed obedience to all Acts of 
 Parliament, as long as they were not repealed. 
 
 And to what does this easy and sceptical life lead a 
 man ? Friend Arthur was a Sadducee, and the 
 Baptist might be in the Wilderness shouting to the 
 poor, who were listening with all their might and 
 faith to the preacher's awful accents and denunci- 
 ations of wrath or woe or salvation ; and our friend 
 the Sadducee would turn his sleek mule with a shrug 
 and a smile from the crowd, and go home to the shade 
 of his terrace, and muse over preacher and audience, 
 and turn to his roll of Plato, or his pleasant Greek 
 song-book babbling of honey and Hybla, and nymphs 
 and fountains and love. To what, we say, does this 
 
174 
 
 PEXDENNIS. 
 
 scepticism lead ? It leads a man to a shameful 
 loneliness and selfishness, so to speak — the more 
 shameful, because it is so good-humored and con- 
 scienceless and serene. Conscience ! What is con- 
 science ? Why accept remorse ? What is public or 
 private faith ? Mythuses alike enveloped in enormous 
 tradition. If seeing and acknowledging the lies of the 
 world, Arthur, as see them you can with only too 
 fatal a clearness, you submit to them without any 
 protest farther than a laugh : if, plunged yourself in 
 easy sensuality, you allow the whole wretched world 
 to pass groaning by you unmoved : if the fight for the 
 truth is taking place, and all men of honor are on the 
 ground armed on the one side or the other, and you 
 alone are to lie on your balcony and smoke your pipe 
 out of the noise and the danger, you had better have 
 died, or never have been at all, than such a sensual 
 coward. 
 
 " The truth, friend ! n Arthur said, imperturbably ; 
 "where is the truth? Show it me. That is the 
 question between us. I see it on both sides. I see it 
 on the Conservative side of the House, and amongst 
 the Eadicals, and even on the ministerial benches. I 
 see it in this man who worships by Act of Parlia- 
 ment, and is rewarded with a silk apron and five thou- 
 sand a-year ; in that man, who, driven fatally by the 
 remorseless logic of his creed, gives up everything, 
 friends, fame, dearest ties, closest vanities, the respect 
 of an army of churchmen, the recognized position of a 
 leader, and passes over, truth-impelled, to the enemy, 
 in whose ranks he is ready to serve henceforth as a 
 nameless private soldier : — I see the truth in that 
 man, as I do in his brother, whose logic drives him to 
 quite a different conclusion, and who, after having 
 X>assed a life in vain endeavors to reconcile an irrec- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 175 
 
 oncilable hook, flings it at last down in despair, and de- 
 clares, with tearful eyes, and hands up to heaven, his 
 revolt and recantation. If the truth is with all these 
 why should I take side with any one of them ? Some 
 are called upon to preach : let them preach. Of these 
 preachers there are somewhat too many, methinks, who 
 fancy they have the gift. But we cannot all be par- 
 sons in church, that is clear. Some must sit silent and 
 listen, or go to sleep mayhap. Have we not all our 
 duties ? The head charity-boy blows the bellows ; the 
 master canes the other boys in the organ-loft ; the clerk 
 sings out Amen from the desk ; and the beadle with the 
 staff opens the door for his Reverence, who rustles in 
 silk up to the cushion. I won't cane the boys, nay, or 
 say Amen always, or act as the church's champion or 
 warrior, in the shape of the beadle with the staff ; but I 
 will take off my nat in the place, and say my prayers 
 there too, and shake hands with the clergyman as he 
 steps on the grass outside. Don't I know that his 
 being there is a compromise, and that he stands before 
 me an Act of Parliament ? That the church he occu- 
 pies was built for other worship ? That the Metho- 
 dist chapel is next door ; and that Bunyan the tinker 
 is bawling out the tidings of damnation on the com- 
 mon hard by ? Yes, I am a Sadducee ; and I take 
 things as 1 find them, and the world, and the Acts of 
 Parliament of the world, as they are ; and as I intend 
 to take a wife, if I find one — not to be madly in love 
 and prostrate at her feet like a fool — not to worship 
 her as an angel, or to expect to find her as such — but 
 to be good-natured to her, and courteous, expecting 
 good-nature and pleasant society from her in turn. 
 And so, George, if ever you hear of my marrying, de- 
 pend on it, it won't be a romantic attachment on my 
 side : and if you hear of any good place under Gov* 
 
176 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 ernment, I have no particular scruples that I know 
 of, which would prevent me from accepting your 
 offer." 
 
 " O Pen, you scoundrel ! I know what you mean," 
 here Warrington broke out. " This is the meaning 
 of your scepticism, of your quietism, of your atheism, 
 my poor fellow. You 're going to sell yourself, and 
 Heaven help you ! You are going to make a bargain 
 which will degrade you and make you miserable for 
 life, and there's no use talking of it. If you are 
 once bent on it the devil won't prevent you." 
 
 "On the contrary, he's on my side, isn't he, 
 George ? " said Pen with a laugh. " What good 
 cigars these are ! Come down and have a little din- 
 ner at the Club ; the chef 's in town, and he '11 cook a 
 good one for me. No, you won't ? Don't be sulky, 
 old boy, I 'm going down to — to the country 
 to-morrow." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHICH ACCOUNTS PERHAPS FOR CHAPTER X. 
 
 The information regarding the affairs of the Clav- 
 ering family, which Major Pendennis had acquired 
 through Strong, and by his own personal interference 
 as the friend of the house, was such as almost made 
 the old gentleman pause in any plans which he might 
 have once entertained for his nephew's benefit. To 
 bestow upon Arthur a wife with two such fathers-in- 
 law, as the two worthies whom the guileless and un- 
 fortunate Lady Clavering had drawn in her marriage 
 ventures, was to benefit no man. And though the 
 one, in a manner, neutralized the other, and the ap- 
 pearance of Amory or Altamont in public would be 
 the signal for his instantaneous withdrawal and con- 
 dign punishment, — for the fugitive convict had cut 
 down the officer in charge of him, and a rope would 
 be inevitably his end, if he came again under British 
 authorities ; yet no guardian would like to secure for 
 his ward a wife whose parent was to be got rid of in 
 such a way ; and the old gentleman's notion always 
 had been that Altamont, with the gallows before his 
 eyes, would assuredly avoid recognition ; while, at the 
 same time, by holding the threat of his discovery over 
 Clavering, the latter, who would lose everything by 
 Amory's appearance, would be a slave in the hands of 
 the person who knew so fatal a secret. 
 
 But if the Begum paid Clavering's debts many 
 times more, her wealth would be expended altogether 
 
178 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 upon this irreclaimable reprobate ; and her heirs, 
 whoever they might be, would succeed but to an 
 emptied treasury ; and Miss Amory, instead of bring- 
 ing her husband a good income and a seat in Parlia- 
 ment, would bring to that individual her person only, 
 and her pedigree with that lamentable note of sus. 
 per coll. at the name of the last male of her line. 
 
 There was, however, to the old schemer revolving 
 these things in his mind, another course yet open ; 
 the which will appear to the reader who may take 
 the trouble to peruse a conversation, which presently 
 ensued, between Major Pendennis and the honorable 
 Baronet the member for Clavering. 
 
 When a man, under pecuniary difficulties, disap- 
 pears from among his usual friends and equals, — 
 dives out of sight, as it were, from the flock of birds 
 in which he is accustomed to sail, it is wonderful at 
 what strange and distant nooks he comes up again for 
 breath. I have known a Pall Mall lounger and Rotten 
 Row buck, of no inconsiderable fashion, vanish from 
 amongst his comrades of the Clubs and the Park, and 
 be discovered, very happy and affable, at an eighteen- 
 penny ordinary in Billingsgate : another gentleman, 
 of great learning and wit, when out-running the con- 
 stable (were I to say he was a literary man, some 
 critics would vow that I intended to insult the literary 
 profession), once sent me his address at a little public- 
 house called the " Fox under the Hill," down a most 
 darksome and cavernous archway in the Strand. Such 
 a man, under such misfortunes, may have a house, 
 but he is never in his house ; and has an address 
 where letters may be left; but only simpletons go 
 with the hopes of seeing him. Only a few of the 
 faithful know where he is to be found, and have the 
 clew to his hiding-place. So, after the disputes with 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 179 
 
 his wife, and the misfortunes consequent thereon, to 
 find Sir Francis Clavering at home was impossible. 
 " Ever since I hast him for my book, which is four- 
 teen pound, he don't come home till three o'clock, and 
 purtends to be asleep when I bring his water of a 
 mornin', and dodges hout when I 'in down stairs," Mr. 
 Lightfoot remarked to his friend Morgan; and an- 
 nounced that he should go down to my Lady, and be 
 butler there, and marry his old woman. In like man- 
 ner, after his altercations with Strong, the Baronet 
 did not come near him, and fled to other haunts, out 
 of the reach of the Chevalier's reproaches ; — out of 
 the reach of conscience, if possible, which many of us 
 try to dodge and leave behind us by changes of scene 
 and other fugitive stratagems. 
 
 So, though the elder Pendennis, having his own 
 ulterior object, was bent upon seeing Pen's country 
 neighbor and representative in Parliament, it took the 
 Major no inconsiderable trouble and time before he 
 could get him into such a confidential state and con- 
 versation, as were necessary for the ends which the 
 Major had in view. For since the Major had been 
 called in as family friend, and had cognizance of 
 Clavering's affairs, conjugal and pecuniary, the Baro- 
 net avoided him : as he always avoided all his lawyers, 
 and agents, when there was an account to be rendered, 
 or an affair of business to be discussed between them ; 
 and never kept any appointment but when its object 
 was the raising of money. Thus, previous to catching 
 this most shy and timorous bird, the Major made more 
 than one futile attempt to hold him ; — on one day it 
 was a most innocent-looking invitation to dinner at 
 Greenwich, to meet a few friends ; the Baronet ac- 
 cepted, suspected something, and did not come ; leav- 
 ing the Major (who indeed proposed to represent in 
 
180 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 himself the body of friends) to eat his whitebait alone : 
 — on another occasion the Major wrote and asked for 
 ten minutes' talk, and the Baronet instantly acknowl- 
 edged the note, and made the appointment at four 
 o'clock the next day at Bays's precisely (he carefully 
 underlined the " precisely ") ; but though four o'clock 
 came, as in the course of time and destiny it could 
 not do otherwise, no Clavering made his appearance. 
 Indeed, if he had borrowed twenty pounds of Pen- 
 dennis, he could not have been more timid, or desirous 
 of avoiding the Major ; and the latter found that it 
 was one thing to seek a man, and another to find him. 
 
 Before the close of that day in which Strong's 
 patron had given the Chevalier the benefit of so 
 many blessings before his face and curses behind his 
 back, Sir Francis Clavering, who had pledged his 
 word and his oath to his wife's advisers to draw or 
 accept no more bills of exchange, and to be content 
 with the allowance which his victimized wife still 
 awarded him, had managed to sign his respectable 
 name to a piece of stamped paper, which the Baronet's 
 friend, Mr. Moss Abrams, had carried off, promising 
 to have the bill " done " by a party with whose inti- 
 macy Mr. Abrams was favored. And it chanced that 
 Strong heard of this transaction at the place where 
 the writings had been drawn, — in the back parlor, 
 namely, of Mr. Santiago's cigar-shop, where the Chev- 
 alier was constantly in the habit of spending an hour 
 in the evening. 
 
 " He is at his old work again," Mr. Santiago told 
 his customer. " He and Moss Abrams were in my 
 parlor. Moss sent out my boy for a stamp. It must 
 have been a bill for fifty pound. I heard the Baronet 
 tell Moss to date it two months back. He will pre- 
 tend that it is an old bill, and that he forgot it when 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 181 
 
 he came to a settlement with his wife the other day. 
 I dare say they will give him some more money now 
 he is clear." A man who has the habit of putting his 
 unlucky name to " promises to pay " at six months, 
 has the satisfaction of knowing, too, that his affairs 
 are known and canvassed, and his signature handed 
 round, among the very worst knaves and rogues of 
 London. 
 
 Mr. Santiago's shop was close by St. James's Street 
 and Bury Street, where we have had the honor of 
 visiting our friend Major Pendennis in his lodgings. 
 The Major was walking daintily towards his apart- 
 ment, as Strong, burning with wrath and redolent of 
 Havana, strode along the same pavement opposite 
 to him. 
 
 "Confound these young men: how they poison 
 everything with their smoke," thought the Major. 
 "Here comes a fellow with mustachios and a cigar. 
 Every fellow who smokes and wears mustachios is a 
 low fellow. Oh ! it 's Mr. Strong. — I hope you are 
 well, Mr. Strong ?" and the old gentleman, making a 
 dignified bow to the Chevalier, was about to pass into 
 his house ; directing towards the lock of the door, 
 with trembling hand, the polished door-key. 
 
 We have said, that, at the long and weary disputes 
 and conferences regarding the payment of Sir Fran- 
 cis Clavering's last debts, Strong and Pendennis had 
 both been present as friends and advisers of the 
 Baronet's unlucky family. Strong stopped and held 
 out his hand to his brother negotiator, and old Pen- 
 dennis put out towards him a couple of ungracious 
 fingers. 
 
 " What is your good news ? " said Major Pendennis, 
 patronizing the other still farther, and condescending 
 to address to him an observation, for old Pendennis 
 
182 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 had kept such good company all his life that he 
 vaguely imagined he honored common men by speak- 
 ing to them. " Still in town, Mr. Strong ? I hope I 
 see you well." 
 
 " My news is bad news, sir/' Strong answered ; " it 
 concerns our friends at Tunbridge Wells, and I should 
 like to talk to you about it. Clavering is at his old 
 tricks again, Major Pendennis." 
 
 " Indeed ! Pray do me the favor to come into my 
 lodging," cried the Major with awakened interest; 
 and the pair entered and took possession of his draw- 
 ing-room. Here seated, Strong unburdened himself 
 of his indignation to the Major, and spoke at large of 
 Clavering's recklessness and treachery. "No prom- 
 ises will bind him, sir," he said. " You remember 
 when we met, sir, with my lady's lawyer, how he 
 wouldn't be satisfied with giving his honor, but wanted 
 to take his oath on his knees to his wife, and rang 
 the bell for a Bible, and swore perdition on his soul 
 if he ever would give another bill. He has been 
 signing one this very day, sir : and will sign as 
 many more as you please for ready money : he will 
 deceive anybody, his wife or his child, or his old 
 friend, who has backed him a hundred times. Why, 
 there 's a bill of his and mine will be due next 
 week — " 
 
 " I thought we had paid all — " 
 
 "Not that one," Strong said, blushing. " He asked 
 me not to mention it, and — and — I had half the 
 money for that, Major. And they will be down on 
 me. But I don't care for it: I'm used to it. It's 
 Lady Clavering that riles me. It's a shame that 
 that good-natured woman, who has paid him out of 
 jail a score of times, should be ruined by his heart- 
 lessless. A parcel of bill-stealers, boxers, any ras- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 183 
 
 cals, get his money ; and lie don't scruple to throw 
 an honest fellow over. Would you believe it, sir, 
 he took money of Altamont — you know whom I 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Indeed ? of that singular man, who I think came 
 tipsy once to Sir Francis's house ? " Major Pendennis 
 said, with impenetrable countenance. " Who is Alta- 
 mont, Mr. Strong ? 99 
 
 " I am sure I don't know if you don't know," the 
 Chevalier answered, with a look of surprise and 
 suspicion. 
 
 " To tell you frankly," said the Major, "I have my 
 suspicions. I suppose — mind, I only suppose — that 
 in our friend Clavering's life — who, between you and 
 me, Captain Strong, we must own is about as loose a 
 fish as any in my acquaintance — there are, no doubt, 
 some queer secrets and stories which he would not 
 like to have known : none of us would. And very 
 likely this fellow, who calls himself Altamont, knows 
 some story against Clavering, and has some hold on 
 him, and gets money out of him on the strength of 
 his information. I know some of the best men of the 
 best families in England who are paying through the 
 nose in that way. But their private affairs are no 
 business of mine, Mr. Strong ; and it is not to be sup- 
 posed that because I go and dine with a man, I pry 
 into his secrets, or am answerable for all his past life. 
 And so with our friend Clavering, I am most interested 
 for his wife's sake, and her daughter's, who is a most 
 charming creature : and when her ladyship asked me, I 
 looked into her affairs, and tried to set them straight ; 
 and shall do so again, you understand, to the best of 
 my humble power and ability, if I can make myself 
 useful. And if I am called upon — you understand, 
 if I am called upon — and — by the way, this Mr. 
 
184 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Altamont, Mr. Strong ? How is this Mr. Altamont ? 
 I believe you are acquainted with hirn. Is he in 
 town ? " 
 
 " I don't know that I am called upon to know where 
 he is, Major Pendennis," said Strong, rising and tak- 
 ing up his hat in dudgeon, for the Major's patroniz- 
 ing manner and impertinence of caution offended the 
 honest gentleman not a little. 
 
 Pendennis's manner altered at once from a tone of 
 hauteur to one of knowing good-humor. " Ah, Cap- 
 tain Strong, you are cautious, too, I see ; and quite 
 right, my good sir, quite right. We don't know what 
 ears walls may have, sir, or to whom we may be talk- 
 ing ; and as a man of the world, and an old soldier, — 
 an old and distinguished soldier, I have been told, 
 Captain Strong, — you know very well that there is 
 no use in throwing away your fire ; you may have 
 your ideas, and I may put two and two together and 
 have mine. But there are things which don't concern 
 him that many a man had better not know, eh, Cap- 
 tain ? and which I, for one, won't know until I have 
 reason for knowing them : and that I believe is your 
 maxim too. With regard to our friend the Baronet, 
 I think with you, it would be most advisable that he 
 should be checked in his imprudent courses ; and most 
 strongly reprehend any man's departure from his 
 word, or any conduct of his which can give any pain 
 to his family, or cause them annoyance in any way. 
 That is my full and frank opinion, and I am sure it is 
 yours." 
 
 " Certainly," said Mr. Strong, dryly. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it ; delighted, that an old 
 brother soldier should agree with me so fully. And 
 I am exceedingly glad of the lucky meeting which has 
 procured me the good fortune of your visit. Good 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 185 
 
 evening. Thank you. Morgan, show the door to 
 Captain Strong." 
 
 And Strong, preceded by Morgan, took his leave of 
 Major Pendennis ; the Chevalier not a little puzzled 
 at the old fellow's prudence ; and the valet, to say the 
 truth, to the full as much perplexed at his master's 
 reticence. For Mr. Morgan, in his capacity of accom- 
 plished valet, moved here and there in a house as 
 silent as a shadow ; and, as it so happened, during 
 the latter part of his master's conversation with his 
 visitor, had been standing very close to the door, and 
 had overheard not a little of the talk between the two 
 gentlemen, and a great deal more than he could under- 
 stand. 
 
 " Who is that Altamont ? know anything about 
 him and Strong ? " Mr. Morgan asked of Mr. Light- 
 foot, on the next convenient occasion when they met 
 at the Club. 
 
 "Strong's his man of business, draws the Gov- 
 ernor's bills, and indosses 'em, and does his odd jobs 
 and that ; and I suppose Altamont 's in it too," Mr. 
 Lightfoot replied. " That kite-flying, you know, Mr. 
 M., always takes two or three on 'em to set the paper 
 going. Altamont put the pot on at the Derby, and won 
 a good bit of money. I wish the Governor could get 
 some somewhere, and I could get my book paid up." 
 
 " Do you think my Lady would pay his debts 
 again ? " Morgan asked. " Find out that for me, 
 Lightfoot, and I'll make it worth your while, my 
 boy/' 
 
 Major Pendennis had often said with a laugh, that 
 his valet Morgan was a much richer man than himself : 
 and, indeed, by a long course of careful speculation, 
 this wary and silent attendant had been amassing a 
 
186 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 considerable sum of money, during the years which 
 he had passed in the Major's service, where he had 
 made the acquaintance of many other valets of dis- 
 tinction, from whom he had learned the affairs of 
 their principals. When Mr. Arthur came into his 
 property, but not until then, Morgan had surprised 
 the young gentleman by saying that he had a little 
 sum of money, some fifty or a hundred pound, which 
 he wanted to lay out to advantage ; perhaps the gen- 
 tlemen in the Temple, knowing about affairs and busi- 
 ness and that, could help a poor fellow to a good in- 
 vestment? Morgan would be very much obliged to 
 Mr. Arthur, most grateful and obliged indeed, if Ar- 
 thur could tell him of one. When Arthur laughingly 
 replied, that he knew nothing about money matters, 
 and knew no earthly way of helping Morgan, the lat- 
 ter, with the utmost simplicity, was very grateful, 
 very grateful indeed, to Mr. Arthur, and if Mr. Arthur 
 should want a little money before his rents was paid, 
 perhaps he would kindly remember that his uncle's 
 old and faithful servant had some as he would like 
 to put out : and be most proud if he could be useful 
 anyways to any of the family. 
 
 The Prince of Fairoaks, who was tolerably prudent 
 and had no need of ready money, would as soon have 
 thought of borrowing from his uncle's servant as of 
 stealing the valet's pocket-handkerchief, and was on 
 the point of making some haughty reply to Morgan's 
 offer, but was checked by the humor of the transac- 
 tion. Morgan a capitalist ! Morgan offering to lend 
 to him ! The joke was excellent. On the other hand, 
 the man might be quite innocent, and the proposal of 
 money a simple offer of good-will. So Arthur with- 
 held the sarcasm that was rising to his lips, and 
 contented himself by declining Mr. Morgan's kind 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 187 
 
 proposal. He mentioned the matter to his uncle, 
 however, and congratulated the latter on having such 
 a treasure in his service. 
 
 It was then that the Major said that he believed 
 Morgan had been getting devilish rich for a devilish 
 long time ; in fact he had bought the house in Bury 
 Street, in which his master was a lodger ; and had 
 actually made a considerable sum of money from 
 his acquaintance with the Clavering family, and his 
 knowledge obtained through his master that the 
 Begum would pay all her husband's debts, by buy- 
 ing up as many of the Baronet's acceptances as he 
 could raise money to purchase. Of these transac- 
 tions the Major, however, knew no more than most 
 gentlemen do of their servants, who live with us all 
 our days and are strangers to us : so strong custom 
 is, and so pitiless the distinction between class and 
 class. 
 
 " So he offered to lend you money, did he ? " the 
 elder Pendennis remarked to his nephew. " He 's a 
 dev'lish sly fellow, and a dev'lish rich fellow ; and 
 there 's many a nobleman would like to have such 
 a valet in his service, and borrow from him too. And 
 he ain't a bit changed, Monsieur Morgan. He does 
 his work just as well as ever — he 's always ready to 
 my bell — steals about the room like a cat — he 's so 
 dev'lishly attached to me, Morgan ! " 
 
 On the day of Strong's visit, the Major bethought 
 him of Pen's story, and that Morgan might help him, 
 and rallied the valet regarding his wealth with that 
 free and insolent way which so high-placed a gentle- 
 man might be disposed to adopt towards so unfor- 
 tunate a creature. 
 
 " I hear that you have got some money to invest, 
 Morgan," said the Major. 
 
188 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 It's Mr. Arthur has been telling, hang him ! thought 
 the valet. 
 
 " I 'm glad my place is such a good one." 
 
 " Thank you, sir, — I 've no reason to complain 
 of my place nor of my master," replied Morgan, 
 demurely. 
 
 " You 're a good fellow : and I believe you are at- 
 tached to me ; and I 'm glad you get on well. And I 
 hope you '11 be prudent, and not be taking a public- 
 house or that kind of thing." 
 
 A public-house, thought Morgan — me in a public- 
 house ! — the old fool ! — Dammy, if I was ten years 
 younger I 'd set in Parlyment before I died, that I 
 would. — " No, thank you kindly, sir. I don't think 
 of the public line, sir. And I 've got my little savings 
 pretty well put out, sir." 
 
 "You do a little in the discounting way, eh, 
 Morgan ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, a very little — I — I beg your pardon, sir 
 — might I be so free as to ask a question ? " 
 
 "Speak on, my good fellow," the elder said, 
 graciously. 
 
 " About Sir Francis Clavering's paper, sir ? Do you 
 think he 's any longer any good, sir ? Will my Lady 
 pay on 'em any more, sir ? " 
 
 "What, you've done something in that business 
 already ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, a little," replied Morgan, dropping down 
 his eyes. "And I don't mind owning, sir, and I hope 
 I may take the liberty of saying, sir, that a little more 
 would make me very comfortable if it turned out as 
 well as the last." 
 
 " Why, how much have you netted by him, in Gad's 
 name ? " asked the Major. 
 
 " I 've done a good bit, sir, at it : that I own, sir. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 189 
 
 Having some information, and made acquaintance 
 with, the fam'ly through your kindness, I put on the 
 pot, sir." 
 
 " You did what ? " 
 
 " I laid my money on, sir — I got all I could, and 
 borrowed, and bought Sir Francis's bills ; many of 'em 
 had his name, and the gentleman's as is just gone out, 
 Edward Strong, Esquire, sir : and of course I know of 
 the blow hup and shindy as is took place in Grosvenor 
 Place, sir ; and as I may as well make my money as 
 another, I 'd be very much obleeged to you if you 'd 
 tell me whether my Lady will come down any more." 
 
 Although Major Pendennis was as much surprised 
 at this intelligence regarding his servant, as if he had 
 heard that Morgan was a disguised Marquis, about to 
 throw off his mask and assume his seat in the House 
 of Peers ; and although he was of course indignant at 
 the audacity of the fellow who had dared to grow rich 
 under his nose, and without his cognizance ; yet he 
 had a natural admiration for every man who repre- 
 sented money and success, and found himself respect- 
 ing Morgan, and being rather afraid of that worthy, 
 as the truth began to dawn upon him. 
 
 " Well, Morgan," said he, u I must n't ask how rich 
 you are ; and the richer the better for your sake, I 'm 
 sure. And if I could give you any information that 
 could serve you, I would speedily help you. But 
 frankly, if Lady Clavering asks me whether she shall 
 pay any more of Sir Francis's debts I shall advise 
 and hope she won't, though I fear she will — and that 
 is all I know. And so you are aware that Sir 
 Francis is beginning again in his — eh — reckless 
 and imprudent course ? " 
 
 " At his old games, sir — can't prevent that gentle- 
 man. He will do it." 
 
190 
 
 PENPENNIS. 
 
 " Mr. Strong was saying that a Mr. Moss Abrams 
 was the holder of one of Sir Francis Clavering' s 
 notes. Do you know anything of this Mr. Abrams 
 or the amount of the bill ? " 
 
 " Don't know the bill ; know Abrams quite well, 
 sir." 
 
 " I wish you would find out about it for me. And 
 I wish you would find out where I can see Sir Francis 
 Clavering, Morgan." 
 
 And Morgan said, " Thank you, sir — yes, sir — I 
 will, sir ; " and retired from the room, as he had 
 entered it, with his usual stealthy respect and quiet 
 humility ; leaving the Major to muse and wonder over 
 what he had just heard. 
 
 The next morning the valet informed Major Pen- 
 dennis that he had seen Mr. Abrams ; what was the 
 amount of the bill that gentleman was desirous to 
 negotiate ; and that the Baronet would be sure to be 
 in the back parlor of the " Wheel of Fortune " Tavern 
 that day at one o'clock. 
 
 To this appointment Sir Francis Clavering was 
 punctual, and as at one o'clock he sat in the parlor of 
 the tavern in question, surrounded by spittoons, 
 Windsor chairs, cheerful prints of boxers, trotting 
 horses, and pedestrians, and the lingering of last 
 night's tobacco fumes — as the descendant of an 
 ancient line sat in this delectable place accommodated 
 with an old copy of u Bell's Life in London," much 
 blotted with beer, the polite Major Pendennis walked 
 into the apartment. 
 
 " So it 's you, old boy ? " asked the Baronet, think- 
 ing that Mr. Moss Abrams had arrived with the 
 money. 
 
 " How do you do, Sir Francis Clavering ? I wanted 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 191 
 
 to see you, and followed you here," said the Major, at 
 sight of whom the other's countenance fell. 
 
 Now that he had his opponent before him, the 
 Major was determined to make a brisk and sudden 
 attack upon him, and went into action at once. " I 
 know," he continued, " who is the exceedingly disrepu- 
 table person for whom you took me, Clavering ; and 
 the errand which brought you here." 
 
 " It ain't your business, is it ? " asked the Baronet, 
 with a sulky and deprecatory look. "Why are you 
 following me about, and taking the command and 
 meddling in my affairs, Major Pendennis ? I 've 
 never done you any harm, have I ? I 've never had 
 your money. And I don't choose to be dodged about 
 in this way, and domineered over. I don't choose it, 
 and I won't have it. If Lady Clavering has any pro- 
 posal to make to me, let it be done in the regular 
 way, and through the lawyers. I 'd rather not have 
 you." 
 
 " I am not come from Lady Clavering," the Major 
 said, " but of my own accord, to try and remonstrate 
 with you, Clavering, and see if you can be kept from 
 ruin. It is but a month ago that you swore on your 
 honor, and wanted to get a Bible to strengthen the 
 oath, that you would accept no more bills, but con- 
 tent yourself with the allowance which Lady Claver- 
 ing gives you. All your debts were paid with that 
 proviso, and you have broken it ; this Mr. Abrams has 
 a bill of yours for sixty pounds." 
 
 " It 's an old bill. I take my solemn oath it 's an 
 old bill," shrieked out the Baronet. 
 
 "You drew it yesterday, and you dated it three 
 months back purposely. By Gad, Clavering, you 
 sicken me with lies, I can't help telling you so. I 've 
 no patience with you, by Gad. You cheat everybody, 
 
192 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 yourself included. I 've seen a deal of the world, but 
 I never met your equal at humbugging. It's my 
 belief you had rather lie than not." 
 
 " Have you come here, you old, old beast, to tempt 
 me to — to pitch into you, and — knock your old head 
 off ? " said the Baronet, with a poisonous look of ha- 
 tred at the Major. 
 
 " What, sir ? 99 shouted out the old Major, rising to 
 his feet and clasping his cane, and looking so fiercely, 
 that the Baronet's tone instantly changed towards 
 him. 
 
 " No, no," said Clavering, piteously ; " I beg your 
 pardon. I did n't mean to be angry, or say anything 
 unkind, only you're so damned harsh to me, Major 
 Pendennis. What is it you want of me ? Why have 
 you been hunting me so ? Do you want money out of 
 me too ? By Jove, you know I 've not got a shilling," 
 — and so Clavering, according to his custom, passed 
 from a curse into a whimper. 
 
 Major Pendennis saw, from the other's tone, that 
 Clavering knew his secret was in the Major's 
 hands. 
 
 " I 've no errand from anybody, or no design upon 
 you," Pendennis said, "but an endeavor, if it's not 
 too late, to save you and your family from utter ruin, 
 through the infernal recklessness of your courses. I 
 know your secret — " 
 
 " I did n't know it when I married her ; upon my 
 oath I didn't know it till the d — d scoundrel came 
 back and told me himself ; and it 's the misery about 
 that which makes me so reckless, Pendennis j indeed 
 it is," the Baronet cried, clasping his hands. 
 
 " I knew your secret from the very first day when 
 I saw Amory come drunk into your dining-room in 
 Grosvenor Place. I never forget faces. I remember 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 193 
 
 that fellow in Sydney a convict, and lie remembers 
 me. I know his trial, the date of his marriage, and 
 of his reported death in the bush. I could swear to 
 him. And I know you are no more married to Lady 
 Clavering than I am. I've kept your secret well 
 enough, for I 've not told a single soul that I know it, 
 
 — not your wife, not yourself till now." 
 
 "Poor Lady C, it would cut her up dreadfully," 
 whimpered Sir Francis ; " and it was n't my fault, 
 Major ; you know it was n't." 
 
 "Kather than allow you to go on ruining her as 
 you do, I will tell her, Clavering, and tell all the 
 world too ; that is what I swear I will do, unless I 
 can come to some terms with you, and put some curb 
 on your infernal folly. By play, debt, and extrava- 
 gance of all kinds, you 've got through half your 
 wife's fortune, and that of her legitimate heirs, mind 
 
 — her legitimate heirs. Here it must stop. You 
 can't live together. You 're not fit to live in a great 
 house like Clavering ; and before three years more 
 were over, would not leave a shilling to carry on. 
 I 've settled what must be done. You shall have six 
 hundred a-year ; you shall go abroad and live on that. 
 You must give up Parliament, and get on as well as 
 you can. If you refuse, I give you my word I '11 
 make the real state of things known to-morrow ; I '11 
 swear to Amory, who, when identified, will go back 
 to the country from whence he came, and will rid the 
 widow of you and himself together. And so that boy 
 of yours loses at once all title to old Snell's property, 
 and it goes to your wife's daughter. Ain't I making 
 myself pretty clearly understood ? " 
 
 " You would n't be so cruel to that poor boy, would 
 you, Pendennis ? " asked the father, pleading pite- 
 ously ; " hang it, think about him. He 's a nice boy j 
 
194 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 though he 's dev'lish wild, I own — he 's dev'lish 
 wild." 
 
 " It 's you who are cruel to him," said the old moral- 
 ist. " Why, sir, you '11 ruin him yourself inevitably 
 in three years." 
 
 " Yes, but perhaps I won't have such dev'lish bad 
 luck, you know ; — the luck must turn : and I '11 re- 
 form, by Gad, I '11 reform. And if you were to split 
 on me, it would cut up my wife so; you know it 
 would, most infernally." 
 
 "To be parted from you," said the old Major, 
 with a sneer; "you know she won't live with you 
 again." 
 
 " But why can't Lady C. live abroad, or at Bath, or 
 at Tunbridge, or at the doose, and I go on here ? " 
 Clavering continued. " I like being here better than 
 abroad, and I like being in Parliament. It 's dev'lish 
 convenient being in Parliament. There's very few 
 seats like mine left; and if I gave it 'em, I should 
 not wonder the Ministry would give me an island to 
 govern, or some dev'lish good thing ; for you know 
 I 'm a gentleman of dev'lish good family, and have a 
 handle to my name, and — and that sort of thing, 
 Major Pendennis. Eh, don't you see ? Don't you 
 think they'd give me something dev'lish good if I 
 was to play my cards well ? And then, you know, 
 I 'd save money, and be kept out of the way of the 
 confounded hells and rouge et noir — and — and so 
 I 'd rather not give up Parliament, please." For at 
 one instant to hate and defy a man, at the next to 
 weep before him, and at the next to be perfectly con- 
 fidential and friendly with him, was not an unusual 
 process with our versatile-minded Baronet. 
 
 " As for your seat in Parliament," the Major said, 
 with something of a blush on his cheek, and a certain 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 195 
 
 tremor, which the other did not see, " you must part 
 with that, Sir Francis Clavering, to — to me." 
 
 " What ! are you going into the House, Major Pen- 
 dennis ? " 
 
 " No — not I ; but my nephew, Arthur, is a very 
 clever fellow, and would make a figure there: and 
 when Clavering had two Members, his father might 
 very likely have been one ; and — and I should like 
 Arthur to be there," the Major said. 
 
 " Dammy, does he know it, too ? " cried out Claver- 
 ing. 
 
 "Nobody knows anything out of this room," Pen- 
 dennis answered ; " and if you do this favor for me, 
 I hold my tongue. If not, I 'm a man of my word, 
 and will do what I have said." 
 
 " I say, Major," said Sir Francis, with a peculiarly 
 humble smile, " you — you could n't get me my first 
 quarter in advance, could you, like the best of fel- 
 lows ? You can do anything with Lady Clavering ; 
 and, upon my oath, I '11 take up that bill of Abrams. 
 The little dam scoundrel, I know he '11 do me in the 
 business — he always does ; and if you could do this 
 for me, we 'd see, Major." 
 
 " And I think your best plan would be to go down 
 in September to Clavering to shoot, and take my 
 nephew with you, and introduce him. Yes, that will 
 be the best time. And we will try and manage about 
 the advance." (Arthur may lend him that, thought 
 old Pendennis. Confound him, a seat in Parliament 
 is worth a hundred and fifty pounds.) " And Claver- 
 ing, you understand, of course, my nephew knows 
 nothing about this business. You have a mind to 
 retire : he is a Clavering man and a good representa- 
 tive for the borough ; you introduce him, and your 
 people vote for him — you see." 
 
196 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "When can you get me the hundred and fifty, 
 Major ? When shall I come and see you ? Will you 
 be at home this evening or to-morrow morning ? 
 Will you have anything here ? They 've got some 
 dev'lish good bitters in the bar. I often have a glass 
 of bitters, it sets one up so." 
 
 The old Major would take no refreshment; but 
 rose and took his leave of the Baronet, who walked 
 with him to the door of the " Wheel of Fortune," and 
 then strolled into the bar, where he took a glass of 
 gin and bitters with the landlady there : and a gen- 
 tleman connected with the ring (who boarded at the 
 " Wheel of F.") coming in, he and Sir Francis Claver- 
 ing and the landlord talked about the fights and the 
 news of the sporting world in general ; and at length 
 Mr. Moss Abrams arrived with the proceeds of the 
 Baronet's bill, from which his own handsome com- 
 mission was deducted, and out of the remainder Sir 
 Francis " stood " a dinner at Greenwich to his dis- 
 tinguished friend, and passed the evening gayly at 
 Vauxhall. 
 
 Meanwhile Major Pendennis, calling a cab in Pic- 
 cadilly, drove to Lamb Court, Temple, where he 
 speedily was closeted with his nephew in deep 
 conversation. 
 
 After their talk they parted on very good terms, 
 and it was in consequence of that unreported conver- 
 sation, whereof the reader nevertheless can pretty 
 well guess the bearing, that Arthur expressed himself 
 as we have heard in the colloquy with Warrington, 
 which is reported in the last chapter. 
 
 When a man is tempted to do a tempting thing, he 
 can find a hundred ingenious reasons for gratifying 
 his liking : and Arthur thought very much that he 
 would like to be in Parliament, and that he would 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 197 
 
 like to distinguish himself there, and that he need 
 not care much what side he took, as there was false- 
 hood and truth on every side. And on this and on 
 other matters he thought he would compromise with 
 his conscience, and that Sadduceeism was a very 
 convenient and good-humored profession of faith. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PHILLIS AND CORYDON. 
 
 On a picturesque common in the neighborhood of 
 Tunbridge Wells, Lady Clavering had found a pretty 
 villa, whither she retired after her conjugal disputes 
 at the end of that unlucky London season. Miss 
 Amory, of course, accompanied her mother, and 
 Master Clavering came home for the holidays, with 
 whom Blanche's chief occupation was to fight and 
 quarrel. But this was only a home pastime, and the 
 young schoolboy was not fond of home sports. He 
 found cricket, and horses, and plenty of friends at 
 Tunbridge. The good-natured Begum's house was 
 filled with a constant society of young gentlemen of 
 thirteen, who ate and drank much too copiously of 
 tarts and champagne, who rode races on the lawn, 
 and frightened the fond mother, who smoked and 
 made themselves sick, and the dining-room unbear- 
 able to Miss Blanche. She did not like the society 
 of young gentlemen of thirteen. 
 
 As for that fair young creature, any change as long 
 as it was change was pleasant to her ; and for a week 
 or two she would have liked poverty and a cottage, 
 and bread and cheese ; and, for a night, perhaps, a 
 dungeon and bread and water, and so the move to 
 Tunbridge was by no means unwelcome to her. She 
 wandered in the woods, and sketched trees and farm- 
 houses ; she read French novels habitually ; she drove 
 into Tunbridge Wells pretty often, and to any play, 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 199 
 
 or ball, or conjurer, or musician who might happen 
 to appear in the place; she slept a great deal; she 
 quarrelled with mamma and Frank during the morn- 
 ing ; she found the little village school and attended 
 it, and first fondled the girls and thwarted the mis- 
 tress, then scolded the girls and laughed at the 
 teacher; she was constant at church, of course. It 
 was a pretty little church, of immense antiquity — a 
 little Anglo-Norman bijou, built the day before yester- 
 day, and decorated with all sorts of painted windows, 
 carved saints' heads, gilt scripture texts, and open 
 pews. Blanche began forthwith to work a most cor- 
 rect high-church altar-cover for the church. She 
 passed for a saint with the clergyman for a while, 
 whom she quite took in, and whom she coaxed, and 
 wheedled, and fondled so artfully, that poor Mrs. 
 Smirke, who at first was charmed with her, then bore 
 with her, then would hardly speak to her, was almost 
 mad with jealousy. Mrs. Smirke was the wife of our 
 old friend Smirke, Pen's tutor and poor Helen's 
 suitor. He had consoled himself for her refusal with 
 a young lady from Clapham whom his mamma pro- 
 vided. When the latter died, our friend's views be- 
 came every day more and more pronounced. He cut 
 off his coat collar, and let his hair grow over his 
 back. He rigorously gave up the curl which he used 
 to sport on his forehead, and the tie of his neck-cloth 
 of which he was rather proud. He went without any 
 tie at all. He went without dinner on Fridays. He 
 read the Roman Hours, and intimated that he was 
 ready to receive confessions in the vestry. The most 
 harmless creature in the world, he was denounced as 
 a black and most dangerous Jesuit and Papist, by 
 Muffin of the Dissenting Chapel, and Mr. Simoon 
 Knight at the old church. Mr. Smirke had built his 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 chapel of ease with the money left him by his mother 
 at Clapham. Lord ! lord ! what would she have said 
 to hear a table called an altar ! to see candlesticks on 
 it ! to get letters signed on the Feast of Saint So- 
 and-so, or the Vigil of Saint What-d'-ye-call-'em ! 
 All these things did the boy of Clapham practise ; his 
 faithful wife following him. But when Blanche had 
 a conference of near two hours in the vestry with 
 Mr. Smirke, Belinda paced up and down on the grass, 
 where there were only two little grave-stones as yet ; 
 she wished that she had a third there : only, only he 
 would offer very likely to that creature who had in- 
 fatuated him in a fortnight. No, she would retire ; 
 she would go into a convent, and profess and leave 
 him. Such bad thoughts had Smirke's wife and his 
 neighbors regarding him ; these, thinking him in 
 direct correspondence with the Bishop of Rome ; that, 
 bewailing errors to her even more odious and fatal ; 
 and yet our friend meant no earthly harm. The post- 
 office never brought him any letters from the Pope ; 
 he thought Blanche, to be sure, at first, the most 
 pious, gifted, right-thinking, fascinating person he 
 had ever met ; and her manner of singing the Chants 
 delighted him — but after a while he began to grow 
 rather tired of Miss Amory, her ways and graces 
 grew stale somehow ; then he was doubtful about 
 Miss Amory; then she made a disturbance in his 
 school, lost her temper, and rapped the children's 
 fingers. Blanche inspired this admiration and sat- 
 iety, somehow, in many men. She tried to please 
 them, and flung out all her graces at once ; came 
 down to them with all her jewels on, all her smiles, 
 and cajoleries, and coaxings, and ogles. Then she 
 grew tired of them and of trying to please them, and 
 never having cared about them, dropped them : and 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 201 
 
 the men grew tired of her, and dropped her too. It 
 was a happy night for Belinda when Blanche went 
 away; and her husband, with rather a blush and a 
 sigh, said " he had been deceived in her ; he had 
 thought her endowed with many precious gifts, he 
 feared they were mere tinsel ; he thought she had 
 been a right-thinking person, he feared she had 
 merely made religion an amusement — she certainly 
 had quite lost her temper to the schoolmistress, and 
 beat Polly Rucker's knuckles cruelly." Belinda flew 
 to his arms, there was no question about the grave 
 or the veil any more. He tenderly embraced her on 
 the forehead. " There is none like thee, my Belinda,'' 
 he said, throwing his fine eyes up to the ceiling, 
 " precious among women ! " As for Blanche, from 
 the instant she lost sight of him and Belinda, she 
 never thought or cared about either any more. 
 
