Think, and speak, and act for once like an accountable creature. Is any control put upon your inclinations? Are you forced into this match? Are you insidiously advised or tempted to contract it by any one?—I will not ask by whom-by any one?"

"No," said Merry, shrugging her shoulders, "I don't know that I am."

"Don't know that you are! Are you?"

"No," replied Merry. "Nobody ever said anything to me about it. If any one had tried to make me have him I wouldn't have had him at all."

"I am told that he was at first supposed to be your sister's admirer,” said Martin.

"Oh, good gracious! My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, it would be very hard to make him, though he is a monster, accountable for other people's vanity," said Merry. "And poor dear Cherry is the vainest darling!"

"It was her mistake then?"

"I hope it was," cried Merry; "but all along the dear child has been so dreadfully jealous and so cross, that, upon my word and honour, it's impossible to please her, and it's of no use trying."

"Not forced, persuaded, or controlled," said Martin, thoughtfully. "And that's true I see. There is one chance yet. You may have lapsed into this engagement in very giddiness. It may have been the wanton act of a light head. Is that so?"

"My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit," simpered Merry, "as to light-headedness, there never was such a feather of a head as mine. It's a perfect balloon, I declare! You never did, you know!"

He waited quietly till she had finished, and then said, steadily and slowly and in a softened voice, as if he would still invite her confidence

"Have you any wish-or is there anything within your breast that whispers you may form the wish if you have time to think-to be released from this engagement?"

Again Miss Merry pouted, and looked down, and plucked the grass, and shrugged her shoulders. No. She didn't know that she had. She was pretty sure she hadn't. Quite sure, she might say. She "didn't mind it."

"Has it ever occurred to you," said Martin, "that your married life may perhaps be miserable, full of bitterness, and most unhappy?" Merry looked down again, and now she tore the grass up by the

roots.

"My dear Mr. Chuzzlewit, what shocking words! Of course, I shall quarrel with him—I should quarrel with any husband. Married people always quarrel, I believe. But as to being miserable, and bitter, and all those dreadful things, you know, why, I couldn't be absolutely that, unless he always had the best of it, and I mean to have the best of it myself. I always do now," cried Merry, nodding her head and giggling very much; "for I make a perfect slave of the creature."

"Let it go on," said Martin, rising. "Let it go on! I sought to know your mind, my dear, and you have shown it me. I wish you joy. Joy!" he repeated, looking full upon her, and pointing to the wicket-gate where Jonas entered at the moment. And then, without waiting for his nephew, he passed out at another gate, and went away. Oh you terrible old man!" cried the facetious Merry to herself. "What a perfectly hideous monster to be wandering about churchyards in the broad daylight, frightening people out of their wits! Don't come here, Griffin, or I'll go away directly."

Mr. Jonas was the Griffin. He sat down upon the grass at her side in spite of this warning, and sulkily inquired— "What's my uncle been a-talking about? "About you," rejoined Merry. "He says you're not half good enough for me.'

"Oh yes, I dare say! We all know that. He means to give you some present worth having, I hope. Did he say anything that looked like it?"

"That he didn't!" cried Merry, most decisively. "A stingy old dog he is," said Jonas.

"Well?"

"Griffin!" cried Miss Merry, in counterfeit amazement;

are you doing, Griffin ?”

"what

Only giving you a squeeze,” said the discomfited Jonas. "There's no harm in that, I suppose?

"But there is a great deal of harm in it, if I don't consider it agreeable," returned his cousin. "Do go along, will you? You make me

so hot!"

Mr. Jonas withdrew his arm, and for a moment looked at her more like a murderer than a lover. But he cleared his brow by degrees, and broke silence with

“I say, Mel!”

"What do you say, you vulgar thing-you low savage?" cried his fair betrothed.

"When is it to be? I can't afford to go on dawdling about here half my life, I needn't tell you, and Pecksniff says that father's being so lately dead makes very little odds, for we can be married as quiet as we please down here, and my being lonely is a good reason to the neighbours for taking a wife home so soon, especially one that he knew. As to crossbones (my uncle, I mean), he's sure not to put a spoke in the wheel whatever we settle on, for he told Pecksniff only this morning that, if you liked it, he'd nothing at all to say. So, Mel," said Jonas, venturing on another squeeze, when shall it be?"

"Upon my word," cried Merry.

"Upon my soul, if you like," said Jonas. "What do you say to next week, now?"

"To next week! If you had said next quarter, I should have wondered at your impudence."

"But I didn't say next quarter," retorted Jonas. "I said next week."

"Then, Griffin," cried Miss Merry, pushing him off, and rising. "I say no! not next week. It shan't be till I choose and I may not choose it to be for months. There!"

He glanced up at her from the ground almost as darkly as he had looked at Tom Pinch, but held his peace.

"No fright of a Griffin with a patch over his eye shall dictate to me, or have a voice in the matter," said Merry. "There!"

Still Mr. Jonas held his peace.

"If it's next month, that shall be the very earliest, but I won't say when it shall be till to-morrow, and if you don't like that, it shall never be at all," said Merry; "and if you follow me about, and won't leave me alone, it shall never be at all. There! And if you don't do everything I order you to do, it shall never be at all. So don't follow me. There, Griffin!"

And with that she skipped away among the trees.

"Ecod, my lady!" said Jonas, looking after her, and biting a piece of straw almost to powder, "you'll catch it for this when you are married! It's all very well now-it keeps one on somehow, and you know it but I'll pay you off scot and lot by and by. This is a plaguy dull sort of a place for a man to be sitting by himself in. I never could abide a mouldy old churchyard."

As he turned into the avenue himself, Miss Merry, who was far ahead, happened to look back.

"Ah!" said Jonas, with a sullen smile, and a nod that was not addressed to her; "make the most of it while it lasts. Get in your hay while the sun shines. Take your own way as long as it's in your power, my lady!"

CHAPTER XXV

IS IN PART PROFESSIONAL, AND FURNISHES THE READER WITH SOME VALUABLE HINTS IN RELATION TO THE MANAGEMENT OF A SICK CHAMBER

MR. MOULD was surrounded by his household gods. He was enjoying the sweets of domestic repose, and gazing on them with a calm delight. The day being sultry, and the window open, the legs of Mr. Mould were on the window-seat, and his back reclined against the shutter. Over his shining head a handkerchief was drawn to guard his baldness from the flies. The room was fragrant with the smell of punch, a tumbler of which grateful compound stood upon a small round table, convenient to the hand of Mr. Mould, so deftly mixed, that as his eye looked down into the cool transparent drink, another eye, peering brightly from behind the crisp lemon-peel, looked up at him and twinkled like a star.

Deep in the city, and within the ward of Cheap, stood Mr. Mould's