a word. Pandering to fhe worst of human passions was the office of his nature; and faithfully he did his work!"
"I am not angry," observed Mr. Pecksniff. "I am hurt, Mr. Chuzzlewit: wounded in my feelings: but I am not angry, my good Sir."
Mr. Chuzzlewit resumed.
"Once resolved to try him, I was resolute to pursue the trial to the end; but while I was bent on fathoming the depth of his duplicity, I made a sacred compact with myself that I would give him credit on the other side for any latent spark of goodness, honour, forbearance—any virtue—that might glimmer in him. From first to last, there has been no such thing. Not once. He cannot say I have not given him opportunity. He cannot say I have ever led him on. He cannot say I have not left him freely to himself in all things; or that I have not been a passive instrument in his hands, which he might have used for good as easily as evil. Or if he can, he Lies! And that's his nature too."
"Mr. Chuzzlewit," interrupted Pecksniff, shedding tears. "I am not angry, Sir. I cannot be angry with you. But did you never, my dear Sir, express a desire that the unnatural young man who by his wicked arts has estranged your good opinion from me, for the time being: only for the time being: that your grandson, Mr. Chuzzlewit, should be dismissed my house? recollect yourself, my christian friend."
"I have said so, have I not?" retorted the old man sternly. "I could not tell how far your specious hypocrisy had deceived him, knave; and knew no better way of opening his eyes than by presenting you before him in your own servile character. Yes. I did express that desire. And you leaped to meet it; and you met it; and turning in an instant on the hand you had licked and beslavered, as only such hounds can, you strengthened, and confirmed, and justified me in my scheme."
Mr. Pecksniff made a bow; a submissive, not to say, a grovelling and an abject bow. If he had been complimented on his practice of the loftiest virtues, he never could have bowed as he bowed then.
"The wretched man who has been murdered," Mr. Chuzzlewit went on to say; "then passing by the name of"
"Tigg," suggested Mark.
"Of Tigg; brought begging messages to me, on behalf of a friend of his, and an unworthy relative of mine; and finding him a man well enough suited to my purpose, I employed him to glean some news of you, Martin, for me. It was from him I learned that you had taken up your abode with yonder fellow. It was he, who meeting you here, in town, one evening—you remember where?"
"At the pawnbroker's shop," said Martin.
"Yes; watched you to your lodging, and enabled me to send you a Bank note."
"I lately thought," said Martin, greatly moved, "that it had come from you. I little thought that you were interested in my fate. If I had"
"If you had," returned the old man, sorrowfully, "you would have shewn less knowledge of me as I seemed to be, and as I really was. I hoped to bring you back, Martin, penitent and humbled. I hoped to distress you into coming back to me. Much as I loved you, I had that