 But when Arthur went down to pass a few days at 
 Tunbridge Wells with the Begum, this stage of in- 
 difference had not arrived on Miss Blanche's part or 
 on that of the simple clergyman. Smirke believed 
 her to be an angel and wonder of a woman. Such a 
 perfection he had never seen, and sat listening to her 
 music in the summer evenings, open-mouthed, rapt 
 in wonder, tea-less, and bread-and-butterless. Fasci- 
 nating as he had heard the music of the opera to be 
 — he had never but once attended an exhibition of 
 that nature (which he mentioned with a blush and a 
 sigh — it was on that day when he had accompanied 
 Helen and her son to the play at Chatteris) — he 
 could not conceive anything more delicious, more 
 celestial, he had almost said, than Miss Amory's 
 music. She was a most gifted being : she had a pre- 
 cious soul : she had the most remarkable talents — to 
 all outward seeming, the most heavenly disposition, 
 
202 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 etc., etc. It was in this way that, being then at the 
 height of his own fever and bewitchment for Blanche, 
 Smirke discoursed to Arthur about her. 
 
 The meeting between the two old acquaintances 
 had been very cordial. Arthur loved anybody who 
 loved his mother ; Smirke could speak on that theme 
 with genuine feeling and emotion. They had a hun- 
 dred things to tell each other of what had occurred in 
 their lives. " Arthur would perceive," Smirke said, 
 " that his — his views on church matters had de- 
 veloped themselves since their acquaintance." Mrs. 
 Smirke, a most exemplary person, seconded them 
 with all her endeavors. He had built this little 
 church on his mother's demise, who had left him 
 provided with a sufficiency of worldly means. Though 
 in the cloister himself, he had heard of Arthur's repu- 
 tation. He spoke in the kindest and most saddened 
 tone ; he held his eyelids down, and bowed his fair 
 head on one side. Arthur was immensely amused 
 with him ; with his airs ; with his follies and sim- 
 plicity ; with his black stock and long hair ; with his 
 real goodness, kindness, friendliness of feeling. And 
 his praises of Blanche pleased and surprised our 
 friend not a little, and made him regard her with 
 eyes of particular favor. 
 
 The truth is, Blanche was very glad to see Arthur ; 
 as one is glad to see an agreeable man in the country, 
 who brings down the last news and stories from the 
 great city ; who can talk better than most country 
 folks, at least can talk that darling London jargon, 
 so dear and indispensable to London people, so little 
 understood by persons out of the world. The first 
 day Pen came down, he kept Blanche laughing for 
 hours after dinner. She sang her songs with re- 
 doubled spirit. She did not scold her mother : she 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 203 
 
 fondled and kissed her, to the honest Begum's sur- 
 prise. When it came to bedtime, she said, " Deja /" 
 with the prettiest air of regret possible ; and was really 
 quite sorry to go to bed, and squeezed Arthur's hand 
 quite fondly. He on his side gave her pretty palm 
 a very cordial pressure. Our young gentleman was 
 of that turn, that eyes very moderately bright 
 dazzled him. 
 
 " She is very much improved," thought Pen, look- 
 ing out into the night, " very much. I suppose the 
 Begum won't mind my smoking with the window 
 open. She 's a jolly good old woman, and Blanche 
 is immensely improved. I liked her manner with 
 her mother to-night. I liked her laughing way with 
 that stupid young cub of a boy, whom they ought n't 
 to allow to get tipsy. She sang those little verses 
 very prettily ; they were devilish pretty verses too, 
 though I say it who should n't say it." And he 
 hummed a tune which Blanche had put to some 
 verses of his own. " Ah ! what a fine night ! How 
 jolly a cigar is at night ! How pretty that little 
 Saxon church looks in the moonlight ! I wonder 
 what old Warrington 's doing ? Yes, she 's a dayv- 
 lish nice little thing, as my uncle says." 
 
 " Oh, heavenly ! " Here broke out a voice from a 
 clematis-covered casement near — a girl's voice : it 
 was the voice of the author of " Mes Larmes." 
 
 Pen burst into a laugh. " Don't tell about my 
 smoking," he said, leaning out of his own window. 
 
 " Oh ! go on ! I adore it," cried the lady of " Mes 
 Larmes." " Heavenly night ! Heavenly, heavenly 
 moon ! but I must shut my window and not talk to 
 you, on account of les mceurs / How droll they are, 
 les mceurs ! Adieu." And Pen began to sing the 
 " Good Night " to " Don Basilio." 
 
204 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 The next day they were walking in the fields to- 
 gether, laughing and chattering — the gayest pair of 
 friends. They talked about the days of their youth, 
 and Blanche was prettily sentimental. They talked 
 about Laura, dearest Laura — Blanche had loved her 
 as a sister : was she happy with that odd Lady Rock- 
 minster ? Would n't she come and stay with them 
 at Tunbridge ? Oh, what walks they would take to- 
 gether ! What songs they would sing — the old, old 
 songs. Laura's voice was splendid. Did Arthur — 
 she must call him Arthur — remember the songs they 
 sang in the happy old days, now he was grown such 
 a great man, and had such a succes ? Etc., etc. 
 
 And the day after, which was enlivened with a 
 happy ramble through the woods to Penshurst, and 
 a sight of that pleasant park and hall, came that con- 
 versation with the Curate which we have narrated, 
 and which made our young friend think more and 
 more. 
 
 " Is she all this perfection ? " he asked himself. 
 " Has she become serious and religious ? Does she 
 tend schools and visit the poor ? Is she kind to her 
 mother and brother ? Yes, I am sure of that : I have 
 seen her." And walking with his old tutor over his 
 little parish, and going to visit his school, it was with 
 inexpressible delight that Pen found Blanche seated 
 instructing the children, and fancied to himself how 
 patient she must be, how good-natured, how ingenu- 
 ous, how really simple in her tastes, and unspoiled 
 by the world. 
 
 " And do you really like the country ? " he asked 
 her, as they walked together. 
 
 " I should like never to see that odious city again. 
 Oh, Arthur — that is, Mr. — well, Arthur, then — 
 one's good thoughts grow up in these sweet woods 
 
Miss Amory's Interesting Employment. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 205 
 
 and calm solitudes, like those flowers which won't 
 bloom in London, you know. The gardener comes 
 and changes our balconies once a week. I don't 
 think I shall bear to look London in the face again 
 — its odious, smoky, brazen face ! But, heigho ! 99 
 
 " Why that sigh, Blanche ? " 
 
 " Xever mind why." 
 
 "Yes, I do mind why. Tell me, tell me every- 
 thing." 
 
 " I wish you had n't come down ; " and a second 
 edition of " Mes Soupirs " came out. 
 
 " You don't want me, Blanche ? " 
 
 " I don't want you to go away. I don't think this 
 house will be very happy without you, and that 's why 
 I wish that you never had come." 
 
 "Mes Soupirs" were here laid aside, and "Mes 
 Larmes" had begun. 
 
 Ah ! What answer is given to those in the eyes of 
 a young woman ? What is the method employed for 
 drying them ? What took place ? 0 ringdoves and 
 roses, 0 dews and wild-flowers, 0 waving greenwoods 
 and balmy airs of summer ! Here were two battered 
 London rakes, taking themselves in for a moment, and 
 fancying that they were in love with each other, like 
 Phillis and Corydon ! 
 
 When one thinks of country houses and country 
 walks, one wonders that any man is left unmarried. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TEMPTATION. 
 
 Easy and frank-spoken as Pendennis commonly was 
 with Warrington, how came it that Arthur did not in- 
 form the friend and depositary of all his secrets, of 
 the little circumstances which had taken place at the 
 villa near Tunbridge Wells ? He talked about the 
 discovery of his old tutor Smirke, freely enough, and 
 of his wife, and of his Anglo-Norman church, and of 
 his departure from Clapham to Rome ; but, when asked 
 about Blanche, his answers were evasive or general; 
 he said she was a good-natured clever little thing, that 
 rightly guided she might make no such bad wife after 
 all, but that he had for the moment no intention of 
 marriage, that his days of romance were over, that he 
 was contented with his present lot, and so forth. 
 
 In the mean time there came occasionally to Lamb 
 Cour£f Temple, pretty little satin envelopes, super- 
 scribed in the neatest handwriting, and sealed with 
 one of those admirable ciphers, which, if Warrington 
 had been curious enough to watch his friend's letters, 
 or indeed if the cipher had been decipherable, would 
 have shown George that Mr. Arthur was in corre- 
 spondence with a young lady whose initials were B. A. 
 To these pretty little compositions, Mr. Pen replied 
 in his best and gallantest manner; with jokes, with 
 news of the town, with points of wit, nay, with pretty 
 little verses very likely, in reply to the versicles of the 
 
PENDEXNIS. 
 
 207 
 
 Muse of "Mes Larmes." Blanche we know rhymes 
 with " branch," and " stanch," and " launch," and no 
 doubt a gentleman of Pen's ingenuity would not forego 
 these advantages of position, and would ring the pretty 
 little changes upon these pleasing notes. Indeed we 
 believe that those love-verses of Mr. Pen's which had 
 such a pleasing success in the " Kose-leaves," that 
 charming Annual edited by Lady Violet Lebas, and 
 illustrated by portraits of the female nobility by the 
 famous artist Pinkney, were composed at this period 
 of our hero's life ; and were first addressed to Blanche, 
 per post, before they figured in print, cornets as it were 
 to Pinkney's pictorial garland. 
 
 "Verses are all very well," the elder Pendennis said, 
 who found Pen scratching down one of these artless 
 effusions at the Club as he was waiting for his dinner ; 
 "and letter-writing if mamma allows it, and between 
 such old country friends of course there may be a 
 correspondence, and that sort of thing — but mind, 
 Pen, and don't commit yourself, my boy. For who 
 knows what the doose may happen ? The best way 
 is to make your letters safe. I never wrote a letter 
 in all my life that would commit me, and demmy, sir, 
 I have had some experience of women." And the 
 worthy gentleman, growing more garrulous a#d confi- 
 dential with his nephew as he grew older, told many 
 affecting instances of the evil results consequent upon 
 this want of caution to many persons in " society ; " 
 — how from using too ardent expressions in some 
 poetical notes to the widow Naylor, young Spoony 
 had subjected himself to a visit of remonstrance from 
 the widow's brother, Colonel Flint ; and thus had 
 been forced into a marriage with a woman old enough 
 to be his mother : how when Louisa Salter had at 
 length succeeded in securing young Sir John Bird, 
 
208 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Hopwood, of the Blues, produced some letters which 
 Miss S. had written to him, and caused a withdrawal 
 on Bird's part, who afterwards was united to Miss 
 Stickney, of Lyme Begis, etc. The Major, if he had 
 not reading, had plenty of observation, and could back 
 his wise saws with a multitude of modern instances, 
 which he had acquired in a long and careful perusal 
 of the great book of the world. 
 
 Pen laughed at the examples, and blushing a little 
 at his uncle's remonstrances, said that he would bear 
 them in mind and be cautious. He blushed, perhaps, 
 because he had borne them in mind ; because he was 
 cautious : because in his letters to Miss Blanche he 
 had from instinct, or honesty perhaps, refrained from 
 any avowals which might compromise him. "Don't 
 you remember the lesson I had, sir, in Lady Mirabel's 
 — Miss Fotheringay's affair ? I am not to be caught 
 again, Uncle," Arthur said with mock frankness and 
 humility. Old Pendennis congratulated himself and 
 his nephew heartily on the latter's prudence and pro- 
 gress, and was pleased at the position which Arthur 
 was taking as a man of the world. 
 
 No doubt, if Warrington had been consulted, his 
 opinion would have been different : and he would 
 have told Pen that the boy's foolish letters were bet- 
 ter than the man's adroit compliments and slippery 
 gallantries ; that to win the woman he loves, only a 
 knave or a coward advances under cover, with subter- 
 fuges, and a retreat secured behind him : but Pen spoke 
 not on this matter to Mr. Warrington, knowing pretty 
 well that he was guilty, and what his friend's verdict 
 would be. 
 
 Colonel Altamont had not been for many weeks 
 absent on his foreign tour — Sir Francis Clavering 
 having retired meanwhile into the country pursuant to 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 209 
 
 his agreement with Major Pendennis — when the ills 
 of fate began to fall rather suddenly and heavily upon 
 the sole remaining partner of the little firm of Shep- 
 herd's Inn. When Strong, at parting with Altamont, 
 refused the loan proffered by the latter in the fulness 
 of his purse and the generosity of his heart, he made 
 such a sacrifice to conscience and delicacy as caused 
 him many an after-twinge and pang ; and he felt — 
 it was not very many hours in his life he had experi- 
 enced the feeling — that in this juncture of his affairs 
 he had been too delicate and too scrupulous. Why 
 should a fellow in want refuse a kind offer kindly 
 made ? Why should a thirsty man decline a pitcher 
 of water from a friendly hand, because it was a little 
 soiled ? Strong's conscience smote him for refusing 
 what the other had fairly come by, and generously 
 proffered: and he thought ruefully, now it was too 
 late, that Altamont's cash would have been as well in 
 his pocket as in that of the gambling-house proprietor 
 at Baden or Ems, with whom his Excellency would 
 infallibly leave his Derby winnings. It was whispered 
 among the tradesmen, bill-discounters, and others who 
 had commercial dealings with Captain Strong, that he 
 and the Baronet had parted company, and that the 
 Captain's " paper " was henceforth of no value. The 
 tradesmen, who had put a wonderful confidence in him 
 hitherto, — for who could resist Strong's jolly face 
 and frank and honest demeanor ? — now began to 
 pour in their bills with a cowardly mistrust and 
 unanimity. The knocks at the Shepherd's Inn cham- 
 bers' door were constant, and tailors, bootmakers, 
 pastry-cooks who had furnished dinners, in their own 
 persons, or by the boys their representatives, held 
 levees on Strong's stairs. To these were added one or 
 two persons of a less clamorous but far more sly and 
 
210 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 dangerous sort, — the young clerks of lawyers, namely, 
 who lurked about the Inn, or concerted with Mr. Cam- 
 pion's young man in the chambers hard by, having in 
 their dismal pocket-books copies of writs to be served 
 on Edward Strong, requiring him to appear on an 
 early day next term before our Sovereign Lady the 
 Queen, and answer to etc., etc. 
 
 From this invasion of creditors, poor Strong, who 
 had not a guinea in his pocket, had, of course, no re> 
 fuge but that of the Englishman's castle, into which, 
 he retired, shutting the outer and inner door upon the 
 enemy, and not quitting his stronghold until after 
 nightfall. Against this outer barrier the foe used to 
 come and knock and curse in vain, whilst the Chevalier 
 peeped at them from behind the little curtain which 
 he had put over the orifice of his letter-box ; and had 
 the dismal satisfaction of seeing the faces of furious 
 clerk and fiery dun, as they dashed up against the 
 door and retreated from it. But as they could not 
 be always at his gate, or sleep on his staircase, the 
 enemies of the Chevalier sometimes left him free. 
 
 Strong, when so pressed by his commercial antago* 
 nists, was not quite alone in his defence against them, 
 but had secured for himself an ally or two. His 
 friends were instructed to communicate with him by 
 a system of private signals : and they thus kept the 
 garrison from starving by bringing in necessary sup- 
 plies, and kept up Strong's heart and prevented him 
 from surrendering, by visiting him and cheering him 
 in his retreat. Two of Ned's most faithful allies were 
 Huxter and Miss Fanny Bolton : when hostile visitors 
 were prowling about the Inn, Fanny's little sisters 
 were taught a particular cry orjodel, which they inno- 
 cently whooped in the court : when Fanny and Huxter 
 came up to visit Strong, they archly sang this same 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 211 
 
 note at his door ; when that barrier was straightway- 
 opened, the honest garrison came out smiling, the pro- 
 visions and the pot of porter were brought in, and in 
 the society of his faithful friends the beleaguered one 
 passed a comfortable night. There are some men who 
 could not live under this excitement, but Strong was 
 a brave man, as we have said, who had seen service and 
 never lost heart in peril. 
 
 But besides allies, our general had secured for him- 
 self, under difficulties, that still more necessary aid, — 
 a retreat. It has been mentioned in a former part of 
 this history, how Messrs. Costigan and Bows lived in 
 the house next door to Captain Strong, and that the 
 window of one of their rooms was not very far off the 
 kitchen-window which was situated in the upper story 
 of Strong's chambers. A leaden water-pipe and gutter 
 served for the two ; and Strong, looking out from his 
 kitchen one day, saw that he could spring with great 
 ease up to the sill of his neighbor's window, and 
 clamber up the pipe which communicated from one 
 to the other. He had laughingly shown this refuge 
 to his chum, Altamont ; and they had agreed that it 
 would be as well not to mention the circumstance to 
 Captain Costigan, whose duns were numerous, and 
 who would be constantly flying down the pipe into 
 their apartments if this way of escape were shown 
 to him. 
 
 But now that the evil days were come, Strong made 
 use of the passage, and one afternoon burst in upon 
 Bows and Costigan with his jolly face, and explained 
 that the enemy was in waiting on his staircase, and 
 that he had taken this means of giving them the slip. 
 So while Mr. Mark's aides-de-camp were in waiting in 
 the passage of No. 3, Strong walked down the steps 
 of No. 4, dined at the Albion, went to the play, and 
 
212 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 returned home at midnight, to the astonishment of 
 Mrs. Bolton and Fanny, who had not seen him quit 
 his chambers and could not conceive how he could 
 have passed the line of sentries. 
 
 Strong bore this siege for some weeks with admira- 
 ble spirit and resolution, and as only such an old and 
 brave soldier would, for the pains and privations 
 which he had to endure were enough to depress 
 any man of ordinary courage ; and what vexed and 
 " riled " him (to use his own expression) was the 
 infernal indifference and cowardly ingratitude of 
 Clavering, to whom he wrote letter after letter, 
 which the Baronet never acknowledged by a single 
 word, or by the smallest remittance, though a five- 
 pound note, as Strong said, at that time would have 
 been a fortune to him. 
 
 But better days were in store for the Chevalier, and 
 in the midst of his despondency and perplexities there 
 came to him a most welcome aid. " Yes, if it had n't 
 been for this good fellow here," said Strong ; " for a 
 good fellow you are, Altamont, my boy, and hang me 
 if I don't stand by you as long as I live; I think, 
 Pendennis, it would have been all up with Ned 
 Strong. It was the fifth week of my being kept a 
 prisoner, for I could n't be always risking my neck 
 across that water-pipe, and taking my walks abroad 
 through poor old Cos's window, and my spirit was 
 quite broken, sir — dammy, quite beat, and I was 
 thinking of putting an end to myself, and should 
 have done it in another week, when who should drop 
 down from heaven but Altamont ! " 
 
 "Heaven am't exactly the place, Ned," said Alta- 
 mont. "I came from Baden-Baden," said he, "and 
 I 'd had a deuced lucky month there, that 's all." 
 
 " Well, sir, he took up Mark's bill, and he paid the 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 213 
 
 other fellows that were upon me, like a man, sir, that 
 he did," said Strong, enthusiastically. 
 
 " And I shall be very happy to stand a bottle of 
 claret for this company, and as many more as the 
 company chooses," said Mr. Altamont, with a blush. 
 M Hallo ! waiter, bring us a magnum of the right sort, 
 do you hear ? And we '11 drink our healths all round, 
 sir — and may every good fellow like Strong find 
 another good fellow to stand by him at a pinch. 
 That 's my sentiment, Mr. Pendennis, though I don't 
 like your name." 
 
 " No ! And why ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 Strong pressed the Colonel's foot under the table 
 here ; and Altamont, rather excited, filled up another 
 bumper, nodded to Pen, drank off his wine, and said, 
 "He was a gentleman, and that was sufficient, and 
 they were all gentlemen." 
 
 The meeting between these " all gentlemen " took 
 place at Richmond, whither Pendennis had gone to 
 dinner, and where he found the Chevalier and his 
 friend at table in the coffee-room. Both of the latter 
 were exceedingly hilarious, talkative, and excited by 
 wine, and Strong, who was an admirable story-teller, 
 told the story of his own siege, and adventures and 
 escapes with liveliness and humor, and described the 
 talk of the sheriff's officers at his door, the pretty lit- 
 tle signals of Fanny, the grotesque exclamations of 
 Costigan when the Chevalier burst in at his window, 
 and his final rescue by Altamont, in a most graphic 
 manner, and so as greatly to interest his hearers. 
 
 " As for me, it 's nothing," Altamont said. " When 
 a ship 's paid off, a chap spends his money, you know. 
 And it 's the fellers at the black and red at Baden- 
 Baden that did it. I won a good bit of money there, 
 and intend to win a good bit more, don't I, Strong ? 
 
214 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 I 'm going to take him with me. I 've got a system. 
 I '11 make his fortune, I tell you. I '11 make your for- 
 tune if you like — dammy, everybody's fortune. But 
 what I '11 do, and no mistake, boys, I promise you ; 
 I '11 put in for that little Fanny. Dammy, sir, what 
 do you think she did ? She had two pound, and I 'm 
 blest if she did n't go and lend it to Ned Strong ! 
 Didn't she, Ned? Let's drink her health." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Arthur, and pledged this 
 toast with the greatest cordiality. 
 
 Mr. Altamont then began, with the greatest volu- 
 bility, and at great length, to describe his system. 
 He said that it was infallible, if played with cool- 
 ness ; that he had it from a chap at Baden, who had 
 lost by it, it was true, but because he had not capital 
 enough ; if he could have stood one more turn of the 
 wheel, he would have had all his money back ; that 
 he and several more chaps were going to make a bank, 
 and try it ; and that he would put every shilling he 
 was worth into it, and had come back to this country, 
 for the express purpose of fetching away his money, 
 and Captain Strong ; that Strong should play for 
 him : that he could trust Strong and his temper much 
 better than he could his own, and much better than 
 Bloundell-Bloundell or the Italian that " stood in." 
 As he emptied his bottle, the Colonel described at 
 full length all his plans and prospects to Pen, who 
 was interested in listening to his story, and the con- 
 fessions of his daring and lawless good-humor. 
 
 " I met that queer fellow Altamont the other day," 
 Pen said to his uncle, a day or two afterwards. 
 
 "Altamont? What Altamont? There's Lord 
 Westport's son," said the Major. 
 
 " No, no ; the fellow who came tipsy into Cover- 
 ing's dining-room one day when we were there," said 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 215 
 
 the nephew, laughing ; " and he said he did not like 
 the name of Pendennis, though he did me the honor 
 to think that I was a good fellow." 
 
 " I don't know any man of the name of Altamont, 
 I give you my honor," said the impenetrable Major; 
 " and as for your acquaintance, I think the less you 
 have to do with him the better, Arthur." 
 
 Arthur laughed again. " He is going to quit the 
 country, and make his fortune by a gambling system. 
 He and my amiable college acquaintance, Bloundell, 
 are partners, and the Colonel takes out Strong with 
 him as aide-de-camp. What is it that binds the Chev- 
 alier and Clavering, I wonder ? " 
 
 " I should think, mind you, Pen, I should think — 
 but of course I have only the idea — that there has 
 been something in Clavering's previous life which 
 gives these fellows and some others a certain power 
 over him ; and if there should be such a secret, which 
 is no affair of ours, my boy, dammy, I say, it ought 
 to be a lesson to a man to keep himself straight in 
 life, and not to give any man a chance over him." 
 
 " Why, I think you have some means of persuasion 
 over Clavering, Uncle, or why should he give me that 
 seat in Parliament ? " 
 
 " Clavering thinks he ain't fit for Parliament," the 
 Major answered. " No more he is. What 's to pre- 
 vent him from putting you or anybody else into his 
 place if he likes ? Do you think that the Govern- 
 ment or the Opposition would make any bones about 
 accepting the seat if he offered it to them ? Why 
 should you be more squeamish than the first men, and 
 the most honorable men, and men of the highest birth 
 and position in the country, begad ? " The Colonel 
 had an answer of this kind to most of Pen's objec- 
 tions, and Pen accepted his uncle's replies, not so 
 
216 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 much because he believed them, but because he wished 
 to believe them. We do a thing — which of us has 
 not ? — not because "everybody does it," but because 
 we like it ; and our acquiescence, alas ! proves not 
 that everybody is right, but that we and the rest of 
 the world are poor creatures alike. 
 
 At his next visit to Tunbridge, Mr. Pen did not for- 
 get to amuse Miss Blanche with the history which he 
 had learned at Eichmond of the Chevalier's imprison- 
 ment, and of Altamont's gallant rescue. And after he 
 had told his tale in his usual satirical way, he men- 
 tioned with praise and emotion little Fanny's generous 
 behavior to the Chevalier, and Altamont's enthusiasm 
 in her behalf. 
 
 Miss Blanche was somewhat jealous, and a good 
 deal piqued and curious about Fanny. Among the 
 many confidential little communications which Arthur 
 made to Miss Amory in the course of their delightful 
 rural drives and their sweet evening walks, it may be 
 supposed that our hero would not forget a story so 
 interesting to himself, and so likely to be interesting 
 to her, as that of the passion and care of the poor 
 little Ariadne of Shepherd's Inn. His own part in 
 that drama he described, to do him justice, with be- 
 coming modesty ; the moral which he wished to draw 
 from the tale being one in accordance with his usual 
 satirical mood, viz., that women get over their first 
 loves quite as easily as men do (for the fair Blanche, 
 in their intimes conversations, did not cease to twit 
 Mr. Pen about his notorious failure in his own virgin 
 attachment to the Fotheringay), and, number one being 
 withdrawn, transfer themselves to number two with- 
 out much difficulty. And poor little Fanny was offered 
 up in sacrifice as an instance to prove this theory. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 217 
 
 What griefs she had endured and surmounted, what 
 bitter pangs of hopeless attachment she had gone 
 through, what time it had taken to heal those wounds 
 of the tender little bleeding heart, Mr. Pen did not 
 know, or perhaps did not choose to know ; for he was 
 at once modest and doubtful about his capabilities as 
 a conqueror of hearts, and averse to believe that he 
 had executed any dangerous ravages on that particular 
 one, though his own instance and argument told against 
 himself in this case ; for if, as he said, Miss Fanny was 
 by this time in love with her surgical adorer, who had 
 neither good looks nor good manners, nor wit, nor 
 anything but ardor and fidelity to recommend him, 
 must she not, in her first sickness of the love-com- 
 plaint, have had a serious attack, and suffered keenly 
 for a man, who had certainly a number of the showy 
 qualities which Mr. Huxter wanted ? 
 
 " You wicked odious creature," Miss Blanche said, 
 u I believe that you are enraged with Fanny for being 
 so impudent as to forget you, and that you are actually 
 jealous of Mr. Huxter." Perhaps Miss Amory was 
 right, as the blush which came in spite of himself and 
 tingled upon Pendennis's cheek (one of those blows 
 with which a man's vanity is constantly slapping his 
 face), proved to Pen that he was angry to think he 
 had been superseded by such a rival. By such a fel- 
 low as that ! without any conceivable good quality ! 
 Oh, Mr. Pendennis ! (although this remark does not 
 a PP ] y to such a smart fellow as you) if Nature had 
 not made that provision for each sex in the credulity 
 of the other, which sees good qualities where none 
 exist, good looks in donkeys' ears, wit in their num- 
 skulls, and music in their bray, there would not have 
 been near so much marrying and giving in marriage 
 as now obtains, and as is necessary for the due pro* 
 
218 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 pagation and continuance of the noble race to which 
 
 we belong ! 
 
 " Jealous or not," Pen said, " and, Blanche, I don't 
 say no, I should have liked Fanny to come to a better 
 end than that. I don't like histories that end in that 
 cynical way ; and when we arrive at the conclusion 
 of the story of a pretty girl's passion, to find such a 
 figure as Huxter's at the last page of the tale. Is all 
 life a compromise, my lady fair, and the end of the 
 battle of love an ignoble surrender ? Is the search 
 for the Cupid which my poor little Psyche pursued 
 in the darkness — the god of her soul's longing — the 
 god of the blooming cheek and rainbow pinions — to 
 result in Huxter, smelling of tobacco and galipots ? 
 I wish, though I don't see it in life, that people could 
 be like Jenny and Jessamy, or my lord and lady 
 Clementina in the story-books and fashionable novels, 
 and at once under the ceremony, and, as it were, at 
 the parson's benediction, become perfectly handsome 
 and good and happy ever after." 
 
 " And don't you intend to be good and happy, pray, 
 Monsieur le Misanthrope — and are you very discon- 
 tented with your lot — and will your marriage be a 
 compromise " — (asked the author of " Mes Larmes," 
 with a charming moue) — " and is your Psyche an 
 odious vulgar wretch ? You wicked satirical creature, 
 I can't abide you! You take the hearts of young 
 things, play with them, and fling them away with 
 scorn. You ask for love and trample on it. You — 
 you make me cry, that you do, Arthur, and — and 
 don't — and I worit be consoled in that way — and I 
 think Fanny was quite right in leaving such a heart- 
 less creature." 
 
 " Again, I don't say no," said Pen, looking very 
 gloomily at Blanche, and not offering by any means 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 219 
 
 to repeat the attempt at consolation which had elicited 
 that sweet monosyllable " don't " from the young lady. 
 " I don't think I have much of what people call heart ; 
 but I don't profess it. I made my venture when I 
 was eighteen, and lighted my lamp and went in search 
 of Cupid. And what was my discovery of love ! — a 
 vulgar dancing-woman. I failed, as everybody does, 
 almost everybody ; only it is luckier to fail before 
 marriage than after." 
 
 "Merci du choix, Monsieur," said the Sylphide, 
 making a curtsy. 
 
 " Look, my little Blanche," said Pen, taking her 
 hand, and with his voice of sad good-humor j " at 
 least I stoop to no flatteries." 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said Miss Blanche. 
 
 "And tell you no foolish lies, as vulgar men do. 
 Why should you and I, with our experience, ape ro- 
 mance and dissemble passion ? I do not believe Miss 
 Blanche Amory to be peerless among the beautiful, 
 nor the greatest poetess, nor the most surpassing 
 musician, any more than I believe you to be the tallest 
 woman in the whole world — like the giantess whose 
 picture we saw as we rode through the fair yesterday. 
 But if I don't set you up as a heroine, neither do I 
 offer you your very humble servant as a hero. But 
 I think you are — well, there, I think you are very 
 sufficiently good-looking." 
 
 " 3ferci" Miss Blanche said with another curtsy. 
 
 " I think you sing charmingly. I 'm sure you 're 
 clever. I hope and believe that you are good-natured, 
 and that you will be companionable." 
 
 u And so provided I bring you a certain sum of 
 money and a seat in Parliament, you condescend to 
 fling to me your royal pocket-handkerchief," said 
 Blanche. " Que d'honneur I We used to call your 
 
220 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Highness the Prince of Eairoaks. What an honor to 
 think that I am to be elevated to the throne, and to 
 bring the seat in Parliament as backsheesh to the 
 sultan ! I am glad I am clever, and that I can play 
 and sing to your liking; my songs will amuse my 
 lord's leisure." 
 
 "And if thieves are about the house," said Pen, 
 grimly pursuing the simile, " forty besetting thieves 
 in the shape of lurking cares and enemies in ambush 
 and passions in arms, my Morgiana will dance round 
 me with a tambourine, and kill all my rogues and 
 thieves with a smile. Won't she ? " But Pen looked 
 as if he did not believe that she would. "Ah, 
 Blanche," he continued after a pause, "don't be 
 angry ; don't be hurt at my truth-telling. Don't you 
 see that I always take you at your word ? You say 
 you will be a slave and dance — I say, dance. You 
 say, ' I take you with what you bring : * I say, ' I 
 take you with what you bring.' To the necessary 
 deceits and hypocrisies of our life, why add any that 
 are useless and unnecessary? If I offer myself to 
 you because I think we have a fair chance of being 
 happy together, and because by your help I may get 
 for both of us a good place and a not undistinguished 
 name, why ask me to feign raptures and counterfeit 
 romance, in which neither of us believe ? Do you 
 want me to come wooing in a Prince Prettyman's 
 dress from the masquerade warehouse, and to pay you 
 compliments like Sir Charles Grandison ? Do you 
 want me to make you verses as in the days when we 
 were — when we were children ? I will if you like, 
 and sell them to Bacon and Bungay afterwards. 
 Shall I feed my pretty princess with bonbons ? " 
 
 " Mais j 'adore les bonbons, moi," said the little 
 Sylphide, with a queer piteous look. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 221 
 
 " I can buy a hat full at Fortnum and Mason's for a 
 guinea. And it shall have its bonbons, its pootty 
 little sugar-plums, that it shall," Pen said with a 
 bitter smile. " Nay, my dear, nay my dearest little 
 Blanche, don't cry. Dry the pretty eyes, I can't bear 
 that;" and he proceeded to offer that consolation 
 which the circumstance required, and which the 
 tears, the genuine tears of vexation, which now sprang 
 from the angry eyes of the author of " Mes Larmes " 
 demanded. 
 
 The scornful and sarcastic tone of Pendennis quite 
 frightened and overcame the girl. "I — I don't want 
 your consolation. I — I never was — so — spoken to 
 bef — by any of . my — my — by anybody " — she 
 sobbed out, with much simplicity. 
 
 "Anybody/" shouted out Pen, with a savage burst 
 of laughter, and Blanche blushed one of the most 
 genuine blushes which her cheek had ever exhibited, 
 and she cried out, " Oh, Arthur, vous etes un homme 
 terrible ! " She felt bewildered, frightened, oppressed, 
 the worldly little flirt who had been playing at love 
 for the last dozen years of her life, and yet not dis- 
 pleased at meeting a master. 
 
 " Tell me, Arthur," she said, after a pause in this 
 strange love-making, "why does Sir Francis Claver- 
 ing give up his seat in Parliament ? " 
 
 " Au fait, why does he give it to me ? " asked 
 Arthur, now blushing in his turn. 
 
 " You always mock me, sir," she said. " If it is 
 good to be in Parliament, why does Sir Francis go 
 out ? " 
 
 " My uncle has talked him over. He always said 
 that you were not sufficiently provided for. In the 
 — the family disputes, when your mamma paid his 
 debts so liberally, it was stipulated, I suppose, that 
 
222 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 you — that is, that I — that is, upon my word, I don't 
 know why he goes out of Parliament," Pen said, with 
 rather a forced laugh. " You see, Blanche, that you 
 and I are two good little children, and that this 
 marriage has been arranged for us by our mammas 
 and uncles, and that we must be obedient, like a good 
 little boy and girl." 
 
 So, when Pen went to London, he sent Blanche a 
 box of bonbons, each sugar-plum of which was wrapped 
 up in ready-made French verses, of the most tender 
 kind ; and, besides, despatched to her some poems of 
 his own manufacture, quite as artless and authentic ; 
 and it was no wonder that he did not tell Warrington 
 what his conversations with Miss Amory had been, of 
 so delicate a sentiment were they, and of a nature so 
 necessarily private. 
 
 And if, like many a worse and better man, Arthur 
 Pendennis, the widow's son, was meditating an apos- 
 tasy, and going to sell himself to — we all know 
 whom, — at least the renegade did not pretend to be 
 a believer in the creed to which he was ready to 
 swear. And if every woman and man in this king- 
 dom, who has sold her or himself for money or posi- 
 tion, as Mr. Pendennis was about to do, would but 
 purchase a copy of his memoirs, what tons of volumes 
 Messrs. Smith, Elder, and Co. would sell ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS HIS CANVASS. 
 
 Melancholy as the great house at Clavering Park 
 had been in the days before his marriage, when its 
 bankrupt proprietor was a refugee in foreign lands, 
 it was not much more cheerful now when Sir Francis 
 Clavering came to inhabit it. The greater part of the 
 mansion was shut up, and the Baronet only occupied 
 a few of the rooms on the ground-floor, where his 
 housekeeper and her assistant from the lodge-gate 
 waited upon the luckless gentleman in his forced re- 
 treat, and cooked a part of the game which he spent 
 the dreary mornings in shooting. Lightfoot, his man, 
 had passed over to my Lady's service; and, as Pen 
 was informed in a letter from Mr. Smirke, who per- 
 formed the ceremony, had executed his prudent inten- 
 tion of marrying Mrs. Bonner, my Lady's woman, 
 who, in her mature years, was stricken with the 
 charms of the youth, and endowed him with her 
 savings and her elderly person. To be landlord and 
 landlady of the " Clavering Arms " was the ambition 
 of both of them ; and it was agreed that they were 
 to remain in Lady Clavering's service until quarter- 
 day arrived, when they were to take possession of 
 their hotel. Pen graciously promised that he would 
 give his election dinner there, when the Baronet 
 should vacate his seat in the young man's favor ; and, 
 as it had been agreed by his uncle, to whom Clavering 
 
224 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 seemed to be able to refuse nothing, Arthur came 
 down in September on a visit to Clavering Park, the 
 owner of which was very glad to have a companion 
 who would relieve his loneliness, and perhaps would 
 lend him a little ready money. 
 
 Pen furnished his host with these desirable sup- 
 plies a couple of days after he had made his appear- 
 ance at Clavering : and no sooner were these small 
 funds in Sir Francis's pocket, than the latter found 
 he had business at Chatteris and the neighboring 
 watering-places, of which — shire boasts many, and 
 went off to see to his affairs, which were transacted, 
 as might be supposed, at the country race-grounds 
 and billiard-rooms. Arthur could live alone well 
 enough, having many mental resources and amuse- 
 ments which did not require other persons' company : 
 he could walk with the game-keeper of a morning, 
 and for the evenings there were plenty of books and 
 occupation for a literary genius like Mr. Arthur, who 
 required but a cigar and a sheet of paper or two to 
 make the night pass away pleasantly. In truth, in 
 two or three days he had found the society of Sir 
 Francis Clavering perfectly intolerable ; and it was 
 with a mischievous eagerness and satisfaction that he 
 offered Clavering the little pecuniary aid which the 
 latter according to his custom solicited ; and supplied 
 him with the means of taking flight from his own 
 house. 
 
 Besides, our ingenious friend had to ingratiate him- 
 self with the townspeople of Clavering, and with the 
 voters of the borough which he hoped to represent ; 
 and he set himself to this task with only the more 
 eagerness, remembering how unpopular he had before 
 been in Clavering, and determined to vanquish the 
 odium which he had inspired amongst the simple 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 225 
 
 people there. His sense of humor made him delight 
 in this task. Naturally rather reserved and silent in 
 public, he became on a sudden as frank, easy, and 
 jovial, as Captain Strong. He laughed with every- 
 body who would exchange a laugh with him, shook 
 hands right and left, with what may be certainly 
 called a dexterous cordiality ; made his appearance 
 at the market-day and the farmers' ordinary ; and, in 
 fine, acted like a consummate hypocrite, and as gen- 
 tlemen of the highest birth and most spotless integrity 
 act when they wish to make themselves agreeable to 
 their constituents, and have some end to gain of the 
 country folks. How is it that we allow ourselves not 
 to be deceived, but to be ingratiated so readily by a 
 glib tongue, a ready laugh, and a frank manner ? We 
 know, for the most part, that it is false coin, and we 
 take it : we know that it is flattery, which it costs 
 nothing to distribute to everybody, and we had rather 
 have it than be without it. Friend Pen went about 
 at Clavering, laboriously simple and adroitly pleased, 
 and quite a different being from the scornful and 
 rather sulky young dandy whom the inhabitants re- 
 membered ten years ago. 
 
 The Rectory was shut up. Doctor Portman was 
 gone, with his gout and his family, to Harrogate ; an 
 event which Pen deplored very much in a letter to 
 the Doctor, in which, in a few kind and simple words, 
 he expressed his regret at not seeing his old friend, 
 whose advice he wanted and whose aid he might re- 
 quire some day : but Pen consoled himself for the 
 Doctor's absence, by making acquaintance with Mr. 
 Simcoe, the opposition preacher, and with the two 
 partners of the cloth-factory at Chatteris, and with 
 the independent preacher there, all of whom he met 
 at the Clavering Athenaeum, which the Liberal party 
 
226 
 
 FENDENNIS. 
 
 had set up in accordance with the advanced spirit of 
 the age, and perhaps in opposition to the aristocratic 
 old reading-room, into which the " Edinburgh Review" 
 had once scarcely got an admission, and where no 
 tradesmen were allowed an entrance. He propitiated 
 the younger partner of the cloth-factory, by asking 
 him to dine in a friendly way at the Park ; he com- 
 plimented the Honorable Mrs. Simcoe with hares and 
 partridges from the same quarter, and a request to 
 read her husband's last sermon ; and being a little 
 unwell one day, the rascal took advantage of the cir- 
 cumstance to show his tongue to Mr. Huxter, who 
 sent him medicines and called the next morning. 
 How delighted old Pendennis would have been with 
 his pupil ! Pen himself was amused with the sport 
 in which he was engaged, and his success inspired 
 him with a wicked good-humor. 
 
 And yet, as he walked out of Clavering of a night, 
 after " presiding " at a meeting of the Athenaeum, 
 or working through an evening with Mrs. Simcoe, 
 who, with her husband, was awed by the young Lon- 
 doner's reputation, and had heard of his social suc- 
 cesses ; as he passed over the old familiar bridge of 
 the rushing Brawl, and heard that well-remembered 
 sound of waters beneath, and saw his own cottage of 
 Fairoaks among the trees, their darkling outlines 
 clear against the starlit sky, different thoughts no 
 doubt came to the young man's mind, and awakened 
 pangs of grief and shame there. There still used to 
 be a light in the windows of the room which he re- 
 membered so well, and in which the Saint who loved 
 him had passed so many hours of care and yearning 
 and prayer. He turned away his gaze from the faint 
 light which seemed to pursue him with its wan re- 
 proachful gaze, as though it was his mother's spirit 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 227 
 
 watching and warning. How clear the night was ! 
 How keen the stars shone ; how ceaseless the rush 
 of the flowing waters ; the old home trees whispered, 
 and waved gently their dark heads and branches over 
 the cottage roof. Yonder, in the faint starlight glim- 
 mer, was the terrace where, as a boy, he walked of 
 summer evenings, ardent and trustful, unspotted, un- 
 tried, ignorant of doubts or passions ; sheltered as 
 yet from the world's contamination in the pure and 
 anxious bosom of love. . . . The clock of the near 
 town tolling midnight, with a clang, disturbs our 
 wanderer's reverie, and sends him onwards towards 
 his night's resting-place, through the lodge into Clav- 
 ering avenue, and under the dark arcades of the rus- 
 tling limes. 
 
