at the same time. "I have just been telling Pickwick that we must have you all down at Christmas. We're going to have a wedding—a real wedding this time."
"A wedding!" exclaimed Mr. Snodgrass, turning very pale.
"Yes, a wedding. But don't be frightened," said the good-humoured old man; "it's only Trundle there, and Bella."
"Oh, is that all!" said Mr. Snodgrass, relieved from a painful doubt which had fallen heavily on his breast. "Give you joy, sir. How is Joe?"
"Very well," replied the old gentleman. "Sleepy as ever."
"And your mother, and the clergyman, and all of 'em?"
"Quite well."
"Where," said Mr. Tupman, with an effort—"where is—she, sir?" and he turned away his head, and covered his eyes with his hand.
"She!" said the old gentleman, with a knowing shake of the head. "Do you mean my single relative—eh?"
Mr. Tupman, by a nod, intimated that his question applied to the disappointed Rachael.
"Oh, she's gone away," said the old gentleman. "She's living at a relation's, far enough off. She couldn't bear to see the girls, so I let her go. But come! Here's the dinner. You must be hungry after your ride. I am, without any ride at all; so let us fall to."
Ample justice was done to the meal; and when they were seated round the table, after it had been disposed of, Mr. Pickwick, to the intense horror and indignation of his followers, related the adventure he had undergone, and the success which had attended the base artifices of the diabolical Jingle.
"And the attack of rheumatism which I caught in that garden," said Mr. Pickwick, in conclusion, "renders me lame at this moment."
"I, too, have had something of an adventure," said Mr. Winkle, with a smile; and at the request of Mr. Pickwick
