`Come, Miss Pecksniff!' said the old man, quietly. `I should like to see a better parting between you. I should like to see a better parting on your side, in such circumstances. It would make me your friend. You may want a friend one day or other.'

`Every relation of life, Mr. Chuzzlewit, begging your pardon: and every friend in life:' returned Miss Pecksniff, with dignity, `is now bound up and cemented in Augustus. So long as Augustus is my own, I cannot want a friend. When you speak of friends, sir, I must beg, once for all, to refer you to Augustus. That is my impression of the religious ceremony in which I am so soon to take a part at that altar to which Augustus will conduct me. I bear no malice at any time, much less in a moment of triumph, towards any one; much less towards my sister. On the contrary, I congratulate her. If you didn't hear me say so, I am not to blame. And as I owe it to Augustus, to be punctual on an occasion when he may naturally be supposed to be -- to be impatient -- really, Mrs. Todgers! -- I must beg your leave, sir, to retire.'

After these words the bridal bonnet disappeared; with as much state as the dimity bedgown left in it.

Old Martin gave his arm to the younger sister without speaking; and led her out. Mrs. Todgers, with her holiday garments fluttering in the wind, accompanied them to the carriage, clung round Merry's neck at parting, and ran back to her own dingy house, crying the whole way. She had a lean lank body, Mrs. Todgers, but a well-conditioned soul within. Perhaps the good Samaritan was lean and lank, and found it hard to live. Who knows!

Mr. Chuzzlewit followed her so closely with his eyes, that, until she had shut her own door, they did not encounter Mr. Tapley's face.

`Why, Mark!' he said, as soon as he observed it, `what's the matter?'

`The wonderfullest ewent, sir!' returned Mark, pumping at his voice in a most laborious manner, and hardly able to articulate with all his efforts. `A coincidence as never was equalled! I'm blessed if here ain't two old neighbours of ourn, sir!'

`What neighbours?' cried old Martin, looking out of window. `Where?'

`I was a-walkin' up and down not five yards from this spot,' said Mr. Tapley, breathless, `and they come upon me like their own ghosts, as I thought they was! It's the wonderfullest ewent that ever happened. Bring a feather, somebody, and knock me down with it!'

`What do you mean!' exclaimed old Martin, quite as much excited by the spectacle of Mark's excitement as that strange person was himself. `Neighbours, where?'

`Here, sir!' replied Mr. Tapley. `Here in the city of London! Here upon these very stones! Here they are, sir! Don't I know 'em? Lord love their welcome faces, don't I know 'em!'

With which ejaculations Mr. Tapley not only pointed to a decent-looking man and woman standing by, but commenced embracing them alternately, over and over again, in Monument Yard.

`Neighbours, WHERE? old Martin shouted: almost maddened by his ineffectual efforts to get out at the coach-door.

`Neighbours in America! Neighbours in Eden!' cried Mark. `Neighbours in the swamp, neighbours in the bush, neighbours in the fever. Didn't she nurse us! Didn't he help us! Shouldn't we both have died without 'em! Hav'n't they come a-strugglin' back, without a single child for their consolation! And talk to me of neighbours!'

Away he went again, in a perfectly wild state, hugging them, and skipping round them, and cutting in between them, as if he were performing some frantic and outlandish dance.