Mr. Pickwick.

There was another good-night, and another, and half a dozen more after
that, and still Mr. Winkle had fast hold of his friend's hand, and was
looking into his face with the same strange expression.

'Is anything the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick at last, when his arm was
quite sore with shaking. 'Nothing,' said Mr. Winkle.

'Well then, good-night,' said Mr. Pickwick, attempting to disengage his
hand.

'My friend, my benefactor, my honoured companion,' murmured Mr. Winkle,
catching at his wrist. 'Do not judge me harshly; do not, when you hear
that, driven to extremity by hopeless obstacles, I--'

'Now then,' said Mr. Tupman, reappearing at the door. 'Are you coming,
or are we to be locked in?'

'Yes, yes, I am ready,' replied Mr. Winkle. And with a violent effort he
tore himself away.

As Mr. Pickwick was gazing down the passage after them in silent
astonishment, Sam Weller appeared at the stair-head, and whispered for
one moment in Mr. Winkle's ear.

'Oh, certainly, depend upon me,' said that gentleman aloud.

'Thank'ee, sir. You won't forget, sir?' said Sam. 'Of course not,'
replied Mr. Winkle.

'Wish you luck, Sir,' said Sam, touching his hat. 'I should very much
liked to ha' joined you, Sir; but the gov'nor, o' course, is paramount.'

'It is very much to your credit that you remain here,' said Mr. Winkle.
With these words they disappeared down the stairs.

'Very extraordinary,' said Mr. Pickwick, going back into his room, and
seating himself at the table in a musing attitude. 'What can that young
man be going to do?'

He had sat ruminating about the matter for some time, when the voice of
Roker, the turnkey, demanded whether he might come in.

'By all means,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I've brought you a softer pillow, Sir,' said Mr. Roker, 'instead of the
temporary one you had last night.'

'Thank you,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Will you take a glass of wine?'

'You're wery good, Sir,' replied Mr. Roker, accepting the proffered
glass. 'Yours, sir.'

'Thank you,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'I'm sorry to say that your landlord's wery bad to-night, Sir,' said
Roker, setting down the glass, and inspecting the lining of his hat
preparatory to putting it on again.

'What! The Chancery prisoner!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

'He won't be a Chancery prisoner wery long, Sir,' replied Roker, turning
his hat round, so as to get the maker's name right side upwards, as he
looked into it.

'You make my blood run