 When he sees the cottage the next time, it is smil- 
 ing in sunset ; those bedroom windows are open where 
 the light was burning the night before ; and Pen's 
 tenant, Captain Stokes, of the Bombay Artillery 
 (whose mother, old Mrs. Stokes, lives in Clavering), 
 receives his landlord's visit with great cordiality ; 
 shows him over the grounds and the new pond he 
 has made in the back garden from the stables ; talks 
 to him confidentially about the roof and chimneys, 
 and begs Mr. Pendennis to name a day when he will 
 do himself and Mrs. Stokes the pleasure to, etc. Pen, 
 who has been a fortnight in the country, excuses him- 
 self for not having called sooner upon the Captain by 
 frankly owning that he had not the heart to do it. 
 * I understand you, sir," the Captain says ; and Mrs. 
 Stokes, who had slipped away at the ring of the bell 
 (how odd it seemed to Pen to ring the bell !), comes 
 down in her best gown, surrounded by her children. 
 The young ones clamber about Stokes : the boy jumps 
 into an arm-chair. It was Pen's father's arm-chair ; 
 
228 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and Arthur remembers the days when he would as 
 soon have thought of mounting the king's throne as 
 of seating himself in that arm-chair. He asks Miss 
 Stokes — she is the very image of her mamma — if 
 she can play ? He should like to hear a tune on that 
 piano. She plays. He hears the notes of the old 
 piano once more, enfeebled by age, but he does not 
 listen to the player. He is listening to Laura's sing- 
 ing as in the days of their youth, and sees his mother 
 bending and beating time over the shoulder of the 
 girl. 
 
 The dinner at Fairoaks given in Pen's honor by his 
 tenant, and at which old Mrs. Stokes, Captain Gland- 
 ers, Squire Hobnell, and the clergyman and his lady, 
 from Tinckleton, were present, was very stupid and 
 melancholy for Pen, until the waiter from Clavering 
 (who aided the Captain's stable-boy and Mrs. Stokes's 
 butler) whom Pen remembered as a street boy, and 
 who was now indeed barber in that place, dropped a 
 plate over Pen's shoulder, on which Mr. Hobnell (who 
 also employed him) remarked, " I suppose, Hodson, 
 your hands are slippery with bear's-grease. He 's 
 always dropping the crockery about, that Hodson is 
 — haw, haw ! " On which Hodson blushed, and 
 looked so disconcerted, that Pen burst out laughing ; 
 and good-humor and hilarity were the order of the 
 evening. For the second course, there was a hare 
 and partridges top and bottom, and when after the 
 withdrawal of the servants Pen said to the Vicar of 
 Tinckleton, "I think, Mr. Stooks, you should have 
 asked Hodson to cut the hare" the joke was taken 
 instantly by the clergyman, who was followed in the 
 course of a few minutes by Captain Stokes and Gland- 
 ers, and by Mr. Hobnell, who arrived rather late, but 
 with an immense guffaw. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 229 
 
 While Mr. Pen was engaged in the country in the 
 above schemes, it happened that the lady of his 
 choice, if not of his affections, came up to London 
 from the Tunbridge villa bound upon shopping expe- 
 ditions or important business, and in company of old 
 Mrs. Bonner, her mother's maid, who had lived and 
 quarrelled with Blanche many times since she was an 
 infant, and who now being about to quit Lady Cover- 
 ing's service for the hymeneal state, was anxious like 
 a good soul to bestow some token of respectful kind- 
 ness upon her old and young mistress before she 
 quitted them altogether, to take her post as the 
 wife of Lightfoot, and landlady of the " Clavering 
 Arms." 
 
 The honest woman took the benefit of Miss Amory's 
 taste to make the purchase which she intended to 
 offer her ladyship; and requested the fair Blanche 
 to choose something for herself that should be to her 
 liking, and remind her of her old nurse who had at- 
 tended her through many a wakeful night, and event- 
 ful teething, and childish fever, and who loved her 
 like a child of her own a'most. These purchases were 
 made, and as the nurse insisted on buying an immense 
 Bible for Blanche, the young lady suggested that 
 Bonner should purchase a large "Johnson's Diction- 
 ary " for her mamma. Each of the two women might 
 certainly profit by the present made to her. 
 
 Then Mrs. Bonner invested money in some bargains 
 in linen-drapery, which might be useful at the " Clav- 
 ering Arms," and bought a red and yellow neck- 
 handkerchief, which Blanche could see at once was 
 intended for Mr. Lightfoot. Younger than herself 
 by at least five-and-twenty years, Mrs. Bonner re- 
 garded that youth with a fondness at once parental 
 and conjugal, and loved to lavish ornaments on his 
 
230 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 person, which already glittered with Dins, rings, shirt- 
 studs, and chains and seals, purchased at the good 
 creature's expense. 
 
 It was in the Strand that Mrs. Bonner made her 
 purchases, aided by Miss Blanche, who liked the fun 
 very well, and when the old lady had bought every- 
 thing that she desired, and was leaving the shop, 
 Blanche, with a smiling face, and a sweet bow to one 
 of the shopmen, said, " Pray, sir, will you have the 
 kindness to show us the way to Shepherd's Inn." 
 
 Shepherd's Inn was but a few score of yards off, 
 Oldcastle Street was close by, the elegant young shop- 
 man pointed out the turning which the young lady 
 was to take, and she and her companion walked off 
 together. 
 
 "Shepherd's Inn! what can you want in Shep- 
 herd's Inn, Miss Blanche ? " Bonner inquired. " Mr. 
 Strong lives there. Do you want to go and see the 
 Captain ? " 
 
 " I should like to see the Captain very well. I like 
 the Captain ; but it is not him I want. I want to see 
 a dear little good girl, who was very kind to — to Mr. 
 Arthur when he was so ill last year, and saved his 
 life almost ; and I want to thank her, and ask her if 
 she would like anything. I looked out several of my 
 dresses on purpose this morning, Bonner ! " and she 
 looked at Bonner as if she had a right to admiration, 
 and had performed an act of remarkable virtue. 
 Blanche, indeed, was very fond of sugar-plums ; she 
 would have fed the poor upon them, when she had 
 had enough, and given a country -girl a ball-dress when 
 she had worn it and was tired of it. 
 
 " Pretty girl — pretty young woman ! " mumbled 
 Mrs. Bonner. " I know 2" want no pretty young 
 women to come about Lightfoot," and in imagination 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 231 
 
 she peopled the " Clavering Arms " with a harem of 
 the most hideous chambermaids and barmaids. 
 
 Blanche, with pink and blue, and feathers, and 
 flowers, and trinkets, and a shot silk dress, and a 
 wonderful mantle, and a charming parasol, presented 
 a vision of elegance and beauty such as bewildered 
 the eyes of Mrs. Bolton, who was scrubbing the lodge- 
 floor of Shepherd's Inn, and caused Betsy-Jane and 
 Ameliar-Ann to look with delight. 
 
 Blanche looked on them with a smile of ineffable 
 sweetness and protection; like Rowena going to see 
 Rebecca; like Marie Antoinette visiting the poor in 
 the famine ; like the Marchioness of Carabas alight- 
 ing from her carriage and four at a pauper-tenant's 
 door, and taking from John No. II., the packet of 
 Epsom salts for the invalid's benefit, carrying it with 
 her own imperial hand into the sick-room — Blanche 
 felt a queen stepping down from her throne to visit a 
 subject, and enjoyed all the bland consciousness of 
 doing a good action. 
 
 " My good woman ! I want to see Fanny — Fanny 
 Bolton ; is she here ? " 
 
 Mrs. Bolton had a sudden suspicion, from the splen- 
 dor of Blanche's appearance, that it must be a play- 
 actor, or something worse. 
 
 " What do you want with Fanny, pray ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I am Lady Clavering's daughter — you have heard 
 of Sir Francis Clavering ? And I wish very much 
 indeed to see Fanny Bolton." 
 
 "Pray step in, Miss — Betsy- Jane, where 's Fann}^ ? " 
 
 Betsy- Jane said Fanny had gone into No. 3 stair- 
 case, on which Mrs. Bolton said she was probably in 
 Strong's rooms, and bade the child go and see if she 
 was there. 
 
232 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " In Captain Strong's rooms ! oh, let us go to Cap* 
 tain Strong's rooms," cried out Miss Blanche. " I 
 know him very well. You dearest little girl, show 
 us the way to Captain Strong ! " cried out Miss 
 Blanche, for the floor reeked with the recent scrub- 
 bing, and the goddess did not like the smell of 
 brown-soap. 
 
 And as they passed up the stairs, a gentleman by 
 the name of Costigan, who happened to be swagger- 
 ing about the court, and gave a knowing look with his 
 " oi " under Blanche's bonnet, remarked to himself, 
 " That 's a devilish f oine gyurll, bedad, goan up to 
 Sthrong and Altamont : they 're always having f oine 
 gyurlls up their stairs." 
 
 " Hallo ! hwhat 's that ? " he presently said, look- 
 ing up at the windows : from which some piercing 
 shrieks issued. 
 
 At the sound of the voice of a distressed female the 
 intrepid Cos rushed up the stairs as fast as his old legs 
 would carry him, being nearly overthrown by Strong's 
 servant, who was descending the stair. Cos found 
 the outer door of Strong's chambers open, and began 
 to thunder at the knocker. After many and fierce 
 knocks, the inner door was partially unclosed, and 
 Strong's head appeared. 
 
 " It 's oi, me boy. Hwhat 's that noise, Sthrong ? " 
 asked Costigan. 
 
 " Go to the d — " was the only answer, and the door 
 was shut on Cos's venerable red nose : and he went 
 down stairs muttering threats at the indignity offered 
 to him, and vowing that he would have satisfaction. 
 In the meanwhile the reader, more lucky than Cap- 
 tain Costigan, will have the privilege of being made 
 acquainted with the secret which was withheld from 
 that officer. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 233 
 
 It has been said of how generous a disposition Mr. 
 Altamont was, and when he was well supplied with 
 funds, how liberally he spent them. Of a hospitable 
 turn, he had no greater pleasure than drinking in 
 company with other people ; so that there was no man 
 more welcome at Greenwich and Richmond than the 
 Emissary of the Nawaub of Lucknow. 
 
 Now it chanced that on the day when Blanche and 
 Mrs. Bonner ascended the staircase to Strong's room 
 in Shepherd's Inn, the Colonel had invited Miss Dela- 
 
 val of the Theatre Royal, and her mother, Mrs. 
 
 Hodge, to a little party down the river, and it had 
 been agreed that they were to meet at Chambers, and 
 thence walk down to a port in the neighboring Strand 
 to take water. So that when Mrs. Bonner and Mes 
 Larmes came to the door, where Grady, Altamont's 
 servant, was standing, the domestic said, "Walk in, 
 ladies," with the utmost affability, and led them into 
 the room, which was arranged as if they had been ex- 
 pected there. Indeed, two bouquets of flowers, bought 
 at Covent Garden that morning, and instances of the 
 tender gallantry of Altamont, were awaiting his guests 
 upon the table. Blanche smelt at the bouquet, and 
 put her pretty little dainty nose into it, and tripped 
 about the room, and looked behind the curtains, and at 
 the books and prints, and at the plan of Clavering 
 estate hanging up on the wall ; and had asked the ser- 
 vant for Captain Strong, and had almost forgotten his 
 existence and the errand about which she had come, 
 namely, to visit Fanny Bolton ; so pleased was she 
 with the new adventure, and the odd, strange, delight- 
 ful, droll little idea of being in a bachelor's chambers 
 in a queer old place in the City ! 
 
 Grady meanwhile, with a pair of ample varnished 
 boots, had disappeared into his master's room. Blanche 
 
234 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 had hardly the leisure to remark how big the boots 
 
 were, and how unlike Mr. Strong's, 
 
 " The women 's come," said Grady, helping his mas- 
 ter to the boots. 
 
 " Did you ask 'em if they would take a glass of any- 
 thing ? 99 asked Altamont. 
 
 Grady came out — " He says, will you take anything 
 to drink ? 99 the domestic asked of them ; at which 
 Blanche, amused with the artless question, broke out 
 into a pretty little laugh, and asked of Mrs. Bonner, 
 " Shall we take anything to drink ? " 
 
 "Well, you may take it or lave it," said Mr. Grady, 
 who thought his offer slighted, and did not like the 
 contemptuous manners of the new-comers, and so left 
 them. 
 
 " Will we take anything to drink ? 99 Blanche asked 
 again : and again began to laugh. 
 
 " Grady," bawled out a voice from the chamber 
 within : — a voice that made Mrs. Bonner start. 
 
 Grady did not answer: his song was heard from 
 afar off, from the kitchen, his upper room, where 
 Grady was singing at his work. 
 
 " Grady, my coat ! " again roared the voice from 
 within. 
 
 "Why, that is not Mr. Strong's voice," said the 
 Sylphide, still half laughing. " Grady my coat ! — 
 Bonner, who is Grady my coat? We ought to go 
 away." 
 
 Bonner still looked quite puzzled at the sound of 
 the voice which she had heard. 
 
 The bedroom door here opened, and the individual 
 who had called out u Grady, my coat," appeared 
 without the garment in question. 
 
 He nodded to the women, and walked across the 
 room. " I beg your pardon, ladies. Grady, bring 
 
A Recognition. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 235 
 
 my coat down, sir ! Well, my dears, it 's a fine day, 
 and we '11 have a jolly lark at — " 
 
 He said no more ; for here Mrs. Bonner, who had 
 been looking at him with scared eyes, suddenly 
 shrieked out, " Amory ! Amory ! " and fell back 
 screaming and fainting in her chair. 
 
 The man, so apostrophized, looked at the woman 
 an instant, and, rushing up to Blanche, seized her 
 and kissed her " Yes, Betsy," he said, " by G — it 
 is me. Mary Bonner knew me. What a fine gal 
 we Ve grown ! But it 's a secret, mind. I 'm dead, 
 though I 'm your father. Your poor mother don't 
 know it. What a pretty gal we 've grown ! Kiss me 
 — kiss me close, my Betsy ! D — it, I love you : I 'm 
 your old father." 
 
 Betsy or Blanche looked quite bewildered, and be- 
 gan to scream too — once, twice, thrice ; and it was 
 her piercing shrieks which Captain Gostigan heard as 
 he walked the court below. 
 
 At the sound of these shrieks the perplexed parent 
 clasped his hands (his wristbands were open, and on 
 one brawny arm you could see letters tattooed in 
 blue), and, rushing to his apartment, came back with 
 an eau-de-Cologne bottle from his grand silver dress- 
 ing-case, with the fragrant contents of which he be- 
 gan liberally to sprinkle Bonner and Blanche. 
 
 The screams of these women brought the other 
 occupants of the chambers into the room : Grady 
 from his kitchen, and Strong from his apartment in 
 the upper story. The latter at once saw from the 
 aspect of the two women what had occurred. 
 
 " Grady, go and wait in the court," he said, u and 
 if anybody comes — you understand me." 
 
 " Is it the play-actress and her mother ? " said 
 Grady. 
 
236 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Yes — confound you — say that there 's nobody 
 in chambers, and the party's off for to-day." 
 
 " Shall I say that, sir ? and after I bought them 
 bokays ? " asked Grady of his master. 
 
 " Yes," said Amory, with a stamp of his foot ; and 
 Strong going to the door, too, reached it just in time 
 to prevent the entrance of Captain Costigan, who had 
 mounted the stair. 
 
 The ladies from the theatre did not have their treat 
 to Greenwich, nor did Blanche pay her visit to Fanny 
 Bolton on that day. And Cos, who took occasion 
 majestically to inquire of Grady what the mischief 
 was, and who was crying ? — had for answer that 
 't was a woman, another of them, and that they were, 
 in Grady's opinion, the cause of 'most all the mischief 
 in the world. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN WHICH PEN BEGINS TO DOUBT HIS ELECTION. 
 
 Whilst Pen, in his own country, was thus carry- 
 ing on his selfish plans and parliamentary schemes, 
 news came to him that Lady Rock minster had ar- 
 rived at Baymouth, and had brought with her our 
 friend Laura. At the announcement that Laura his 
 sister was near him, Pen felt rather guilty. His 
 wish was to stand higher in her esteem, perhaps, than 
 in that of any other person in the world. She was 
 his mother's legacy to him. He was to be her patron 
 and protector in some sort. How would she brave 
 the news which he had to tell her ; and how should 
 he explain the plans which he was meditating ? He 
 felt as if neither he nor Blanche could bear Laura's 
 dazzling glance of calm scrutiny, and as if he would 
 not dare to disclose his worldly hopes and ambitions 
 to that spotless judge. At her arrival at Baymouth, 
 he wrote a letter thither which contained a great 
 number of fine phrases and protests of affection, and 
 a great deal of easy satire and raillery ; in the midst 
 of all which Mr. Pen could- not help feeling that he 
 was in a panic, and that he was acting like a rogue 
 and hypocrite. 
 
 How was it that a simple country-girl should be 
 the object of fear and trembling to such an accom- 
 plished gentleman as Mr. Pen ? His worldly tactics 
 and diplomacy, his satire and knowledge of the world, 
 could not bear the test of her purity, he felt somehow. 
 
238 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 And he had to own to himself that his affairs were 
 in such a position, that he could not tell the truth to 
 that honest soul. As he rode from Clavering to Bay- 
 mouth he felt as guilty as a school-boy, who does n't 
 know his lesson and is about to face the awful master. 
 For is not truth the master always, and does she not 
 have the power and hold the book ? 
 
 Under the charge of her kind, though somewhat 
 wayward and absolute patroness, Lady Eockminster, 
 Laura had seen somewhat of the world in the last 
 year, had gathered some accomplishments, and prof- 
 ited by the lessons of society. Many a girl who had 
 been accustomed to that too great tenderness in which 
 Laura's early life had been passed, would have been 
 unfitted for the changed existence which she now had 
 to lead. Helen worshipped her two children, and 
 thought, as home-bred women will, that all the world 
 was made for them, or to be considered after them. 
 She tended Laura with a watchfulness of affection 
 which never left her. If she had a headache, the 
 widow was as alarmed as if there never had been an 
 aching head before in the world. She slept and woke, 
 read, and moved under her mother's fond superin- 
 tendence, which was now withdrawn from her, along 
 with the tender creature whose anxious heart would 
 beat no more. And painful moments of grief and 
 depression no doubt Laura had, when she stood in 
 the great careless world alone. Nobody heeded her 
 griefs or her solitude. She was not quite the equal, 
 in social rank, of the lady whose companion she was, 
 or of the friends and relatives of the imperious, but 
 kind old dowager. Some very likely bore her no 
 good-will — some, perhaps, slighted her : it might 
 have been that servants were occasionally rude ; their 
 mistress certainly was often. Laura not seldom found 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 239 
 
 herself in family meetings, the confidence and famil- 
 iarity of which she felt were interrupted by her intru- 
 sion ; and her sensitiveness of course was wounded at 
 the idea that she should give or feel this annoyance. 
 How many governesses are there in the world, 
 thought cheerful Laura, — how many ladies, whose 
 necessities make them slaves and companions by pro- 
 fession ! What bad tempers and coarse unkindness 
 have not these to encounter ! How infinitely better 
 my lot is with these really kind and affectionate 
 people than that of thousands of unprotected girls ! 
 It was with this cordial spirit that our young lady 
 adapted herself to her new position ; and went in 
 advance of her fortune with a trustful smile. 
 
 Did you ever know a person who met Fortune in 
 that way, whom the goddess did not regard kindly ? 
 Are not even bad people won by a constant cheerful- 
 ness and a pure and affectionate heart ? When the 
 babes in the wood, in the ballad, looked up fondly 
 and trustfully at those notorious rogues whom their 
 uncle had set to make away with the little folks, we 
 all know how one of the rascals relented, and made 
 away with the other — not having the heart to be 
 cruel to so much innocence and beauty. Oh, happy 
 they who have that virgin loving trust and sweet 
 smiling confidence in the world, and fear no evil 
 because they think none ! Miss Laura Bell was one 
 of these fortunate persons ; and besides the gentle 
 widow's little cross, which, as we have seen, Pen gave 
 her, had such a sparkling and brilliant Kohinoor in 
 her bosom, as is even more precious than that famous 
 jewel ; for it not only fetches a price, and is retained 
 by its owner m another world where diamonds are 
 stated to be of no value, but here, too, is of ines- 
 timable worth to its possessor j is a talisman against 
 
240 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 evil, and lightens up the darkness of life, like Cogia 
 Hassan's famous stone. 
 
 So that before Miss Bell had been a year in Lady 
 Rockminster's house, there was not a single person in 
 it whose love she had not won by the use of this 
 talisman. From the old lady to the lowest dependent 
 of her bounty, Laura had secured the good-will of 
 everybody. With a mistress of such a temper, my 
 Lady's woman (who had endured her mistress for 
 forty years, and had been clawed and scolded and 
 jibed every day and night in that space of time) could 
 not be expected to have a good temper of her own ; 
 and was at first angry against Miss Laura, as she had 
 been against her ladyship's fifteen preceding com- 
 panions. But when Laura was ill at Paris, this old 
 woman nursed her in spite of her mistress, who was 
 afraid of catching the fever, and absolutely fought 
 for her medicine with Martha from Fairoaks, now 
 advanced to be Miss Laura's own maid. As she was 
 recovering, Grandjean the chef wanted to kill her by 
 the number of delicacies which he dressed for her, 
 and wept when she ate her first slice of chicken. 
 The Swiss major-domo of the house celebrated Miss 
 Bell's praises in almost every European language, 
 which he spoke with indifferent incorrectness ; the 
 coachman was happy to drive her out ; the page cried 
 when he heard she was ill ; and Calverley and Cold- 
 stream (those two footmen, so large, so calm ordi- 
 narily, and so difficult to move) broke out into 
 extraordinary hilarity at the news of her convales- 
 cence, and intoxicated the page at a wine-shop, to fete 
 Laura's recovery. Even Lady Diana Pynsent (our 
 former acquaintance Mr. Pynsent had married by this 
 time), who had had a considerable dislike to Laura 
 for some time, was so enthusiastic as to say that she 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 241 
 
 thought Miss Bell was a very agreeable person, and 
 that grandmamma had a great trouvaille in her. All 
 this kindness Laura had acquired, not by any arts, 
 not by any flattery, but by the simple force of good- 
 nature, and by the blessed gift of pleasing and being 
 pleased. 
 
 On the one or two occasions when he had seen 
 Lady Kockminster, the old lady, who did not admire 
 him, had been very pitiless and abrupt with our 
 young friend, and perhaps Pen expected when he 
 came to Baymouth to find Laura installed in her 
 house in the quality of humble companion, and 
 treated no better than himself. When she heard 
 of his arrival she came running down stairs, and I 
 am not sure that she did not embrace him in the 
 presence of Calverley and Coldstream : not that those 
 gentlemen ever told : if the fractus orbis had come to 
 a smash, if Laura, instead of kissing Pen, had taken 
 her scissors and snipped off his head — Calverley and 
 Coldstream would have looked on impavidly, without 
 allowing a grain of powder to be disturbed by the 
 calamity. 
 
 Laura had so much improved in health and looks 
 that Pen could not but admire her. The frank eyes 
 which met his beamed with good health ; the cheek 
 which he kissed blushed with beauty. As he looked 
 at her, artless and graceful, pure and candid, he 
 thought he had never seen her so beautiful. Why 
 should he remark her beauty now so much, and 
 remark too to himself that he had not remarked it 
 sooner ? He took her fair trustful hand and kissed 
 it fondly : he looked in her bright clear eyes, and 
 read in them that kindling welcome which he was 
 always sure to find there. He was affected and 
 touched by the tender tone and the pure sparkling 
 
242 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 glance ; their innocence smote him somehow and 
 moved him. 
 
 "How good you are to me, Laura — sister!" said 
 Pen. " I don't deserve that you should — that you 
 should be so kind to me." 
 
 " Mamma left you to me," she said, stooping down 
 and brushing his forehead with her lips hastily. 
 
 "You know you were to come to me when you 
 were in trouble, or to tell me when you were very 
 happy : that was our compact, Arthur, last year, be- 
 fore we parted. Are you very happy now, or are you 
 in trouble, which is it ? " and she looked at him with 
 an arch glance. "Do you like going into Parlia- 
 ment ? Do you intend to distinguish yourself there ? 
 How I shall tremble for your first speech ! " 
 
 " Do you know about the Parliament plan, then ? " 
 Pen asked. 
 
 " Know ? — all the world knovfls ! I have heard it 
 talked about many times. Lady Hockminster's doc- 
 tor talked about it to-day. I dare say it will be in 
 the Chatteris paper to-morrow. It is all over the 
 county that Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering, is go- 
 ing to retire, in behalf of Mr. Arthur Pendennis, of 
 Fairoaks ; and that the young and beautiful Miss 
 Blanche Amory is — " 
 
 " What ! that too ? " asked Pendennis. 
 
 "That, too, dear Arthur. Tout se sait, as some- 
 body would say, whom I intend to be very fond of ; 
 and who I am sure is very clever and pretty. I have 
 had a letter from Blanche. The kindest of letters. 
 She speaks so warmly of you, Arthur ! I hope — I 
 know she feels what she writes. — When is it to be, 
 Arthur ? Why did you not tell me ? I may come 
 and live with you then, may n't I ? " 
 
 " My home is yours, dear Laura, and everything I 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 243 
 
 have," Pen said. " If I did not tell you, it was be- 
 cause — because — I do not know : nothing is decided 
 yet. No words have passed between us. But you 
 think Blanche could be happy with me — don't you ? 
 Not a romantic fondness, you know. I have no heart, 
 I think ; I Ve told her so : only a sober-sided attach- 
 ment : — and want my wife on one side of the lire and 
 my sister on the other, — Parliament in the session 
 and Fairoaks in the holidays, and my Laura never to 
 leave me until somebody who has a right comes to 
 take her away." 
 
 Somebody who has a right — somebody with a 
 right! Why did Pen, as he looked at the girl and 
 slowly uttered the words, begin to feel angry and 
 jealous of the invisible somebody with the right to 
 take her away ? Anxious, but a minute ago, how she 
 would take the news regarding his probable arrange- 
 ments with Blanche, Pen was hurt somehow that she 
 received the intelligence so easily, and took his hap- 
 piness for granted. 
 
 " Until somebody comes," Laura said, with a laugh, 
 " I will stay at home and be Aunt Laura, and take 
 care of the children when Blanche is in the world. I 
 have arranged it all. I am an excellent housekeeper. 
 Do you know I have been to market at Paris with 
 Mrs. Beck, and have taken some lessons from M. 
 Grandjean ? And I have had some lessons in Paris 
 in singing too, with the money which you sent me, 
 you kind boy : and I can sing much better now : and 
 I have learned to dance, though not so well as 
 Blanche, and when you become a Minister of State, 
 Blanche shall present me : " and with this, and with 
 a provoking good-humor, she performed for him the 
 last Parisian curtsy. 
 
 Lady Rockminster came in whilst this curtsy was 
 
244 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 being performed, and gave to Arthur one finger to 
 shake ; which he took, and over which he bowed as 
 well as he could, which, in truth, was very clumsily. 
 
 " So you are going to be married, sir," said the old 
 lady. 
 
 "Scold him, Lady Kockminster, for not telling us," 
 Laura said, going away : which, in truth, the old lady 
 began instantly to do. " So you are going to marry, 
 and to go into Parliament in place of that good-for-noth- 
 ing Sir Francis Clavering. I wanted him to give my 
 grandson his seat — why did he not give my grand- 
 son his seat ? I hope you are to have a great deal 
 of money with Miss Amory. I would 't take her 
 without a great deal." 
 
 i( Sir Francis Clavering is tired of Parliament," Pen 
 said, wincing, "and — and I rather wish to attempt that 
 career. The rest of the story is at least premature." 
 
 "I wonder, when you had Laura at home, you 
 could take up with such an affected little creature as 
 that," the old lady continued. 
 
 " I am very sorry Miss Amory does not please your 
 ladyship," said Pen, smiling. 
 
 " You mean — that it is no affair of mine, and that 
 I am not going to marry her. Well, I 'm not, and 
 I'm very glad I am not — a little odious thing — 
 when I think that a man could prefer her to my 
 Laura, I 've no patience with him, and so I tell you, 
 Mr. Arthur Pendennis." 
 
 " I am very glad you see Laura with such favorable 
 eyes," Pen said. 
 
 " You are very glad, and you are very sorry. What 
 does it matter, sir, whether you are very glad or very 
 sorry ? A young man who prefers Miss Amory to 
 Miss Bell has no business to be sorry or glad. A 
 young man who takes up with such a crooked lump 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 245 
 
 of affectation as that little Amory — for she is crooked, 
 I tell you she is, — after seeing my Laura, has no 
 right to hold up his head again. Where is your 
 friend Bluebeard ? The tall young man, I mean, — 
 Warrington, is n't his name ? Why does he not come 
 down, and marry Laura ? What do the young men 
 mean by not marrying such a girl as that ? They all 
 marry for money now. You are all selfish and cowards. 
 We ran away with each other, and made foolish 
 matches in my time. I have no patience with the 
 young men ! When I was at Paris in the winter, I 
 asked all the three attaches at the Embassy why they 
 did not fall in love with Miss Bell? They laughed — 
 they said they wanted money. You are all selfish — 
 you are all cowards." 
 
 "I hope before you offered Miss Bell to the at- 
 taches" said Pen, with some heat, " you did her the 
 favor to consult her ? " 
 
 "Miss Bell has only a little money. Miss Bell 
 must marry soon. Somebody must make a match for 
 her, sir ; and a girl can't offer herself," said the old 
 dowager, with great state. " Laura, my dear, I 've 
 been telling your cousin that all the young men 
 are selfish; and that there is not a pennyworth of 
 romance left among them. He is as bad as the 
 rest." 
 
 u Have you been asking Arthur why he won't 
 marry me ? " said Laura, with a smile, coming back 
 and taking her cousin's hand. (She had been away, 
 perhaps, to hide some traces of emotion, which she 
 did not wish others to see.) " He is going to marry 
 somebody else ; and I intend to be very fond of her, 
 and to go and live with them, provided he then does 
 not ask every bachelor who comes to his house, why 
 he does not marry me ? " 
 
246 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 The terrors of Pen's conscience being thus appeased, 
 and his examination before Laura over without any 
 reproaches on the part of the latter, Pen began to find 
 that his duty and inclination led him constantly to 
 Baymouth, where Lady Kockminster informed him 
 that a place was always reserved for him at her tabic. 
 " And I recommend you to come often," the old lady 
 said, " for Grandjean is an excellent cook, and to be 
 with Laura and me will do your manners good. It is 
 easy to see that you are always thinking about your- 
 self. Don 't blush and stammer — almost all young 
 men are always thinking about themselves. My sons 
 and grandsons always were until I cured them. Come 
 here, and let us teach you to behave properly; 
 you will not have to carve, that is done at the side- 
 table. Hecker will give you as much wine as is good 
 for you ; and on days when you are very good and 
 amusing you shall have some champagne. Hecker, 
 mind what I say. Mr. Pendennis is Miss Laura's 
 brother ; and you will make him comfortable, and see 
 that he does not have too much wine, or disturb me 
 whilst I am taking my nap after dinner. You are 
 selfish: I intend to cure you of being selfish. You 
 will dine here when you have no other engagements ; 
 and if it rains, you had better put up at the hotel." 
 As long as the good lady could order everybody round 
 about her, she was not hard to please; and all the 
 slaves and subjects of her little dowager court trem- 
 bled before her, but loved her. 
 
 She did not receive a very numerous or brilliant so- 
 ciety. The doctor, of course, was admitted, as a con- 
 stant and faithful visitor ; the vicar and his curate ; 
 and on public days the vicar's wife and daughters, 
 and some of the season visitors at Baymouth were re- 
 ceived at the old lady's entertainments : but generally 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 247 
 
 the company was a small one, and Mr. Arthur drank 
 his wine by himself, when Lady Rockminster retired 
 to take her doze, and to be played and sung to sleep 
 by Laura after dinner. 
 
 " If my music can give her a nap," said the good- 
 natured girl, " ought I not to be very glad that I can 
 do so much good ? Lady Rockminster sleeps very 
 little of night : and I used to read to her until I fell 
 ill at Paris, since when she will not hear of my 
 sitting up." 
 
 " Why did you not write to me when you were ill ? " 
 asked Pen, with a blush. 
 
 " What good could you do me ? I had Martha to 
 nurse me, and the doctor every day. You are too 
 busy to write to women or to think about them. You 
 have your books and your newspapers, and your poli- 
 tics and your railroads to occupy you. I wrote when 
 I was well." 
 
 And Pen looked at her, and blushed again, as he 
 remembered that, during all the time of her illness, he 
 had never written to her, and had scarcely thought 
 about her. 
 
 In consequence of his relationship, Pen was free to 
 walk and ride with his cousin constantly, and in the 
 course of those walks and rides, could appreciate the 
 sweet frankness of her disposition, and the truth, sim- 
 plicity, and kindliness of her fair and spotless heart. 
 In their mother's life-time, she had never spoken so 
 openly or so cordially as now. The desire of poor 
 Helen to make a union between her two children, had 
 caused a reserve on Laura's part towards Pen ; for 
 which, under the altered circumstances of Arthur's 
 life, there was now no necessity. He was engaged to 
 another woman ; and Laura became his sister at once, 
 — hiding, or banishing from herself, any doubts which 
 
248 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 she might have as to his choice ; striving to look 
 cheerfully forward, and hope for his prosperity ; prom- 
 ising herself to do all that affection might do to make 
 her mother's darling happy. 
 
 Their talk was often about the departed mother. 
 And it was from a thousand stories which Laura told 
 him that Arthur was made aware how constant and 
 absorbing that silent maternal devotion had been ; 
 which had accompanied him present and absent 
 through life, and had only ended with the fond 
 widow's last breath. One day the people in Clavering 
 saw a lad in charge of a couple of horses at the 
 churchyard gate : and it was told over the place that 
 Pen and Laura had visited Helen's grave together. 
 Since Arthur had come down into the country, he had 
 been there once or twice ; but the sight of the sacred 
 stone had brought no consolation to him. A guilty 
 man doing a guilty deed : a mere speculator, content 
 to lay down his faith and honor for a fortune and a 
 worldly career; and owning that his life was but a 
 contemptible surrender — what right had he in the 
 holy place ? — what booted it to him that others in 
 the world he lived in were no better than himself ? 
 Arthur and Laura rode by the gates of Fairoaks ; and 
 he shook hands with his tenant's children, playing on 
 the lawn and the terrace — Laura looked steadily at 
 the cottage wall, at the creeper on the porch and the 
 magnolia growing up to her window. " Mr. Pendennis 
 rode by to-day," one of the boys told his mother, 
 " with a lady, and he stopped and talked to us, and he 
 asked for a bit of honeysuckle off the porch, and gave 
 it the lady. I couldn't see if she was pretty; she 
 had her veil down. She was riding one of Cramp's 
 horses, out of Baymouth." 
 
 As they rode over the downs between home and 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 249 
 
 Baymouth, Pen did not speak much, though they rode 
 very close together. He was thinking what a mock- 
 ery life was, and how men refuse happiness when 
 they may have it ; or, having it, kick it down ; or 
 barter it, with their eyes open, for a little worthless 
 money or beggarly honor. And then the thought 
 came, what does it matter for the little space.? The 
 lives of the best and purest of us are consumed in a 
 vain desire, and end in a disappointment : as the dear 
 soul's who sleeps in her grave yonder. She had her 
 selfish ambition, as much as Caesar had; and died, 
 balked of her life's longing. The stone covers over 
 our hopes and our memories. Our place knows us 
 not. "Other people's children are playing on the 
 grass," he broke out, in a hard voice, " where you and 
 I used to play, Laura. And you see how the magno- 
 lia we planted has grown up since our time. I have 
 been round to one or two of the cottages where my 
 mother used to visit. It is scarcely more than a year 
 that she is gone, and the people whom she used to 
 benefit care no more for her death than for Queen 
 Anne's. We are all selfish : the world is selfish : 
 there are but a few exceptions, like you, my dear, to 
 shine like good deeds in a naughty world, and make 
 the blackness more dismal." 
 
 " I wish you would not speak in that way, Arthur," 
 said Laura, looking down and bending her head to the 
 honeysuckle on her breast. "When you told the 
 little boy to give me this, you were not selfish." 
 
 " A pretty sacrifice I made to get it for you ! " said 
 the sneerer. 
 
 " But your heart was kind and full of love when 
 you did so. One cannot ask for more than love and 
 kindness ; and if you think humbly of yourself, 
 Arthur, the love and kindness are not diminished — 
 
250 
 
 PENDENNI& 
 
 are they ? I often thought our dearest mother spoiled 
 you at home, by worshipping you ; and that if you 
 are — I hate the word — what you say, her too great 
 fondness helped to make you so. And as for the 
 world, when men go out into it, I suppose they can- 
 not be otherwise than selfish. You have to fight lor 
 yourself, and to get on for yourself, and to make a 
 name for yourself. Mamma and your uncle both en- 
 couraged you in this ambition. If it is a vain thing, 
 why pursue it ? I suppose such a clever man as you 
 intend to do a great deal of good to the country, by 
 going into Parliament, or you would not wish to be 
 there. What are you going to do when you are in 
 the House of Commons ? " 
 
 "Women don't understand about politics, my dear," 
 Pen said, sneering at himself as he spoke. 
 
 " But why don't you make us understand ? I could 
 never tell about Mr. Pynsent why he should like to 
 be there so much. He is not a clever man — 99 
 
 " He certainly is not a genius, Pynsent," said Pen. 
 
 " Lady Diana says that he attends Committees all 
 day; that then again he is at the House all night; 
 that he always votes as he is told; that he never 
 speaks ; thai: he will never get on beyond a subordi- 
 nate place, and, as his grandmother tells him, he is 
 choked with red-tape. Are you going to follow the 
 same career, Arthur? What is there in it so brill- 
 iant that you should be so eager for it ? I would 
 rather that you should stop at home, and write books 
 — good books, kind books, with gentle kind thoughts, 
 such as you have, dear Arthur, and such as might do 
 people good to read. And if you do not win fame, 
 what then ? You own it is vanity, and you can live 
 very happily without it. I must not pretend to ad- 
 vise - but I take you at your own word about the 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 251 
 
 world ; and as you own it is wicked, and that it tires 
 you, ask you why you don't leave it ? " 
 
 "And what would you have me do?" asked Arthur. 
 
 " I would have you bring your wife to Fairoaks to 
 live there, and study, and do good round about you. 
 I would like to see your own children playing on the 
 lawn, Arthur, and that we might pray in our mother's 
 church again once more, dear brother. If the world 
 is a temptation, are we not told to pray that we may 
 not be led into it ? " 
 
 "Do you think Blanche would make a good wife 
 for a petty country gentleman ? Do you think I 
 should become the character very well, Laura ? 99 Pen 
 asked. " Remember temptation walks about the 
 hedge-rows as well as the city streets : and idleness 
 is the greatest tempter of all." 
 
 " What does — does Mr. Warrington say ? " said 
 Laura, as a blush mounted up to her cheek, and of 
 which Pen saw the fervor, though Laura's veil fell 
 over her face to hide it. 
 
 Pen rode on by Laura's side silently for a while. 
 George's name so mentioned brought back the past 
 to him, and the thoughts which he had once had re- 
 garding George and Laura. Why should the recur- 
 ence of the thought agitate him, now that he knew 
 the union was impossible ? Why should he be curi- 
 ous to know if, during the months of their intimacy, 
 Laura had felt a regard for Warrington ? From that 
 day until the present time George had never alluded 
 to his story, and Arthur remembered now that since 
 then George had scarcely ever mentioned Laura's 
 name. 
 
 At last he came close to her. " Tell me something, 
 Laura," he said. 
 
 She put back her veil and looked at him. " What is 
 
252 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 it, Arthur ? " she asked — though from the tremor 
 of her voice she guessed very well. 
 
 " Tell me — but for George's misfortune — I never 
 knew him speak of it before or since that day — 
 would you — would you have given him — what you 
 refused me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Pen," she said, bursting into tears. 
 
 " He deserved you better than I did," poor Arthur 
 groaned forth, with an indescribable pang at his 
 heart. "I am but a selfish wretch, and George is 
 better, nobler, truer, than I am. God bless him ! " 
 
 " Yes, Pen," said Laura, reaching out her hand to 
 her cousin, and he put his arm round her, and for a 
 moment she sobbed on his shoulder. 
 
 The gentle girl had had her secret, and told it. In 
 the widow's last journey from Fairoaks, when hasten- 
 ing with her mother to Arthur's sick-bed, Laura had 
 made a different confession ; and it was only when 
 Warrington told his own story, and described the 
 hopeless condition of his life, that she discovered 
 how much her feelings had changed, and with what 
 tender sympathy, with what great respect, delight, 
 and admiration she had grown to regard her cousin's 
 friend. Until she knew that some plans she might 
 have dreamed of were impossible, and that Warring- 
 ton, reading her heart, perhaps, had told his melan- 
 choly story to warn her, she had not asked herself 
 whether it was possible that her affections could 
 change ; and had been shocked and scared by the dis- 
 covery of the truth. How should she have told it to 
 Helen, and confessed her shame ? Poor Laura felt 
 guilty before her friend, with the secret which she 
 dared not confide to her ; felt as if she had been un- 
 grateful for Helen's love and regard ; felt as if she 
 had been wickedly faithless to Pen in withdrawing 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 253 
 
 that love from him which he did not even care to 
 accept ; humbled even and repentant before Warring- 
 ton, lest she should have encouraged him by undue 
 sympathy, or shown the preference which she began 
 to feel. 
 
 The catastrophe which broke up Laura's home, 
 and the grief and anguish which she felt for her 
 mother's death, gave her little leisure for thoughts 
 more selfish ; and by the time she rallied from that 
 grief the minor one was also almost cured. It was 
 but for a moment that she had indulged a hope about 
 Warrington. Her admiration and respect for him re- 
 mained as strong as ever. But the tender feeling 
 with which she knew she had regarded him was 
 schooled into such calmness, that it may be said to 
 have been dead and passed away. The pang which 
 it left behind was one of humility and remorse. " Oh, 
 how wicked and proud I was about Arthur," she 
 thought ; " how self-confident and unforgiving ! I 
 never forgave from my heart this poor girl, who was 
 fond of him, or him for encouraging her love ; and I 
 have been more guilty than she, poor, little, artless 
 creature ! I, professing to love one man, could listen 
 to another only too eagerly; and would not pardon 
 the change of feelings in Arthur, whilst I myself was 
 changing and unfaithful." And so humiliating her- 
 self and acknowledging her weakness, the poor girl 
 sought for strength and refuge in the manner in 
 which she had been accustomed to look for them. 
 
 She had done no wrong : but there are some folks 
 who suffer for a fault ever so trifling as much 
 as others whose stout consciences can walk under 
 crimes of almost any weight ; and poor Laura chose 
 to fancy that she had acted in this delicate juncture of 
 her life as a very great criminal. She determined 
 
254 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 that she had done Pen a great injury by withdrawing 
 that love which, privately in her mother's hearing, 
 she had bestowed upon him; that she had been un- 
 grateful to her dead benefactress by ever allowing 
 herself to think of another or of violating her prom- 
 ise ; and that, considering her own enormous crimes, 
 she ought to be very gentle in judging those of others, 
 whose temptations were much greater, very likely : 
 and whose motives she could not understand. 
 
