ne minute before he began to nod again. In the very act of opening his
eyes indolently, he nodded again. In the very act of shutting them, he
nodded again. So he fell out of one nod into another until at last he
ceased to nod at all, and was as fast as the church itself.

He had a consciousness of the organ, long after he fell asleep, though
as to its being an organ he had no more idea of that than he had of
its being a bull. After a while he began to have at intervals the same
dreamy impressions of voices; and awakening to an indolent curiosity
upon the subject, opened his eyes.

He was so indolent, that after glancing at the hassocks and the pew, he
was already half-way off to sleep again, when it occurred to him that
there really were voices in the church; low voices, talking earnestly
hard by; while the echoes seemed to mutter responses. He roused himself,
and listened.

Before he had listened half a dozen seconds, he became as broad awake as
ever he had been in all his life. With eyes, and ears, and mouth,
wide open, he moved himself a very little with the utmost caution, and
gathering the curtain in his hand, peeped out.

Tom Pinch and Mary. Of course. He had recognized their voices, and
already knew the topic they discussed. Looking like the small end of a
guillotined man, with his chin on a level with the top of the pew, so
that he might duck down immediately in case of either of them turning
round, he listened. Listened with such concentrated eagerness, that his
very hair and shirt-collar stood bristling up to help him.

'No,' cried Tom. 'No letters have ever reached me, except that one from
New York. But don't be uneasy on that account, for it's very likely
they have gone away to some far-off place, where the posts are neither
regular nor frequent. He said in that very letter that it might be so,
even in that city to which they thought of travelling--Eden, you know.'

'It is a great weight upon my mind,' said Mary.

'Oh, but you mustn't let it be,' said Tom. 'There's a true saying that
nothing travels so fast as ill news; and if the slightest harm had
happened to Martin, you may be sure you would have heard of it long
ago. I have often wished to say this to you,' Tom continued with an
embarrassment that became him very well, 'but you have never given me an
opportunity.'

'I have sometimes been almost afraid,' said Mary, 'that you might
suppose I hesitated to confide in you, Mr Pinch.'

'No,' Tom stam