`The same,' said Martin `-- will be at once apparent to you. I have completed my arrangements for going to America; and you will be surprised to hear that I am to be accompanied by Mark Tapley, upon whom I have stumbled strangely in London, and who insists on putting himself under my protection: meaning, my love,' said Martin, breaking off again, `our friend in the rear, of course.'
She was delighted to hear this, and bestowed a kind glance upon Mark, which he brought his eyes down from the fog to encounter and received with immense satisfaction. She said in his hearing, too that he was a good soul and a merry creature, and would be faithful she was certain; commendations which Mr. Tapley inwardly resolved to deserve, from such lips, if he died for it.
`"Now, my dear Pinch,"' resumed Martin, proceeding with his letter;
`"I am going to repose great trust in you, knowing that I may do so with perfect reliance on your honour and secrecy, and having nobody else just now to trust in."'
`I don't think I would say that, Martin.'
`Wouldn't you? Well! I'll take that out. It's perfectly true, though.'
`But it might seem ungracious, perhaps.'
`Oh, I don't mind Pinch,' said Martin. `There's no occasion to stand on any ceremony with him. However, I'll take it out, as you wish it, and make the full stop at "secrecy." Very well! "I shall not only" -- this is the letter again, you know.'
`I understand.'
`"I shall not only enclose my letters to the young lady of whom I have told you, to your charge, to be forwarded as she may request; but I most earnestly commit her, the young lady herself, to your care and regard, in the event of your meeting in my absence. I have reason to think that the probabilities of your encountering each other -- perhaps very frequently -- are now neither remote nor few; and although in our position you can do very little to lessen the uneasiness of hers, I trust to you implicitly to do that much, and so deserve the confidence I have reposed in you."
You see, my dear Mary,' said Martin, `it will be a great consolation to you to have anybody, no matter how ******, with whom you can speak about ME; and the very first time you talk to Pinch, you'll feel at once that there is no more occasion for any embarrassment or hesitation in talking to him, than if he were an old woman.'
`However that may be,' she returned, smiling, `he is your friend, and that is enough.'
`Oh, yes, he's my friend,' said Martin, `certainly. In fact, I have told him in so many words that we'll always take notice of him, and protect him: and it's a good trait in his character that he's grateful very grateful indeed. You'll like him of all things, my love, I know. You'll observe very much that's comical and old-fashioned about Pinch, but you needn't mind laughing at him; for he'll not care about it. He'll rather like it indeed!'
`I don't think I shall put that to the test, Martin.'
`You won't if you can help it, of course,' he said, `but I think you'll find him a little too much for your gravity. However, that's neither here nor there, and it certainly is not the letter; which ends thus: "Knowing that I need not impress the nature and extent of that confidence upon you at any greater length, as it is already sufficiently established in your mind, I will only say, in bidding you farewell and looking forward to our next meeting, that I shall charge myself from this time, through all changes for the better, with your advancement and happiness, as if they were my own. You may rely upon that. And always believe me, my dear Tom Pinch, faithfully your friend, Martin Chuzzlewit. P.S. I enclose the amount which you so kindly" -- Oh,' said Martin, checking himself, and folding up the letter, `that's nothing!'
At this crisis Mark Tapley interposed, with an apology for remarking that the clock at the Horse Guards was striking.
`Which I shouldn't have said nothing about, sir,' added Mark, `if the young lady hadn't begged me to be particular in mentioning it.'
`I did,' said Mary. `Thank you. You are quite right. In another minute I shall be ready to return. We have time for a very few words more, dear Martin, and although I had much to say, it must remain unsaid until the happy time of our next meeting. Heaven-send it may come speedily and prosperously!
But I have no fear of that.'
`Fear!' cried Martin. `Why, who has? What are a few months? What is a whole year? When I come gaily back, with a road through life hewn out before me, then indeed, looking back upon this parting, it may seem a dismal one. But now! I swear I wouldn't have it happen under more favourable auspices, if I could: for then I should be less inclined to go, and less impressed with the necessity.'
`Yes, yes. I feel that too. When do you go?'
`To-night. We leave for Liverpool to-night. A vessel sails from that port, as I hear, in three days. In a month, or less, we shall be there.
Why, what's a month! How many months have flown by, since our last parting!'
`Long to look back upon,' said Mary, echoing his cheerful tone, `but nothing in their course!'
`Nothing at all!' cried Martin. `I shall have change of scene and change of place; change of people, change of manners, change of cares and hopes!
Time will wear wings indeed! I can bear anything, so that I have swift action, Mary.'