 A year back, Laura would have been indignant at 
 the idea that Arthur should marry Blanche : and her 
 high spirit would have risen as she thought that from 
 worldly motives he should stoop to one so unworthy. 
 Now when the news was brought to her of such a 
 chance (the intelligence was given to her by old Lady 
 Rockminster, whose speeches were as direct and rapid 
 as a slap on the face), the humbled girl winced a little 
 at the blow, but bore it meekly, and with a desperate 
 acquiescence. " He has a right to marry ; he knows 
 a great deal more of the world than I do," she argued 
 with herself. " Blanche may not be so light-minded 
 as she seemed, and who am I to be her judge ? I 
 dare say it is very good that Arthur should go into 
 Parliament and distinguish himself, and my duty is 
 to do everything that lies in my power to aid him and 
 Blanche, and to make his home happy. I dare say I 
 shall live with them. If I am godmother to one of 
 their children, I will leave her my three thousand 
 pounds ! " And forthwith she began to think what 
 she could give Blanche out of her small treasures, and 
 how best to conciliate her affection. She wrote her 
 forthwith a kind letter, in which, of course, no men- 
 tion was made of the plans in contemplation, but in 
 which Laura recalled old times, and spoke her good- 
 will, and in reply to this she received an eager 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 255 
 
 answer from Blanche ; in which not a word about 
 marriage was said, to be sure, but Mr. Pendennis was 
 mentioned two or three times in the letter, and they 
 were to be henceforth dearest Laura and dearest 
 Blanche, and loving sisters, and so forth. 
 
 When Pen and Laura reached home, after Laura's 
 confession (Pen's noble acknowledgment of his own 
 inferiority and generous expression of love for War- 
 rington, causing the girl's heart to throb, and render- 
 ing doubly keen those tears which she sobbed on his 
 shoulder), a little slim letter was awaiting Miss Bell 
 in the hall, which she trembled rather guiltily as she 
 unsealed, and which Pen blushed as he recognized: 
 for he saw instantly that it was from Blanche. 
 
 Laura opened it hastily, and cast her eyes quickly 
 over it, as Pen kept his fixed on her, blushing. 
 
 "She dates from London," Laura said. "She has 
 been with old Bonner, Lady Clavering's maid. Bon- 
 ner is going to marry Lightfoot the butler. Where 
 do you think Blanche has been ? " she cried out 
 eagerly. 
 
 " To Paris, to Scotland, to tlfe Casino ? " 
 
 "To Shepherd's Inn, to see Fanny; but Fanny 
 was n't there, and Blanche is going to leave a present 
 for her. Isn't it kind of her and thoughtful ? " 
 And she handed the letter to Pen, who read, — 
 
 "I saw Madame Mere, who was scrubbing the 
 room, and looked at me with very scrubby looks ; but 
 la belle Fanny was not au logis ; and as I heard that 
 she was in Captain Strong's apartments, Bonner and 
 I mounted au troisieme to see this famous beauty. 
 Another disappointment — only the Chevalier Strong 
 and a friend of his in the room : so we came away 
 after all without seeing the enchanting Fanny. 
 
256 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Je t' envoie mille et mille baisers. When will 
 that horrid canvassing be over ? Sleeves are worn " 
 etc. etc. 
 
 After dinner the doctor was reading the " Times." 
 " A young gentleman I attended when he was here 
 some eight or nine years ago, has come into a fine 
 fortune," the doctor said. " I see here announced the 
 death of John Henry Foker, Esq., of Logwood Hall, 
 at Pau, in the Pyrenees, on the 15th ult." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IK WHICH THE MAJOR IS BIDDEN TO STAND AND 
 DELIVER. 
 
 Any gentleman who has frequented the " Wheel of 
 Fortune M public-house, where it may be remembered 
 that Mr. James Morgan's Club was held, and where 
 Sir Francis Clavering had an interview with Major 
 Pendennis, is aware that there are three rooms for 
 guests upon the ground-floor, besides the bar where 
 the landlady sits. One is a parlor frequented by the 
 public at large ; to another room gentlemen in livery 
 resort ; and the third apartment, on the door of which 
 " Private 99 is painted, is that hired by the Club of 
 "The Confidentials," of which Messrs. Morgan and 
 Lightfoot were members. 
 
 The noiseless Morgan had listened to the conversa- 
 tion between Strong and Major Pendennis at the lat- 
 ter's own lodgings, and had carried away from it 
 matter for much private speculation ; and a desire of 
 knowledge had led him to follow his master when the 
 Major came to the " Wheel of Fortune," and to take 
 his place quietly in the Confidential room, whilst 
 Pendennis and Clavering had their discourse in the 
 parlor. There was a particular corner in the Confi- 
 dential room from which you could hear almost all 
 that passed in the next apartment; and as the con- 
 versation between the two gentlemen there was rather 
 angry, and carried on in a high key, Morgan had the 
 
258 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 benefit of overhearing almost the whole of it ; and 
 what he heard strengthened the conclusions which his 
 mind had previously formed. 
 
 " He knew Altamont at once, did he, when he saw 
 him in Sydney ? Clavering ain't no more married to 
 my Lady than I am ! Altamont 's the man : Alta- 
 mont 's a convict ; young Harthur comes into Parly- 
 ment, and the Gov'nor promises not to split. By 
 Jove, what a sly old rogue it is, that old Gov'nor ! 
 No wonder he 's anxious to make the match between 
 Blanche and Harthur : why, she '11 have a hundred 
 thousand if she 's a penny, and bring her man a seat 
 in Parlyment into the bargain." Nobody saw, but a 
 physiognomist would have liked to behold, the expres- 
 sion of Mr. Morgan's countenance, when this astound- 
 ing intelligence was made clear to him. "But for 
 my hage, and the confounded prejudices of society," he 
 said, surveying himself in the glass, " dammy, James 
 Morgan, you might marry her yourself." But if he 
 could not marry Miss Blanche and her fortune, Mor- 
 gan thought he could mend his own by the possession 
 of this information, and that it might be productive 
 of benefit to him from very many sources. Of all the 
 persons whom the secret affected, the greater number 
 would not like to have it known. For instance, Sir 
 Francis Clavering, whose fortune it involved, would 
 wish to keep it quiet ; Colonel Altamont, whose neck 
 it implicated, would naturally be desirous to hush it : 
 and that young upstart beast, Mr. Harthur, who was 
 for gettin' into Parlyment on the strenth of it, and 
 was as proud as if he was a duke with half a millium 
 a-year (such, we grieve to say, was Morgan's opinion 
 of his employer's nephew), would pay anything sooner 
 than let the world know that he was married to a con- 
 vick's daughter, and had got his seat in Parlyment by 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 259 
 
 trafficking with, this secret. As for Lady C, Morgan 
 thought, if she 's tired of Clavering, and wants to get 
 rid of him, she '11 pay if she 's frightened about her 
 son, and fond of the little beggar, she '11 pay all the 
 same : and Miss Blanche will certainly come down 
 handsome to the man who will put her into her 
 rights, which she was unjustly defrauded of them, and 
 no mistake. " Dammy," concluded the valet, reflecting 
 upon this wonderful hand which luck had given him 
 to play, " with such cards as these, James Morgan, 
 you are a made man. It may be a reg'lar enewity to 
 me. Every one of 'em must susscribe. And with 
 what I 've made already, I may cut business, give my 
 old Gov'nor warning, turn gentleman, and have a ser- 
 vant of my own, begad." Entertaining himself with 
 calculations such as these, that were not a little likely 
 to perturb a man's spirit, Mr. Morgan showed a very 
 great degree of self-command by appearing and being 
 calm, and by not allowing his future prospects in any 
 way to interfere with his present duties. 
 
 One of the persons whom the story chiefly con- 
 cerned, Colonel Altamont, was absent from London, 
 when Morgan was thus made acquainted with his 
 history. The valet knew of Sir Francis Clavering's 
 Shepherd's Inn haunt, and walked thither an hour or 
 two after the Baronet and Pendennis had had their 
 conversation together. But that bird was flown; 
 Colonel Altamont had received his Derby winnings, 
 and was gone to the Continent. The fact of his 
 absence was exceedingly vexatious to Mr. Morgan. 
 " He '11 drop all that money at the gambling-shops on 
 the Rhind," thought Morgan, " and I might have had 
 a good bit of it. It 's confounded annoying to think 
 he's gone and couldn't have waited a few days 
 longer." Hope, triumphant or deferred, ambition or 
 
260 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 disappointment, victory or patient ambush, Morgan 
 bore all alike, with similar equable countenance. 
 Until the proper day came, the Major's boots were 
 varnished and his hair was curled, his early cup of 
 tea was brought to his bedside, his oaths, rebukes, and 
 senile satire borne, with silent obsequious fidelity. 
 Who would think, to see him waiting upon his master, 
 packing and shouldering his trunks, and occasionally 
 assisting at table, at the country-houses where he 
 might be staying, that Morgan was richer than his 
 employer, and knew his secrets and other people's ? 
 In the profession Mr. Morgan was greatly respected 
 and admired, and his reputation for wealth and 
 wisdom got him much renown at most supper-tables : 
 the younger gentlemen voted him stoopid, a feller of 
 no ideas, and a fogy, in a word : but not one of them 
 would not say amen to the heartfelt prayer which 
 some of the most serious-minded among the gentle- 
 men uttered, " When I die may I cut up as well as 
 Morgan Pendennis ! " 
 
 As became a man of fashion, Major Pendennis 
 spent the autumn passing from house to house of 
 such country friends as were at home to receive him, 
 and if the Duke happened to be abroad, or the 
 Marquis in Scotland, condescending to sojourn with 
 Sir John or the plain Squire. To say the truth, the 
 old gentleman's reputation was somewhat on the 
 wane : many of the men of his time had died out, 
 and the occupants of their halls and the present 
 wearers of their titles knew not Major Pendennis; 
 and little cared for his traditions of the wild Prince 
 and Poins, and of the heroes of fashion passed away. 
 It must have struck the good man with melancholy as 
 lie walked by many a London door, to think how 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 261 
 
 seldom it was now opened for him, and how often he 
 used to knock at it — to what banquets and welcome 
 he used to pass through it — a score of years back. 
 He began to own that he was no longer of the present 
 age, and dimly to apprehend that the young men 
 laughed at him. Such melancholy musings must come 
 across many a Pall Mall philosopher. The men, 
 thinks he, are not such as they used to be in his 
 time : the old grand manner and courtly grace of life 
 are gone : what is Castlewood House and the present 
 Castlewood, compared to the magnificence of the old 
 mansion and owner ? The late lord came to London 
 with four post-chaises and sixteen horses : all the 
 West Road hurried out to look at his cavalcade : the 
 people in London streets even stopped as his pro- 
 cession passed them. The present lord travels with 
 five bagmen in a railway carriage, and sneaks away 
 from the station, smoking a cigar in a brougham. 
 The late lord in autumn filled Castlewood with com- 
 pany, who drank claret till midnight : the present 
 man buries himself in a hut on a Scotch mountain, 
 and passes November in two or three closets in an 
 entresol at Paris, where his amusements are a dinner 
 at a cafe and a box at a little theatre. What a con- 
 trast there is between his Lady Lorraine, the Regent's 
 Lady Lorraine, and her little ladyship of the present 
 era ! He figures to himself the first, beautiful, gor- 
 geous, magnificent in diamonds and velvets, daring in 
 rouge, the wits of the world (the old wits, the old 
 polished gentlemen — not the canaille of to-day with 
 their language of the cab-stand, and their coats smell- 
 ing of smoke) bowing at her feet ; and then thinks of 
 to-day's Lady Lorraine — a little woman in a black 
 silk gown, like a governess, who talks astronomy, and 
 laboring classes, and emigration, and the deuce knows 
 
262 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 what, and lurks to church at eight o'clock in the 
 morning. Abbots-Lorraine, that used to be the noblest 
 house in the county, is turned into a monastery — a 
 regular La Trappe. They don't drink two glasses of 
 wine after dinner, and every other man at table is a 
 country curate, with a white neck-cloth, whose talk is 
 about Polly Higson's progress at school, or widow 
 Watkins's lumbago. " And the other young men, 
 those lounging guardsmen and great lazy dandies — 
 sprawling over sofas and billiard-tables, and stealing 
 off to smoke pipes in each other's bedrooms, caring 
 for nothing, reverencing nothing, not even an old 
 gentleman who has known their fathers and their 
 betters, not even a pretty woman — what a difference 
 there is between these men who poison the very 
 turnips and stubble-fields with their tobacco, and the 
 gentlemen of our time ! " thinks the Major ; " the 
 breed is gone — there 's no use for 'em ; they 're 
 replaced by a parcel of damned cotton-spinners and 
 utilitarians, and young sprigs of parsons with their 
 hair combed down their backs. I 'm getting old : 
 they 're getting past me : they laugh at us old boys," 
 thought old Pendennis. And he was not far wrong ; 
 the times and manners which he admired were pretty 
 nearly gone — the gay young men " larked " him 
 irreverently, whilst the serious youth had a grave pity 
 and wonder at him, which would have been even 
 more painful to bear, had the old gentleman been 
 aware of its extent. But he was rather simple : his 
 examination of moral questions had never been very 
 deep; it had never struck him perhaps, until very 
 lately, that he was otherwise than a most respectable 
 and rather fortunate man. Is there no old age but his 
 without reverence ? Did youthful folly never jeer at 
 other bald pates ? For the past two or three years, he 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 263 
 
 had begun to perceive that his day was well-nigh over, 
 and that the men of the new time had begun to reign. 
 
 After a rather unsuccessful autumn season, then, 
 during which he was faithfully followed by Mr. Mor- 
 gan, his nephew Arthur being engaged, as we have 
 seen, at Clavering, it happened that Major Pendennis 
 came back for a while to London, at the dismal end of 
 October, when the fogs and the lawyers come to town. 
 Who has not looked with interest at those loaded cabs, 
 piled boxes, and crowded children, rattling through the 
 streets on the dun October evenings ; stopping at the 
 dark houses, where they discharge nurse and infant, 
 girls, matron and father, whose holidays are over ? 
 Yesterday it was France and sunshine, or Broadstairs 
 and liberty ; to-day comes work and a yellow fog ; 
 and, ye gods ! what a heap of bills there lies in 
 Master's study. And the clerk has brought the law- 
 yer's papers from chambers ; and in half an hour 
 the literary man knows that the printer's boy will be 
 in the passage : and Mr. Smith with that little account 
 (that particular little account) has called presentient 
 of your arrival, and has left word that he will call to- 
 morrow morning at ten. Who amongst us has not 
 said good-by to his holiday ; returned to dun London, 
 and his fate ; surveyed his labors and liabilities laid 
 out before him, and been aware of that inevitable lit- 
 tle account to settle ? Smith and his little account in 
 the morning, symbolize duty, difficulty, struggle, which 
 you will meet, let us hope, friend, with a manly and 
 honest heart. — And you think of him, as the children 
 are slumbering once more in their own beds, and the 
 watchful housewife tenderly pretends to sleep. 
 
 Old Pendennis had no special labors or bills to en- 
 counter on the morrow, as he had no affection at home 
 to soothe him. He had always money m his desk 
 
264 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 sufficient for his wants; and being by nature and 
 habit tolerably indifferent to the wants of other people 
 these latter were not likely to disturb him. But a 
 gentleman may be out of temper though he does not 
 owe a shilling : and though he may be ever so selfish, 
 he must occasionally feel dispirited and lonely. He 
 had had two or three twinges of gout in the country- 
 house where he had been staying: the birds were 
 wild and shy, and the walking over the ploughed 
 fields had fatigued him deucedly : the young men had 
 laughed at him, and he had been peevish at table once 
 or twice : he had not been able to get his whist of an 
 evening : and, in fine, was glad to come away. In all 
 his dealings with Morgan, his valet, he had been ex- 
 ceedingly sulky and discontented. He had sworn at 
 him and abused him for many days past. He had 
 scalded his mouth with bad soup at Swindon. He had 
 left his umbrella in the railroad carriage : at which 
 piece of forgetfulness, he was in such a rage that he 
 cursed Morgan more freely than ever. Both the 
 chimneys smoked furiously in his lodgings ; and when 
 he caused the windows to be flung open, he swore so 
 acrimoniously, that Morgan was inclined to fling him 
 out of window, too, through that open casement. The 
 valet swore after his master, as Pendennis went down 
 the street on his way to the Club. 
 
 Bays's was not at all pleasant. The house had been 
 new painted, and smelt of varnish and turpentine, and 
 a large streak of white paint inflicted itself on the 
 back of the old boy's fur-collared surtout. The din- 
 ner was not good : and the three most odious men in 
 all London — old Hawkshaw, whose cough and accom- 
 paniments are fit to make any man uncomfortable ; 
 old Colonel Gripley, who seizes on all the newspapers ; 
 and that irreclaimable old bore Jawkins who would 
 
Mr. Morgan at His Ease. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 265 
 
 come and dine at the next table to Pendennis, and de- 
 scribe to him every inn-bill which he had paid in his 
 foreign tour : each and all of these disagreeable per- 
 sonages and incidents had contributed to make Major 
 Pendennis miserable ; and the Club waiter trod on his 
 toe as he brought him his coffee. Never alone appear 
 the Immortals. The furies always hunt in company : 
 they pursued Pendennis from home to the Club, and 
 from the Club home. 
 
 Whilst the Major was absent from his lodgings, 
 Morgan had been seated in the landlady's parlor, drink- 
 ing freely of hot brandy-and-water, and pouring out on 
 Mrs. Brixham some of the abuse which he had re- 
 ceived from his master up-stairs. Mrs. Brixham was 
 Morgan's slave. He was his landlady's landlord. He 
 had bought the lease of the house which she rented ; 
 he had got her name and her son's to acceptances, and 
 a bill of sale which made him master of the luckless 
 widow's furniture. The young Brixham was a clerk in 
 an insurance-office, and Morgan could put him into 
 what he called quod any day. Mrs. Brixham was a 
 clergyman's widow, and Mr. Morgan, after performing 
 his duties on the first floor, had a pleasure in making 
 the old lady fetch him his bootjack and his slippers. 
 She was his slave. The little black profiles of her son 
 and daughter ; the very picture of Tiddlecot Church, 
 where she was married, and her poor dear Brixham 
 lived and died, was now Morgan's property, as it hung 
 there over the mantel-piece of his back parlor. Mor- 
 gan sat in the widow's back-room, in the ex-curate's 
 old horse-hair study-chair, making Mrs. Brixham bring 
 supper for him, and fill his glass again and again. 
 
 The liquor was bought with the poor woman's own 
 coin, and hence Morgan indulged in it only the more 
 freely ; and he had eaten his supper and was drinking 
 
266 PENDENNIS. 
 
 a third tumbler when old Pen dermis returned from 
 the Club, and went up-stairs to his rooms. Mr. Mor- 
 gan swore very savagely at him and his bell, when he 
 heard the latter, and finished his tumbler of brandy 
 before he went up to answer the summons. 
 
 He received the abuse consequent on this delay in 
 silence, nor did the Major condescend to read in the 
 flushed face and glaring eyes of the man, the anger 
 under which he was laboring. The old gentleman's 
 foot-bath was at the fire ; his gown and slippers 
 awaiting him there. Morgan knelt down to take his 
 boots off with due subordination: and as the Major 
 abused him from above, kept up a growl of maledic- 
 tions below at his feet. Thus, when Pendennis was 
 crying "Confound you, sir, mind that strap — curse 
 you, don't wrench my foot off," Morgan sotto voce be- 
 low was expressing a wish to strangle him, drown 
 him, and punch his head off. 
 
 The boots removed, it became necessary to divest 
 Mr. Pendennis of his coat : and for this purpose the 
 valet had necessarily to approach very near to his 
 employer ; so near that Pendennis could not but per- 
 ceive what Mr. Morgan's late occupation had been; 
 to which he adverted in that simple and forcible 
 phraseology which men are sometimes in the habit of 
 using to their domestics ; informing Morgan that he 
 was a drunken beast, and that he smelt of brandy. 
 
 At this the man broke out, losing patience, and 
 flinging up all subordination, " I 'm drunk, am I ? 
 I 'm a beast, am I ? I 'm d — d, am I ? you infernal 
 old miscreant. Shall I wring your old head off, and 
 drownd yer in that pail of water ? Do you think I 'm 
 a goin' to bear your confounded old harrogance, you 
 old Wigsby ? Chatter your old hivories at me, do 
 you, you grinning old baboon ! Come on, if you are a 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 267 
 
 man, and can stand to a man. Ha ! you coward, 
 knives, knives ! " 
 
 " If you advance a step I '11 send it into you," said 
 the Major, seizing up a knife that was on the table 
 near him. " Go down stairs, you drunken brute, and 
 leave the house ; send for your book and your wages 
 in the morning, and never let me see your insolent 
 lace again. This d — d impertinence of yours has 
 been growing for some months past. You have been 
 growing too rich. You are not fit for service. Get 
 out of it, and out of the house. " 
 
 " And where would you wish me to go, pray, out of 
 the 'ouse ? " asked the man, " and won't it be equal 
 convenient to-morrow mornin' ? — tootyfay mame shose, 
 sivvaplay, munseer? " 
 
 " Silence, you beast, and go ! " cried out the Major. 
 
 Morgan began to laugh, with rather a sinister 
 laugh. " Look yere, Pendennis," he said, seating him- 
 self ; " since I 've been in this room you 've called me 
 beast, brute, dog : and d — d me, have n't you ? How 
 do you suppose one man likes that sort of talk from 
 another ? How many years have I waited on you, and 
 how many damns and cusses have you given me, along 
 with my wages ? Do you think a man 's a dog, that 
 you can talk to him in this way ? If I choose to 
 drink a little, why should n't I ? I 've seen many a 
 gentleman drunk form'ly, and per'aps have the 'abit 
 from them. I ain't a goin' to leave this house, old 
 feller, and shall I tell you why ? The house is my 
 house, every stick of furnitur' in it is mine, excep' 
 your old traps, and your shower-bath, and your wig- 
 box. I 've bought the place, I tell you, with my own 
 industry and perseverance. I can show a hundred 
 pound, where you can show a fifty, or your damned 
 supersellious nephew either. I 've served you honor* 
 
2G8 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 able, done everything for you these dozen years, and 
 * I 'm a dog, am I ? I 'm a beast, am I ? That 's the 
 language for gentlemen, not for our rank. But I '11 
 bear it no more. I throw up your service ; I 'm tired 
 on it ; I 've combed your old wig and buckled your 
 old girths and waistbands long enough, I tell you. 
 Don't look savage at me, I 'm sitting in my own chair, 
 in my own room, a telling the truth to you. I '11 be 
 your beast, and your brute, and your dog no more, 
 Major Pendennis 'Alf Pay." 
 
 The fury of the old gentleman, met by the servant's 
 abrupt revolt, had been shocked and cooled by the 
 concussion, as much as if a sudden shower-bath or 
 a pail of cold water had been flung upon him. That 
 effect produced, and his anger calmed, Morgan's 
 speech had interested him, and he rather respected 
 his adversary, and his courage in facing him, as of 
 old days, in the fencing-room, he would have admired 
 the opponent who hit him. 
 
 " You are no longer my servant," the Major said : 
 " and the house may be yours ; but the lodgings are 
 mine, and you will have the goodness to leave them. 
 To-morrow morning, when we have settled our ac- 
 counts, I shall remove into other quarters. In the 
 mean time, I desire to go to bed, and have not the 
 slightest wish for your farther company." 
 
 "We'll have a settlement, don't you be afraid," 
 Morgan said, getting up from his chair. "I ain't 
 done with you yet ; nor with your family, nor with 
 the Clavering family, Major Pendennis ; and that you 
 shall know." 
 
 " Have the goodness to leave the room, sir ; — I 'm 
 tired," said the Major. 
 
 " Ha ! you '11 be more tired of me afore you 've 
 done," answered the man, with a sneer, and walked 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 269 
 
 out of the room ; leaving the Major to compose him- 
 self, as best he might, after the agitation of this 
 extraordinary scene. 
 
 He sat and mused by his fireside over the past 
 events, and the confounded impudence and ingrati- 
 tude of servants ; and thought how he should get a 
 new man : how devilish unpleasant it was for a man 
 of his age, and with his habits, to part w r ith a fellow 
 to whom he had been accustomed : how Morgan had 
 a receipt for boot-varnish, which was incomparably 
 better and more comfortable to the feet than any he 
 had ever tried : how very well he made mutton-broth, 
 and tended him when he was unwell. " Gad, it 's a 
 hard thing to lose a fellow of that sort : but he must 
 go," thought the Major. "He has grown rich, and 
 impudent since he has grown rich. He was horribly 
 tipsy and abusive to-night. We must part, and I 
 must go out of the lodgings. Dammy, I like the 
 lodgings ; I 'm used to 'em. It 's very unpleasant, 
 at my time of life, to change my quarters." And so 
 on, mused the old gentleman. The shower-bath had 
 done him good : the testiness was gone : the loss of 
 the umbrella, the smell of paint at the Club, were 
 forgotten under the superior excitement. " Confound 
 the insolent villain ! " thought the old gentleman. 
 " He understood my wants to a nicety ; he was the 
 best servant in England." He thought about his ser- 
 vant as a man thinks of a horse that has carried him 
 long and well, and that has come down with him, and 
 is safe no longer. How the deuce to replace him ? 
 Where can he get such another animal ? 
 
 In these melancholy cogitations the Major, who had 
 donned his own dressing-gown and replaced his head 
 of hair (a little gray had been introduced into the 
 coiffure of late by Mr. Truefitt, which had given the 
 
270 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Major's head the most artless and respectable appear- 
 ance) ; in these cogitations, we say, the Major, who 
 had taken off his wig and pnt on his night-handker- 
 chief, sat absorbed by the fireside, when a feeble 
 knock came at his door, which was presently opened 
 by the landlady of the lodgings. 
 
 " God bless my soul, Mrs. Brixham ! " cried out the 
 Major, startled that a lady should behold him in the 
 simple appareil of his night-toilet. " It — it 's very 
 late, Mrs. Brixham." 
 
 " I wish I might speak to you, sir," said the land- 
 lady, very piteously. 
 
 " About Morgan, I suppose ? He has cooled him- 
 self at the pump. Can't take him back, Mrs. Brix- 
 ham. Impossible. I 'd determined to part with him 
 before, when I heard of his dealings in the discount 
 business — I suppose you 've heard of them, Mrs. 
 Brixham ? My servant 's a capitalist, begad." 
 
 " Oh, sir," said Mrs. Brixham, " I know it to my 
 cost. I borrowed from him a little money five years 
 ago ; and though I have paid him many times over, 
 I am entirely in his power. I am ruined by him, sir. 
 Everything I had is his. He 's a dreadful man." 
 
 " Eh, Mrs. Brixham ? tant pis — dev'lish sorry for 
 you, and that I must quit your house after lodging 
 here so long : there 's no help for it. I must go." 
 
 " He says we must all go, sir," sobbed out the luck- 
 less widow. " He came down stairs from you just 
 now — he had been drinking, and it always makes 
 him very wicked — and he said that you had insulted 
 him, sir, and treated him like a dog, and spoken to 
 him unkindly ; and he swore he would be revenged, 
 and — and I owe him a hundred and twenty pounds, 
 sir, — and he has a bill of sale of all my furniture — 
 and says he will turn me out of my house, and send 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 271 
 
 my poor George to prison. He has been the ruin of 
 my family, that man." 
 
 " Dev'lish sorry, Mrs. Brixham ; pray take a chair. 
 What can I do?" 
 
 " Could you not intercede with him for us ? George 
 will give half his allowance : my daughter can send 
 something. If you will but stay on, sir, and pay a 
 quarter's rent in advance — " 
 
 " My good madam, I would as soon give you a 
 quarter in advance as not, if I were going to stay in 
 the lodgings. But I can't ; and I can't afford to fling 
 away twenty pounds, my good madam. I 'm a poor 
 half-pay officer, and want every shilling I have, be- 
 gad. As far as a few pounds goes — say five pounds 
 
 — I don't say — and shall be most happy, and that 
 sort of thing : and I '11 give it to you in the morning 
 with pleasure : but — but it 's getting late, and I have 
 made a railroad journey." 
 
 u God's will be done, sir," said the poor woman, 
 drying her tears. " I must bear my fate." 
 
 " And a dev'lish hard one it is, and most sincerely 
 I pity you, Mrs. Brixham. I — I '11 say ten pounds, 
 if you will permit me. Good-night." 
 
 " Mr. Morgan, sir, when he came down stairs, and 
 when — when I besought him to have pity on me, 
 and told him he had been the ruin of my family, said 
 something which I did not well understand — that he 
 would ruin every family in the house — that he knew 
 something would bring you down too — and that you 
 should pay him for your — your insolence to him. I 
 
 — I must own to you, that I went down on my knees 
 to him, sir ; and he said, with a dreadful oath against 
 you, that he would have you on your knees." 
 
 " Me ? — by Gad, that is too pleasant ! Where is 
 the confounded fellow ? " 
 
272 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " He went away, sir. He said he should see you in 
 the morning. Oh, pray try and pacify him, and save 
 me and my poor boy." And the widow went away 
 with this prayer to pass her night as she might, and 
 look for the dreadful morrow. 
 
 The last words about himself excited Major Pen- 
 dennis so much, that his compassion for Mrs. Brix- 
 ham's misfortunes was quite forgotten in the con- 
 sideration of his own case. 
 
 " Me on my knees ? " thought he, as he got into 
 bed : " confound his impudence. Who ever saw me 
 on my knees ? What the devil does the fellow know ? 
 Gad, I 've not had an affair these twenty years. I 
 defy him." And the old campaigner turned round 
 and slept pretty sound, being rather excited and 
 amused by the events of the day — the last day in 
 Bury Street, he was determined it should be. " For 
 it 's impossible to stay on with a valet over me and 
 a bankrupt landlady. What good can I do this poor 
 devil of a woman ? I '11 give her twenty pound — 
 there 's Warrington's twenty pound, which he has 
 just paid — but what 's the use ? She '11 want more, 
 and more, and more, and that cormorant Morgan will 
 swallow all. No, dammy, I can't afford to know poor 
 people ; and to-morrow I '11 say good-by — to Mrs. 
 Brixham and Mr. Morgan." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN WHICH THE MAJOR NEITHER YIELDS HIS 
 MONEY NOR HIS LIFE. 
 
 Early next morning Pendennis's shntters were 
 opened by Morgan, who appeared as usual, with, a 
 face perfectly grave and respectful, bearing with him 
 the old gentleman's clothes, cans of water, and elabo- 
 rate toilet requisites. 
 
 " It 's you, is it ? " said the old fellow from his 
 bed. " I sha'n't take you back again, you under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I 'ave not the least wish to be took back agin, 
 Major Pendennis," Mr. Morgan said, with grave 
 dignity, " nor to serve you nor hany man. But as 
 I wish you to be comf table as long as you stay in 
 my house, I came up to do what 's ne'ssary." And 
 once more, and for the last time, Mr. James Morgan 
 laid out the silver dressing-case, and strapped the 
 shining razor. 
 
 These offices concluded, he addressed himself to 
 the Major with an indescribable solemnity, and said : 
 " Thinkin' that you would most likely be in want of 
 a respectable pusson, until you suited yourself, I 
 spoke to a young man last night, who is 'ere." 
 
 " Indeed," said the warrior in the tent bed. 
 
 "He ? ave lived in the fust fam'lies, and I can 
 wouch for his respectability." 
 
 " You are monstrous polite," grinned the old Major. 
 And the truth is, that after the occurrences of the pre* 
 
274 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 vious evening, Morgan had gone out to his own Club 
 at the " Wheel of Fortune," and there finding Frosch, 
 a courier and valet just returned from a foreign tour 
 with young Lord Cubley, and for the present dispos- 
 able, had represented to Mr. Frosch, that he, Morgan, 
 had had " a devil of a blow hup with his own Gov'nor, 
 and was goin' to retire from the business haltogether, 
 and that if Frosch wanted a tempo'ry job, he might 
 prob'bly have it by applying in Bury Street." 
 
 " You are very polite," said the Major, " and your 
 recommendation, I am sure, will have every weight." 
 
 Morgan blushed ; he felt his master was " a chafnn' 
 of him." " The man have awaited on you before, 
 sir," he said with great dignity. " Lord de la Pole, 
 sir, gave him to his nephew young Lord Cubley, and 
 he have been with him on his foring tour, and not 
 wishing to go to Fitzurse Castle, which Frosch's chest 
 is delicate, and he cannot bear the cold in Scotland, 
 he is free to serve you or not, as you choose." 
 
 " I repeat, sir, that you are exceedingly polite," 
 said the Major. "Come in, Frosch — you will do 
 very well — Mr. Morgan, will you have the great 
 kindness to — " 
 
 " I shall show him what is ne'ssary, sir, and what 
 is custom'ry for you to wish to 'ave done. Will you 
 please to take breakfast 'ere or at the Club, Major 
 Pendennis ? " 
 
 " With your kind permission, I will breakfast here, 
 and afterwards we will make our little arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 " If you please, sir." 
 
 " Will you now oblige me by leaving the room ? " 
 
 Morgan withdrew ; the excessive politeness of his 
 ex-employer made him almost as angry as the Major's 
 bitterest words. And whilst the old gentleman ia 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 275 
 
 making his mysterious toilet, we will also modestly 
 retire. 
 
 After breakfast, Major Pendennis and his new aide- 
 de-camp occupied themselves in preparing for their 
 departure. The establishment of the old bachelor was 
 not very complicated. He encumbered himself with 
 no useless wardrobe. A Bible (his mother's), a road- 
 book, Pen's novel (calf elegant), and the Duke of 
 Wellington's Despatches, with a few prints, maps, 
 and portraits of that illustrious general, and of vari- 
 ous sovereigns and consorts of this country, and of 
 the General under whom Major Pendennis had served 
 in India, formed his literary and artistical collection : 
 he was always ready to march at a few hours' notice, 
 and the cases in which he had brought his property 
 into his lodgings some fifteen years before, were still 
 in the lofts amply sufficient to receive all his goods. 
 These, the young woman who did the work of the 
 house, and who was known by the name of Betty to 
 her mistress, and of Slavey to Mr. Morgan, brought 
 down from their resting-place, and obediently dusted 
 and cleaned under the eyes of the terrible Morgan. 
 His demeanor was guarded and solemn; he had 
 spoken no word as yet to Mrs. Brixham respecting 
 his threats of the past night, but he looked as if he 
 would execute them, and the poor widow tremblingly 
 awaited her fate. 
 
 Old Pendennis, armed with his cane, superintended 
 the package of his goods and chattels, under the hands 
 of Mr. Frosch, and the Slavey burned such of his 
 papers as he did not care to keep : flung open doors 
 and closets until they were all empty; and now all 
 boxes and chests were closed, except his desk, which 
 was ready to receive the final accounts of Mr. 
 Morgan. 
 
276 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 That individual now made his appearance, and 
 brought his books. " As I wish to speak to you in 
 privick, per'aps you will ? ave the kindness to request 
 Froscb to step down stairs," he said, on entering. 
 
 " Bring a couple of cabs, Frosch, if you please — 
 and wait down stairs until I ring for you," said the 
 Major. Morgan saw Frosch down stairs, watched 
 him go along the street upon his errand, and produced 
 his books and accounts, which were simple and very 
 easily settled. 
 
 " And now, sir," said he, having pocketed the check 
 which his ex-employer gave him, and signed his name 
 to his book with a flourish, " and now that accounts 
 is closed between us, sir," he said, "I porpose to 
 speak to you as one man to another " (Morgan liked 
 the sound of his own voice; and, as an individual, 
 indulged in public speaking whenever he could get 
 an opportunity, at the Club, or the housekeeper's 
 room), " and I must tell you, that I 'm in possussion 
 of certing infatuation" 
 
 " And may I inquire of what nature, pray ? " asked 
 the Major. 
 
 " It 's valuble information, Major Pendennis, as you 
 know very well. I know of a marriage as is no mar- 
 riage — of a honorable Baronet as is no more married 
 than I am ; and which his wife is married to some- 
 body else, as you know too, sir." 
 
 Pendennis at once understood all. " Ha ! this 
 accounts for your behavior. You have been listening 
 at the door, sir, I suppose," said the Major, looking 
 very haughty ; " I forgot to look at the key-hole when 
 I went to that public-house, or I might have suspected 
 what sort of a person was behind it." 
 
 " I may have my schemes as you may have yours, 
 I suppose," answered Morgan. "I may get my in- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 277 
 
 formation, and I may act on that information, and I 
 may find that information valuble as anybody else 
 may. A poor servant may have a bit of lnck as well 
 as a gentleman, may n't he ? Don't you be putting 
 on your 'aughty looks, sir, and comin' the aristocrat 
 over me. That 's all gammon with me. I 'm an 
 Englishman, I am, and as good as you." 
 
 " To what the devil does this tend, sir ? and how 
 does the secret which you have surprised concern me, 
 I should like to know ? " asked Major Pendennis, 
 with great majesty. 
 
 " How does it concern me, indeed ? how grand we 
 are ! How does it concern my nephew, I wonder ? 
 How does it concern my nephew's seat in Parlyment : 
 and to subornation of bigamy ? How does it concern 
 that ? What, are you to be the only man to have a 
 secret, and to trade on it? Why shouldn't I go 
 halves, Major Pendennis ! I 've found it out too. 
 Look here ! I ain't goin' to be unreasonable with you. 
 Make it worth my while, and I'll keep the thing 
 close. Let Mr. Arthur take his seat, and his rich 
 wife, if you like ; I don't want to marry her. But I 
 will have my share, as sure as my name's James 
 Morgan. And if I don't — " 
 
 " And if you don't, sir — what ? " Pendennis asked. 
 
 " If I don't, I split, and tell all. I smash Claver- 
 ing, and have him and his wife up for bigamy — so 
 help me, I will ! I smash young Hopeful's marriage, 
 and I show up you and him as makin' use of this 
 secret, in order to squeeze a seat in Parlyment out 
 of Sir Francis, and a fortune out of his wife." 
 
 "Mr. Pendennis knows no more of this business 
 than the babe unborn, sir," cried the Major aghast. 
 "No more than Lady Clavering, than Miss Amory 
 does." 
 
273 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "Tell that to the marines, Major," replied the 
 valet; "that cock won't fight with me." 
 
 " Do you doubt my word, you villain ? " 
 
 " No bad language. I don't care one twopence'a'p'ny 
 whether your word 's true or not. I tell you, I intend 
 this to be a nice little annuity to me, Major : for I 
 have every one of you : and I ain't such a fool as to 
 let you go. I should say that you might make it five 
 hundred a-year to me among you, easy. Pay me 
 down the first quarter now, and I'm as mum as a 
 mouse. Just give me a note for one twenty-five. 
 There's your check-book on your desk." 
 
 " And there 's this too, you villain," cried the old 
 gentleman. In the desk to which the valet pointed 
 was a little double-barrelled pistol, which had belonged 
 to Pendennis's old patron, the Indian commander-in- 
 chief, and which had accompanied him in many a 
 campaign. " One more word, you scoundrel, and I '11 
 shoot you, like a mad dog. Stop — by Jove, I '11 do it 
 now. You '11 assault me, will you. You '11 strike at 
 an old man, will you, you lying coward ? Kneel down 
 and say your prayers, sir, for by the Lord you shall 
 die." 
 
 The Major's face glared with rage at his adversary, 
 who looked terrified before him for a moment, and at 
 the next, with a shriek of " Murder ! " sprang towards 
 the open window, under which a policeman happened 
 to be on his beat. "Murder! Police!" bellowed Mr. 
 Morgan. 
 
 To his surprise, Major Pendennis wheeled away the 
 table and walked to the other window, which was also 
 open. He beckoned the policeman. " Come up here, 
 policeman," he said, and then went and placed him- 
 self against the door. 
 
 " You miserable sneak," he said to Morgan ; " the 
 
A Good Shot. 
 
PENDEXXIS. 
 
 279 
 
 pistol has n't been loaded these fifteen years, as you 
 would have known very well, if you had not been such 
 a coward. That policeman is coming, and I will have 
 him up, and have your trunks searched ; I have reason 
 to believe that you are a thief, sir. I know you are. 
 I '11 swear to the things." 
 
 "You gave 'em to me — you gave 'em to me ! " cried 
 Morgan. 
 
 The Major laughed. "We'll see," he said; and 
 the guilty valet remembered some fine lawn-fronted 
 shirts — a certain gold-headed cane — an opera-glass, 
 which he had forgotten to bring down, and of which 
 he had assumed the use along with certain articles of 
 his master's clothes, which the old dandy neither 
 wore nor asked for. 
 
 Policeman X entered ; followed by the scared Mrs. 
 Brixham and her maid-of-all-work, who had been at 
 the door and found some difficulty in closing it 
 against the street amateurs, who wished to see the 
 row. The Major began instantly to speak. 
 
 "I have had occasion to discharge this drunken 
 scoundrel," he said. " Both last night and this morn- 
 ing he insulted and assaulted me. I am an old man 
 and took up a pistol. You see it is not loaded, and 
 this coward cried out before he was hurt. I am glad 
 you are come. I was charging him with taking my 
 property, and desired to examine his trunks and his 
 room." 
 
 " The velvet cloak you ain't worn these three years, 
 nor the weskits, and I thought I might take the shirts, 
 and I — I take my hoath I intended to put back the 
 hopera-glass," roared Morgan, writhing with rage and 
 terror. 
 
 " The man acknowledges that he is a thief," the 
 Major said, calmly. "He has been in my service for 
 years, and I have treated him with every kindness 
 
280 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and confidence. We will go up-stairs and examine 
 his trunks." 
 
 In those trunks Mr. Morgan had things which he 
 would fain keep from public eyes. Mr. Morgan, the 
 bill-discounter, gave goods as well as money to his 
 customers. He provided young spendthrifts with 
 snuff-boxes and pins and jewels and pictures and 
 cigars, and of a very doubtful quality those cigars 
 and jewels and pictures were. Their display at a 
 police office, the discovery of his occult profession, 
 and the exposure of the Major's property, which he 
 had appropriated, indeed, rather than stolen, — would 
 not have added to the reputation of Mr. Morgan. He 
 looked a piteous image of terror and discomfiture. 
 
 "He '11 smash me, will he?" thought the Major. 
 " I '11 crush him now, and finish with him." 
 
 But he paused. He looked at poor Mrs. Brixham's 
 scared face ; and he thought for a moment to himself 
 that the man brought to bay and in prison might 
 make disclosures which had best be kept secret, and 
 that it was best not to deal too fiercely with a des- 
 perate man. 
 
 " Stop," he said, " policeman. I '11 speak with this 
 man by himself." 
 
 "Do you give Mr. Morgan in charge?" said the 
 policeman. 
 
 " I have brought no charge as yet," the Major said, 
 with a significant look at his man. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," whispered Morgan, very low. 
 
 " Go outside the door, and wait there, policeman, 
 if you please. — Now, Morgan, you have played one 
 game with me, and you have not had the best of it, 
 my good man. No, begad, you 've not had the best 
 of it, though you had the best hand ; and you 've got 
 to pay, too, now, you scoundrel." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the man. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 281 
 
 "I've only found out, within the last week, the 
 game which you have been driving, you villain. 
 Young De Boots of the Blues, recognized you as the 
 man who came to barracks, and did business one-third 
 in money, one-third in eau-de-Cologne, and one-third 
 in French prints, you confounded demure old sinner ! 
 I didn't miss anything, or care a straw what you'd 
 taken, you booby ; but I took the shot, and it hit — 
 hit the bull's-eye, begad. Dammy, sir, I'm an old 
 campaigner." 
 
 " What do you want with me, sir ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you. Your bills, I suppose, you keep 
 about you in that dem'd great leather pocket-book, 
 don't you? You'll burn Mrs. Brixham's bill?" 
 
 "Sir, I ain't a goin' to part with my property," 
 growled the man. 
 
