ean to be crossed; illness and want are sad calamities
in any place, but in a foreign country dreadful to endure. Have you
thought of all this?'

'Thought of it!' cried Martin, abating, in his fondness--and he WAS very
fond of her--hardly an iota of his usual impetuosity. 'What am I to do?
It's very well to say, "Have I thought of it?" my love; but you should
ask me in the same breath, have I thought of starving at home; have I
thought of doing porter's work for a living; have I thought of holding
horses in the streets to earn my roll of bread from day to day? Come,
come,' he added, in a gentler tone, 'do not hang down your head, my
dear, for I need the encouragement that your sweet face alone can give
me. Why, that's well! Now you are brave again.'

'I am endeavouring to be,' she answered, smiling through her tears.

'Endeavouring to be anything that's good, and being it, is, with you,
all one. Don't I know that of old?' cried Martin, gayly. 'So! That's
famous! Now I can tell you all my plans as cheerfully as if you were my
little wife already, Mary.'

She hung more closely on his arm, and looking upwards in his face, bade
him speak on.

'You see,' said Martin, playing with the little hand upon his wrist,
'that my attempts to advance myself at home have been baffled and
rendered abortive. I will not say by whom, Mary, for that would give
pain to us both. But so it is. Have you heard him speak of late of any
relative of mine or his, called Pecksniff? Only tell me what I ask you,
no more.'

'I have heard, to my surprise, that he is a better man than was
supposed.'

'I thought so,' interrupted Martin.

'And that it is likely we may come to know him, if not to visit and
reside with him and--I think--his daughters. He HAS daughters, has he,
love?'

'A pair of them,' Martin answered. 'A precious pair! Gems of the first
water!'

'Ah! You are jesting!'

'There is a sort of jesting which is very much in earnest, and includes
some pretty serious disgust,' said Martin. 'I jest in reference to Mr
Pecksniff (at whose house I have been living as his assistant, and at
whose hands I have received insult and injury), in that vein. Whatever
betides, or however closely you may be brought into communication with
this family, never forget that, Mary; and never for an instant,
whatever appearances may seem to contradict me, lose sight of this
assurance--Pecksniff is a scoundrel.'

'Indeed!'

'In thought, and in deed, and