Chapter 46

Throws some Light upon Nicholas’s Love; butwhether for Good or Evil the Reader mustdetermine.

　　After an anxious consideration of the painful andembarrassing position in which he was placed, Nicholasdecided that he ought to lose no time in frankly stating itto the kind brothers. Availing himself of the first opportunity ofbeing alone with Mr Charles Cheeryble at the close of next day, heaccordingly related Smike’s little history, and modestly but firmlyexpressed his hope that the good old gentleman would, under suchcircumstances as he described, hold him justified in adopting theextreme course of interfering between parent and child, andupholding the latter in his disobedience; even though his horrorand dread of his father might seem, and would doubtless berepresented as, a thing so repulsive and unnatural, as to renderthose who countenanced him in it, fit objects of generaldetestation and abhorrence.

　　‘So deeply rooted does this horror of the man appear to be,’ saidNicholas, ‘that I can hardly believe he really is his son. Naturedoes not seem to have implanted in his breast one lingering feelingof affection for him, and surely she can never err.’

　　‘My dear sir,’ replied brother Charles, ‘you fall into the verycommon mistake of charging upon Nature, matters with which shehas not the smallest connection, and for which she is in no wayresponsible. Men talk of Nature as an abstract thing, and lose sight of what is natural while they do so. Here is a poor lad who hasnever felt a parent’s care, who has scarcely known anything all hislife but suffering and sorrow, presented to a man who he is told ishis father, and whose first act is to signify his intention of puttingan end to his short term of happiness, of consigning him to his oldfate, and taking him from the only friend he has ever had—whichis yourself. If Nature, in such a case, put into that lad’s breast butone secret prompting which urged him towards his father andaway from you, she would be a liar and an idiot.’

　　Nicholas was delighted to find that the old gentleman spoke sowarmly, and in the hope that he might say something more to thesame purpose, made no reply.

　　‘The same mistake presents itself to me, in one shape or other,at every turn,’ said brother Charles. ‘Parents who never showedtheir love, complain of want of natural affection in their children;children who never showed their duty, complain of want of naturalfeeling in their parents; law-makers who find both so miserablethat their affections have never had enough of life’s sun to developthem, are loud in their moralisings over parents and children too,and cry that the very ties of nature are disregarded. Naturalaffections and instincts, my dear sir, are the most beautiful of theAlmighty’s works, but like other beautiful works of His, they mustbe reared and fostered, or it is as natural that they should bewholly obscured, and that new feelings should usurp their place,as it is that the sweetest productions of the earth, left untended,should be choked with weeds and briers. I wish we could bebrought to consider this, and remembering natural obligations alittle more at the right time, talk about them a little less at thewrong one.’

　　 After this, brother Charles, who had talked himself into a greatheat, stopped to cool a little, and then continued:

　　‘I dare say you are surprised, my dear sir, that I have listened toyour recital with so little astonishment. That is easily explained.

　　Your uncle has been here this morning.’

　　Nicholas coloured, and drew back a step or two.

　　‘Yes,’ said the old gentleman, tapping his desk emphatically,‘here, in this room. He would listen neither to reason, feeling, norjustice. But brother Ned was hard upon him; brother Ned, sir,might have melted a paving-stone.’

　　‘He came to—’ said Nicholas.

　　‘To complain of you,’ returned brother Charles, ‘to poison ourears with calumnies and falsehoods; but he came on a fruitlesserrand, and went away with some wholesome truths in his earbesides. Brother Ned, my dear My Nickleby—brother Ned, sir, is aperfect lion. So is Tim Linkinwater; Tim is quite a lion. We hadTim in to face him at first, and Tim was at him, sir, before youcould say “Jack Robinson.”’

　　‘How can I ever thank you for all the deep obligations youimpose upon me every day?’ said Nicholas.

　　‘By keeping silence upon the subject, my dear sir,’ returnedbrother Charles. ‘You shall be righted. At least you shall not bewronged. Nobody belonging to you shall be wronged. They shallnot hurt a hair of your head, or the boy’s head, or your mother’shead, or your sister’s head. I have said it, brother Ned has said it,Tim Linkinwater has said it. We have all said it, and we’ll all do it.

　　I have seen the father—if he is the father—and I suppose he mustbe. He is a barbarian and a hypocrite, Mr Nickleby. I told him,“You are a barbarian, sir.” I did. I said, “You’re a barbarian, sir.”

　　 And I’m glad of it, I am very glad I told him he was a barbarian,very glad indeed!’

　　By this time brother Charles was in such a very warm state ofindignation, that Nicholas thought he might venture to put in aword, but the moment he essayed to do so, Mr Cheeryble laid hishand softly upon his arm, and pointed to a chair.

　　‘The subject is at an end for the present,’ said the oldgentleman, wiping his face. ‘Don’t revive it by a single word. I amgoing to speak upon another subject, a confidential subject, MrNickleby. We must be cool again, we must be cool.’