 " You lent her sixty pounds five years ago. She 
 and that poor devil of an insurance clerk, her son 
 have paid you fifty pounds a-year ever since; and 
 you have got a bill of sale of her furniture, and her 
 note of hand for a hundred and fifty pounds. She 
 told me so last night. By Jove, sir, you've bled 
 that poor woman enough." 
 
 "I won't give it up," said Morgan. "If I do 
 I'm " 
 
 " Policeman ! " cried the Major. 
 
 " You shall have the bill," said Morgan. " You 're 
 not going to take money of me, and you a gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 " I shall want you directly," said the Major to X, 
 who here entered, and who again withdrew. 
 
 " No, my good sir," the old gentleman continued ; 
 " I have not any desire to have farther pecuniary trans- 
 actions with you; but we will draw out a little 
 paper, which you will have the kindness to sign. 
 
282 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 No, stop ! — you shall write it : you have improved 
 immensely in writing of late, and have now a very 
 good hand. You shall sit down and write, if you 
 please — there, at that table — so — let me see — we 
 may as well have the date. Write 6 Bury Street, St. 
 James's, October 21, 18 — .' " 
 
 And Morgan wrote as he was instructed, and as 
 the pitiless old Major continued: — 
 
 " I, J ames Morgan, having come in extreme poverty 
 into the service of Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of 
 Bury Street, St. James's, a Major in her Majesty's 
 service, acknowledge that I received liberal wages 
 and board wages from my employer, during fifteen 
 years. — You can't object to that, I am sure," said 
 the Major. 
 
 " During fifteen years," wrote Morgan. 
 
 " In which time, by my own care and prudence," the 
 dictator resumed, " I have managed to amass sufficient 
 money to purchase the house in which my master re- 
 sides, and besides to effect other savings. Amongst 
 other persons from whom I have had money, I may 
 mention my present tenant, Mrs. Brixham, who in 
 consideration of sixty pounds advanced by me five 
 years since, has paid back to me the sum of two hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds sterling, besides giving me a 
 note of hand for one hundred and twenty pounds, 
 which I restore to her at the desire of my late mas- 
 ter, Major Arthur Pendennis, and therewith free her 
 furniture, of which I had a bill of sale. — Have 
 you written?" 
 
 " I think if this pistol was loaded, I 'd blow your 
 brains out," said Morgan. 
 
 " No, you would n't. You have too great a respect 
 for your valuable life, my good man," the Major an- 
 swered. " Let us go on and begin a new sentence." 
 
PEN DENNIS. 
 
 283 
 
 "And having, in return for my master's kindness, 
 stolen his property from him, which I acknowledge 
 to be now tip-stairs in my trunks : and having uttered 
 falsehoods regarding his and other honorable families, 
 I do hereby, in consideration of his clemency to me, 
 express my regret for uttering these falsehoods, and 
 for stealing his property ; and declare that I am not 
 worthy of belief, and that I hope — yes, begad, — 
 that I hope to amend for the future. Signed, James 
 Morgan." 
 
 " I 'm d — d if I sign it," said Morgan. 
 
 " My good man, it will happen to you, whether you 
 sign or no, begad," said the old fellow, chuckling at 
 his own wit. " There, I shall not use this, you under- 
 stand, unless — unless I am compelled to do so. Mrs. 
 Brixham, and our friend the policeman, will witness 
 it, I dare say, without reading it : and I will give the 
 old lady back her note of hand, and say, which you 
 will confirm, that she and you are quits. I see there 
 is Frosch come back with the cab for my trunks ; I 
 shall go to an hotel. — You may come in now, police- 
 man ; Mr. Morgan and I have arranged our little dis- 
 pute. If Mrs. Brixham will sign this paper, and you, 
 policeman, will do so, I shall be very much obliged to 
 you both. Mrs. Brixham, you and your worthy land- 
 lord, Mr. Morgan, are quits. I wish you joy of him. 
 *Let Frosch come and pack the rest of the things." 
 
 Frosch, aided by the Slavey, under the calm super- 
 intendence of Mr. Morgan, carried Major Pendennis's 
 boxes to the cab in waiting ; and Mrs. Brixham, when 
 her persecutor was not by, came and asked a Heaven's 
 blessing upon the Major, her preserver, and the best 
 and quietest and kindest of lodgers. And having 
 given her a finger to shake, which the humble lady re- 
 ceived with a curtsy, and over which she was ready 
 
284 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 to make a speech full of tears, the Major cut short 
 that valedictory oration, and walked out of the house 
 to the hotel in Jermyn Street, which was not many 
 steps from Morgan's door. 
 
 That individual, looking forth from the parlor- 
 window, discharged anything but blessings at his 
 parting guest; but the stout old boy could afford 
 not to be frightened at Mr. Morgan, and flung him a 
 look of great contempt and humor as he strutted away 
 with his cane. 
 
 Major Pendennis had not quitted his house of Bury 
 Street many hours, and Mr. Morgan was enjoying his 
 otium in a dignified manner, surveying the evening fog, 
 and smoking a cigar, on the doorsteps, when Arthur 
 Pendennis, Esq., the hero of this history, made his 
 appearance at the well-known door. 
 
 " My uncle out, I suppose, Morgan ? " he said to 
 the functionary ; knowing full well that to smoke was 
 treason, in the presence of the Major. 
 
 " Major Pendennis is hout, sir," said Morgan, with 
 gravity, bowing, but not touching the elegant cap 
 which he wore. " Major Pendennis have left this 
 'ouse to-day, sir, and I have no longer the honor of 
 being in his service, sir." 
 
 " Indeed, and where is he ? " 
 
 " I believe he 'ave taken tempor'y lodgings at Cox's 
 'otel, in Jummin Street," said Mr. Morgan ; and added, 
 after a pause, " Are you in town for some time, pray, 
 sir ? Are you in chambers ? I should like to have 
 the honor of waiting on you there : and would be 
 thankful if you would favor me with a quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 " Do you want my uncle to take you back ? " asked 
 Arthur, insolent and good-natured. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 285 
 
 " I want no such thing ; I 'd see him — n the man 
 glared at him for a minute, but he stopped. " No, sir, 
 thank you," he said in a softer voice ; " it 's only with 
 you that I wish to speak, on some business which con- 
 cerns you ; and perhaps you would favor me by walk- 
 ing into my house." 
 
 " If it is but for a minute or two, I will listen to 
 you, Morgan," said Arthur ; and thought to himself, 
 " I suppose the fellow wants me to patronize him ; " 
 and he entered the house. A card was already in the 
 front windows, proclaiming that apartments were to 
 be let, and having introduced Mr. Pendennis into the 
 dining-room, and offered him a chair, Mr. Morgan took 
 one himself, and proceeded to convey some informa- 
 tion to him, of which the reader has already had 
 cognizance. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 IN WHICH PENDENNIS COUNTS HIS EGGS. 
 
 Our friend had arrived in London on that day only, 
 though but for a brief visit, and having left some fel- 
 low travellers at an hotel to which he had convoyed 
 them from the West, he hastened to the chambers in 
 Lamb Court, which were basking in as much sun as 
 chose to visit that dreary but not altogether comfort- 
 less building. Freedom stands in lieu of sunshine in 
 chambers ; and Templars grumble, but take their ease 
 in their Inn. Pen's domestic announced to him that 
 Warrington was in chambers too, and, of course, Arthur 
 ran up to his friend's room straightway, and found it, 
 as of old, perfumed with the pipe, and George once 
 more at work at his newspapers and reviews. The 
 pair greeted each other with the rough cordiality 
 which young Englishmen use one to another : and 
 which carries a great deal of warmth and kindness 
 under its rude exterior. Warrington smiled and took 
 his pipe out of his mouth, and said, "Well, young 
 one ! " Pen advanced and held out his hand, and said, 
 " How are you, old boy ? " And so this greeting 
 passed between two friends who had not seen each 
 other for months. Alphonse and Frederic would have 
 rushed into each other's arms and shrieked Ce bon 
 cceur t ce cher Alphonse / over each other's shoulders. 
 Max and Wilhelm would have bestowed half a dozen 
 kisses, scented with Havana, upon each other's mus- 
 tachios. " Well, young one ! " " How are you, old 
 
PENDEXXIS. 
 
 287 
 
 boy ? " is what two Britons say : after saving each 
 other's lives, possibly, the day before. To-morrow 
 they will leave off shaking hands, and only wag their 
 heads at one another as they come to breakfast. Each 
 has for the other the very warmest confidence and re- 
 gard ; each would share his purse with the other : and 
 hearing him attacked, would break out in the loudest 
 and most enthusiastic praise of his friend ; but they 
 part with a mere Good-by, they meet with a mere How- 
 d'-you-do ? and they don't write to each other in the 
 interval. Curious modesty, strange stoical decorum 
 of English friendship! "Yes, we are not demonstra- 
 tive like those confounded foreigners," says Hard- 
 man ; who not only shows no friendship, but never 
 felt any all his life long. 
 
 "Been in Switzerland?" says Pen. "Yes," says 
 Warrington. " Could n't find a bit of tobacco fit to 
 smoke till we came to Strasburg, where I got some 
 caporal." The man's mind is full, very likely, of the 
 great sights which he has seen, of the great emotions 
 with which the vast works of nature have inspired it. 
 But his enthusiasm is too coy to show itself, even to 
 his closest friend, and he veils it with a cloud of 
 tobacco. He will speak more fully of confidential 
 evenings, however, and write ardently and frankly 
 about that which he is shy of saying. The thoughts 
 and experience of his travel will come forth in his 
 writings ; as the learning, which he never displays 
 in talk, enriches his style with pregnant allusion and 
 brilliant illustration, colors his generous eloquence, 
 and points his wit. 
 
 The elder gives a rapid account of the places which 
 he has visited in his tour. He has seen Switzerland, 
 North Italy, and the Tyrol — he has come home by 
 Vienna, and Dresden, and the Rhine. He speaks 
 
288 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 about these places in a shy sulky voice, as if he had 
 rather not mention them at all, and as if the sight of 
 them had rendered him very unhappy. The outline 
 of the elder man's tour thus gloomily sketched out, 
 the young one begins to speak. He has been in the 
 country — very much bored — canvassing — uncom- 
 monly slow — he is here for a day or two, and going 
 on to — to the neighborhood of Tunbridge Wells, to 
 some friends — that will be uncommonly slow, too. 
 How hard it is to make an Englishmen acknowledge 
 that he is happy ! 
 
 " And the seat in Parliament, Pen ? Have you 
 made it all right ? " asks Warrington. 
 
 "All right, — as soon as Parliament meets and a 
 new writ can be issued, Clavering retires, and I step 
 into his shoes," says Pen. 
 
 "And under which king does Bezonian speak or 
 die ? " asked Warrington. " Do we come out as 
 Liberal Conservative, or as Government man, or on 
 our own hook ? " 
 
 " Hem ! There are no politics now ; every man's 
 politics, at least, are pretty much the same. I have 
 not got acres enough to make me a Protectionist ; nor 
 could I be one, I think, if I had all the land in the 
 country. I shall go pretty much with Government, 
 and in advance of them upon some social questions 
 which I have been getting up during the vacation ; — 
 don't grin, you old Cynic, I have been getting up the 
 Blue Books, and intend to come out rather strong on 
 the Sanitary and Colonization questions." 
 
 "We reserve to ourselves the liberty of voting 
 against Government, though we are generally friendly. 
 We are, however, friends of the people avant tout. 
 We give lectures at the Clavering Institute, and 
 shake hands with the intelligent mechanics. We 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 289 
 
 think the franchise ought to be very considerably 
 enlarged; at the same time we are free to accept 
 office some day, when the House has listened to a few 
 crack speeches from us, and the Administration per- 
 ceives our merit." 
 
 " I am not Moses," said Pen, with, as usual some- 
 what of melancholy in his voice. " I have no laws 
 from Heaven to bring down to the people from the 
 mountain. I dWt belong to the mountain at all, or set 
 up to be a leader and reformer of mankind. My faith 
 is not strong enough for that ; nor my vanity, nor my 
 hypocrisy, great enough. I will tell no lies, George, 
 that I promise you ; and do no more than coincide in 
 those which are necessary and pass current, and can't 
 be got in without recalling the whole circulation. 
 Give a man at least the advantage of his sceptical 
 turn. If I find a good thing to say in the House, I 
 will say it ; a good measure, I will support it ; a fair 
 place, I will take it, and be glad of my luck. But I 
 would no more flatter a great man than a mob ; and 
 now you know as much about my politics as I do. 
 What call have I to be a Whig ? Whiggism is not a 
 divine institution. Why not vote with the Liberal 
 Conservatives ? They have done for the nation what 
 the Whigs would never have done without them. 
 Who converted both ? — the Radicals and the country 
 outside. I think the 1 Morning Post ' is often right, 
 and ' Punch ' is often wrong. I don't profess a call, but 
 take advantage of a chance. Parlons d'autre chose." 
 
 u The next thing at your heart, after ambition, is 
 love, I suppose ? " Warrington said. " How have our 
 young loves prospered ? Are we going to change our 
 condition, and give up our chambers ? Are you 
 going to divorce me, Arthur, and take unto yourself a 
 wife ? " 
 
290 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 "I suppose so. She is very good-natured and 
 lively. She sings, and she don't mind smoking. 
 She '11 have a fair fortune — I don't know how much 
 — but my uncle augurs everything from the Begum's 
 generosity, and says that she will come down very 
 handsomely. And I think Blanche is dev'lish fond of 
 me," said Arthur, with a sigh. 
 
 " That means that we accept her caresses and her 
 money." 
 
 "Haven't we said before, that life was a trans- 
 action ? " Pendennis said. " I don't pretend to break 
 my heart about her. I have told her pretty fairly 
 what my feelings are — and — and have engaged my- 
 self to her. And since I saw her last, and for the 
 last two months especially, whilst I have been in the 
 country, I think she has been growing fonder and 
 fonder of me ; and^ her letters to me, and especially 
 to Laura, seem to show it. Mine have been simple 
 enough — no raptures nor vows, you understand — 
 but looking upon the thing as an affaire faite ; and 
 not desirous to hasten or defer the completion." 
 
 " And Laura ? how is she ? " Warrington asked 
 frankly. 
 
 " Laura, George," said Pen, looking his friend hard 
 in the face — "by Heaven, Laura is the best, and 
 noblest, and dearest girl the sun ever shone upon." 
 His own voice fell as he spoke : it seemed as if he 
 could hardly utter the words : he stretched out his 
 hand to his comrade, who took it and nodded his 
 head. 
 
 " Have you only found out that now, young un ? " 
 Warrington said after a pause. 
 
 " Who has not learned things too late, George ? " 
 cried Arthur, in his impetuous way, gathering words 
 and emotion as he went on. "Whose life is not a 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 291 
 
 disappointment ? Who carries his heart entire to the 
 grave without a mutilation ? I never knew anybody 
 who was happy quite : or who has not had to ransom 
 himself out of the hands of Fate with the payment of 
 some dearest treasure or other. Lucky if we are left 
 alone afterwards, when we have paid our fine, and if 
 the tyrant visits us no more. Suppose I have found 
 out that I have lost the greatest prize in the world, 
 now that it can't be mine — that for years I had an 
 angel under my tent, and let her go ? — am I the only 
 one — ah, dear old boy, am I the only one ? And do 
 you think my lot is easier to bear because I own that 
 I deserve it ? She 's gone from us. God's blessing 
 be with her ! She might have stayed, and I lost her ; 
 it 's like Undine : is n't it, George ? " 
 
 " She was in this room, once," said George. 
 
 He saw her there — he heard the sweet low voice 
 
 — he saw the sweet smile and eyes shining so kindly 
 
 — the face remembered so fondly — thought of in 
 what night-watches — blessed and loved always — gone 
 now ! A glass that had held a nosegay — a Bible 
 with Helen's handwriting — were all that were left 
 him of that brief flower of his life. Say it is a 
 dream : say it passes : better the recollection of a 
 dream than an aimless waking from a blank stupor. 
 
 The two friends sat in silence awhile, each occupied 
 with his own thoughts and aware of the other's. Pen 
 broke it presently, by saying that he must go and 
 seek for his uncle, and report progress to the old 
 gentleman. The Major had written in a very bad 
 humor ; the Major was getting old. " I should like 
 to see you in Parliament, and snugly settled with a 
 comfortable house and an heir to the name before I 
 make my bow. Show me these," the Major wrote, 
 " and then, let old Arthur Pendennis make room for 
 
292 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 the younger fellows ; he has walked the Pall Mall 
 
 pave long enough." 
 
 " There is a kindness about the old heathen," said 
 Warrington. "He cares for somebody besides him- 
 self, at least for some other part of himself besides 
 that which is buttoned into his own coat ; — for you 
 and your race. He would like to see the progeny of 
 the Pendennises multiplying and increasing, and 
 hopes that they may inherit the land. The old patri- 
 arch blesses you from the Club window of Bays's, and 
 is carried off and buried under the flags of St. J ames's 
 Church, in sight of Piccadilly, and the cab-stand, and 
 the carriages going to the levee. It is an edifying 
 ending." 
 
 "The new blood I bring into the family," mused 
 Pen, " is rather tainted. If I had chosen, I think my 
 father-in-law Amory would not have been the progen- 
 itor I should have desired for my race; nor my 
 grandfather-in-law Snell; nor our oriental ancestors. 
 By the way, who was Amory ? Amory was lieutenant 
 of an Indiaman. Blanche wrote some verses about 
 him, — about the storm, the mountain wave, the sea- 
 man's grave, the gallant father, and that sort of thing. 
 Amory was drowned commanding a country ship be- 
 tween Calcutta and Sydney ; Amory and the Begum 
 weren't happy together. She has been unlucky in 
 her selection of husbands, the good old lady, for, 
 between ourselves, a more despicable creature than 
 Sir Prances Clavering, of Clavering Park, Baronet, 
 never — " 
 
 " Never legislated for his country," broke in War- 
 rington ; at which Pen blushed rather. 
 
 " By the way, at Baden," said Warrington, " I found 
 our friend the Chevalier Strong in great state, and 
 wearing his orders. He told me that he had quarrelled 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 293 
 
 with Clavering, of whom he seemed to have almost as 
 bad an opinion as you have, and in fact, I think, 
 though I will not be certain, confided to me his 
 opinion, that Clavering was an utter scoundrel. That 
 fellow Blounclell, who taught you card-playing at 
 Oxbridge, was with Strong ; and time, I think, has 
 brought out his valuable qualities, and rendered him 
 a more accomplished rascal than he was during your 
 undergraduateship. But the king of the place was 
 the famous Colonel Altamont, who was carrying all 
 before him, giving fetes to the whole society, and 
 breaking the bank, it was said." 
 
 "My uncle knows something about that fellow — 
 Clavering knows something about him. There 's 
 something louche regarding him. But come ! I must 
 go to Bury Street, like a dutiful nephew." And, tak- 
 ing his hat, Pen prepared to go. 
 
 " I will walk, too," said Warrington. And they de- 
 scended the stairs, stopping, however, at Pen's cham- 
 bers, which, as the reader has been informed, were now 
 on the lower story. 
 
 Here Pen began sprinkling himself with eau-de- 
 Cologne, and carefully scenting his hair and whiskers 
 with that odoriferous water. 
 
 " What is the matter ? You Ve not been smoking. 
 Is it my pipe that has poisoned you ? " growled War- 
 rington. 
 
 "I am going to call upon some women," said 
 Pen. " I 'm — I 'm going to dine with 'em. They 
 are passing through town, and are at an hotel in 
 Jermyn Street." 
 
 Warrington looked with good-natured interest at 
 the young fellow dandifying himself up to a pitch of 
 completeness ; and appearing at length in a gorgeous 
 shirt-front and neck-cloth, fresh gloves, and glistening 
 
294 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 boots. George had a pair of thick high-lows, and his 
 old shirt was torn about the breast, and ragged at the 
 collar, where his blue beard had worn it. 
 
 " Well, young mi," said he, simply, " I like you to 
 be a buck, somehow. When I walk about with you, 
 it is as if I had a rose in my button-hole. And you 
 are still affable. I don't think there is any young 
 fellow in the Temple turns out like you ; and I don't 
 believe you were ever ashamed of walking with me 
 yet." 
 
 " Don't laugh at me, George," said Pen. 
 
 " I say, Pen," continued the other, sadly, " if you 
 write — if you write to Laura, I wish you would say 
 ' God bless her 9 from me." 
 
 Pen blushed ; and then looked at Warrington ; and 
 then — and then burst into an uncontrollable fit of 
 laughing 
 
 " I 'm going to dine with her," he said. " I brought 
 her and Lady Rockminster up from the country to- 
 day — made two days of it — slept last night at Bath 
 — I say, George, come and dine, too. I may ask any 
 one I please, and the old lady is constantly talking 
 about you." 
 
 George refused. George had an article to write. 
 George hesitated ; and oh, strange to say ! at last he 
 agreed to go. It was agreed that they should go and 
 call upon the ladies ; and they marched away in high 
 spirits to the hotel in Jermyn Street. Once more 
 the dear face shone upon him ; once more the sweet 
 voice spoke to him, and the tender hand pressed a 
 welcome. 
 
 There still wanted half an hour to dinner. " You 
 will go and see your uncle now, Mr. Pendennis," old 
 Lady Rockminster said. " You will not bring him to 
 dinner — no — his old stories are intolerable; and I 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 295 
 
 want to talk to Mr. Warrington ; I dare say he will 
 amuse us. I think we have heard all your stories. 
 We have been together for two whole days, and I 
 think we are getting tired of each other." 
 
 So, obeying her ladyship's orders, Arthur went 
 down-stairs and walked to his uncle's lodgings. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 FIAT JUSTITIA. 
 
 The dinner was served when Arthur returned, and 
 Lady Rockminster began to scold him for arriving 
 late. But Laura, looking at her cousin, saw that his 
 face was so pale and scared that she interrupted her 
 imperious patroness ; and asked, with tender alarm, 
 what had happened ? Was Arthur ill ? 
 
 Arthur drank a large bumper of sherry. " I have 
 heard the most extraordinary news ; I will tell you 
 afterwards," he said, looking at the servants. He 
 was very nervous and agitated during the dinner. 
 " Don't tramp and beat so with your feet under the 
 table," Lady Rockminster said. " You have trodden 
 on Fido and upset his saucer. You see Mr. Warring- 
 ton keeps his boots quiet." 
 
 At the dessert — it seemed as if the unlucky dinner 
 would never be over — Lady Rockminster said, "This 
 dinner has been exceedingly stupid. I suppose some- 
 thing has happened, and that you want to speak to 
 Laura. I will go and have my nap. I am not sure 
 that I shall have any tea — no. Good-night, Mr. 
 Warrington. You must come again, and when there 
 is no business to talk about." And the old lady, toss- 
 ing up her head, walked away from the room with 
 great dignity. 
 
 George and the others had risen with her, and 
 Warrington was about to go away, and was saying 
 " Good-night " to Laura, who, of course, was looking 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 297 
 
 much alarmed about her cousin, when Arthur said, 
 " Pray, stay, George. You should hear my news too, 
 and give me your counsel in this case. I hardly 
 know how to act in it." 
 
 " It's something about Blanche, Arthur," said Laura, 
 her heart beating, and her cheek blushing, as she 
 thought it had never blushed in her life. 
 
 "Yes — and the most extraordinary story," said 
 Pen. " When I left you to go to my uncle's lodgings, 
 I found his servant, Morgan, who has been with him 
 so long, at the door, and he said that he and his mas- 
 ter had parted that morning; that my uncle had 
 quitted the house, and had gone to an hotel — this 
 hotel. I asked for him when I came in ; but he was 
 gone out to dinner. Morgan then said that he had 
 something of a most important nature to communicate 
 to me, and begged me to step into the house ; his 
 house it is now. It appears the scoundrel has saved 
 a great deal of money whilst in my uncle's service, 
 and is now a capitalist and a millionnaire, for what 
 I know. Well, I went into the house, and what do 
 you think he told me? This must be a secret be- 
 tween us all — at least if we can keep it, now that 
 it is in possession of that villain. Blanche's father is 
 not dead. He has come to life again. The marriage 
 between Clavering and the Begum is no marriage." 
 
 "And Blanche, I suppose, is her grandfather's 
 heir ? " said W T arrington. 
 
 " Perhaps : but the child of what a father ! Amory 
 is an escaped convict — Clavering knows it ; my uncle 
 knows it — and it was with this piece of information 
 held over Clavering in terrorem that the wretched old 
 man got him to give up his borough to me." 
 
 " Blanche does n't know it," said Laura, " nor poor 
 Lady Clavering ? " 
 
298 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " No," said Pen ; " Blanche does not even know the 
 history of her father. She knew that he and her 
 mother had separated, and had heard as a child, from 
 Bonner, her nurse, that Mr. Amory was drowned in 
 New South Wales. He was there as a convict, not as 
 a ship's captain, as the poor girl thought. Lady 
 Clavering has told me that they were not happy, and 
 that her husband was a bad character. She would 
 tell me all, she said, some day : and I remember her 
 saying to me, with tears in her eyes, that it was hard 
 for a woman to be forced to own that she was glad to 
 hear her husband was dead: and that twice in her 
 life she should have chosen so badly. What is to be 
 done now ? The man can't show and claim his wife : 
 death is probably over him if he discovers himself : 
 return to transportation certainly. But the rascal 
 has held the threat of discovery over Clavering for 
 some time past, and has extorted money from him 
 time after time." 
 
 " It is our friend Colonel Altamont, of course," said 
 Warrington : " I see all now." 
 
 "If the rascal comes back," continued Arthur, 
 " Morgan, who knows his secret, will use it over him 
 — and having it in his possession, proposes to extort 
 money from us all. The d — d rascal supposed I was 
 cognizant of it," said Pen, white with anger ; " asked 
 me if I would give him an annuity to keep it quiet ; 
 threatened me, me, as if I was trafficking with this 
 wretched old Begum's misfortune ; and would extort 
 a seat in Parliament out of that miserable Clavering. 
 Good heavens ! was my uncle mad, to tamper in such 
 a conspiracy ? Fancy our mother's son, Laura, trad- 
 ing on such a treason ! " 
 
 " I can't fancy it, dear Arthur," said Laura j seiz- 
 ing Arthur's hand, and kissing it. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 299 
 
 " No ! " broke out Warrington's deep voice, with, a 
 tremor ; he surveyed the two generous and loving 
 young people with a pang of indescribable love and 
 pain. "No. Our boy can't meddle with such a 
 wretched intrigue as that. Arthur Pendennis can't 
 marry a convict's daughter ; and sit in Parliament as 
 Member for the hulks. You must wash your hands 
 of the whole affair, Pen. You must break off. You 
 must give no explanations of why and wherefore, but 
 state that family reasons render a match impossible. 
 It is better that those poor women should fancy you 
 false to your word than that they should know the 
 truth. Besides, you can get from that dog Clavering 
 — I can fetch that for you easily enough — an ac- 
 knowledgment that the reasons which you have 
 given to him as the head of the family are amply 
 sufficient for breaking off the union. Don't you think 
 with me, Laura ? " He scarcely dared to look her in 
 the face as he spoke. Any lingering hope that he 
 might have — any feeble hold that he might feel upon 
 the last spar of his wrecked fortune, he knew he was 
 casting away ; and he let the wave of his calamity 
 close over him. Pen had started up whilst he was 
 speaking, looking eagerly at him. He turned hi3 
 head away. He saw Laura rise up also and go to 
 Pen, and once more take his hand and kiss it. " She 
 thinks so too — G-od bless her ! " said George. 
 
 " Her father's shame is not Blanche's fault, dear 
 Arthur, is it ? " Laura, said, very pale, and speaking 
 very quickly. " Suppose you had been married, 
 would you desert her because she had done no wrong? 
 Are you not pledged to her ? Would you leave her 
 because she is in misfortune ? And if she is un- 
 happy, would n't you console her ? Our mother 
 would, had she been here." And, as she spoke, the 
 
300 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 kind girl folded her arms round him, and buried her 
 face upon his heart. 
 
 "Our mother is an angel with God," Pen sobbed 
 out. " And you are the dearest and best of women — 
 the dearest, the dearest, and the best. Teach me my 
 duty. Pray for me that I ma}' do it — pure heart. 
 God bless you — God bless you, my sister." 
 
 " Amen," groaned out Warrington, with his head 
 in his hands. " She is right," he murmured to him- 
 self. " She can't do any wrong, I think — that girl." 
 Indeed, she looked and smiled like an angel. Many 
 a day after, he saw that smile — saw her radiant face 
 as she looked up at Pen — saw her putting back her 
 curls, blushing and smiling, and still looking fondly 
 towards him. 
 
 She leaned for a moment her little fair hand on the 
 table, playing on it. " And now, and now," she said, 
 looking at the two gentlemen — 
 
 " And what now ? " asked George. 
 
 "And now we will have some tea," said Miss 
 Laura, with her smile. 
 
 But before this unromantic conclusion to a rather 
 sentimental scene could be suffered to take place, a 
 servant brought word that Major Pendennis had re- 
 turned to the hotel, and was waiting to see his 
 nephew. Upon this announcement, Laura, not with- 
 out some alarm, and an appealing look at Pen, which 
 said, " behave yourself well — hold to the right, and 
 do your duty — be gentle, but firm with your uncle " 
 — Laura, we say, with these warnings written in her 
 face, took leave of the two gentlemen, and retreated 
 to her dormitory. Warrington, who was not generally 
 fond of tea, yet grudged that expected cup very much. 
 Why could not old Pendennis have come in an hour 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 301 
 
 later ? Well, an hour sooner or later, what matter ? 
 The hour strikes at last. The inevitable moment 
 comes to say Farewell. The hand is shaken, the door 
 closed, and the friend gone ; and, the brief joy over, 
 you are alone. " In which of those many windows of 
 the hotel does her light beam ? " perhaps he asks 
 himself as he passes down the street. He strides 
 away to the smoking-room of a neighboring Club, and 
 there applies himself to his usual solace of a cigar. 
 Men are brawling and talking loud about politics, 
 opera-girls, horse-racing, the atrocious tyranny of the 
 committee ; — bearing this sacred secret about him, 
 he enters into this brawl. Talk away, each louder 
 than the other. Rattle and crack jokes. Laugh and 
 tell your wild stories. It is strange to take one's 
 place and part in the midst of the smoke and din, and 
 think every man here has his secret ego most likely, 
 which is sitting lonely and apart, away in the private 
 chamber, from the loud game in which the rest of us 
 is joining ! 
 
 Arthur, as he traversed the passages of the hotel, 
 felt his anger rousing up within him. He was indig- 
 nant to think that yonder old gentleman whom he 
 was about to meet, should have made him such a tool 
 and puppet, and so compromised his honor and good 
 name. The old fellow's hand was very cold and 
 shaky when Arthur took it. He was coughing; he 
 was grumbling over the fire ; Frosch could not bring 
 his dressing-gown or arrange his papers as that d — d 
 confounded impudent scoundrel of a Morgan. The 
 old gentleman bemoaned himself, and cursed Mor- 
 gan's ingratitude with peevish pathos. 
 
 " The confounded impudent scoundrel ! He was 
 drunk last night, and challenged me to fight him, 
 Pen : and begad, at one time I was so excited that I 
 
302 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 thought I should have driven a knife into him ; and 
 the infernal rascal has made ten thousand pound, I 
 believe — and deserves to be hanged, and will be; 
 but, curse him ! I wish he could have lasted out my 
 time. He knew all my ways, and, dammy, when I 
 rang the bell, the confounded thief brought the thing 
 I wanted — not like that stupid German lout. And 
 what sort of time have you had in the country ? 
 Been a good deal with Lady Rockminster? You 
 can't do better. She is one of the old school — vieille 
 ecole, bonne ecole, hey ? Dammy, they don't make 
 gentlemen and ladies now ; and in fifty years you '11 
 hardly know one man from another. But they'll 
 last my time. I ain't long for this business : I am 
 getting very old, Pen, my boy ; and, gad, I was think- 
 ing to-day, as I was packing up my little library, 
 there 's a Bible amongst the books that belonged to 
 my poor mother ; I would like you to keep that, Pen. 
 I was thinking, sir, that you would most likely open 
 the box when it was your property, and the old fellow 
 was laid under the sod, sir." And the Major coughed 
 and wagged his old head over the fire. 
 
 His age — his kindness, disarmed Pen's anger some- 
 what, and made Arthur feel no little compunction for 
 the deed which he was about to do. He knew that 
 the announcement which he was about to make 
 would destroy the darling hope of the old gentleman's 
 life, and create in his breast a woful anger and 
 commotion. 
 
 " Hey — hey — I 'm off, sir," nodded the Elder ; 
 "but I'd like to read a speech of yours in the 
 4 Times ' before I go — ' Mr. Pendennis said : Unac- 
 customed as I am to public speaking ' — hey, sir ? 
 hey, Arthur? Begad, you look dev'lish well and 
 healthy, sir. I always said my brother J ack would 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 303 
 
 bring the family right. You must go down into the 
 West, and buy the old estate, sir. Nee tenui pennd, 
 hey ? We '11 rise again, sir — rise again on the wing 
 
 — and, begad, I should n't be surprised that you will 
 be a Baronet before you die." 
 
 His words smote Pen. " And it is I," he thought, 
 " that am going to fling down the poor old fellow's air- 
 castle. Well, it must be. Here goes. — I — I went 
 into your lodgings at Bury Street, though I did not 
 find you," Pen slowly began — " and I talked with 
 Morgan, Uncle." 
 
 " Indeed ! " The old gentleman's cheek began to 
 flush involuntarily, and he muttered, " The cat 's out 
 of the bag now, begad ! " 
 
 " He told me a story, sir, which gave me the deepest 
 surprise and pain," said Pen. 
 
 The Major tried to look unconcerned. "What — - 
 that story about — about What-do-you-call-'em, hey ? " 
 
 " About Miss Amory's father — about Lady Cover- 
 ing's first husband, and who he is, and what." 
 
 " Hem — a devilish awkward affair ! " said the old 
 man, rubbing his nose. "I — I 've been aware of that 
 
 — eh — confounded circumstance for some time." 
 
 " I wish I had known it sooner, or not at all," said 
 Arthur, gloomily. 
 
 "He is all safe," thought the Senior, greatly 
 relieved. " Gad ! I should have liked to keep it 
 from you altogether — and from those two poor 
 women, who are as innocent as unborn babes in the 
 transaction." 
 
 " You are right. There is no reason why the two 
 women should hear it ; and I shall never tell them — 
 though that villain, Morgan, perhaps may," Arthur 
 said, gloomily. " He seems disposed to trade upon 
 his secret, and has already proposed terms of ransom 
 
304 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 to me. I wish I had known of the matter earlier, sir. 
 It is not a very pleasant thought to me that I am en- 
 gaged to a convict's daughter." 
 
 "The very reason why I kept it from you — my 
 dear boy. But Miss Amory is not a convict's daugh- 
 ter, don't you see ? Miss Amory is the daughter of 
 Lady Clavering, with fifty or sixty thousand pounds 
 for a fortune ; and her father-in-law, a Baronet and 
 country gentleman, of high reputation, approves of 
 the match, and gives up his seat in Parliament to his 
 son-in-law. What can be more simple ? " 
 
 " Is it true, sir ? " 
 
 " Begad, yes, it is true, of course it 's true. Amory's 
 dead. I tell you he is dead. The first sign of life he 
 shows, he is dead. He can't appear. We have him 
 at a dead-lock, like the fellow in the play — 1 The Critic,' 
 hey ? — devilish amusing play, that Critic' Mon- 
 strous witty man Sheridan ; and so was his son. By 
 gad, sir, when I was at the Cape, I remember — " 
 
 The old gentleman's garrulity, and wish to conduct 
 Arthur to the Cape, perhaps arose from a desire to 
 avoid the subject which was nearest his nephew's 
 heart ; but Arthur broke out, interrupting him — " If 
 you had told me this tale sooner, I believe you would 
 have spared me and yourself a great deal of pain and 
 disappointment ; and I should not have found myself 
 tied to an engagement from which I can't in honor, 
 recede." 
 
 " No, begad, we 've fixed you — and a man who 's 
 fixed to a seat in Parliament, and a pretty girl, with a 
 couple of thousand a-year, is fixed to no bad thing, 
 let me tell you," said the old man. 
 
 " Great Heaven, sir ! " said Arthur ; " are you 
 blind ? Can't you see ? " 
 
 " See what, young gentleman ? " asked the other. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 305 
 
 •'See, that rather than trade upon this secret of 
 Amory's," Arthur cried out, " I would go and join my 
 father-in-law at the hulks ! See, that rather than take 
 a seat in Parliament as a bribe from Clavering for 
 silence, I would take the spoons off the table ! See, 
 that you have given me a felon's daughter for a wife ; 
 doomed me to poverty and shame ; cursed my career 
 when it might have been — when it might have been 
 so different but for you ! Don't you see that we 
 have been playing a guilty game, and have been over- 
 reached ; — that in offering to marry this poor girl, 
 for the sake of her money, and the advancement she 
 would bring, I was degrading myself, and prostituting 
 my honor ? " 
 
 " What in Heaven's name do you mean, sir ? " 
 cried the old man. 
 
 " I mean to say that there is a measure of baseness 
 which I can't pass," Arthur said. " I have no other 
 words for it, and am sorry if they hurt you. I have 
 felt, for months past, that my conduct in this affair 
 has been wicked, sordid, and worldly. I am rightly 
 punished by the event, and having sold myself for 
 money and a seat in Parliament, by losing both." 
 
 " How do you mean that you lose either ? " shrieked 
 the old gentleman. "Who the devil's to take your 
 fortune or your seat away from you? By G — , 
 Clavering shall give 'em to you. You shall have 
 every shilling of eighty thousand pounds." 
 
 "I'll keep my promise to Miss Amory, sir," said 
 Arthur. 
 
 " And, begad, her parents shall keep theirs to you." 
 
 " Not so, please God," Arthur answered. " I have 
 sinned, but, Heaven help me, I will sin no more. I 
 will let Clavering off from that bargain which was 
 made without my knowledge. I will take no monev 
 
306 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 with Blanche but that which was originally settled 
 upon her ; and I will try to make her happy. You 
 have done it. You have brought this on me, sir. 
 But you knew no better: and I forgive — n 
 
 " Arthur — in God's name — in your father's, who, 
 by heavens, was the proudest man alive, and had the 
 honor of the family always at heart — in mine — for 
 the sake of a poor broken-down old fellow, who has 
 always been dev'lish fond of you — don't fling this 
 chance away — I pray you, I beg you, I implore you, 
 my dear, dear boy, don't fling this chance away. It 's 
 the making of you. You 're sure to get on. You '11 be 
 a Baronet ; it 's three thousand a-year : dammy, on my 
 knees, there, I beg of you, don't do this." 
 
 And the old man actually sank down on his knees, 
 and seizing one of Arthur's hands, looked up piteously 
 at him. It was cruel to remark the shaking hands, 
 the wrinkled and quivering face, the old eyes weeping 
 and winking, the broken voice. "Ah, sir," said 
 Arthur, with a groan, " you have brought pain enough 
 on me, spare me this. You have wished me to marry 
 Blanche. I marry her. For God's sake, sir, rise ! I 
 can't bear it." 
 
 " You — you mean to say that you will take her as 
 a beggar, and be one yourself ? " said the old gentle- 
 man, rising up and coughing violently. 
 
 " I look at her as a person to whom a great calamity 
 has befallen, and to whom I am promised. She can- 
 not help the misfortune; and as she had my word 
 when she was prosperous, I shall not withdraw it now 
 she is poor. I will not take Clavering's seat, unless 
 afterwards it should be given of his free will. I will 
 not have a shilling more than her original fortune." 
 
 " Have the kindness to ring the bell," said the old 
 gentleman. " I have done my best, and said my say ; 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 307 
 
 and I 'm a dev'lish old fellow. And — and — it don't 
 matter. And — and Shakspeare was right — and 
 Cardinal Wolsey — begad — 'and had I bnt served 
 my God as I 've served you ' — yes, on my knees, by 
 Jove, to my own nephew — I might n't have been — 
 Good-night, sir, you need n't trouble yourself to call 
 again." 
 
 Arthur took his hand, which the old man left to 
 him ; it was quite passive and clammy. He looked 
 very much oldened ; and it seemed as if the contest 
 and defeat had quite broken him. 
 
 On the next day he kept his bed, and refused to see 
 his nephew. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE DECKS BEGIN TO CLEAR. 
 
 When, arrayed in his dressing-gown, Pen walked 
 up, according to custom, to Warrington's chambers 
 next morning, to inform his friend of the issue 
 of the last night's interview with his uncle, and to 
 ask, as usual, for George's advice and opinion, Mrs. 
 Flanagan, the laundress, was the only person whom 
 Arthur found in the dear old chambers. George had 
 taken a carpet-bag, and was gone. His address was 
 to his brother's house in Suffolk. Packages, addressed 
 to the newspaper and review for which he wrote, lay 
 on the table, awaiting delivery. 
 
 " I found him at the table, when I came, the dear 
 gentleman!" Mrs. Flanagan said, "writing at his 
 papers, and one of the candles was burned out ; and 
 hard as his bed is, he was n't in it all night, sir." 
 
 Indeed, having sat at the Club until the brawl there 
 became intolerable to him, George had walked home, 
 and had passed the night finishing some work on which 
 he was employed, and to the completion of which he 
 bent himself with all his might. The labor was done, 
 and the night was worn away somehow, and the tardy 
 November dawn came and looked in on the young 
 man as he sat over his desk. In the next day's paper, 
 or quarter's review, many of us very likely admired 
 the work of his genius, the variety of his illustration, 
 the fierce vigor of his satire, the depth of his reason. 
 There was no hint in his writing of the other thoughts 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 309 
 
 which occupied him, and always accompanied him in 
 his work : a tone more melancholy than was custom- 
 ary, a satire more bitter and impatient than that 
 which he afterwards showed, may have marked the 
 writings of this period of his life to the very few per- 
 sons who knew his style or his name. We have said 
 before, could we know the man's feelings as well as 
 the author's thoughts — how interesting most books 
 would be ! — more interesting than merry. I suppose 
 harlequin's face behind his mask is always grave, if 
 not melancholy — certainly, each man who lives by 
 the pen, and happens to read this, must remember, if 
 he will, his own experiences, and recall many solemn 
 hours of solitude and labor. What a constant care 
 sat at the side of the desk and accompanied him ! 
 Fever or sickness were lying possibly in the next 
 room : a sick child might be there, with a wife watch- 
 ing over it terrified and in prayer ; or grief might be 
 bearing him down, and the cruel mist before the eyes 
 rendering the paper scarce visible as he wrote on it, 
 and the inexorable necessity drove on the pen. What 
 man among us has not had nights and hours like 
 these ? But to the manly heart — severe as these 
 pangs are, they are endurable : long as the night 
 seems, the dawn comes at last, and the wounds heal, 
 and the fever abates, and rest comes, and you can 
 afford to look back on the past misery with feelings 
 that are anything but bitter. 
 
 Two or three books for reference, fragments of 
 torn-up manuscript, drawers open, pens and inkstand, 
 lines half visible on the blotting-paper, a bit of seal- 
 ing-wax twisted and bitten and broken into sundry 
 pieces — such relics as these were about the table, and 
 Pen flung himself down in George's empty chair — 
 noting things according to his wont, or in spite of 
 
310 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 himself. There was a gap in the book-case (next to 
 the old College Plato, with the Boniface Arms), where 
 Helen's Bible used to be. He has taken that with 
 him, thought Pen. He knew why his friend was 
 gone. Dear, dear old George ! 
 
