The History of Pendennis

the lieutenant slain at Copenhagen. This gentleman, whose name was the Reverend Francis Bell, was nephew to Mrs. Thistlewood, and by consequence, own cousin to Miss Helen, so that it was very rig

d famous in the University for h

ghter of another parson, who had acted as Mr. Bell’s own private tutor in Bell’s early life, and it was whilst under Mr. Coacher’s roof, indeed, and when only a boy of seventeen or eighteen years of age, that

he passed at Bath with her gouty grandmamma, one day gaily shook his bridle-rein and galloped away never to return. Wounded by the shafts of repeated ingratitude, can it be wondered at that the heart of Martha Coacher should pant to find rest somewhere? She listened to the proposals of the gawky gallant honest boy, with great kindness and good-humour; at the end of his speech she said

. Thrice before had she snipt off one of her auburn ringlets, and given them away. The possessors were faithless, but the hair had g

r. Coacher of the arrangements that had been made, the latter cried, “God bless my soul, I hadn’t the least idea what was going on;” as was indeed very likely, for he had been take

and his silver declamation cup to Miss Martha. In due season he was high among the Wranglers, and a fellow of his college; and during all the time of these trans

since that sunny day in the springtime of life when he found her picking peas in the garden. Having achieved his honours he relaxed in the ardour of his studies, and his judgment and tastes also perhaps became cooler. The s

tle Helen was a girl and used to sit on his knee. Down then he came and lived with them. Helen was grown a beautiful young woman now. The cousins were nearly four months together, from June to October. They walked in the summer evenings: they met in the early morn. They read out of the same book when the old lady dozed at night over the candles. What little Helen knew, Frank taught her. She sang to him: she gave her artless

be free. Should he confess?— give his savings to the woman to whom he was bound, and beg his release?— there was time yet — he temporised. No living might fall in for years to c

is owned it, cared not to disguise it, rebuked Martha with her violent temper

ourt in the kingdom — letters in which his love was pledged to her ten thousand times; and,

one more interview, where it was resolved that he was to do his duty; that is, to redeem his vow; that is, to pay a debt coz

n wrote him a letter on his marriage, beginning “My dear Cousin,” and ending “always truly yours.” She sent him back the

e appointment to his wife. She objected, as she did to everything. He told her bitterly that he did not want her to come: so she went. Bell went out in Governor Crawley’s time, and was very intima

s old, was I?” said Mrs. Bell the first; “I was old, and her inferior, was I? but I married you, Mr. Bell, and kept you from marrying her?” and hereupon she died. Bell married a colonial lady, whom be loved fondly

ed in black, and in company of a soldier’s wife, her nurse, at parting from whom

hed to her. The girl’s name, as his dying letter stated, was Helen Laura. But John Pendennis, though he accepted the trust, was always rather jealous of the orphan; and gloomily ordered that she should be called by her own mother’s name; and not

reminded the first of circumstances in his wife’s life which he was forced to accept, but would have forgotten much more willingly and as for the second, how could h

ome in, who has been

nter was to be a fierce one, and was resolved on bearing it through with all the courage and dignity of the famous family which he represented. And he flung open the door and entere

lf won over to the enemy, and having a shrewd notion that threats and tragic exhortations would have no effect upon the boy, who was inclined to be perfectly stubborn and awfully serious, the Major laid aside t

rung up for a tragedy, and who felt that his grand entree was altogether baulked and ludicrous. He blushed and winced with mortified vanity and bewilder

ance at Mrs. Pendennis, who too felt that the scene was at once ridiculous and sentimental. And so, having nothing to say, she went

If I hadn’t come down, she would have driven over in state to

e, “let us have as little sentiment as possible, a

hough in reduced circumstances: I have found the woman in whom I know that the happiness of my life is centred; I feel that I never, never can think about any woman but her. I am aware of the difference of our ages

