Still she wept bitterly; and it was the greater pain to Tom
to see her weeping, from her standing in especial need, just then, of
sympathy and tenderness.
'Come, come!' said Tom, 'you used to be as cheerful as the day was
long.'
'Ah! used!' she cried, in such a tone as rent Tom's heart.
'And will be again,' said Tom.
'No, never more. No, never, never more. If you should talk with old Mr
Chuzzlewit, at any time,' she added, looking hurriedly into his face--'I
sometimes thought he liked you, but suppressed it--will you promise me
to tell him that you saw me here, and that I said I bore in mind the
time we talked together in the churchyard?'
Tom promised that he would.
'Many times since then, when I have wished I had been carried there
before that day, I have recalled his words. I wish that he should know
how true they were, although the least acknowledgment to that effect has
never passed my lips and never will.'
Tom promised this, conditionally too. He did not tell her how improbable
it was that he and the old man would ever meet again, because he thought
it might disturb her more.
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