 Pen rubbed his hand over his eyes. Oh, how much 
 wiser, how much better, how much nobler he is than 
 I, he .thought. Where was such a friend, or such a 
 brave heart ? Where shall I ever hear such a frank 
 voice, and kind laughter? Where shall I ever see 
 such a true gentleman ? No wonder she loved him. 
 God bless him ! What was I compared to him ? What 
 could she do else but love him ? To the end of our 
 days we will be her brothers, as fate wills that we 
 can be no more. We '11 be her knights, and wait on 
 her ; and when we 're old, we '11 say how we loved 
 her. Dear, dear old George ! 
 
 W r hen Pen descended to his own chambers, his eye 
 fell on the letter-box of his outer door, which he had 
 previously overlooked, and there was a little note to 
 A. P., Esq., in George's well-known handwriting, 
 George had put into Pen's box probably as he was 
 going away. 
 
 " Dear Pen, — I shall be half way home when you breakfast, 
 and intend to stay over Christmas, in Suffolk, or elsewhere. 
 
 " I have my own opinion of the issue of matters about which 
 
 we talked in J Street yesterday ; and think my presence 
 
 de trop. 
 
 " Vale. G. W. 
 
 " Give my very best regards and adieux to your cousin." 
 
 And so George was gone, and Mrs. Flanagan, the 
 laundress, ruled over his empty chambers. 
 
 Pen of course had to go and see his uncle on the day 
 after their colloquy ; and not being admitted, he natu- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 311 
 
 rally went to Lady Rockminster's apartments, where 
 the old lady instantly asked for Bluebeard, and in- 
 sisted that he should come to dinner. 
 
 " Bluebeard is gone," Pen said, and he took out poor 
 George's scrap of paper, and handed it to Laura, who 
 looked at it — did not look at Pen in return, but 
 passed the paper back to him, and walked away. 
 Pen rushed into an eloquent eulogium upon his dear 
 old George to Lady Rockminster, who was astonished 
 at his enthusiasm. She had never heard him so 
 warm in praise of anybody ; and told him, with her 
 usual frankness, that she did n't think it had been in 
 his nature to care so much about any other person. 
 
 As Mr. Pendennis was passing through Waterloo 
 Place, in one of his many walks to the hotel where 
 Laura lived, and whither duty to his uncle carried 
 Arthur every day, he saw issuing from Messrs. Gim- 
 crack's celebrated shop an old friend, who was fol- 
 lowed to his brougham by an obsequious shopman 
 bearing parcels. The gentleman was in the deepest 
 mourning; the brougham, the driver, and the horse, 
 were in mourning. Grief in easy circumstances, and 
 supported by the comfortablest springs and cushions, 
 was typified in the equipage and the little gentleman, 
 its proprietor. 
 
 "What, Foker! Hail, Poker !" cried out Pen — 
 the reader, no doubt, has likewise recognized Arthur's 
 old schoolfellow — and he held out his hand to the 
 heir of the late lamented John Henry Foker, Esq., 
 the master of Logwood and other houses, the princi- 
 pal partner in the great brewery of Foker & Co. : the 
 greater portion of Foker's Entire. 
 
 A little hand, covered with a glove of the deepest 
 ebony, and set off by three inches of a snowy wrist- 
 band, was put forth to meet Arthur's salutation. The 
 
312 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 other little hand held a little morocco case, contain* 
 ing, no doubt, something precious, of which Mr. Foker 
 had just become proprietor in Messrs. Gimcrack's 
 shop. Pen's keen eyes and satiric turn showed him 
 at once upon what errand Mr. Foker had been em- 
 ployed ; and he thought of the heir in Horace pouring 
 forth the gathered wine of his father's vats ; and that 
 human nature is pretty much the same in Regent 
 Street as in the Via Sacra. 
 
 " Le Roi est mort. Vive le Eoi ! " said Arthur. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the other. " Yes. Thank you — very 
 much obliged. How do you do, Pen ? — very busy — - 
 good-by ! " and he jumped into the black brougham, 
 and sat like a little black Care behind the black 
 coachman. He had blushed on seeing Pen, and shown 
 other signs of guilt and perturbation, which Pen 
 attributed to the novelty of his situation; and on 
 which he began to speculate in his usual sardonic 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes : so wags the world," thought Pen. " The 
 stone closes over Harry the Fourth, and Harry the 
 Fifth reigns in his stead. The old ministers at 
 the brewery come and kneel before him with their 
 books ; the draymen, his subjects, fling up their red 
 caps, and shout for him. What a grave deference 
 and sympathy the bankers and the lawyers show ! 
 There was too great a stake at issue between those 
 two that they should ever love each other very cor- 
 dially. As long as one man keeps another out of 
 twenty thousand a-year, the younger must be always 
 hankering after the crown, and the wish must be the 
 father to the thought of possession. Thank Heaven, 
 there was no thought of money between me and our 
 dear mother, Laura." 
 
 "There never could have been. You would have 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 313 
 
 spurned it ! " cried Laura. " Why make yourself 
 more selfish than you are, Pen ; and allow your mind 
 to own, for an instant, that it would have entertained 
 such — such dreadful meanness ? You make me blush 
 for you, Arthur: you make me — " her eyes finished 
 this sentence, and she passed her handkerchief across 
 them. 
 
 "There are some truths which women will never 
 acknowledge," Pen said, " and from which your mod- 
 esty always turns away. I do not say that I never 
 knew the feeling, only that I am glad I had not the 
 temptation. Is there any harm in that confession of 
 weakness ? " 
 
 " We are all taught to ask to be delivered from evil, 
 Arthur," said Laura, in a low voice. " I am glad if 
 you were spared from that great crime ; and only 
 sorry to think that you could by any possibility have 
 been led into it. But you never could ; and you don't 
 think you could. Your acts are generous and kind : 
 you disdain mean actions. You take Blanche without 
 money, and without a bribe. Yes, thanks be to 
 Heaven, dear brother. You could not have sold 
 yourself away ; I knew you could not when it came 
 to the day, and you did not. Praise be — be where 
 praise is due. Why does this horrid scepticism pur- 
 sue you, my Arthur ? Why doubt and sneer at your 
 own heart — at every one's ? Oh, if you knew the 
 pain you give me — how I lie awake and think of 
 those hard sentences, dear brother, and wish them 
 unspoken, unthought ! " 
 
 " Do I cause you many thoughts and many tears, 
 Laura ? " asked Arthur. The fulness of innocent 
 love beamed from her in reply. A smile heavenly 
 pure, a glance of unutterable tenderness, sympathy, 
 pity, shone in her face — all which indications of love 
 
314 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and purity Arthur beheld and worshipped in her, as 
 you would watch them in a child, as one fancies one 
 might regard them in an angel. 
 
 "I — I don't know what I have done," he said, 
 simply, " to have merited such regard from two such 
 women. It is like undeserved praise, Laura — or too 
 much good fortune, which frightens one — or a great 
 post, when a man feels that he is not fit for it. Ah, 
 sister, how weak and wicked we are ; how spotless, 
 and full of love and truth, Heaven made you ! I 
 think for some of you there has been no fall," he 
 said, looking at the charming girl with an almost 
 paternal glance of admiration. "You can't help 
 having sweet thoughts, and doing good actions. 
 Dear creature ! They are the flowers which you 
 bear." 
 
 " And what else, sir ? " asked Laura. " I see a 
 sneer coming over your face. What is it ? Why 
 does it come, to drive all the good thoughts 
 
 away ? " 
 
 " A sneer, is there ? I was thinking, my dear, 
 that nature in making you so good and loving did 
 very well : but — " 
 
 " But what ? What is that wicked but ? and why 
 are you always calling it up ? " 
 
 " But will come in spite of us. But is reflection. 
 But is the sceptic's familiar, with whom he has made 
 a compact ; and if he forgets it, and indulges in 
 happy day-dreams, or building of air-castles, or listens 
 to sweet music let us say, or to the bells ringing to 
 church, But taps at the door, and says, Master, I am 
 here. You are my master ; but I am yours. Go 
 where you will, you can't travel without me. I will 
 whisper to you when you are on your knees at church. 
 I will be at your marriage pillow. I will sit down at 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 315 
 
 your table with your children. I will be behind your 
 death-bed curtain. That is what But is," Pen said. 
 
 " Pen, you frighten me," cried Laura. 
 
 " Do you know what But came and said to me just 
 now, when I was looking at you ? But said, If that 
 girl had reason as well as love, she would love you 
 no more. If she knew you as you are — the sullied, 
 selhsh being which you know — she must part from 
 you, and could give you no love and no sympathy. 
 Did n ? t I say," he added, fondly, " that some of you 
 seem exempt from the fall ? Love you know ; but 
 the knowledge of evil is kept from you." 
 
 " What is this you young folks are talking about ? " 
 asked Lady Rockminster, who at this moment made 
 her appearance in the room, having performed, in the 
 mystic retirement of her own apartments, and under 
 the hands of her attendant, those elaborate toilet- 
 rites without which the worthy old lady never pre- 
 sented herself to public view. " Mr. Pendennis, you 
 are always coming here." 
 
 " It is very pleasant to be here," Arthur said : " and 
 we were talking, when you came in, about my friend 
 Foker, whom I met just now ; and who, as your lady- 
 ship knows, has succeeded to his father's kingdom." 
 
 " He has a very fine property, he has fifteen thou- 
 sand a-year. He is my cousin. He is a very worthy 
 young man. He must come and see me," said Lady 
 Rockminster, with a look at Laura. 
 
 " He has been engaged for many years past to his 
 cousin, Lady — " 
 
 " Lady Ann is a foolish little chit," Lady Rock- 
 minster said, with much dignity : " and I have no 
 patience with her. She has outraged every feeling 
 of society. She has broken her father's heart, and 
 thrown away fifteen thousand a-year." 
 
316 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Thrown away ! What has happened ? " asked 
 Pen. 
 
 " It will be the talk of the town in a day or two ; 
 and there is no need why I should keep the secret 
 any longer," said Lady Eockminster, who had writ- 
 ten and received a dozen letters on the subject. " I 
 had a letter yesterday from my daughter, who was 
 staying at Drummington until all the world was 
 obliged to go away on account of the frightful catas- 
 trophe which happened there. When Mr. Foker 
 came home from Nice, and after the funeral, Lady 
 Ann went down on her knees to her father, said that 
 she never could marry her cousin, that she had con- 
 tracted another attachment, and that she must die 
 rather than fulfil her contract. Poor Lord Kosher- 
 ville, who is dreadfully embarrassed, showed his 
 daughter what the state of his affairs was, and that 
 it was necessary that the arrangements should take 
 place; and, in fine, we all supposed that she had 
 listened to reason, and intended to comply with the 
 desires of her family. But what has happened — 
 last Thursday she went out after breakfast with her 
 maid, and was married in the very church in Drum- 
 mington Park to Mr. Hobson, her father's own chap- 
 lain and her brother's tutor, a red-haired widower 
 with two children. Poor dear Rosherville is in a 
 dreadful way : he wishes Henry Foker should marry 
 Alice or Barbara ; but Alice is marked with the 
 small-pox, and Barbara is ten years older than he is. 
 And, of course, now the young man is his own master, 
 he will think of choosing for himself. The blow on 
 Lady Agnes is very cruel. She is inconsolable. She 
 has the house in Grosvenor Street for her life, and 
 her settlement, which was very handsome. Have you 
 not met her ? Yes, she dined one day at Lady Clav- 
 
PEXDEXXIS. 
 
 317 
 
 ering's — the first day I saw you, and a very disagree- 
 able young man 1 thought you were. But I have 
 formed you. We have formed him, have n't we, 
 Laura ? Where is Bluebeard ? let him come. That 
 horrid Grindley, the dentist, will keep me in town 
 another week." 
 
 To the latter part of her ladyship's speech Arthur 
 gave no ear. He was thinking for whom could Foker 
 be purchasing those trinkets which he was carrying 
 away from the jeweller's ? Why did Harry seem 
 anxious to avoid him ? Could he be still faithful to 
 the attachment which had agitated him so much, and 
 sent him abroad eighteen months back ? Psha ! The 
 bracelets and presents were for some of Harry's old 
 friends of the Opera or the French Theatre. Rumors 
 from Naples and Paris, rumors such as are borne to 
 Club smoking-rooms, had announced that the young 
 man had found distractions ; or, precluded from his 
 virtuous attachment, the poor fellow had flung himself 
 back upon his old companions and amusements — not 
 the only man or woman whom society forces into evil, 
 or debars from good : not the only victim of the world's 
 selfish and wicked laws. 
 
 As a good thing when it is to be done cannot be done 
 too quickly, Laura was anxious that Pen's marriage 
 intentions should be put into execution as speedily as 
 possible, and pressed on his arrangements with rather 
 a feverish anxiety. Why could she not wait ? Pen 
 could afford to do so with perfect equanimity, but 
 Laura would hear of no delay. She wrote to Pen : 
 she implored Pen : she used every means to urge ex- 
 pedition. It seemed as if she could have no rest until 
 Arthur's happiness was complete. 
 
 She offered herself to dearest Blanche to come and 
 stay at Tunbridge with her, when Lady Rockminster 
 
318 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 should go on her intended visit to the reigning house of 
 Kockminster ; and although the old dowager scolded, 
 and ordered, and commanded, Laura was deaf and dis- 
 obedient ; she must go to Tunbridge, she would go to 
 Tunbridge ; she who ordinarily had no will of her own, 
 and complied smilingly with anybody's whim and ca- 
 prices, showed the most selfish and obstinate deter- 
 mination in this instance. The dowager lady must 
 nurse herself in her rheumatism, she must read her- 
 self to sleep, if she would not hear her maid, whose 
 voice croaked, and who made sad work of the senti- 
 mental passages in the novels — Laura must go, and 
 be with her new sister. In another week, she proposed, 
 with many loves and regards to dear Lady Clavering, 
 to pass some time with dearest Blanche. 
 
 Dearest Blanche wrote instantly in reply to dearest 
 Laura's No. 1, to say with what extreme delight she 
 would welcome her sister : how charming it would be 
 to practise their old duets together, to wander o'er the 
 grassy sward, and amidst the yellowing woods of Pens- 
 hurst and Southborough ! Blanche counted the hours 
 till she should embrace her dearest friend. 
 
 Laura, No. 2, expressed her delight at dearest 
 Blanche's affectionate reply. She hoped that their 
 friendship would never diminish ; that the confidence 
 between them would grow in after years ; that they 
 should have no secrets from each other ; that the aim 
 of the life of each would be to make one person 
 happy. 
 
 Blanche, No. 2, followed in two days. "How pro- 
 voking ! Their house was very small, the two spare 
 bedrooms were occupied by that horrid Mrs. Planter 
 and her daughter, who had thought proper to fall ill 
 (she always fell ill in country-houses), and she could 
 not or would not be moved for some days." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 319 
 
 Laura, No. 3. " It was indeed very provoking. L. 
 had hoped to hear one of dearest B.'s dear songs on 
 Friday : but she was the more consoled to wait, be- 
 cause Lady E. was not very well, and liked to be 
 nursed by her. Poor Major Pendennis was very un- 
 well, too, in the same hotel — too unwell even to see 
 Arthur, who was constant in his calls on his uncle. 
 Arthur's heart was full of tenderness and affection. 
 She had known Arthur all her life. She would an- 
 swer " — yes, even in italics she would answer — " for 
 his kindness, his goodness, and his gentleness." 
 
 Blanche, No. 3. " What is this most surprising, 
 most extraordinary letter from A. P. ? What does 
 dearest Laura know about it ? What has happened ? 
 What, what mystery is enveloped under his fright- 
 ful reserve ? " 
 
 Blanche, No. 3, requires an explanation ; and it can- 
 not be better given than in the surprising and mys- 
 terious letter of Arthur Pendennis. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 MR. AND MRS. SAM HUXTER. 
 
 "Dear Blanche," Arthur wrote, "you are always reading 
 and dreaming pretty dramas, and exciting romances in real 
 life, are you now prepared to enact a part of one ? And not 
 the pleasantest part, dear Blanche, that in which the heroine 
 takes possession of her father's palace and wealth, and intro- 
 ducing her husband to the loyal retainers and faithful vassals, 
 greets her happy bridegroom with 1 All of this is mine and 
 thine,' — but the other character, that of the luckless lady, 
 who suddenly discovers that she is not the Prince's wife, but 
 Claude Melnotte's the beggar's : that of Alnaschar's wife, who 
 comes in just as her husband has kicked over the tray of 
 porcelain which was to be the making of his fortune — But 
 stay ; Alnaschar, who kicked down the china, was not a 
 married man; he had cast his eye on the Vizier's daughter, 
 and his hopes of her went to the ground with the shattered 
 bowls and tea-cups. 
 
 " Will you be the Vizier's daughter, and refuse and laugh 
 to scorn Alnaschar, or will you be the Lady of Lyons, and 
 love the penniless Claude Melnotte ? I will act that part if 
 you like. I will love you my best in return. I will do my 
 all to make your humble life happy : for humble it will be : 
 at least the odds are against any other conclusion ; we shall 
 live and die in a poor prosy humdrum way. There will be 
 no stars and epaulets for the hero of our story. I shall 
 write one or two more stories, which will presently be for- 
 gotten. I shall be called to the Bar, and try to get on in my 
 profession ; perhaps some day, if I am very lucky, and work 
 very hard (which is absurd), I may get a colonial appoint- 
 ment, and you may be an Indian Judge's lady. Meanwhile 
 I shall buy back the 4 Pall Mall Gazette ; ' the publishers are 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 321 
 
 tired of it since the death of poor Shandon, and will sell it 
 for a small sum. Warrington will be my right hand, and 
 write it up to a respectable sale. I will introduce you to Mr. 
 Finucane the sub-editor, and I know who in the end will be 
 Mrs. Finucane, — a very nice gentle creature, who has lived 
 sweetly through a sad life — and we will jog on, I say, and 
 look out for better times, and earn our living decently. You 
 shall have the opera-boxes, and superintend the fashionable 
 intelligence, and break your little heart in the poet's corner. 
 Shall we live over the offices ? — there are four very good 
 rooms, a kitchen, and a garret for Laura, in Catherine Street 
 in the Strand ; or would you like a house in the "Waterloo 
 Road? — it would be very pleasant, only there is that half- 
 penny toll at the Bridge. The boys may go to King's College, 
 may n't they ? Does all this read to you like a joke 1 
 
 ** Ah, dear Blanche, it is no joke, and I am sober and tell- 
 ing the truth. Our tine day-dreams are gone. Our carriage 
 has whirled out of sight like Cinderella's : our house in Bel- 
 gravia has been whisked away into the air by a malevolent 
 Genius, and I am no more a Member of Parliament than I 
 am a Bishop on his bench in the House of Lords, or a Duke 
 with a Garter at his knee. You know pretty well what my 
 property is, and your own little fortune : we may have 
 enough with those two to live in decent comfort : to take a 
 cab sometimes when we go out to see our friends, and not to 
 deny ourselves an omnibus when we are tired. But that is 
 all : is that enough for you, my little dainty lady ? I doubt 
 sometimes whether you can bear the life I offer you — at 
 least, it is fair that you should know what it will be. If you 
 say, 1 Yes, Arthur, I will follow your fate whatever it may 
 be, and be a loyal and loving wife to aid and cheer you ' — 
 come to me, dear Blanche, and may God help me so that I 
 may do my duty to you. If not, and you look to a higher 
 station, I must not bar Blanche's fortune — I will stand in the 
 crowd, and see your ladyship go to Court when you are pre- 
 sented, and you shall give me a smile from your chariot win- 
 dow. I saw Lady Mirabel going to the drawing-room last 
 season : the happy husband at her side glittered with stars 
 
322 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 and cordons. All the flowers in the garden bloomed in the 
 coachman's bosom. Will you have these and the chariot, or 
 walk on foot and mend your husband's stockings ] 
 
 " I cannot tell you now — afterwards I might, should the 
 day come when we may have no secrets from one another — 
 what has happened within the last few hours which has 
 changed all my prospects in life : but so it is, that I have 
 learned something which forces me to give up the plans which 
 I had formed, and many vain and ambitious hopes in which 
 I had been indulging. I have written and despatched a letter 
 to Sir Francis Clavering, saying that I cannot accept his seat 
 in Parliament until after my marriage ; in like manner I can- 
 not and will not accept any larger fortune with you than that 
 which has always belonged to you since your grandfather's 
 death, and the birth of your half-brother. Your good mother 
 is not in the least aware — I hope she never may be — of the 
 reasons which force me to this very strange decision. They 
 arise from a painful circumstance, which is attributable to 
 none of our faults ; but, having once befallen, they are as 
 fatal and irreparable as that shock which overset honest Al- 
 naschar's porcelain, and shattered all his hopes beyond the 
 power of mending. I write gayly enough , for there is no use 
 in bewailing such a hopeless mischance. We have not drawn 
 the great prize in the lottery, dear Blanche : but I shall be 
 contented enough without it, if you can be so ; and I repeat, 
 with all my heart, that I will do my best to make you 
 happy. 
 
 " And now, what news shall I give you ? My uncle is very 
 unwell, and takes my refusal of the seat in Parliament in sad 
 dudgeon: the scheme was his, poor old gentleman, and he 
 naturally bemoans its failure. But Warrington, Laura, and I 
 had a council of war : they know this awful secret, and back 
 me in my decision. You must love George as you love what 
 is generous and upright and noble ; and as for Lanra — she 
 must be our Sister, Blanche, our Saint, our good Angel. With 
 two such friends at home, what need we care for the world 
 without, or who is member for Clavering, or who is asked op 
 not asked to the great balls of the season i " 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 323 
 
 To this frank communication came back the letter 
 from Blanche to Laura, and one to Pen himself, which 
 perhaps his own letter justified. 
 
 "You are spoiled by the world," Blanche wrote; "you do 
 not love your poor Blanche as she would be loved, or you 
 would not offer thus lightly to take her or to leave her. No, 
 * Arthur, you love me not — a man of the world, you have 
 given me your plighted troth, and are ready to redeem it ; but 
 that entire affection, that love whole and abiding, where — 
 where is that vision of my youth ? I am but a pastime of your 
 life, and I would be its all ; — but a fleeting thought, and i 
 would be your whole soul. I would have our two hearts one ; 
 but ah, my Arthur, how lonely yours is 1 how little you give 
 me of it ! You speak of our parting with a smile on your lip ; 
 of our meeting, and you care not to hasten it ! Is life but a 
 disillusion, then, and are the flowers of our garden faded away ? 
 I have wept — I have prayed — I have passed sleepless hours — 
 I have shed bitter, bitter tears over your letter ! To you I 
 bring the gushing poesy of my being — the yearnings of the 
 soul that longs to be loved — that pines for love, love, love, 
 beyond all! — that flings itself at your feet, and cries, Love me, 
 Arthur ! Your heart beats no quicker at the kneeling appeal 
 of my love! — your proud eye is dimmed by no tear of sympa- 
 thy ! — you accept my soul's treasure as though 't were dross ! 
 not the pearls from the unfathomable deeps of affection ! not 
 the diamonds from the caverns of the heart. You treat me 
 like a slave, and bid me bow to my master ! Is this the guer- 
 don of a free maiden — is this the price of a life's passion 1 Ah 
 me ! when was it otherwise 1 when did love meet with aught 
 but disappointment ? Could I hope (fond fool !) to be the ex- 
 ception to the lot of my race ; and lay my fevered brow on a 
 heart that comprehended my own ? Foolish girl that I was t 
 One by one, all the flowers of my young life have faded away; 
 and this, the last, the sweetest, the dearest, the fondlv, the 
 madly loved, the wildly cherished — where is it? But no 
 more of this. Heed not my bleeding heart. — Bless you, bless 
 you always, Arthur ! 
 
 M I will write more when I am more collected. My racking 
 
324 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 brain renders thought almost impossible. I long to see Laura 
 She will come to us directly we return from the country, will 
 she not ? And you, cold one ! B." 
 
 The words of this letter were perfectly clear, and 
 written in Blanche's neatest hand upon her scented 
 paper; and yet the meaning of the composition not 
 a little puzzled Pen. Did Blanche mean to accept or 
 to refuse his polite offer ? Her phrases either meant 
 that Pen did not love her, and she declined him, or 
 that she took him, and sacrificed herself to him, cold 
 as he was. He laughed sardonically over the letter, 
 and over the transaction which occasioned it. He 
 laughed to think how Fortune had jilted him, and 
 how he deserved his slippery fortune. He turned over 
 and over the musky gilt-edged riddle. It amused 
 his humor : he enjoyed it as if it had been a funny 
 story. 
 
 He was thus seated, twiddling the queer manuscript 
 in his hand, joking grimly to himself, when his ser- 
 vant came in with a card from a gentleman, who 
 wished to speak to him very particularly. And if 
 Pen had gone out into the passage, he would have 
 seen sucking his stick, rolling his eyes, and showing 
 great marks of anxiety, his old acquaintance, Mr. 
 Samuel Huxter. 
 
 " Mr. Huxter on particular business ! Pray beg 
 Mr. Huxter to come in," said Pen, amused rather ; 
 and not the less so when poor Sam appeared before 
 him. 
 
 "Pray take a chair, Mr. Huxter," said Pen, in his 
 most superb manner. "In what way can I be of ser- 
 vice to you ? " 
 
 " I had rather not speak before the flunk — before 
 the man, Mr. Pendennis : " on which Mr. Arthur's 
 attendant quitted the room. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 325 
 
 " I 'm in a fix," said Mr. Huxter, gloomily. 
 " Indeed." 
 
 u She sent me to you," continued the young 
 surgeon. 
 
 " What ! Fanny ? Is she well ? I was coming to 
 see her, but I have had a great deal of business since 
 my return to London." 
 
 " I heard of you through my governor and Jack 
 Hobnell," broke in Huxter. " I wish you joy, Mr. 
 Pendennis, both of the borough and the lady, sir. 
 Fanny wishes you joy, too," he added, with something 
 of a blush. 
 
 " There 's many a slip between the cup and the lip ! 
 Who knows what may happen, Mr. Huxter, or who 
 will sit in Parliament for Clavering next session ? " 
 
 " You can do anything with my governor," contin- 
 ued Mr. Huxter. "You got him Clavering Park. 
 The old boy was very much pleased, sir, at your 
 calling him in. Hobnell wrote me so. Do you 
 think you could speak to the governor for me, 
 Mr. Pendennis ? " 
 
 "And tell him what?" 
 
 " I We gone and done it, sir," said Huxter, with a 
 particular look. 
 
 " You — you don't mean to say you have — you 
 have done any wrong to that dear little creature, 
 sir ? " said Pen, starting up in a great fury. 
 
 " I hope not," said Huxter, with a hang-dog look : 
 " but I 've married her. And I know there will be an 
 awful shindy at home. It was agreed that I should 
 be taken into partnership when I had passed the Col- 
 lege, and it was to have been Huxter & Son. But I 
 would have it, confound it. It's all over now, and 
 the old boy 's wrote me that he 's coming up to town 
 for drugs : he will be here to-morrow, and then it: 
 must all -come out." 
 
326 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 u And when did this event happen ? 99 asked Pen, 
 not over well pleased, most likely, that a person who 
 had once attracted some portion of his royal good 
 graces should have transferred her allegiance, and 
 consoled herself for his loss. 
 
 " Last Thursday was five weeks — it was two days 
 after Miss Amory came to Shepherd's Inn," Huxter 
 answered. 
 
 Pen remembered that Blanche had written and 
 mentioned her visit. " I was called in," Huxter said. 
 "I was in the inn looking after old Cos's leg; and 
 about something else too, very likely: and I met 
 Strong, who told me there was a woman taken ill in 
 chambers, and went up to give her my professional 
 services. It was the old lady who attends Miss 
 Amory — her housekeeper, or some such thing. She 
 was taken with strong hysterics : I found her kicking 
 and scratching like a good one — in Strong's cham- 
 ber, along with him and Colonel Altamont, and Miss 
 Amory crying and as pale as a sheet ; and Altamont 
 fuming about — a regular kick up. They were two 
 hours in the chambers ; and the old woman went 
 whooping off in a cab. She was much worse than 
 the young one. I called in Grosvenor Place next 
 day to see if I could be of any service, but they 
 were gone without so much as thanking me : and the 
 day after I had business of my own to attend to — a 
 bad business too," said Mr. Huxter, gloomily. "But 
 it 's done, and can't be undone ; and we must make 
 the best of it." 
 
 She has known the story for a month, thought Pen, 
 with a sharp pang of grief, and a gloomy sympathy — 
 this accounts for her letter of to-day. She will not 
 implicate her father, or divulge his secret ; she wishes 
 to let me off from the marriage — and finds a pretext 
 — the generous girl ! 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 327 
 
 u Do you know who Altamont is, sir ? " asked Hux- 
 ter, after the pause during which Pen had been think- 
 ing of his own affairs. " Fanny and I have talked 
 him over, and we can't help fancying that it 's Mrs. 
 Lightfoot's first husband come to life again, and 
 she who has just married a second. Perhaps Light- 
 foot won't be very sorry for it," sighed Huxter, look- 
 ing savagely at Arthur, for the demon of jealousy was 
 still in possession of his soul ; and now, and more 
 than ever since his marriage, the poor fellow fancied 
 that Fanny's heart belonged to his rival. 
 
 " Let us talk about your affairs," said Pen. " Show 
 me how I can be of any service to you, Huxter. Let 
 me congratulate you on your marriage. I am thank- 
 ful that Fanny, who is so good, so fascinating, so kind 
 a creature, has found an honest man, and a gentleman 
 who will make her happy. Show me what I can do to 
 help you." 
 
 " She thinks you can, sir," said Huxter, accepting 
 Pen's proffered hand, " and I 'm very much obliged to 
 you, I 'm sure ; and that you might talk over my 
 father, and break the business to him, and my mother, 
 who always has her back up about being a clergy- 
 man's daughter. Fanny ain't of a good family, I 
 know, and not up to us in breeding and that — but 
 she's a Huxter now." 
 
 "The wife takes the husband's rank, of course," 
 said Pen. 
 
 " And with a little practice in society," continued 
 Huxter, imbibing his stick, " she '11 be as good as any 
 girl in Clavering. You should hear her sing and play 
 on the piano. Did you ever ? Old Bows taught her. 
 And she '11 do on the stage, if the governor was to 
 throw me over ; but I 'd rather not have her there. 
 She can't help being a coquette, Mr. Pendennis, she 
 
328 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 can't help it. Dammy, sir ! I '11 be bound to say, that 
 two or three of the Bartholomew chaps, that I 've 
 brought into my place, are sitting with her now : 
 even Jack Linton, that I took down as my best man, 
 is as bad as the rest, and she will go on singing and 
 making eyes at him. It 's what Bows says, if there 
 were twenty men in a room, and one not taking notice 
 of her, she would n't be satisfied until the twentieth 
 was at her elbow." 
 
 " You should have her mother with her," said Pen, 
 laughing. 
 
 " She must keep the lodge. She can't see so much 
 of her family as she used. I can't, you know, sir, go 
 on with that lot. Consider my rank in life," said 
 Huxter, putting a very dirty hand up to his chin. 
 
 " Aufait" said Mr. Pen, who was infinitely amused, 
 and concerning whom mutato nomine (and of course 
 concerning nobody else in the world) the fable might 
 have been narrated. 
 
 As the two gentlemen were in the midst of this 
 colloquy, another knock came to Pen's door, and his 
 servant presently announced Mr. Bows. The old man 
 followed slowly, his pale face blushing, and his hand 
 trembling somewhat as he took Pen's. He coughed, 
 and wiped his face in his checked cotton pocket- 
 handkerchief, and sat down with his hands on his 
 knees, the sun shining on his bald head. Pen looked 
 at the homely figure with no small sympathy and 
 kindness. This man, too, has had his griefs, and his 
 wounds, Arthur thought. This man, too, has brought 
 his genius and his heart, and laid them at a woman's 
 feet ; where she spurned them. The chance of life has 
 gone against him, and the prize is with that creature 
 yonder. Fanny's bridegroom, thus mutely apostro- 
 phized, had winked meanwhile with one eye at old 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 329 
 
 Bows, and was driving holes in the floor with the cane 
 which he loved. 
 
 " So we have lost, Mr. Bows, and here is the lucky 
 winner," Pen said, looking hard at the old man. 
 
 " Here is the lucky winner, sir, as you say." 
 
 " I suppose you have come from my place ? " asked 
 Huxter, who, having winked at Bows with one eye, 
 now favored Pen with a wink of the other — a wink 
 which seemed to say, " Infatuated old boy — you un- 
 derstand — over head and ears in love with her — 
 poor old fool ! " 
 
 " Yes, I have been there ever since you went away. 
 It was Mrs. Sam who sent me after you : who said 
 that she thought you might be doing something stupid 
 — something like yourself, Huxter." 
 
 " There 's as big fools as I am," growled the young 
 surgeon. 
 
 " A few, pYaps," said the old man ; " not many, let us 
 trust. Yes, she sent me after you for fear you should 
 offend Mr. Pendennis; and I dare say because she 
 thought you would n't give her message to him, and 
 beg him to go and see her ; and she knew / would 
 take her errand. Did he tell you that, sir ? " 
 
 Huxter blushed scarlet, and covered his confusion 
 with an imprecation. Pen laughed ! the scene suited 
 his bitter humor more and more. 
 
 " I have no doubt Mr. Huxter was going to tell me," 
 Arthur said, "and very much flattered I am sure I 
 shall be to pay my respects to his wife." 
 
 " It 's in Charterhouse Lane, over the baker's, on 
 the right-hand side as you go from St. John's Street," 
 continued Bows, without any pity. " You know 
 Smithfield, Mr. Pendennis ? St. John's Street leads 
 into Smithfield. Doctor Johnson has been down the 
 street many a time with ragged shoes, and a bundle of 
 
330 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 penny-a-lining for the * Gent's Magazine.' You lit- 
 erary gents are better off now — eh ? You ride in 
 your cabs, and wear yellow kid gloves now." 
 
 " I have known so many brave and good men fail, 
 and so many quacks and impostors succeed, that you 
 mistake me if you think I am puffed up by my own 
 personal good luck, old friend," Arthur said, sadly. 
 " Do you think the prizes of life are carried by the 
 most deserving ? and set up that mean test of 
 prosperity for merit ? You must feel that you are 
 as good as I. I have never questioned it. It is you 
 that are peevish against the freaks of fortune, and 
 grudge the good luck that befalls others. It 's not the 
 first time you have unjustly accused me, Bows." 
 
 " Perhaps you are not far wrong, sir," said the old 
 fellow, wiping his bald forehead. " I am thinking 
 about myself and grumbling ; most men do when they 
 get on that subject. Here 's the fellow that's got the 
 prize in the lottery; here's the fortunate youth." 
 
 " I don't know what you are driving at," Huxter 
 said, who had been much puzzled as the above 
 remarks passed between his two companions. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Bows, dryly. " Mrs. H. sent 
 me here to look after you, and to see that you 
 brought that little message to Mr. Pendennis, which 
 you did n't, you see, and so she was right. Women 
 always are ; they have always a reason for everything. 
 Why, sir," he said, turning round to Pen with a sneer, 
 " she had a reason even for giving me that message. 
 I was sitting with her after you left us, very quiet and 
 comfortable ; I was talking away, and she was mend- 
 ing your shirts, when your two young friends, Jack 
 Linton and Bob Blades, looked in from Bartholo- 
 mew's ; and then it was she found out that she had 
 this message to send. You needn't hurry yourself, 
 
PENDESTNIS 
 
 331 
 
 she don't want you back again ; they '11 stay these two 
 hours, I dare say." 
 
 Huxter arose with great perturbation at this news, 
 and plunged his stick into the pocket of his paletot, 
 and seized his hat. 
 
 " You '11 come and see us, sir, won't you ? 99 he said 
 to Pen. " You '11 talk over the governor, won't 
 you, sir, if I can get out of this place and down to 
 Clavering ? " 
 
 "You will promise to attend me gratis if ever I fall 
 ill at Fairoaks, will you, Huxter ? " Pen said good- 
 naturedly. " I will do anything I can for you. I will 
 come and see Mrs. Huxter immediately, and we will 
 conspire together about what is to be done." 
 
 " I thought that would send him out, sir," Bows 
 said, dropping into his chair again as soon as the 
 young surgeon had quitted the room. " And it 's all 
 true, sir — every word of it. She wants you back 
 again, and sends her husband after you. She cajoles 
 everybody, the little devil. She tries it on you, on 
 me, on poor Costigan, on the young chaps from Bar- 
 tholomew's. She 's got a little court of 'em already. 
 And if there 's nobody there, she practises on the old 
 German baker in the shop, or coaxes the black sweeper 
 at the crossing." 
 
 " Is she fond of that fellow ? " asked Pen. 
 
 "There is no accounting for likes and dislikes," 
 Bows answered. " Yes, she is fond of him ; and hav- 
 ing taken the thing into her head, she would not rest 
 until she married him. They had their banns pub- 
 lished at St. Clement's, and nobody heard it or knew 
 any just cause or impediment. And one day she slips 
 out of the porter's lodge and has the business done, 
 and goes off to Gravesend with Lothario ; and leaves 
 a note for me to go and explain all things to her ma. 
 
332 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Bless you ! the old woman knew it as well as I did, 
 though she pretended ignorance. And so she goes, 
 and I 'm alone again. I miss her, sir, tripping along 
 that court, and coming for her singing lesson ; and I 've 
 no heart to look into the porter's lodge now, which 
 looks very empty without her, the little flirting thing. 
 And I go and sit and dangle about her lodgings, like 
 an old fool. She makes 'em very trim and nice, 
 though ; gets up all Huxter's shirts and clothes : cooks 
 his little dinner, and sings at her business like a little 
 lark. What's the use of being angry? I lent 'em 
 three pound to go on with: for they haven't got a 
 shilling till the reconciliation, and pa comes down." 
 
 When Bows had taken his leave, Pen carried his 
 letter from Blanche, and the news which he had just 
 received, to his usual adviser, Laura. It was wonder- 
 ful upon how many points Mr. Arthur, who generally 
 followed his own opinion, now wanted another person's 
 counsel. He could hardly so much as choose a waist- 
 coat without referring to Miss Bell : if he wanted to 
 buy a horse, he must have Miss Bell's opinion ; all 
 which marks of deference tended greatly to the amuse- 
 ment of the shrewd old lady with whom Miss Bell 
 lived, and whose plans regarding her protegee we have 
 indicated. 
 
 Arthur produced Blanche's letter then to Laura, and 
 asked her to interpret it. Laura was very much 
 agitated, and puzzled by the contents of the note. 
 
 " It seems to me," she said, " as if Blanche is acting 
 very artfully." 
 
 " And wishes so to place matters that she may take 
 me or leave me ? Is it not so ? " 
 
 " It is, I am afraid, a kind of duplicity which does 
 not augur well for your future happiness : and is a bad 
 *eply to your own candor and honesty, Arthur. Do 
 
PENDEXNIS. 
 
 333 
 
 you know I think, I think — I scarcely like to say 
 what I think," said Laura, with a deep blush ; but of 
 course the blushing young lady yielded to her cousin's 
 persuasions, and expressed what her thoughts were. 
 " It looks to me, Arthur, as if there might be — there 
 might be somebody else," said Laura, with a repetition 
 of the blush. 
 
 " And if there is," broke in Arthur, " and if I am 
 free once again, will the best and dearest of all 
 women — " 
 
 " You are not free, dear brother," Laura said calmly. 
 " You belong to another ; of whom I own it grieves 
 me to think ill. But I can't do otherwise. It is very 
 odd that in this letter she does not urge you to tell 
 her the reason why you have broken arrangements 
 which would have been so advantageous to you, and 
 avoids speaking on the subject. She somehow seems 
 to write as if she knows her father's secret." 
 
 Pen said, " Yes, she must know it ; " and told the 
 story, which he had just heard from Huxter, of the 
 interview at Shepherd's Inn. 
 
 " It was not so that she described the meeting," said 
 Laura ; and going to her desk, produced from it that 
 letter of Blanche's which mentioned her visit to Shep- 
 herd's Inn. "Another disappointment — only the 
 Chevalier Strong and a friend of his in the room." 
 This was all that Blanche had said. "But she was 
 bound to keep her father's secret, Pen," Laura added. 
 " And yet, and yet — it is very puzzling." 
 
 The puzzle was this, that for three weeks after this 
 eventful discovery Blanche had been only too eager 
 about her dearest Arthur ; was urging, as strongly as 
 so much modesty could urge, the completion of the 
 happy arrangements which were to make her Arthur's 
 forever j and now it seemed as if something had in- 
 
334 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 terfered to mar these happy arrangements — as if 
 Arthur poor was not quite so agreeable to Blanche 
 as Arthur rich and a member of Parliament — as 
 if there was some mystery. At last she said: — 
 
 " Tunbridge Wells is not very far off, is it, Arthur ? 
 Had n't you better go and see her ? " 
 
 They had been in town a week, and neither had 
 thought of that simple plan before! 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SHOWS HOW ARTHUR HAD BETTER HAVE TAKEN 
 A RETURN-TICKET. 
 
 The train carried Arthur only too quickly to Tun. 
 bridge, though he had time to review all the circum- 
 stances of his life as he made the brief journey ; and 
 to acknowledge to what sad conclusions his selfish- 
 ness and waywardness had led him. "Here is the 
 end of hopes and aspirations," thought he, "of ro- 
 mance and ambitions ! Where I yield or where I am 
 obstinate, I am alike unfortunate; my mother im- 
 plores me, and I refuse an angel ! Say I had taken 
 her; forced on me as she was, Laura would never 
 have been an angel to me. I could not have given 
 her my heart at another's instigation ; I could never 
 have known her as she is, had I been obliged to ask 
 another to interpret her qualities and point out her 
 virtues. I yield to my uncle's solicitations, and ac- 
 cept on his guarantee Blanche, and a seat in Parlia- 
 ment, and wealth, and ambition and a career; and 
 see ! — fortune comes and leaves me the wife without 
 the dowry, which I had taken in compensation of a 
 heart. Why was I not more honest, or am I not less 
 so ? It would have cost my poor old uncle no pangs 
 to accept Blanche's fortune whencesoever it came ; he 
 can't even understand, he is bitterly indignant, heart- 
 stricken almost, at the scruples which actuate me in 
 refusing it. I dissatisfy everybody. A maimed, weak, 
 imperfect wretch, it seems as if I am unequal to any 
 
336 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 fortune. I neither make myself nor any one con- 
 nected with me happy. What prospect is there for 
 this poor little frivolous girl, who is to take my ob- 
 scure name and share my fortune ? I have not even 
 ambition to excite me, or self-esteem enough to con- 
 sole myself, much more her, for my failure. If I 
 were to write a book that should go through twenty 
 editions, why, I should be the very first to sneer at 
 my reputation. Say I could succeed at the Bar, and 
 achieve a fortune by bullying witnesses and twisting 
 evidence ; is that a fame which would satisfy my 
 longings, or a calling in which my life would be well 
 spent ? How I wish I could be that priest opposite, 
 who never has lifted his eyes from his breviary, 
 except when we were in Reigate tunnel, when he 
 could not see ; or that old gentleman next him, who 
 scowls at him with eyes of hatred over his news- 
 paper. The priest shuts his eyes to the world, but 
 has his thoughts on the book, which is his directory to 
 the world to come. His neighbor hates him as a 
 monster, tyrant, persecutor, and fancies burning mar- 
 tyrs, and that pale countenance looking on, and lighted 
 up by the flame. These have no doubts ; these march 
 on trustfully, bearing their load of logic." 
 