Has anybody left you some money? I don’t know

ave is his,” cried

a struggle. “No doubt, no doubt,” he said. “You would sacrifice anything for him. Everybody knows that. But it is, after

ve me anything,” Pen said

u think you should at least have consulted my sister as one of the principal parties in the transaction? I am speaking to you, you see, without the least anger or assumption of authority, such as the law and your father’s will give me over you for three years to come — but as one man of the worl

ch he had prided himself as a most romantic, generous instance of disinter

ect sincerity) “But now it is said, and I stand to it. No; I neither can nor will recall it. I’ll die rather than do so. And I— I don’t want

the most disinterested of women: but, don’t you suppose now, fairly, that your position as a young gentlem

eit my pledge to her,” said Pen, d

word, of course, when it has been given freely. But after all, you can wait. You owe somethi

Pen said, feeling

your word to her, give us

it?” Arth

riage — that you won’t be taking a

. Pen never told his mothe

not this whole intrigue been a falsehood to that tender and confiding cre

hout my mother’s consent!” and giving Helen a bright parting look of confidence an

gel,” the mother cried out

is diplomacy — so much so, that he once more saluted the tips of Mrs. Pendennis’s glove, and dropping the curt, manly, and straightforward ton

arm about her son Gretna, whose affair you remember, and implored me to use my influence with the young gentleman, who was engaged in an affaire de coeur with a Scotch clergyman’s daughter, Miss MacToddy. I implored, I entreated gentle measures. But Lord Ferrybridge was furious, and trie

r have done so,” M

one comfort,” answe

s but two thousand pounds, I am given to understand. It is only with the utmost economy and care that my sister can provide for the decent maintenance of her house, and for your appearance and education as a gentleman; and I don’t care to own to you that I had other and much higher views for you. With your name and birth, sir — with your talents, which I suppose are respectable, with the friends whom I have the honour to possess, I could have placed you in an excellent position — a remarkable position for a young man of such exceeding small means, and had hoped to see you, at least, try to restore the honours of our name. Your mother’s softness stopped one prospect, or you might have been a general, like our gallant ancestor who fought at Ramillies and Malplaquet. I had another plan in view: my excellent and kind friend, Lord Bagwig, who is very well disposed towards me, would, I have little doubt, have attached you to his mission at Pumpernickel, and you might have advanced in the diplomatic service. But, pardon me for recurring to the subject; how is a man to serve a young gentleman of eighteen, who proposes to marry a lady of thirty, whom he has selected from a booth in a fair?— well, not a fair,— a barn. That profession at once is closed to you. The public service is closed to you. Society is closed to you. You see, my good friend, to what you bring yourself. You may get on at the bar to be sure, where I am given to understand that gentlemen of merit occasionally marry out of their kitchens; but in no other profession. Or you may come and live

said, “Why, yes,

ngs in that way. I was talking to my old friend General Hobbler about some lines I dashed off for him in the year 1806, when we were at the Cape, and, Gad, he remembered every line of

d said, “Why, yes, he

ajor, eyeing his nephew with the queerest expression, as much a

ver owned, and he gave his breast-pocket the benefit of a squeeze

at Pen and pointing to his own chest (which was manfully wadded with cot

so comical and embarrassed, as the Major watched it, that the elder could contain his gravity no longer, and burst into

endennis’s drawing-room. She was pleased to hea

playful push at the boy’s breast-pocket. He felt the papers crackling there sure enoug

arming songs. He then made Pen sing, and was delighted and astonished at the beauty of the boy’s voice: he made his nephew fetch his maps and drawings, and praised them as really remarkable works of talent in a young fellow: he

is letters before going to bed: just as if he didn’t know every word of them by heart already. In truth

nd her own begs to thank him for his most beautiful presents. They will always be kept carefully; a

l wear the beautiful scarf which, with its accompanying delightful verses, I shall ever, ever cherish: and papa bids me say how happy he will be i

ot escort me on account of his eye; he had an accident, and fell down over a loose carpet on the stair on Sunday night. I saw you looking at Miss Diggle all night; and you were so enchanted

is was all he had in return for his passion and flames, his vows and protests, his rhymes and similes, his wakeful nights and endless thoughts, his fondness, fears and folly. The young wiseacre had pledged away his all for this: signed his name to endless promissory notes, conferring his heart upon

pture of high spirits, and went to sleep delighted with his kind old uncle from London, who must evidently yie