But now, changed for
the better in his worst respect; looking through an altered medium on
his former friend, the guardian of his childhood, so broken and bowed
down; resentment, sullenness, self-confidence, and pride, were all swept
away, before the starting tears upon the withered cheeks. He could not
bear to see them. He could not bear to think they fell at sight of
him. He could not bear to view reflected in them, the reproachful and
irrevocable Past.
He hurriedly advanced to seize the old man's hand in his, when Mr
Pecksniff interposed himself between them.
'No, young man!' said Mr Pecksniff, striking himself upon the breast,
and stretching out his other arm towards his guest as if it were a wing
to shelter him. 'No, sir. None of that. Strike here, sir, here! Launch
your arrows at me, sir, if you'll have the goodness; not at Him!'
'Grandfather!' cried Martin. 'Hear me! I implore you, let me speak!'
'Would you, sir? Would you?' said Mr Pecksniff, dodging about, so as to
keep himself always between them. 'Is it not enough, sir, that you come
into my house like a thief in the night, or I should rather say, for we
can never be too particular on the subject of Truth, like a thief in
the day-time; bringing your dissolute companions with you, to plant
themselves with their backs against the insides of parlour doors, and
prevent the entrance or issuing forth of any of my household'--Mark had
taken up this position, and held it quite unmoved--'but would you also
strike at venerable Virtue? Would you? Know that it is not defenceless.
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