 " Would you like to look at the paper, sir ? " here 
 interposed the stout gentleman (it had a flaming arti- 
 cle against the order of the black-coated gentleman 
 who was travelling with them in the carriage), and 
 Pen thanked him and took it, and pursued his reverie, 
 without reading two sentences of the journal. 
 
 "And yet, would you take either of those men's 
 creeds, with its consequences ? " he thought. " Ah 
 me ! you must bear your own burden, fashion your 
 own faith, think your own thoughts, and pray your 
 own prayer. To what mortal ear could I tell all, if 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 337 
 
 I had a mind ? or who could understand all ? Who 
 can tell another's shortcomings, lost opportunities, 
 weigh the passions which overpower, the defects 
 which incapacitate reason ? — what extent of truth 
 and right his neighbor's mind is organized to per- 
 ceive and to do ? — what invisible and forgotten 
 accident, terror of youth, chance or mischance of 
 fortune, may have altered the current of life ? A 
 grain of sand may alter it, as the flinging of a pebble 
 may end it. Who can weigh circumstances, passions, 
 temptations, that go to our good and evil account, save 
 One, before whose awful wisdom we kneel, and at 
 whose mercy we ask absolution ? Here it ends," 
 thought Pen ; " this day or to-morrow will wind up the 
 account of my youth ; a weary retrospect, alas ! a sad 
 history, with many a page I would fain not look back 
 on ! But who has not been tired or fallen, and who 
 has escaped without scars from that struggle ? " And 
 his head fell on his breast, and the young man's heart 
 prostrated itself humbly and sadly before that Throne 
 where sits wisdom, and love, and pity for all, and 
 made its confession. "What matters about fame or 
 poverty?" he thought. "If I marry this woman I 
 have chosen, may I have strength and will to be true 
 to her, and to make her happy ! If I have children, 
 pray God teach me to speak and to do the truth among 
 them, and to leave them an honest name. There are 
 no splendors for my marriage. Does my life deserve 
 any ? I begin a new phase of it ; a better than the 
 last may it be, I pray Heaven ! 19 
 
 The train stopped at Tunbridge as Pen was making 
 these reflections ; and he handed over the newspaper to 
 his neighbor, of whom he took leave, while the foreign 
 clergyman in the opposite corner still sat with his 
 eyes on his bonk. Pen jumped out of the carriage 
 
338 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 then, his carpet- oag in hand, and briskly determined 
 to face his fortune. 
 
 A fly carried him rapidly to Lady Clavering's house 
 from the station ; and, as he was transported thither, 
 Arthur composed a little speech, which he intended to 
 address to Blanche, and which was really as virtuous, 
 honest, and well-minded an oration as any man of his 
 turn of mind, and under his circumstances, could have 
 uttered. The purport of it was — " Blanche, I cannot 
 understand from your last letter what your meaning 
 is, or whether my fair and frank proposal to you is 
 acceptable or no. I think you know the reason which 
 induces me to forego the worldly advantages which a 
 union with you oifered, and which I could not accept 
 without, as I fancy, being dishonored. If you doubt 
 of my affection, here I am ready to prove it. Let 
 Smirke be called in, and let us be married out of 
 hand; and with all my heart I purpose to keep my 
 vow, and to cherish you through life, and to be a true 
 and a loving husband to you." 
 
 From the fly Arthur sprang out then to the hall- 
 door, where he was met by a domestic whom he did 
 not know. The man seemed to be surprised at the ap- 
 proach of the gentleman with the carpet-bag, which he 
 made no attempt to take from Arthur's hands. " Her 
 ladyship 's not at home, sir," the man remarked. 
 
 "I am Mr. Pendennis," Arthur said. "Where is 
 Lightfoot ? " 
 
 "Lightfoot is gone," answered the man. "My 
 Lady is out, and my orders was — " 
 
 " I hear Miss Amory's voice in the drawing-room," 
 said Arthur. "Take the bag to a dressing-room, if 
 you please ; 99 and, passing by the porter, he walked 
 straight towards that apartment, from which, as the 
 door opened, a warble of melodious notes issued. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 339 
 
 Our little Siren was at her piano, singing with all 
 her might and fascinations. Master Clavering was 
 asleep on the sofa, indifferent to the music ; but near 
 Blanche sat a gentleman who was perfectly enraptured 
 with her strain, which was of a passionate and melan- 
 choly nature. 
 
 As the door opened, the gentleman started up with 
 a Hullo ! the music stopped, with a little shriek from 
 the singer ; Frank Clavering woke up from the sofa, 
 and Arthur came forward and said, "What, Foker! 
 how do you do, Foker ? " He looked at the piano, 
 and there, by Miss Amory's side, was just such an- 
 other purple-leather box as he had seen in Harry's 
 hand three days before, when the heir of Logwood 
 was coming out of a jeweller's shop in Waterloo Place. 
 It was opened, and curled round the white satin 
 cushion within was, oh, such a magnificent serpentine 
 bracelet, with such a blazing ruby head and diamond 
 tail ! 
 
 "How de-do, Pendennis?" said Foker. Blanche 
 made many motions of the shoulders, and gave signs 
 of interest and agitation. And she put her handker- 
 chief over the bracelet, and then she advanced, with a 
 hand which trembled very much, to greet Pen. 
 
 "How is dearest Laura?" she said. The face of 
 Foker looking up from his profound mourning — that 
 face, so piteous and puzzled, was one which the reader's 
 imagination must depict for himself ; also that of 
 Master Frank Clavering, who, looking at the three in- 
 teresting individuals with an expression of the utmost 
 knowingness, had only time to ejaculate the words, 
 " Here 's a jolly go ! " and to disappear sniggering. 
 
 Pen, too, had restrained himself up to that minute ; 
 but looking still at Foker, whose ears and cheeks tin- 
 gled with blushes, Arthur burst out into a fit of 
 
340 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 laughter, so wild and loud, that it frightened Blanche 
 much more than any the most serious exhibition. 
 
 " And this was the secret, was it ? Don't blush 
 and turn away, Foker, my boy. Why, man, you are 
 a pattern of fidelity. Could I stand between Blanche 
 and such constancy — could I stand between Miss 
 Amory and fifteen thousand a-year?" 
 
 " It is not that, Mr. Pendennis," Blanche said, with 
 great dignity. " It is not money, it is not rank, it is 
 not gold that moves me ; but it is constancy, it is 
 fidelity, it is a whole trustful loving heart offered to 
 me, that I treasure — yes, that I treasure ! " And 
 she made for her handkerchief, but, reflecting what 
 was underneath it, she paused. " I do not disown, 
 I do not disguise — my life is above disguise — to 
 him on whom it is bestowed, my heart must be for- 
 ever bare — that I once thought I loved you, — yes, 
 thought I was beloved by you! — I own. How I 
 clung to that faith ! How I strove, I prayed, I 
 longed to believe it ! But your conduct always — 
 your own words so cold, so heartless, so unkind, have 
 undeceived me. You trifled with the heart of the 
 poor maiden! You flung me back with scorn the 
 troth which I had plighted ! I have explained all — 
 all to Mr. Foker." 
 
 "That you have," said Foker, with devotion, and 
 conviction in his looks. 
 
 " What ! all ? " said Pen, with a meaning look at 
 Blanche. " It is I am in fault, is it ? Well, well, 
 Blanche, be it so. I won't appeal against your sen- 
 tence, and bear it in silence. I came down here look- 
 ing to very different things, Heaven knows, and with 
 a heart most truly and kindly disposed towards you. 
 I hope you may be happy with another, as, on my 
 word, it was my wish to make you so ; and I hope 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 341 
 
 my honest old friend here will have a wife worthy 
 of his loyalty, his constancy, and affection. Indeed 
 they deserve the regard of any woman — even Miss 
 Blanche Amory. Shake hands, Harry ; don't look 
 askance at me. Has anybody told you that I was 
 a false and heartless character ? " 
 
 " I think you 're a — " Foker was beginning in his 
 wrath, when Blanche interposed. 
 
 " Henry, not a word ! — I pray you let there be 
 forgiveness ! " 
 
 " You 're an angel, by J ove, you 're an angel ! " 
 said Foker, at which Blanche looked seraphically up 
 to the chandelier. 
 
 " In spite of what has passed, for the sake of what 
 has passed, I must always regard Arthur as a 
 brother," the seraph continued ; " we have known 
 each other years, we have trodden the same fields, 
 and plucked the same flowers together. Arthur ! 
 Henry ! I beseech you to take hands and to be 
 friends ! Forgive you ! — / forgive you, Arthur, with 
 my heart I do. Should I not do so for making me 
 so happy ? " 
 
 " There is only one person of us three whom I pity, 
 Blanche," Arthur said gravely ; " and I say to you 
 again, that I hope you will make this good fellow, 
 this honest and loyal creature, happy." 
 
 " Happy ! 0 Heavens ! " said Harry. He could 
 not speak. His happiness gushed out at his eyes. 
 " She don't know — she can't know how fond I am 
 of her, and — and who am I ? a poor little beggar, 
 and she takes me up and says she '11 try and 1 — 1 — 
 love me. I ain't worthy of so much happiness. Give 
 us your hand, old boy, since she forgives you after 
 your heartless conduct, and says she loves you. I '11 
 make you welcome. I tell you I'll love everybody 
 
342 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 who loves her. By if she tells me to kiss the 
 
 ground I '11 kiss it. Tell me to kiss the ground ! I say, 
 tell me. I love you so. You see I love you so." 
 
 Blanche looked up seraphically again. Her gentle 
 bosom heaved. She held out one hand as if to bless 
 Harry, and then royally permitted him to kiss it. 
 She took up the pocket handkerchief and hid her 
 own eyes, as the other fair hand was abandoned to 
 poor Harry's tearful embrace. 
 
 " I swear that is a villain who deceives such a lov- 
 ing creature as that," said Pen. 
 
 Blanche laid down the handkerchief, and put hand 
 No. 2 softly on Foker's head, which was bent down 
 kissing and weeping over hand No. 1. "Foolish 
 boy," she said, "it shall be loved as it deserves: 
 who could help loving such a silly creature ? " 
 
 And at this moment Frank Clavering burst in upon 
 the sentimental trio. 
 
 " I say, Pendennis," he said. 
 
 "Well, Frank!" 
 
 " The man wants to be paid, and go back. He 's 
 had some beer." 
 
 " I '11 go back with him," cried Pen. " Good-by, 
 Blanche. God bless you, Foker, old friend. You 
 know neither of you want me here." He longed to 
 be off that instant. 
 
 " Stay — I must say one word to you. One word 
 in private, if you please," Blanche said. "You can 
 trust us together, can't you, — Henry ? " The tone 
 in which the word Henry was spoken, and the appeal, 
 ravished Foker with delight. " Trust you ! " said 
 he. "Oh, who wouldn't trust you! Come along, 
 Franky, my boy." 
 
 " Let 's have a cigar," said Frank, as they went 
 into the hall. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 343 
 
 u She don't like it," said Foker, gently. 
 "Law bless you — she don't mind. Pendennis used 
 to smoke regular," said the candid youth. 
 
 "It was but a short word I had to say," said 
 Blanche to Pen, with great calm, when they were 
 alone. " You never loved me, Mr. Pendennis." 
 
 " I told you how much," said Arthur. " I never 
 deceived you." 
 
 " I suppose you will go back and marry Laura," 
 continued Blanche. 
 
 " Was that what you had to say ? " said Pen. 
 
 " You are going to her this very night, I am sure of 
 it. There is no denying it. You never cared for 
 me." 
 
 "Et vous?" 
 
 " Et moi, c'est different. I have been spoilt early. 
 
 I cannot live out of the world, out of excitement. I 
 could have done so, but it is too late. If I cannot 
 have emotions, I must have the world. You would 
 offer me neither one nor the other. You are blase in 
 everything, even in ambition. You had a career 
 before you, and you would not take it. You give it 
 up ! — for what ? — for a betise, for an absurd scruple. 
 Why would you not have that seat, and be such a 
 puritain ? Why should you refuse what is mine by 
 right — by right, entendez-vous ? " 
 
 " You know all then ? " said Pen. 
 
 " Only within a month. But I have suspected ever 
 since Baymouth — n Hmporte since when. It is not 
 too late. He is as if he had never been ; and there is 
 a position in the world before you yet. Why not sit 
 in Parliament, exert your talent, and give a place in 
 the world to yourself, to your wife ? I take celui-la. 
 
 II est bon. II est riche. II est — vous le connaissez 
 
344 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 autant que moi, enfin. Think you that I would not 
 prefer un hoinme qui fera parler de moi ? If the 
 secret appears, I am rich a millions. How does it 
 affect me ? It is not my fault. It will never appear." 
 
 " You will tell Harry everything, won't you ? " 
 
 " Je comprends. Vous refusez," said Blanche sav- 
 agely. " I will tell Harry at my own time, when we 
 are married. You will not betray me, will you ? 
 You, having a defenceless girl's secret, will not turn 
 upon her and use it ? S 'il me plait de le cacher, mon 
 secret ; pourquoi le donnerai-je ? Je 1 'aime, mon 
 pauvre pere, voyez-vous ? I would rather live with 
 that man than with you fades intriguers of the world. 
 
 I must have emotions — il m 'en donne. II m 'ecrit. 
 
 II ecrit tres-bien, voyez-vous — comme un pirate — 
 comme un Bohemien — comme un homme. But for 
 this I would have said to my mother — Ma mere ! 
 quittons ce lache mari, cette lache societe — retour- 
 nons a mon pere." 
 
 " The pirate would have wearied you like the rest," 
 said Pen. 
 
 " Eh ! II me faut des emotions," said Blanche. Pen 
 had never seen her or known so much about her in all 
 the years of their intimacy as he saw and knew now : 
 though he saw more than existed in reality. For this 
 young lady was not able to carry out any emotion 
 to the full; but had a sham enthusiasm, a sham 
 hatred, a sham love, a sham taste, a sham grief, each 
 of which flared and shone very vehemently for an 
 instant, but subsided and gave place to the next sham 
 emotion. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A CHAPTER OF MATCH-MAKING. 
 
 Upon the platform at Tunbridge, Pen fumed and 
 fretted until the arrival of the evening train to Lon- 
 don, a full half-hour, — six hours it seemed to him ; 
 but even this immense interval was passed, the train 
 arrived, the train sped on, the London lights came in 
 view — a gentleman who forgot his carpet-bag in the 
 train rushed at a cab, and said to the man, " Drive as 
 hard as you can go to Jermyn Street." The cab-man, 
 although a Hansom cab-man, said " Thank you " for 
 the gratuity which was put into his hand, and Pen 
 ran up the stairs of the hotel to Lady Rockminster's 
 apartments. Laura was alone in the drawing-room, 
 reading, with a pale face, by the lamp. The pale face 
 looked up when Pen opened the door. May we fol- 
 low him ? The great moments of life are but mo- 
 ments like the others. Your doom is spoken in a 
 word or two. A single look from the eyes ; a mere 
 pressure of the hand, may decide it; or of the lips, 
 though they cannot speak. 
 
 When Lady Rockminster, who has had her after- 
 dinner nap, gets up and goes into her sitting-room, we 
 may enter with her ladyship. 
 
 " Upon my word, young people ! " are the first 
 words she says, and her attendant makes wondering 
 eyes over her shoulder. And well may she say so ; 
 aud well may the attendant cast wondering eyes ; for 
 
346 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 the young people are in an attitude ; and Pen in such 
 a position as every young lady who reads this has 
 heard tell of, or has seen, or hopes, or at any rate 
 deserves to see. 
 
 In a word, directly he entered the room, Pen went 
 up to Laura of the pale face, who had not time even 
 to say, " What, back so soon ? 99 and seizing her out- 
 stretched and trembling hand just as she was rising 
 from her chair, fell down on his knees before her, 
 and said quickly, " I have seen her. She has engaged 
 herself to Harry Foker — and — and now, Laura ? " 
 
 The hand gives a pressure — the eyes beam a re- 
 ply — the quivering lips answer, though speechless. 
 Pen's head sinks down in the girl's lap, as he sobs 
 out, " Come and bless us, dear mother ! " and arms as 
 tender as Helen's once more enfold him. 
 
 In this juncture it is that Lady Eockminster comes 
 in and says, " Upon my word, young people ! Beck ! 
 leave the room. What do you want poking your nose 
 in here ? 99 
 
 Pen starts up with looks of triumph, still holding 
 Laura's hand. " She is consoling me for my mis- 
 fortune, Ma'am," he says. 
 
 " What do you mean by kissing her hand ? I don't 
 know what you will be next doing." 
 
 Pen kissed her ladyship's. " / have been to Tun- 
 bridge," he says, " and seen Miss Amory ; and find on 
 my arrival that — that a villain has transplanted me 
 in her affections," he says with a tragedy air. 
 
 " Is that all ? Is that what you were whimpering 
 on your knees about ? " says the old lady, growing 
 angry. " You might have kept the news till to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes — another has superseded me," goes on Pen ; 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 347 
 
 " but why call hiin villain ? He is brave, lie is con- 
 stant, he is young, he is wealthy, he is beautiful." 
 
 " What stuff are you talking, sir ? " cried the old 
 lady. "What has happened?" 
 
 "Miss Amory has jilted me, and accepted Henry 
 Foker, Esq. I found her warbling ditties to him as 
 he lay at her feet ; presents had been accepted, vows 
 exchanged, these ten days. Harry was old Mrs. 
 Planter's rheumatism, which kept dearest Laura out 
 of the house. He is the most constant and generous 
 of men. He has promised the living of Logwood 
 to Lady Ann's husband, and given her a splendid 
 present on her marriage ; and he rushed to fling 
 himself at Blanche's feet the instant he found he 
 was free." 
 
 " And so, as you can't get Blanche, you put up with 
 Laura : is that it, sir ? " asked the old lady. 
 
 " He acted nobly," Laura said. 
 
 " I acted as she bade me," said Pen. "Never mind 
 how, Lady Rockminster ; but to the best of my know- 
 ledge and power. And if you mean that I am not 
 worthy of Laura, I know it, and pray Heaven to 
 better me ; and if the love and company of the best 
 and purest creature in the world can do so, at least 
 I shall have these to help me." 
 
 "Hm, hm," replied the old lady to this, looking 
 with rather an appeased air at the young people. 
 " It is all very well ; but I should have preferred 
 Bluebeard." 
 
 And now Pen, to divert the conversation from a 
 theme which was growing painful to some parties 
 present, bethought him of his interview with Huxter 
 in the morning, and of Fanny Bolton's affairs, which 
 he had forgotten under the immediate pressure and 
 excitement of his own. And he told the ladies how 
 
348 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Huxter had elevated Fanny to the rank of wife, and 
 what terrors he was in respecting the arrival of his 
 father. He described the scene with considerable 
 humor, taking care to dwell especially upon that part 
 of it which concerned Fanny's coquetry andirrepres^ 
 sible desire of captivating mank ind: his meaning 
 "Being, " You see, Laura, I was not so guilty in that 
 little affair ; it was the girl who made love to me, and 
 I who resisted. As I am no longer present, the little 
 Siren practises her arts and fascinations upon others. 
 Let that transaction be forgotten in your mind, if you 
 please ; or visit me with a very gentle punishment for 
 my error." 
 
 Laura understood his meaning under the eagerness 
 of his explanations. " If you did any wrong, you 
 repented, dear Pen," she said, " and you know," she 
 added, with meaning eyes and blushes, " that / have 
 no right to reproach you." 
 
 " Hm ! " grumbled the old lady ; " I should have 
 preferred Bluebeard." 
 
 " The past is broken away. The morrow is before 
 us. I will do my best to make your morrow happy, 
 dear Laura," Pen said. His heart was humbled by 
 the prospect of his happiness : it stood awestricken 
 in the contemplation of her sweet goodness and 
 purity. He liked his wife better that she had owned 
 to that passing feeling for Warrington, and laid bare 
 her generous heart to him. And she — very likely 
 she was thinking, " How strange it is that I ever 
 should have cared for another ; I am vexed almost 
 to think I care for him so little, am so little sorry 
 that he is gone away. Oh, in these past two months 
 how I have learned to love Arthur ! I care about 
 nothing but Arthur ; my waking and sleeping thoughts 
 are about him ; he is never absent from me. And to 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 349 
 
 think that he is to be mine, mine ! and that I am to 
 marry him, and not to be his servant as I expected 
 to be only this morning ; for I would have gone down 
 on my knees to Blanche to beg her to let me live with 
 him. And now — Oh, it is too much. Oh, Mother ! 
 Mother, that you were here ! " Indeed, she felt as if 
 Helen were there — by her actually, though invisibly. 
 A halo of happiness beamed from her. She moved 
 with a different step, and bloomed with a new beauty. 
 Arthur saw the change ; and the old Lady Eockmin- 
 ster remarked it with her shrewd eyes. 
 
 " What a sly demure little wretch you have been," 
 she whispered to Laura — while Pen, in great spirits, 
 was laughing, and telling his story about Huxter — 
 " and how you have kept your secret ! " 
 
 "How are we to help the young couple?" said 
 Laura. Of course Miss Laura felt an interest in all 
 young couples, as generous lovers always love other 
 lovers. 
 
 " We must go and see them," said Pen. 
 
 " Of course we must go and see them," said Laura. 
 "I intend to be very fond of Fanny. Let us go 
 this instant. Lady Eockminster, may I have the 
 carriage ? " 
 
 " Go now ! — why, you stupid creature, it is eleven 
 o'clock at night. Mr. and Mrs. Huxter have got their 
 nightcaps on, I dare say. And it is time for you to go 
 now. Good-night, Mr. Pendennis." 
 
 Arthur and Laura begged for ten minutes more. 
 
 " We will go to-morrow morning, then. I will come 
 and fetch you with Martha." 
 
 " An earl's coronet," said Pen, who, no doubt, was 
 pleased himself, "will have a great effect in Lamb 
 Court and Smithfield. Stay — Lady Eockminster, will 
 you join us in a little conspiracy ? " 
 
350 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " How do you mean conspiracy, young man ? 99 
 
 " Will you please to be a little ill to-morrow ; and 
 when old Mr. Huxter arrives, will you let me call 
 him in ? If he is put into a good humor at the notion 
 of attending a baronet in the country, what influence 
 won't a countess have on him ? When he is softened 
 — when he is quite ripe, we will break the secret upon 
 him ; bring in the young people, extort the paternal 
 benediction, and finish the comedy." 
 
 "A parcel of stuff," said the old lady. "Take 
 your hat, sir. Come away, Miss. There — my head 
 is turned another way. Good-night, young people." 
 And who knows but the old lady thought of her own 
 early days as she went away on Laura's arm, nodding 
 her head and humming to herself ? 
 
 With the early morning came Laura and Martha, 
 according to appointment ; and the desired sensation 
 was, let us hope, effected in Lamb Court, whence the 
 three proceeded to wait upon Mr. and Mrs. Samuel 
 Huxter, at their residence in Charterhouse Lane. 
 
 The two ladies looked at each other with great in- 
 terest, and not a little emotion on Fanny's part. She 
 had not seen her " guardian," as she was pleased to 
 call Pen in consequence of his bequest, since the event 
 had occurred which had united her to Mr. Huxter. 
 
 "Samuel told me how kind you had been," she 
 said. " You were always very kind, Mr. Pendennis. 
 And — and I hope your friend is better, who was took 
 ill in Shepherd's Inn, Ma'am." 
 
 " My name is Laura," said the other, with a blush. 
 " I am — that is, I was — that is, I am Arthur's sister : 
 and we shall always love you for being so good to him 
 when he was ill. And when we live in the country, I 
 hope we shall see each other. And I shall be always 
 happy to hear of your happiness, Fanny." 
 
PEXDENNIS. 
 
 351 
 
 " We are going to do what you and Huxter have 
 done, Fanny. — Where is Huxter ? What nice snug 
 lodgings you 've got ! What a pretty cat ! " 
 
 While Fanny is answering these questions in reply 
 to Pen, Laura says to herself — " Well, now really ! 
 is this the creature about whom we were all so frigh- 
 tened ! What could he see in her ? She 's a homely 
 little thing, but such manners ! Well, she was very 
 kind to him, — bless her for that." 
 
 Mr. Samuel has gone out to meet his Pa. Mrs. 
 Huxter said that the old gentleman was to arrive that 
 day at the Somerset Coffee-House in the Strand ; and 
 Fanny confessed that she was in a sad tremor about 
 the meeting. " If his parents cast him off, what are 
 we to do ? " she said. " I shall never pardon myself 
 for bringing ruing on my 'usband's 'ead. You must 
 intercede for us, Mr. Arthur. If mortal man can, you 
 can bend and influence Mr. 'Uxter senior." Fanny 
 still regarded Pen in the light of a superior being, 
 that was evident. No doubt Arthur thought of the 
 past, as he marked the solemn little tragedy-airs and 
 looks, the little ways, the little trepidations, vanities, 
 of the little bride. As soon as the interview was over 
 entered Messrs. Linton and Blades, who came, of course, 
 to visit Huxter, and brought with them a fine fragrance 
 of tobacco. They had watched the carriage at the 
 baker's door, and remarked the coronet with awe. 
 They asked of Fanny who was that uncommonly 
 heavy swell who had just driven off ? and pronounced 
 the countess to be the right sort. And when they 
 heard that it was Mr. Pendennis and his sister, they 
 remarked that Pen's father was only a sawbones ; and 
 that he gave himself confounded airs ; they had been 
 in Huxter's company on the night of his little alter 
 cation with Pen in the Back Kitchen. 
 
352 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Keturning homewards through Fleet Street, and as 
 Laura was just stating to Pen's infinite amusement 
 that Fanny was very well, but that really there was 
 no beauty in her, — there might be, but she could not 
 see it, — as they were locked near Temple Bar, they 
 saw young Huxter returning to his bride. u The 
 governor had arrived ; was at the Somerset Coffee- 
 House — was in tolerable good-humor — something 
 about the railway: but he had been afraid to speak 
 about — about that business. Would Mr. Pendennis 
 try it on ? " 
 
 Pen said he would go and call at that moment upon 
 Mr. Huxter, and see what might be done. Huxter 
 junior would lurk outside whilst that awful interview 
 took place. The coronet on the carriage inspired his 
 soul also with wonder ; and old Mr. Huxter himself 
 beheld it with delight, as he looked from the coffee- 
 house window on that Strand which it was always a 
 treat to him to survey. 
 
 " And I can afford to give myself a lark, sir," said 
 Mr. Huxter, shaking hands with Pen. " Of course 
 you know the news ? We have got our bill, sir. We 
 shall have our branch line — our shares are up, sir — 
 and we buy your three fields along the Brawl, and put 
 a pretty penny into your pocket, Mr. Pendennis." 
 
 "Indeed! — that was good news." Pen remem- 
 bered that there was a letter from Mr. Tatham, at 
 Chambers, these three days •, but he had not opened the 
 communication, being interested with other affairs. 
 
 " I hope you don't intend to grow rich, and give up 
 practice," said Pen. " We can't lose you at Clavering, 
 Mr. Huxter ; though I hear very good accounts of 
 your son. My friend, Dr. Goodenough, speaks most 
 highly of his talents. It is hard that a man of your 
 eminence, though, should be kept in a country town." 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 353 
 
 "The metropolis would have been my sphere of 
 action, sir," said Mr. Huxter, surveying the Strand. 
 " But a man takes his business where he finds it ; and 
 I succeeded to that of my father." 
 
 " It was my father's too," said Pen. " I sometimes 
 wish I had followed it." 
 
 " You, sir, have taken a more lofty career," said the 
 old gentleman. " You aspire to the senate : and to 
 literary honors. You wield the poet's pen, sir, and 
 move in the circles of fashion. We keep an eye upon 
 you at Clavering. We read your name in the lists of 
 the select parties of the nobility. Why, it was only 
 the other day that my wife was remarking how odd it 
 was that at a party at the Earl of Kidderminster's 
 your name was not mentioned. To what member of 
 the aristocracy may I ask does that equipage belong 
 from which I saw you descend ? The Countess Dow- 
 ager of Kockminster ? How is her ladyship ? " 
 
 " Her ladyship is not very well ; and when I heard 
 that you were coming to town, I strongly urged her 
 to see you, Mr. Huxter," Pen said. Old Huxter felt, 
 if he had a hundred votes for Clavering, he would 
 give them all to Pen. 
 
 " There is an old friend of yours in the carriage — 
 a Clavering lady too — will you come out and speak 
 to her ? " asked Pen. The old surgeon was delighted 
 to speak to a coroneted carriage in the midst of the 
 full Strand : he ran out bowing and smiling. Huxter 
 junior, dodging about the district, beheld the meeting 
 between his father and Laura, saw the latter put out 
 her hand, and presently, after a little colloquy with 
 Pen, beheld his father actually jump into the carriage, 
 and drive away with Miss Bell. 
 
 There was no room for Arthur, who came back, 
 
354 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 laughing, to the young surgeon, and told him whither 
 his parent was bound. During the whole of the jour- 
 ney, that artful Laura coaxed, and wheedled, and 
 cajoled him so adroitly, that the old gentleman would 
 have granted her anything; and Lady Rockminster 
 achieved the victory over him by complimenting him 
 on his skill, and professing her anxiety to consult 
 him. What were her ladyship's symptoms ? Should 
 he meet her ladyship's usual medical attendant ? 
 Mr. Jones was called out of town ? He should be de- 
 lighted to devote his very best energies and experi- 
 ence to her ladyship's service. 
 
 He was so charmed with his patient, that he wrote 
 home about her to his wife and family ; he talked of 
 nothing but Lady Rockminster to Samuel, when that 
 youth came to partake of beefsteak and oyster-sauce, 
 and accompany his parent to the play. There was a 
 simple grandeur, a polite urbanity, a high-bred grace 
 about her ladyship, which he had never witnessed in 
 any woman. Her symptoms did not seem alarming : 
 he had prescribed — Spir : Ammon : Aromat : with a 
 little Spir : Menth : Pip : and orange-flower, which 
 would be all that was necessary. 
 
 ." Miss Bell seemed to be on the most confidential 
 and affectionate footing with her ladyship. She was 
 about to form a matrimonial connection. All young 
 people ought to marry. Such were her ladyship's 
 words ; and the Countess condescended to ask respect- 
 ing my own family, and I mentioned you by name to 
 her ladyship, Sam, my boy. I shall look in to-morrow, 
 when, if the remedies which I have prescribed for her 
 ladyship have had the effect which I anticipate, I shall 
 probably follow them up by a little Spir : Lavend : 
 Comp : — and so set my noble patient up. What is 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 355 
 
 the theatre which is most frequented by the — by 
 the higher classes in town, hey, Sam ? and to what 
 amusement will you take an old country doctor to- 
 night, hey, sir ? " 
 
 On the next day, when Mr. Huxter called in Jermyn 
 Street at twelve o'clock, Lady Rockminster had not 
 yet left her room, but Miss Bell and Mr. Pendennis 
 were in waiting to receive him. Lady Rockminster 
 had had a most comfortable night, and was getting on 
 as well as possible. How had Mr. Huxter amused 
 himself ? at the theatre ? with his son ? What a 
 capital piece it was, and how charmingly Mrs. O'Leary 
 looked and sang it! and what a good fellow young 
 Huxter was ! liked by everybody, an honor to his 
 profession. He has not his father's manners, I grant 
 you, or that old-world tone which is passing away 
 from us, but a more excellent, sterling fellow never 
 lived. " He ought to practise in the country what- 
 ever you do, sir," said Arthur — " he ought to marry 
 — other people are going to do so — and settle." 
 
 " The very words that her ladyship used yesterday, 
 Mr. Pendennis. He ought to marry. Sam should 
 marry, sir." 
 
 "The town is full of temptations, sir," continued 
 Pen. The old gentleman thought of that houri, Mrs. 
 O'Leary. 
 
 " There is no better safeguard for a young man 
 than an early marriage with an honest affectionate 
 creature." 
 
 " No better, sir, no better." 
 
 " And love is better than money, is n't it." 
 
 " Indeed it is," said Miss Bell. 
 
 "I agree with so fair an authority," said the old 
 gentleman, with a bow. 
 
356 
 
 PENDEKNIS. 
 
 " And — and suppose, sir," Pen said, " that I had a 
 piece of news to communicate to you." 
 
 " God bless my soul, Mr. Pendennis ! what do you 
 mean ? " asked the old gentleman. 
 
 " Suppose I had to tell you that a young man, 
 carried away by an irresistible passion for an admira- 
 ble and most virtuous young creature — whom every- 
 body falls in love with — had consulted the dictates 
 of reason and his heart, and had married. Suppose 
 I were to tell you that that man is my friend ; that 
 our excellent, our truly noble friend the Countess 
 Dowager of 6-ockminster is truly interested about 
 him (and you may fancy what a young man can do in 
 life when that family is interested for him) ; suppose 
 I were to tell you that you know him — that he is here 
 — that he is — " 
 
 " Sam married ! God bless my soul, sir, you don't 
 mean that ! " 
 
 " And to such a nice creature, dear Mr. Huxter." 
 
 "Her ladyship is charmed with her," said Pen, 
 telling almost the first fib which he has told in the 
 course of this story. 
 
 "Married! the rascal, is he?" thought the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 "They will do it, sir," said Pen; and went and 
 opened the door. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Huxter issued thence, and 
 both came and knelt down before the old gentleman. 
 The kneeling little Fanny found favor in his sight. 
 There must have been something attractive about her, 
 in spite of Laura's opinion. 
 
 " Will never do so any more, sir," said Sam. 
 
 " Get up, sir," said Mr. Huxter. And they got up, 
 and Fanny came a little nearer and a little nearer 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 357 
 
 still, and looked so pretty and pitiful, that somehow 
 Mr. Huxter found himself kissing the little crying- 
 laughing thing, and feeling as if he liked it. 
 
 " What 's your name, my dear ? " he said, after a 
 minute of this sport. 
 
 " Fanny, Papa," said Mrs. Samuel. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 EXEUNT OMNES. 
 
 Our characters are all a month older than they were 
 when the last-described adventures and conversations 
 occurred, and a great number of the personages of our 
 story have chanced to re-assemble at the little coun- 
 try town where we were first introduced to them. 
 Frederic Lightfoot, formerly maitre-oV hotel in the ser- 
 vice of Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering Park, Bart., 
 has begged leave to inform the nobility and gentry of 
 — shire that he has taken that well-known and com- 
 fortable hotel, the Clavering Arms, in Clavering, 
 where he hopes for the continued patronage of the 
 gentlemen and families of the county. " This ancient 
 and well-established house," Mr. Lightfoot's mani- 
 festo states, " has been repaired and decorated in a 
 style of the greatest comfort. Gentlemen hunting 
 with the Dumplingbeare hounds will find excellent 
 stabling and loose boxes for horses at the Clavering 
 Arms. A commodious billiard-room has been attached 
 to the hotel, and the cellars have been furnished with 
 the choicest wines and spirits, selected, without regard 
 to expense, by F. L. Commercial gentlemen will find 
 the Clavering Arms a most comfortable place of re- 
 sort : and the scale of charges has been regulated for 
 all, so as to meet the economical spirit of the present 
 times." 
 
 Indeed, there is a considerable air of liveliness about 
 the old inn. The Clavering arms have been splendidly 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 359 
 
 repainted over the gateway. The coffee-room windows 
 are bright and fresh, and decorated with Christmas 
 holly ; the magistrates have met in petty sessions in 
 the card-room of the old Assembly. The farmers' ord- 
 inary is held as of old, and frequented by increased 
 numbers, who are pleased with Mrs. Lightfoot's cui- 
 sine. Her Indian curries and mulligatawny soup are 
 especially popular: Major Stokes, the respected tenant 
 of Fairoaks Cottage, Captain Glanders, H.P., and other 
 resident gentry, have pronounced in their favor, and 
 have partaken of them more than once, both in pri- 
 vate and at the dinner of the Clavering Institute, at- 
 tendant on the incorporation of the reading-room, and 
 when the chief inhabitants of that nourishing little 
 town met together and did justice to the hostess's ex- 
 cellent cheer. The chair was taken by Sir Francis 
 Clavering, Bart., supported by the esteemed rector, 
 
 Dr. Portman : the vice-chair being ably filled by 
 
 Barker, Esq. (supported by the Kev. J. Simcoe and 
 the Kev. S. Jowls), the enterprising head of the rib- 
 bon factory in Clavering, and chief director of the 
 Clavering and Chatteris Branch of the Great Western 
 Kail way, which will be opened in another year, and 
 upon the works of which the engineers and workmen 
 are now busily engaged. 
 
 " An interesting event, which is likely to take place 
 in the life of our talented townsman, Arthur Penden- 
 nis, Esq., has, we understand, caused him to relinquish 
 the intentions which he had of offering himself as a 
 candidate for our borough : and rumor whispers " (says 
 the " Chatteris Champion, Clavering Agriculturist, 
 and Baymouth Fisherman," — that independent county 
 paper, so distinguished for its unswerving principles 
 and loyalty to the British oak, and so eligible a medium 
 for advertisements) — " rumor states," says the C. C, 
 
360 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 C. A. and B. F., " that should Sir Francis Clavering's 
 failing health oblige him to relinquish his seat in Par- 
 liament, he will vacate it in favor of a young gentle- 
 man of colossal fortune and related to the highest 
 aristocracy of the empire, who is about to contract a 
 matrimonial alliance with an accomplished and lovely 
 lady, connected by the nearest ties with the respected 
 family at Clavering Park. Lady Clavering and Miss 
 Amory have arrived at the Park for the Christmas 
 holidays ; and we understand that a large number of 
 the aristocracy are expected, and that festivities of a 
 peculiarly interesting nature will take place there at 
 the commencement of the new year." 
 
 The ingenious reader will be enabled, by the help of 
 the above announcement, to understand what has taken 
 place during the little break which has occurred in our 
 narrative. Although Lady Rockminster grumbled a 
 little at Laura's preference for Pendennis over Blue- 
 beard, those who are aware of the latter's secret will 
 understand that the young girl could make no other 
 choice, and the kind old lady who had constituted her- 
 self Miss Bell's guardian was not ill pleased that she 
 was to fulfil the great purpose in life of young ladies 
 and marry. She informed her maid of the interesting 
 event that very night, and of course Mrs. Beck, who 
 was perfectly aware of every single circumstance, and 
 kept by Martha, of Fairoaks, in the fullest knowledge 
 of what was passing, was immensely surprised and 
 delighted. "Mr. Pendennis's income is so much; the 
 railroad will give him so much more, he states ; Miss 
 Bell has so much, and may probably have a little more 
 one day. For persons in their degree, they will be 
 able to manage very well. And I shall speak to my 
 nephew Pynsent, who I suspect was once rather at- 
 tached to her, — but of course that was out of the 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 361 
 
 question (" Oh ! of course, my lady ; I should think so 
 indeed ! ") — not that you know anything whatever 
 about it, or have any business to -think at all on the 
 subject, — I shall speak to George Pynsent, who is 
 now chief secretary of the Tape and Sealing Wax 
 Office, and have Mr. Pendennis made something. 
 And, Beck, in the morning you will carry down my 
 compliments to Major Pendennis, and say that I shall 
 pay him a visit at one o'clock. Yes," muttered the 
 old lady, " the Major must be reconciled, and he must 
 leave his fortune to Laura's children." 
 
 Accordingly, at one o'clock, the Dowager Lady 
 Roekminster appeared at Major Pendennis's, who 
 was . delighted, as may be imagined, to receive so 
 noble a visitor. The Major had been prepared, if 
 not for the news which her ladyship was about to 
 give him, at least with the intelligence that Pen's 
 marriage with Miss Amory was broken off. The 
 young gentleman bethinking him of his uncle, for 
 the first time that day it must be owned, and meet- 
 ing his new servant in the hall of the hotel, asked 
 after the Major's health from Mr. Frosch ; and then 
 went into the coffee-room of the hotel, where he wrote 
 a half-dozen lines to acquaint his guardian with what 
 had occurred. 
 
 " Dear Uncle," he said, " if there has been any question 
 between us, it is over now. I went to Tunbridge Wells yes- 
 terday, and found that somebody else had carried off the prize 
 about which we were hesitating. Miss A., without any com- 
 punction for me, has bestowed herself upon Harry Foker, 
 with his fifteen thousand a-year. I came in suddenly upon 
 their loves, and found and left him in possession. 
 
 "And you'll be glad to hear, Tatham writes me, that he 
 has sold three of my fields at Fairoaks to the Railroad Com- 
 pany, at a great figure. I will tell you this, and more when 
 we meet ; and am always your affectionate — A. P." 
 
362 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " I think I am aware of what you were about to 
 tell me," the Major said, with a most courtly smile 
 and bow to Pen's ambassadress. " It was a very great 
 kindness of your ladyship to think of bringing me 
 the news. How well you look ! How very good you 
 are ! How very kind you have always been to that 
 young man ! " 
 
 " It was for the sake of his uncle," said Lady Rock- 
 minster, most politely. 
 
 " He has informed me of the state of affairs, and 
 written me a nice note, — yes, a nice note," con- 
 tinued the old gentleman ; " and I find he has had 
 an increase to his fortune, — yes ; and, all things con- 
 sidered, I don't much regret that this affair with Miss 
 Amory is manqitee, though I wished for it once, — in 
 fact, all things considered, I am very glad of it." 
 
 "We must console him, Major Pendennis," con- 
 tinued the lady ; " we must get him a wife." The 
 truth then came across the Major's mind, and he 
 saw for what purpose Lady Rockminster had chosen 
 to assume the office of ambassadress. 
 
 It is not necessary to enter into the conversation 
 which ensued, or to tell at any length how her lady- 
 ship concluded a negotiation, which, in truth, was 
 tolerably easy. There could be no reason why Pen 
 should not marry according to his own and his 
 mother's wish : and as for Lady Rockminster, she 
 supported the marriage by intimations which had 
 very great weight with the Major, but of which we 
 shall say nothing, as her ladyship (now, of course, 
 much advanced in years) is still alive, and the family 
 might be angry ; and, in fine, the old gentleman was 
 quite overcome by the determined graciousness of the 
 lady, and her fondness for Laura. Nothing, indeed, 
 could be more bland and kind than Lady Rock- 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 363 
 
 minster's whole demeanor, except for one moment 
 when the Major talked about his boy throwing him- 
 self away, at which her ladyship broke out into a 
 little speech, in which she made the Major under- 
 stand, what poor Pen and his friends acknowledge 
 very humbly, that Laura was a thousand times too 
 good for him. Laura was fit to be the wife of a king, 
 — Laura was a paragon of virtue and excellence. 
 And it must be said, that when Major Pendennis 
 found that a lady of the rank of the Countess of 
 Rockminster seriously admired Miss Bell, he in- 
 stantly began to admire her himself. 
 
 So that when Herr Frosch was requested to walk 
 up-stairs to Lady Rockminster's apartments, and in- 
 form Miss Bell and Mr. Arthur Pendennis that the 
 Major would receive them, and Laura appeared blush 
 ing and happy as she hung on Pen's arm, the Major 
 gave a shaky hand to one and the other, with no un- 
 affected emotion and cordiality, and then went through 
 another salutation to Laura, which caused her to blush 
 still more. Happy blushes ! bright eyes beaming 
 with the light of love ! The story-teller turns from 
 this group to his young audience, and hopes that one 
 day their eyes may all shine so. 
 
