I will be its shield, young man. Assail me. Come on, sir. Fire away!'
'Pecksniff,' said the old man, in a feeble voice. 'Calm yourself. Be
quiet.'
'I can't be calm,' cried Mr Pecksniff, 'and I won't be quiet. My
benefactor and my friend! Shall even my house be no refuge for your
hoary pillow!'
'Stand aside!' said the old man, stretching out his hand; 'and let me
see what it is I used to love so dearly.'
'It is right that you should see it, my friend,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'It
is well that you should see it, my noble sir. It is desirable that you
should contemplate it in its true proportions. Behold it! There it is,
sir. There it is!'
Martin could hardly be a mortal man, and not express in his face
something of the anger and disdain with which Mr Pecksniff inspired him.
But beyond this he evinced no knowledge whatever of that gentleman's
presence or existence. True, he had once, and that at first, glanced at
him involuntarily, and with supreme contempt; but for any other heed he
took of him, there might have been nothing in his place save empty air.
As Mr Pecksniff withdrew from between them, agreeably to the wish just
now expressed (which he did during the delivery of the observations
last recorded), old Martin, who had taken Mary Graham's hand in his, and
whispered kindly to her, as telling her she had no cause to be alarmed,
gently pushed her from him, behind his chair; and looked steadily at his
grandson.
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