Only three days, eh?' said Mr Pickwick. 'Why, what have you been

doing these three months?'

Ah, to be sure!' interposed Perker; 'come, account for this idleness.

You see Mr Pickwick's only astonishment is, that it wasn't all over,

months ago.'

'Why the fact is,' replied Mr Winkle, looking at his blushing young

wife, 'that I could not persuade Bella to run away, for a long time. And

when I had persuaded her, it was a long time more before we could

find an opportunity. Mary had to give a month's warning, too, before

she could leave her place next door, and we couldn't possibly have

done it without her assistance.' 'Upon my word,' exclaimed Mr

Pickwick, who by this time had resumed his spectacles, and was

looking from Arabella to Winkle, and from Winkle to Arabella, with as

much delight depicted in his countenance as warmheartedness and

kindly feeling can communicate to the human face - 'upon my word!

you seem to have been very systematic in your proceedings. And is

your brother acquainted with all this, my dear?'

'Oh, no, no,' replied Arabella, changing colour. 'Dear Mr Pickwick, he

must only know it from you - from your lips alone. He is so violent, so

prejudiced, and has been so - so anxious in behalf of his friend, Mr,

Sawyer,' added Arabella, looking down, 'that I fear the consequences

dreadfully.'

Ah, to be sure,' said Perker gravely. 'You must take this matter in

hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you, when

they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear

Sir. Hot blood, hot blood.' And the little man took a warning pinch,

and shook his head doubtfully.

You forget, my love,' said Mr Pickwick gently, 'you forget that I am a

prisoner.'

No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,' replied Arabella. 'I never have

forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings

must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that what no

consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard to our

happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first, from you, I feel

certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world, Mr

Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I fear I have lost even him. I

have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know.'Here poor Arabella hid her

face in her handkerchief, and wept bitterly.

Mr Pickwick's nature was a good deal worked upon, by these same

tears; but when Mrs. Winkle, drying her eyes, took to coaxing and

entreating in the sweetest tones of a very sweet voice, he became

The Pickwick Papers