 Pen having retreated in the most friendly manner, 
 and the lovely Blanche having bestowed her young 
 affections upon a blushing bridegroom, with fifteen 
 thousand a-year, there was such an outbreak of happi- 
 ness in Lady Clavering's heart and family as the good 
 Begum had not known for many a year, and she and 
 Blanche were on the most delightful terms of cordial- 
 ity and affection. The ardent Foker pressed onwards 
 the happy day, and was as anxious as might be ex- 
 pected to abridge the period of mourning which 
 
364 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 should put him in possession of so many charms 
 and amiable qualities, of which he had been only, 
 as it were, the heir-apparent, not the actual owner, 
 until then. The gentle Blanche, everything that her 
 affianced lord could desire, was not averse to gratify 
 the wishes of her fond Henry. Lady Clavering came 
 up from Tunbridge. Milliners and jewellers were set 
 to work and engaged to prepare the delightful para- 
 phernalia of Hymen. Lady Clavering was in such a 
 good-humor, that Sir Francis even benefited by it, 
 and such a reconciliation was effected between this 
 pair, that Sir Francis came to London, sat at the head 
 of his own table once more, and appeared tolerably 
 flush of money at his billiard-rooms and gambling- 
 houses again. One day, when Major Pendennis and 
 Arthur went to dine in Grosvenor Place, they found 
 an old acquaintance established in the quality of ma- 
 jor-domo, and the gentleman in black, who, with per- 
 fect politeness and gravity, offered them their choice 
 of sweet or dry champagne, was no other than Mr. 
 James Morgan. The Chevalier Strong was one of 
 the party ; he was in high spirits and condition, and 
 entertained the company with accounts of his amuse- 
 ments abroad. 
 
 " It was my Lady who invited me," said Strong to 
 Arthur, under his voice — " that fellow Morgan looked 
 as black as thunder when I came in. He is about no 
 good here. I will go away first, and wait for you and 
 Major Pendennis at Hyde Park Gate." 
 
 Mr. Morgan helped Major Pendennis to his great- 
 coat when he was quitting the house ; and muttered 
 something about having accepted a temporary engage- 
 ment with the Clavering family. 
 
 " I have got a paper of yours, Mr. Morgan," said 
 the old gentleman. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 365 
 
 " Which you can show, if you please, to Sir Francis, 
 sir, and perfectly welcome," said Mr. Morgan, with 
 downcast eyes. " I 'm very much obliged to you, 
 Major Pendennis, and if I can pay you for all your 
 kindness I will." 
 
 Arthur overheard the sentence, and saw the look of 
 hatred which accompanied it, suddenly cried out that 
 he had forgotten his handkerchief, and ran up-stairs to 
 the drawing-room again. Foker was still there : still 
 lingering about his siren. Pen gave the siren a look 
 full of meaning, and we suppose that the siren under- 
 stood meaning looks, for when, after finding the vera- 
 cious handkerchief of which he came in quest, he 
 once more went out, the siren, with a laughing voice, 
 said, "Oh, Arthur — Mr. Pendennis — I want you to 
 tell dear Laura something ! " and she came out to the 
 door. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, shutting the door. 
 " Have you told Harry ? Do you know that villain 
 Morgan knows all ? 99 
 " I know it," she said. 
 " Have you told Harry ? " 
 " No, no," she said. " You won't betray me ? 99 
 " Morgan will," said Pen. 
 
 "No, he won't," said Blanche. "I have promised 
 him — n'importe. Wait until after our marriage — 
 Oh, until after our marriage — Oh, how wretched I 
 am ! 99 said the girl, who had been all smiles, and 
 grace, and gayety during the evening. 
 
 Arthur said, " I beg and implore you to tell Harry. 
 Tell him now c It is no fault of yours. He will par- 
 don you anything. Tell him to-night." 
 
 " And give her this — 11 est la — with my love, 
 please ; and I beg your pardon for calling you back ; 
 and if she will be at Madame Crinoline's at half-past 
 
SG6 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 three, and if Lady Pockminster can spare her, I 
 should so like to drive with her in the Park ; " and 
 she went in, singing and kissing her little hand, as 
 Morgan the velvet-footed came up the carpeted stair. 
 
 Pen heard Blanche's piano breaking out into brilliant 
 music as he went down to join his uncle ; and they 
 walked away together. Arthur briefly told him what 
 he had done. " What was to be done ? " he asked. 
 
 "What is to be done, begad ? " said the old gentle- 
 man. " What is to be done but to leave it alone ? 
 Begad, let us be thankful," said the old fellow, with a 
 shudder, " that we are out of the business, and leave 
 it to those it concerns." 
 
 " I hope to Heaven she '11 tell him," said Pen. 
 
 " Begad, she '11 take her own course," said the old 
 man. " Miss Amory is a dev'lish wideawake girl, sir, 
 and must play her own cards ; and I am doosid glad 
 you are out of it — doosid glad, begad. Who 's this 
 smoking ? Oh, it 's Mr. Strong again. He wants to 
 put in his oar, I suppose. I tell you, don't meddle in 
 the business, Arthur." 
 
 Strong began once or twice, as if to converse upon 
 the subject, but the Major would not hear a word. 
 He remarked on the moonlight on Apsley House, the 
 weather, the cab-stands — anything but that subject. 
 He bowed stiffly to Strong, and clung to his nephew's 
 arm, as he turned down St. James's Street, and again 
 cautioned Pen to leave the affair alone. " It had like 
 to have cost you so much, sir, that you may take my 
 advice," he said. 
 
 When Arthur came out of the hotel, Strong's cloak 
 and cigar were visible a few doors off. The jolly 
 Chevalier laughed as they met. " I 'm an old soldier, 
 too," he said. " I wanted to talk to you, Pendennis. 
 I have heard of all that has happened, and all the 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 367 
 
 chops and changes that have taken place during my 
 absence. I congratulate you on your marriage, and I 
 congratulate you on your escape, too, — you under- 
 stand me. It was not my business to speak, but I 
 know this, that a certain party is as arrant a little — . 
 well — well, never mind what. You acted like a man 
 and a trump, and are well out of it." 
 
 "I have no reason to complain," said Pen. "I 
 went back to beg and entreat poor Blanche to tell 
 Foker all : I hope, for her sake, she will ; but I fear 
 not. There is but one policy, Strong, there is but 
 one." 
 
 " And lucky he that can stick to it," said the Cheva- 
 lier. " That rascal Morgan means mischief. He has 
 been lurking about our chambers for the last two 
 months : he has found out that poor mad devil 
 Amory's secret. He has been trying to discover 
 where he was : he has been pumping Mr. Bolton, and 
 making old Costigan drunk several times. He bribed 
 the Inn porter to tell him when we came back ; and 
 he has got into Clavering's service on the strength of 
 his information. He will get very good pay for it, 
 mark my words, the villain." 
 
 " Where is Amory ? " asked Pen. 
 
 "At Boulogne, I believe. I left him there, and 
 warned him not to come back. I have broken with 
 him after a desperate quarrel, such as one might have 
 expected with such a madman. And I 'm glad to think 
 that he is in my debt now, and that I have been the 
 means of keeping him out of more harms than one." 
 
 " He has lost all his winnings, I suppose ? " said 
 Pen. 
 
 " No : he is rather better than when he went away, 
 or was a fortnight ago. He had extraordinary luck 
 at Baden : broke the bank several nights, and was the 
 
368 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 fable of the place. He lied himself there with a fel- 
 low, by the name of Bloundell, who gathered about 
 him a society of all sorts of sharpers, male and female, 
 Russians, Germans, French, English. Amory got so 
 insolent, that I was obliged to thrash him one day 
 within an inch of his life. I could n't help myself ; 
 the fellow has plenty of pluck, and I had nothing for 
 it but to hit out." 
 
 " And did he call you out ? " said Pen. 
 
 " You think if I had shot him I should have done 
 nobody any harm ? No, sir ; I waited for his chal- 
 lenge, but it never came : and the next time I met 
 him he begged my pardon, and said, ' Strong, I beg 
 your pardon; you whopped me and you served me 
 right.' I shook hands : but I could n't live with him 
 after that. I paid him what I owed him the night 
 before," said Strong with a blush. " I pawned every- 
 thing to pay him, and then I went with my last ten 
 florins, and had a shy at the roulette. If I had lost, I 
 should have let him shoot me in the morning. I was 
 weary of my life. By Jove, sir, is n't it a shame that 
 a man like me, who may have had a few bills out, but 
 who never deserted a friend, or did any unfair action, 
 should n't be able to turn his hand to anything to get 
 bread ? I made a good night, sir, at roulette, and I 've 
 done with that. I'm going into the wine business. 
 My wife's relations live at Cadiz. I intend to bring 
 over Spanish wine and hams ; there 's a fortune to be 
 made by it, sir, — a fortune — here's my card. If 
 you want any sherry or hams, recollect Ned Strong is 
 your man." And the Chevalier pulled out a hand- 
 some card, stating that Strong and Company, Shep- 
 herd's Inn, were sole agents of the celebrated Diamond 
 Manzanilla of the Duke of Garbanzos, Grandee of 
 Spain of the First Class ; and of the famous Toboso 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 369 
 
 hams, fed on acorns only in the country of Don Qui- 
 xote. u Come and taste 'em, sir, — come and try 'em 
 at my chambers. You see, I 've an eye to business, 
 and by Jove this time I '11 succeed." 
 
 Pen laughed as he took the card. " I don't know 
 whether I shall be allowed to go to bachelors' parties," 
 he said. " You know I 'm going to — " 
 
 "But you must have sherry, sir. You must have 
 sherry." 
 
 " I will have it from you, depend on it," said the 
 other. " And I think you are very well out of your 
 other partnership. That worthy Altamont and his 
 daughter correspond, I hear," Pen added after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Yes ; she wrote him the longest rigmarole letters, 
 that I used to read : the sly little devil ; and he an- 
 swered under cover to Mrs. Bonner. He was for 
 carrying her off the first day or two, and nothing 
 would content him but having back his child. But 
 she did n't want to come, as you may fancy ; and he 
 was not very eager about it." Here the Chevalier 
 burst out in a laugh. " Why, sir, do you know what 
 was the cause of our quarrel and boxing-match ? 
 There was a certain widow at Baden, a Madame la 
 Baronne de la Cruche-cassee, who was not much better 
 than himself, and whom the scoundrel wanted to 
 marry ; and would, but that I told her he was married 
 already. I don't think that she was much better than 
 he was. I saw her on the pier at Boulogne the day I 
 came to England." 
 
 And now we have brought up our narrative to the 
 point, whither the announcement in the " Chatteris 
 Champion " had already conducted us. 
 
 It wanted but very, very few days before that bliss- 
 ful one when Foker should call Blanche his own ; the 
 
370 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 Clavering folks had all pressed to see the most 
 splendid new carriage in the whole world, which was 
 standing in the coach-house at the Clavering Arms ; 
 and shown, in grateful return for drink, commonly, by 
 Mr. Foker's head coachman. Madame Fribsby was 
 occupied in making some lovely dresses for the tenants' 
 daughters, who were to figure as a sort of bridesmaids' 
 chorus at the breakfast and marriage-ceremony. And 
 immense festivities were to take place at the Park 
 upon this delightful occasion. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Huxter, yes ; a happy tenantry, its coun- 
 try's pride, will assemble in the baronial hall, where 
 the beards will wag all. The ox shall be slain, and 
 the cup they '11 drain ; and the bells shall peal quite 
 genteel ; and my father-in-law, with the tear of sensi- 
 bility bedewing his eye shall bless us at his baronial 
 porch. That shall be the order of proceedings I think, 
 Mr. Huxter ; and I hope we shall see you and your 
 lovely bride by her husband's side, and what will you 
 please to drink, sir ? Mrs. Lightfoot, Madam, you 
 will give to my excellent friend and body surgeon, 
 Mr. Huxter, Mr. Samuel Huxter, M. R. C. S., every re- 
 freshment that your hostel affords, and place the fes- 
 tive amount to my account ; and, Mr. Lightfoot, sir, 
 what will you take ? though you 've had enough al- 
 ready, I think ; yes, ha." 
 
 So spoke Harry Foker, in the bar of the Clavering 
 Arms. He had apartments at that hotel, and had 
 gathered a circle of friends round him there. He 
 treated all to drink who came. He was hail-fellow 
 with every man. He was so happy ! He danced 
 round Madame Fribsby, Mrs. Lightfoot's great ally, 
 as she sat pensive in the bar. He consoled Mrs. 
 Lightfoot, who had already begun to have causes of 
 matrimonial disquiet j for the truth must be told, that 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 371 
 
 young Lightfoot, having now the full command of the 
 cellar, had none over his own unbridled desires, and 
 was tippling and tipsy from morning till night. And 
 a piteous sight it was for his fond wife to behold the 
 big 3'outh reeling about the yard and coffee-room, or 
 drinking with the farmers and tradesmen his own 
 neat wines and carefully selected stock of spirits. 
 
 When he could find time, Mr. Morgan the butler 
 came from the Park, and took a glass at the expense 
 of the landlord of the Clavering Arms. He watched 
 poor Lightfoot's tipsy vagaries with savage sneers. 
 Mrs. Lightfoot felt always doubly uncomfortable 
 when her unhappy spouse was under his comrade's 
 eye. But a few months married, and to think he had 
 got to this ! Madame Fribsby could feel for her, 
 Madame Fribsby could tell her stories of men every 
 bit as bad. She had had her own woes too, and her sad 
 experience of men. So it is, that nobody seems happy 
 altogether ; and that there 's bitters, as Mr. Foker re- 
 marked, in the cup of every man's life. And yet there 
 did not seem to be any in his, the honest young fellow ! 
 It was brimming over with happiness and good-humor. 
 
 Mr. Morgan was constant in his attentions to Foker. 
 " And yet I don't like him somehow," said the candid 
 young man to Mrs. Lightfoot. * He always seems as if 
 he was measuring me for my coffin somehow. Pa-in- 
 law 's afraid of him ; pa-in-law 's, ahem ! never mind, 
 but ma-in-law 's a trump, Mrs. Lightfoot." 
 
 u Indeed my lady was ; " and Mrs. Lightfoot owned, 
 with a sigh, that perhaps it had been better for her had 
 she never left her mistress. 
 
 " No, I do not like thee, Dr. Fell ; the reason why I 
 cannot tell," continued Mr. Foker ; " and he wants to 
 be taken as my head man. Blanche wants me to take 
 him. Why does Miss Amory like him so ? 99 
 
372 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Did Miss Blanche like him so ? " The notion 
 seemed to disturb Mrs. Lightfoot very much; and 
 there came to this worthy landlady another cause for 
 disturbance. A letter, bearing the Boulogne post- 
 mark, was brought to her one morning, and she and 
 her husband were quarrelling over it as Foker passed 
 down the stairs by the bar, on his way to the Park. 
 His custom was to breakfast there, and bask a while 
 in the presence of Armida ; then, as the company of 
 Clavering tired him exceedingly, and he did not care 
 for sporting, he would return for an hour or two 
 to billiards and the society of the Clavering Arms; 
 then it would be time to ride with Miss Amory, and, 
 after dining with her, he left her and returned 
 modestly to his inn. 
 
 Lightfoot and his wife were quarrelling over the 
 letter. What was that letter from abroad ? Why 
 was she always having letters from abroad ? Who 
 wrote 'em? — he would know. He didn't believe it 
 was her brother. It was no business of his ? It was a 
 business of his ; and, with a curse, he seized hold of his 
 wife, and dashed at her pocket for the letter. 
 
 The poor woman gave a scream ; and said, " Well, 
 take it." Just as her husband seized on the letter, 
 and Mr. Foker entered at the door, she gave another 
 scream at seeing him, and once more tried to seize the 
 paper. Lightfoot opened it, shaking her away, and 
 an enclosure dropped down on the breakfast-table. 
 
 " Hands off, man alive ! " cried little Harry, spring- 
 ing in. "Don't lay hands on a woman, sir. The man 
 that lays his hands upon a woman, save in the way of 
 kindness, is a — hallo ! it 's a letter for Miss Amory. 
 What's this, Mrs. Lightfoot?" 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot began, in piteous tones of reproach 
 to her husband, — " You unmanly fellow ! to treat a 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 373 
 
 woman so who took you off the street. Oh, you cow- 
 ard, to lay your hand upon your wife ! Why did I 
 marry you ? Why did I leave my lady for you ? 
 Why did I spend eight hundred pound in fitting up 
 this house that you might drink and guzzle ? " 
 
 " She gets letters, and she won't tell me who writes 
 letters/' said Mr. Lightfoot, with a muzzy voice ; " it 's 
 a family affair, sir. Will you take anything, sir ? " 
 
 " I will take this letter to Miss Amory, as I am go- 
 ing to the Park," said Foker, turning very pale ; and 
 taking it up from the table, which was arranged for 
 the poor landlady's breakfast, he went away. 
 
 " He 's comin' — dammy, who 's a comin' ? Who 's 
 J. A., Mrs. Lightfoot — curse me, who 's J. A. ? " cried 
 the husband. 
 
 Mrs. Lightfoot cried out, "Be quiet, you tipsy 
 brute, do ! " — and running to her bonnet and shawl, 
 threw them on, saw Mr. Foker walking down the 
 street, took the by-lane which skirts it, and ran as 
 quickly as she could to the lodge-gate, Clavering 
 Park. Foker saw a running figure before him, but 
 it was lost when he got to the lodge-gate. He stopped 
 and asked, " Who was that who had just come in ? 
 Mrs. Bonner was it ? " He reeled almost in his walk ; 
 the trees swam before him. He rested once or twice 
 against the trunks of the naked limes. 
 
 Lady Clavering was in the breakfast-room with her 
 son, and her husband yawning over his paper. " Good- 
 morning, Harry," said the Begum. " Here 's letters, 
 lots of letters ; Lady Bockminster will be here on 
 Tuesday instead of Monday, and Arthur and the Ma- 
 jor come to-day ; and Laura is to go to Dr. Portman's 
 and come to church from there : and — what 's the 
 matter, my dear ? What makes you so pale, Harry ? " 
 
 " Where is Blanche ? " asked Harry, in a sickening 
 voice — "not down yet ? " 
 
374 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Blanche is always the last," said the boy, eating 
 muffins ; " she 's a regular dawdle, she is. When 
 you 're not here, she lays in bed till lunch time." 
 
 a Be quiet, Frank," said the mother. 
 
 Blanche came down presently, looking pale, and 
 with rather an eager look towards Foker; then she 
 advanced and kissed her mother, and had a face beam- 
 ing with her very best smiles on when she greeted 
 Harry. 
 
 " How do you do, sir ? " she said, and put out both 
 her hands. 
 
 " I 'in ill," answered Harry. " I — I Ve brought a 
 letter for you, Blanche." 
 
 " A letter, and from whom is it, pray ? Voyons" 
 she said. 
 
 "I don't know — I should like to know," said Foker. 
 
 " How can I tell until I see it ? " asked Blanche. 
 
 " Has Mrs. Bonner not told you ? " he said, with a 
 shaking voice, — "there's some secret. You give 
 her the letter, Lady Clavering." 
 
 Lady Clavering, wondering, took the letter from 
 poor Foker's shaking hand, and looked at the super- 
 scription. As she looked at it, she too began to 
 shake in every limb, and with a scared face she 
 dropped the letter, and running up to Frank, clutched 
 the boy to her, and burst out with a sob — " Take 
 that away — it's impossible, it's impossible." 
 
 " What is the matter ? " cried Blanche, with rather 
 a ghastly smile ; " the letter is only from — from a 
 poor pensioner and relative of ours." 
 
 "It's not true, it's not true," screamed Lady Clav- 
 ering. " No, my Frank, — is it, Clavering ? " 
 
 Blanche had taken up the letter, and was moving 
 with it towards the fire, but Foker ran to her and 
 clutched her arm — "I must see that letter," he said; 
 "give it me. You sha'n't burn it." 
 
PENDEXNIS. 
 
 375 
 
 « You — you shall not treat Miss Amory so in my 
 house," cried the Baronet ; " give back the letter, by 
 Jove ! " 
 
 " Read it — and look at her," Blanche cried, point- 
 ing to her mother ; "it — it was for her I kept the 
 secret ! Bead it, cruel man ! " 
 
 And Foker opened and read the letter : — 
 
 "I have not wrote, my darling Bessy, this three weeks; 
 but this is to give her a father's blessing, and I shall come down 
 pretty soon as quick as my note, and intend to see the ceremony, 
 and my son-in-law. I shall put up at Bonner's. I have had a 
 pleasant autumn, and am staying here at an hotel where there 
 is good company, and which is kep' in good style. I don't know 
 whether I quite approve of your throwing over Mr. P. for 
 Mr. F., and don't think Foker 's such a pretty name, and from 
 your account of him he seems a muff', and not a beauty. But 
 he has got the rowdy, which is the thing. So no more, my dear 
 little Betsy, till we meet, from your affectionate father, 
 
 "J. Amory Altamont." 
 
 " Read it, Lady Clavering ; it is too late to keep it 
 from you now," said poor Foker ; and the distracted 
 woman, having cast her eyes over it, again broke 
 out into hysterical screams, and convulsively grasped 
 her son. 
 
 " They have made an outcast of you, my boy," she 
 said. " They 've dishonored your old mother ; but 
 I 'm innocent, Frank ; before God, I 'm innocent. I 
 didn't know this, Mr. Foker; indeed, indeed I 
 did n't." 
 
 " I 'm sure you did n't," said Foker, going up and 
 kissing her hand. 
 
 u Generous, generous Harry," cried out Blanche, in 
 an ecstasy. But he withdrew his hand, which was 
 upon her side, and turned from her with a quivering 
 lip. " That 's different," he says. 
 
376 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " It was for her sake — for her sake, Harry." 
 Again Miss Amory is in an attitude. 
 
 "There was something to be done for mine," said 
 Foker. "I would have taken you, whatever you 
 were. Everything 's talked about in London. I knew 
 that your father had come to — to grief. You don't 
 think it was — it was for your connection I married 
 you ? D — it all ! I 've loved you with all my heart 
 and soul for two years, and you 've been playing with 
 me, and cheating me," broke out the young man, with 
 a cry. " Oh, Blanche, Blanche, it 's a hard thing, a 
 hard thing ! " and he covered his face with his hands, 
 and sobbed behind them. 
 
 Blanche thought, " Why did n't I tell him that night 
 when Arthur warned me ? " 
 
 "Don't refuse her, Harry," cried out Lady Clav- 
 ering. " Take her, take everything I have. It 's 
 all hers you know, at my death. This boy's disin- 
 herited." — (Master Frank, who had been looking 
 scared at the strange scene, here burst into a loud 
 cry.) — " Take every shilling. Give me just enough 
 to live, and to go and hide my head with this child, 
 and to fly from both. Oh, they've both been bad, 
 bad men. Perhaps he 's here now. Don't let me see 
 him. Clavering, you coward, defend me from him." 
 
 Clavering started up at this proposal. " You ain't 
 serious, Jemima ? You don't mean that ? " he said. 
 "You won't throw me and Frank over? I didn't 
 
 know it, so help me . Foker, I 'd no more idea 
 
 of it than the dead — until the fellow came and found 
 me out, the d — d escaped convict scoundrel." 
 
 " The what ? " said Foker. Blanche gave a scream. 
 
 " Yes," screamed out the Baronet in his turn. " Yes, 
 a d — d runaway convict — a fellow that forged his 
 father-in-law's name — a d — d attorney, and killed 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 377 
 
 a fellow in Botany Bay, hang him — and ran into 
 the Bush, curse him ; I wish he 'd died there. And 
 he came to me, a good six years ago, and robbed me ; 
 and I 've been ruining myself to keep him, the infer- 
 nal scoundrel ! And Pendennis knows it, and Strong 
 knows it, and that d — d Morgan knows it, and she 
 knows it, ever so long; and I never would tell it, 
 never: and I kept it from my wife." 
 
 " And you saw him, and you did n't kill him, Clav- 
 ering, you coward ? " said the wife of Amory. " Come 
 away, Frank ; your father 's a coward. I am dishon- 
 ored, but I 'm your old mother, and you '11 — you '11 
 love me, won't you ? " 
 
 Blanche, eploree, went up to her mother ; but Lady 
 Clavering shrank from her with a sort of terror. 
 " Don't touch me," she said ; " you 've no heart ; you 
 never had. I see all now. I see why that coward 
 was going to give up his place in Parliament to 
 Arthur ; yes, that coward ! and why you threatened 
 that you would make me give you half Frank's for- 
 tune. And when Arthur offered to marry you with- 
 out a shilling, because he would n't rob my boy, you 
 left him, and you took poor Harry. Have nothing to 
 do with her, Harry. You're good, you are. Don't 
 marry that — that convict's daughter. Come away, 
 Frank, my darling; come to your poor old mother. 
 We '11 hide ourselves ; but we 're honest, yes, we are 
 honest." 
 
 All this while a strange feeling of exultation had 
 taken possession of Blanche's mind. That month 
 with poor Harry had been a weary month to her. 
 All his fortune and splendor scarcely sufficed to make 
 the idea of himself supportable. She was wearied of 
 his simple ways, and sick of coaxing and cajoling 
 him. 
 
378 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " Stay, Mamma ; stay, Madam ! 99 she cried out with 
 a gesture which was always appropriate, though rather 
 theatrical ; " I have no heart, have I ? I keep the 
 secret of my mother's shame. I give up my rights 
 to my half-brother and my bastard brother — yes, my 
 rights and my fortune. I don't betray my father, and 
 for this I have no heart ! I '11 have my rights now, 
 and the laws of my country shall give them to me. I 
 appeal to my country's laws — yes, my country's laws ! 
 The persecuted one returns this day. I desire to go 
 to my father." And the little lady swept round her 
 hand, and thought that she was a heroine. 
 
 " You will, will you ? " cried out Clavering, with 
 one of his usual oaths. "I'm a magistrate, and 
 dammy, I '11 commit him. Here 's a chaise coming ; 
 perhaps it 's him. Let him come." 
 
 A chaise was indeed coming up the avenue ; and the 
 two women shrieked each their loudest, expecting at 
 that moment to see Altamont arrive. 
 
 The door opened, and Mr. Morgan announced Major 
 Pendennis and Mr. . Pendennis, who entered, and 
 found all parties engaged in this fierce quarrel. A 
 large screen fenced the breakfast-room from the hall ; 
 and it is probable that, according to his custom, Mr. 
 Morgan had taken advantage of the screen to make 
 himself acquainted with all that occurred. 
 
 It had been arranged on the previous day that the 
 young people should ride ; and at the appointed hour 
 in the afternoon, Mr. Foker's horses arrived from the 
 Clavering Arms. But Miss Blanche did not accom- 
 pany him on this occasion. Pen came out and shook 
 hands with him on the doorsteps ; and Harry Foker 
 rode away, followed by his groom in mourning. The 
 whole transactions which have occupied the most 
 active part of our history were debated by the parties 
 
FENDENNIS. 
 
 379 
 
 concerned during those two or three hours. Many 
 counsels had been given, stories told, and compromises 
 suggested; and at the end, Harry Foker rode away, 
 with a sad " God bless you ! n from Pen. There was 
 a dreary dinner at Clavering Park, at which the lately 
 installed butler did not attend ; and the ladies were 
 both absent. After dinner, Pen said, " I will walk 
 down to Clavering and see if he is come." And he 
 walked through the dark avenue, across the bridge and 
 road by his own cottage, — the once quiet and familiar 
 fields of which were flaming with the kilns and forges 
 of the artificers employed on the new railroad 
 works ; and so he entered the town, and made for the 
 Clavering Arms. 
 
 It was past midnight when he returned to Clavering 
 Park. He was exceedingly pale and agitated. " Is 
 Lady Clavering up yet ? " he asked. Yes, she was in 
 her own sitting-room. He went up to her, and there 
 found the poor lady in a piteous state of tears and 
 agitation. 
 
 " It is I, — Arthur," he said, looking in ; and enter- 
 ing, he took her hand very affectionately and kissed 
 it. " You were always the kindest of friends to me, 
 dear Lady Clavering," he said. "I love you very 
 much. I have got some news for you." 
 
 " Don 't call me by that name," she said, pressing 
 his hand. " You were always a good boy, Arthur ; 
 and it 's kind of you to come now, — very kind. You 
 sometimes look very like your ma, my dear." 
 
 " Dear good Lady Clavering" Arthur repeated, with 
 particular emphasis, " something very strange has 
 happened." 
 
 " Has anything happened to him ? " gasped Lady 
 Clavering. " Oh, it 's horrid to think I should be 
 glad of it — horrid ! " 
 
380 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 " He is well. He lias been and is gone, my deai 
 lady. Don't alarm yourself, — he is gone, and you 
 are Lady Clavering still." 
 
 "Is it true, what he sometimes said to me," she 
 screamed out, — " that he — ? " 
 
 " He was married before he married you," said Pen. 
 " He has confessed it to-night. He will never come 
 back." There came another shriek from Lady Claver- 
 ing, as she flung her arms round Pen, and kissed him, 
 and burst into tears on his shoulder, 
 
 What Pen had to tell, through a multiplicity of sobs 
 and interruptions, must be compressed briefly, for be- 
 hold our prescribed limit is reached, and our tale is 
 coming to its end. With the Branch Coach from the 
 railroad, which had succeeded the old Alacrity and 
 Perseverance, Amory arrived, and was set down at the 
 Clavering Arms. He ordered his dinner at the 
 place under his assumed name of Altamont ; and, 
 being of a jovial turn, he welcomed the landlord, who 
 was nothing loath, to a share of his wine. Having ex- 
 tracted from Mr. Lightfoot all the news regarding the 
 family at the Park, and found, from examining his 
 host, that Mrs. Lightfoot, as she said, had kept his 
 counsel, he called for more wine of Mr. Lightfoot, and 
 at the end of this symposium, both, being greatly 
 excited, went into Mrs. Lightfoot's bar. 
 
 She was there taking tea with her friend, Madame 
 Fribsby; and Lightfoot was by this time in such a 
 happy state as not to be surprised at anything which 
 might occur, so that, when Altamont shook hands with 
 Mrs. Lightfoot as an old acquaintance, the recognition 
 did not appear to him to be in the least strange, but 
 only a reasonable cause for further drinking. The 
 gentlemen partook then of brandy-and-water, which 
 they offered to the ladies, not heeding the terrified 
 looks of one or the other. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 381 
 
 Whilst they were so engaged, at about six o'clock 
 in the evening, Mr. Morgan, Sir Francis Clavering's 
 new man, came in, and was requested to drink. He 
 selected his favorite beverage, and the parties engaged 
 in general conversation. 
 
 After a while Mr. Lightfoot began to doze. Mr. 
 Morgan had repeatedly given hints to Mrs. Fribsby 
 to quit the premises ; but that lady, strangely fasci- 
 nated, and terrified it would seem, or persuaded by 
 Mrs. Lightfoot not to go, kept her place. Her per- 
 sistence occasioned much annoyance to Mr. Morgan, 
 who vented his displeasure in such language as gave 
 pain to Mrs. Lightfoot, and caused Mr. Altamont to 
 say, that he was a rum customer, and not polite to 
 the sex. 
 
 The altercation between the two gentlemen became 
 very painful to the women, especially to Mrs. Light- 
 foot, who did everything to soothe Mr. Morgan ; and, 
 under pretence of giving a pipe-light to the stranger, 
 she handed him a paper on which she had privily 
 written the words, "He knows you. Go." There 
 may have been something suspicious in her manner of 
 handing, or in her guest's of reading, the paper : for 
 when he got up a short time afterwards, and said 
 he would go to bed, Morgan rose too, with a laugh, 
 and said it was too early to go to bed. 
 
 The stranger then said he would go to his bedroom. 
 Morgan said he would show him the way. 
 
 At this the guest said, " Come up. I 've got a brace 
 of pistols up there to blow out the brains of any traitor 
 or skulking spy," and glared . so fiercely upon Mor- 
 gan, that the latter, seizing hold of Lightfoot by the 
 collar, and waking him, said, " John Amory, I arrest 
 you in the Queen's name. Stand by me, Lightfoot. 
 This capture is worth a thousand pounds." 
 
382 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 He put forward his hand as if to seize his prisoner, 
 but the other, doubling his fist, gave Morgan with his 
 left hand so fierce a blow on the chest, that it 
 knocked him back behind Mr. Lightfoot. That 
 gentleman, who was athletic and courageous, said 
 he would knock his guest's head off, and prepared 
 to do so, as the stranger, tearing off his coat, and 
 cursing both of his opponents, roared to them to 
 come on. 
 
 But with a piercing scream Mrs. Lightfoot flung 
 herself before her husband, whilst with another and 
 louder shriek Madame Fribsby ran to the stranger, 
 and calling out " Armstrong, Johnny Armstrong ! " 
 seized hold of his naked arm, on which a blue 
 tattooing of a heart and M. F. were visible. 
 
 The ejaculation of Madame Fribsby seemed to 
 astound and sober the stranger. He looked down 
 upon her, and cried out, " It 's Polly, by Jove." 
 
 Mrs. Fribsby continued to exclaim : " This is not 
 Amory. This is Johnny Armstrong, my wicked — 
 wicked husband, married to me in St. Martin's 
 Church, mate on board an Indiaman, and he left me 
 two months after, the wicked wretch. This is John 
 Armstrong — here's the mark on his arm which he 
 made for me." 
 
 The stranger said, "I am John Armstrong, sure 
 enough, Polly. I 'm John Armstrong, Amory, Alta- 
 mont, — and let 'em all come on, and try what 
 they can do against a British sailor. Hurray, who 's 
 for it ? " 
 
 Morgan still called out, " Arrest him ! " But Mrs. 
 Lightfoot said, "Arrest him! arrest you, you mean 
 spy ! What ! stop the marriage and ruin my lady, 
 and take away the Clavering Arms from us ? " 
 
 " Did he say he 'd take away the Clavering Arms 
 
A Discovery. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 383 
 
 from us ? 99 asked Mr. Lightfoot, turning round. 
 "Hang him, I'll trottle him!" 
 
 " Keep him, darling, till the coach passes to the up 
 train. It'll be here now directly." 
 
 " D — him, I '11 choke him if he stirs,*' said Light- 
 foot. And so they kept Morgan until the coach 
 came, and Mr. Amory or Armstrong went away back 
 to London. 
 
 Morgan had followed him : but of this event Arthur 
 Pendennis did not inform Lady Clavering, and left 
 her invoking blessings upon him at her son's door, 
 going to kiss him as he was asleep. It had been a 
 busy day. 
 
 We have to chronicle the events of but one day 
 more, and that was a day when Mr. Arthur, attired in 
 a new hat, a new blue frock-coat and blue handker- 
 chief, in a new fancy waistcoat, new boots, and new 
 shirt-studs (presented by the Right Honorable the 
 Countess Dowager of Rockminster), made his appear- 
 ance at a solitary breakfast-table, in Clavering Park, 
 where he could scarce eat a single morsel of food. 
 Two letters were laid by his worship's plate ; and he 
 chose to open the first, which was in a round clerk- 
 like hand, in preference to the second more familiar 
 superscription. 
 
 Note 1 ran as follows : — 
 
 " Garbanzos Wine Company, Shepherd's Inn. — Monday. 
 
 " My dear Pendennis, — In congratulating you heartily 
 upon the event which is to make you happy for life, I send 
 my very kindest remembrances to Mrs. Pendennis, whom I 
 hope to know even longer than I have already known her. 
 And when 1. call her attention to the fact, that one of the most 
 necessary articles to her husband's comfort is pure sherry, I 
 know I shall have her for a customer for your worship's sake. 
 
 " But I have to speak to you of other than my own con- 
 
384 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 cerns. Yesterday afternoon, a certain J. A. arrived at my 
 chambers from Clavering, which he had left under circum- 
 stances of which you are doubtless now aware. In spite of 
 our difference, I could not but give him food and shelter (and 
 he partook freely both of the Garbanzos Amontillado and the 
 Toboso ham), and he told me what had happened to him, and 
 many other surprising adventures. The rascal married at 
 sixteen, and has repeatedly since performed that ceremony — 
 in Sydney, in New Zealand, in South America, in Newcastle, 
 he says, first, before he knew our poor friend the milliner. 
 He is a perfect Don Juan. 
 
 " And it seemed as if the commendatore had at last over- 
 taken him, for, as we were at our meal, there came three 
 heavy knocks at my outer door, which made our friend start. 
 I have sustained a siege or two here, and went to my usual 
 place to reconnoitre. Thank my stars I have not a bill out in 
 the world, and besides, those gentry do not come in that way. 
 I found that it was your uncle's late valet, Morgan, and a 
 policeman (I think a sham policeman), and they said they 
 had a warrant to take the person of John Armstrong, alias 
 Amory, alias Altamont, a run-away convict, and threatened to 
 break in the oak. 
 
 " Now, sir, in my own days of captivity I had discovered a 
 little passage along the gutter into Bows and Costigan's win- 
 dow, and I sent Jack Alias along this covered-way, not with- 
 out terror of his life, for it had grown very cranky ; and then, 
 after a parley, let in Mons. Morgan and friend. 
 
 '* The rascal had been instructed about that covered-way, 
 for he made for the room instantly, telling the policeman to 
 go down stairs and keep the gate ; and he charged up my little 
 staircase as if he had known the premises. As he was going 
 out of the window we heard a voice that you know, from 
 Bows's garret, saying, 1 Who are ye, and hwhat the divvle are 
 ye at ? Yon 'd betther leave the gutther ; bedad there 's a 
 man killed himself already.' 
 
 '* And as Morgan, crossing over and looking into the dark- 
 ness, was trying to see whether this awful news was true, he 
 took a broom-stick, and with a vigorous dash broke down the 
 pipe of communication — and told me this morning, with great 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 385 
 
 glee, that he was reminded of that 'aisy sthratagera by re- 
 membering his dorling Emilie, when she acted the pawrt of 
 Cora in the Plee — and by the bridge in Pezawro, bedad.' I 
 wish that scoundrel Morgan had been on the bridge when the 
 General tried his 'sthratagem.' 
 
 " If I hear more of Jack Alias, I will tell you. He has got 
 plenty of money still, and I wanted him to send some to our 
 poor friend the milliner ; but the scoundrel laughed and said, 
 he had no more than he wanted, but offered to give anybody a 
 lock of his hair. Farewell — be happy ! and believe me al- 
 ways truly yours, 
 
 " E. Strong." 
 
 " And now for the other letter," said Pen. " Dear 
 old fellow ! " and he kissed the seal before he broke 
 it. 
 
 ** "Warrington, Tuesday. 
 "I must not let the day pass over without saying a God 
 bless you, to both of you. May Heaven make you happy, 
 dear Arthur, and dear Laura. I think, Pen, that you have 
 got the best wife in the world ; and pray that, as such, you 
 will cherish her and tend her. The chambers will be lonely 
 without you, dear Pen ; but if I am tired, I shall have a new 
 home to go to in the house of my brother and sister. I am 
 practising in the nursery here, in order to prepare for the part 
 of Uncle George. Farewell ! make your wedding tour, and 
 come back to your affectionate. G. W " 
 
 Pendennis and his wife read this letter together 
 after Doctor Portman's breakfast was over, and the 
 guests were gone ; and when the carriage was waiting 
 amidst the crowd at the Doctor's outer gate. But the 
 wicket led into the churchyard of St. Mary's, where 
 the bells were pealing with all their might, and it 
 was here, over Helen's green grass, that Arthur 
 showed his wife George's letter. For which of those 
 two — for grief was it or for happiness, that Laura's 
 
386 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 tears abundantly fell on the paper ? And once more, 
 in the presence of the sacred dust, she kissed and 
 blessed her Arthur. 
 
 There was only one marriage on that day at Claver- 
 ing Church ; for in spite of Blanche's sacrifices for her 
 dearest mother, honest Harry Foker could not pardon 
 the woman who had deceived her intended husband, 
 and justly argued that she would deceive him again. 
 He went to the Pyramids and Syria, and there left 
 his malady behind him, and returned with a fine 
 beard, and a supply of tarbooshes and nargillies, with 
 which he regales all his friends. He lives splendidly, 
 and, through Pen's mediation, gets his wine from the 
 celebrated vintages of the Duke of Garbanzos. 
 
 As for poor Cos, his fate has been mentioned in an 
 early part of this story. No very glorious end could 
 be expected to such a career. Morgan is one of the 
 most respectable men in the parish of St. James's, 
 and in the present political movement has pronounced 
 himself like a man and a Briton. And Bows, — on 
 the demise of Mr. Piper, who played the organ at 
 Clavering, little Mrs. Sam Huxter, who has the entire 
 command of Doctor Portman, brought Bows down 
 from London to contest the organ-loft, and her candi- 
 date carried the chair. When Sir Francis Clavering 
 quitted this worthless life, the same little indefati- 
 gable canvasser took the borough by storm, and it is 
 now represented by Arthur Pendennis, Esq. Blanche 
 Amory, it is well known, married at Paris, and the 
 saloons of Madame la Comtesse de Montmorenci de 
 Valentinois were amongst the most suivis of that 
 capital. The duel between the Count and the young 
 and fiery representative of the Mountain, Alcide de 
 Mirobo, arose solely from the latter questioning at 
 
Aw Escape. 
 
PENDENNIS. 
 
 387 
 
 the Club the titles borne by the former nobleman. 
 Madame de Montmorenci de Valentinois travelled 
 after the adventure : and Bungay bought her poems, 
 and published them, with the Countess's coronet em- 
 blazoned on the Countess's work. 
 
 Major Pendennis became very serious in his last 
 days, and was never so happy as when Laura was 
 reading to him with her sweet voice, or listening to 
 his stories. For this sweet lady is the friend of 
 the young and the old : and her life is always passed 
 in making other lives happy. 
 
 " And what sort of a husband would this Pendennis 
 be ? 99 many a reader will ask, doubting the happiness 
 of such a marriage, and the fortune of Laura. The 
 querists, if they meet her, are referred to that lady 
 herself, who, seeing his faults and wayward moods 
 — seeing and owning that there are men better than 
 he — loves him always with the most constant affec- 
 tion. His children or their mother have never heard 
 a harsh word from him ; and when his fits of moodi- 
 ness and solitude are over, welcome him back with a 
 never-failing regard and confidence. His friend is 
 his friend still, — entirely heart-whole. That malady 
 is never fatal to a sound organ. And George goes 
 through his part of godpapa perfectly, and lives 
 alone. If Mr. Pen's works have procured him more 
 reputation than has been acquired by his abler friend, 
 whom no one knows, George lives contented without 
 the fame. If the best men do not draw the great 
 prizes in life, we know it has been so settled by th? 
 Ordainer of the lottery. We own, and see daily, ho 
 the false and worthless live and prosper, while the 
 good are called away, and the dear and young per- 
 ish untimely, — we perceive in every man's life the 
 maimed happiness, the frequent falling, the bootless 
 
388 
 
 PENDENNIS. 
 
 endeavor, the struggle of Eight and Wrong, in which 
 the strong often succumb and the swift fail : we see 
 flowers of good blooming in foul places, as, in the 
 most lofty and splendid fortunes, flaws of vice and 
 meanness, and stains of evil ; and, knowing how mean 
 the best of us is, let us give a hand of charity to Ar- 
 thur Pendennis, with all his faults and short-comings, 
 who does not claim to be a hero, but only a man and 
 a brother. 
 
 THE END