Charles Dickens: Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

50. Chapter Fifty (continued)

So they were sitting, she with her work before her, but not working, and Tom with his book beside him, but not reading, when Martin knocked at the door. Anticipating who it was, Tom went to open it; and he and Martin came back into the room together. Tom looked surprised, for in answer to his cordial greeting Martin had hardly spoken a word.

Ruth also saw that there was something strange in the manner of their visitor, and raised her eyes inquiringly to Tom's face, as if she were seeking an explanation there. Tom shook his head, and made the same mute appeal to Martin.

Martin did not sit down but walked up to the window, and stood there looking out. He turned round after a few moments to speak, but hastily averted his head again, without doing so.

'What has happened, Martin?' Tom anxiously inquired. 'My dear fellow, what bad news do you bring?'

'Oh, Tom!' replied Martin, in a tone of deep reproach. 'To hear you feign that interest in anything that happens to me, hurts me even more than your ungenerous dealing.'

'My ungenerous dealing! Martin! My--' Tom could say no more.

'How could you, Tom, how could you suffer me to thank you so fervently and sincerely for your friendship; and not tell me, like a man, that you had deserted me! Was it true, Tom! Was it honest! Was it worthy of what you used to be--of what I am sure you used to be-- to tempt me, when you had turned against me, into pouring out my heart! Oh, Tom!'

His tone was one of such strong injury and yet of so much grief for the loss of a friend he had trusted in--it expressed such high past love for Tom, and so much sorrow and compassion for his supposed unworthiness--that Tom, for a moment, put his hand before his face, and had no more power of justifying himself, than if he had been a monster of deceit and falsehood.