　　After two or three turns across the room he resumed his seat,and drawing his chair nearer to that on which Nicholas wasseated, said:

　　‘I am about to employ you, my dear sir, on a confidential anddelicate mission.’

　　‘You might employ many a more able messenger, sir,’ saidNicholas, ‘but a more trustworthy or zealous one, I may be bold tosay, you could not find.’

　　‘Of that I am well assured,’ returned brother Charles, ‘wellassured. You will give me credit for thinking so, when I tell youthat the object of this mission is a young lady.’

　　‘A young lady, sir!’ cried Nicholas, quite trembling for themoment with his eagerness to hear more.

　　‘A very beautiful young lady,’ said Mr Cheeryble, gravely.

　　‘Pray go on, sir,’ returned Nicholas.

　　‘I am thinking how to do so,’ said brother Charles; sadly, as itseemed to his young friend, and with an expression allied to pain.

　　‘You accidentally saw a young lady in this room one morning, mydear sir, in a fainting fit. Do you remember? Perhaps you have forgotten.’

　　‘Oh no,’ replied Nicholas, hurriedly. ‘I—I—remember it verywell indeed.’

　　‘She is the lady I speak of,’ said brother Charles. Like thefamous parrot, Nicholas thought a great deal, but was unable toutter a word.

　　‘She is the daughter,’ said Mr Cheeryble, ‘of a lady who, whenshe was a beautiful girl herself, and I was very many yearsyounger, I—it seems a strange word for me to utter now—I lovedvery dearly. You will smile, perhaps, to hear a grey-headed mantalk about such things. You will not offend me, for when I was asyoung as you, I dare say I should have done the same.’

　　‘I have no such inclination, indeed,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘My dear brother Ned,’ continued Mr Cheeryble, ‘was to havemarried her sister, but she died. She is dead too now, and hasbeen for many years. She married her choice; and I wish I couldadd that her after-life was as happy as God knows I ever prayed itmight be!’

　　A short silence intervened, which Nicholas made no effort tobreak.

　　‘If trial and calamity had fallen as lightly on his head, as in thedeepest truth of my own heart I ever hoped (for her sake) it would,his life would have been one of peace and happiness,’ said the oldgentleman calmly. ‘It will be enough to say that this was not thecase; that she was not happy; that they fell into complicateddistresses and difficulties; that she came, twelve months beforeher death, to appeal to my old friendship; sadly changed, sadlyaltered, broken-spirited from suffering and ill-usage, and almostbroken-hearted. He readily availed himself of the money which, to give her but one hour’s peace of mind, I would have poured out asfreely as water—nay, he often sent her back for more—and yeteven while he squandered it, he made the very success of these,her applications to me, the groundwork of cruel taunts and jeers,protesting that he knew she thought with bitter remorse of thechoice she had made, that she had married him from motives ofinterest and vanity (he was a gay young man with great friendsabout him when she chose him for her husband), and venting inshort upon her, by every unjust and unkind means, the bitternessof that ruin and disappointment which had been brought about byhis profligacy alone. In those times this young lady was a merechild. I never saw her again until that morning when you saw heralso, but my nephew, Frank—’

　　Nicholas started, and indistinctly apologising for theinterruption, begged his patron to proceed.

　　‘—My nephew, Frank, I say,’ resumed Mr Cheeryble,‘encountered her by accident, and lost sight of her almost in aminute afterwards, within two days after he returned to England.

　　Her father lay in some secret place to avoid his creditors, reduced,between sickness and poverty, to the verge of death, and she, achild,—we might almost think, if we did not know the wisdom ofall Heaven’s decrees—who should have blessed a better man, wassteadily braving privation, degradation, and everything mostterrible to such a young and delicate creature’s heart, for thepurpose of supporting him. She was attended, sir,’ said brotherCharles, ‘in these reverses, by one faithful creature, who had been,in old times, a poor kitchen wench in the family, who was thentheir solitary servant, but who might have been, for the truth andfidelity of her heart—who might have been—ah! the wife of Tim Linkinwater himself, sir!’

　　Pursuing this encomium upon the poor follower with suchenergy and relish as no words can describe, brother Charles leantback in his chair, and delivered the remainder of his relation withgreater composure.

　　It was in substance this: That proudly resisting all offers ofpermanent aid and support from her late mother’s friends,because they were made conditional upon her quitting thewretched man, her father, who had no friends left, and shrinkingwith instinctive delicacy from appealing in their behalf to that trueand noble heart which he hated, and had, through its greatest andpurest goodness, deeply wronged by misconstruction and illreport, this young girl had struggled alone and unassisted tomaintain him by the labour of her hands. That through the utmostdepths of poverty and affliction she had toiled, never turning asidefor an instant from her task, never wearied by the petulant gloomof a sick man sustained by no consoling recollections of the past orhopes of the future; never repining for the comforts she hadrejected, or bewailing the hard lot she had voluntarily incurred.

　　That every little accomplishment she had acquired in happier dayshad been put into requisition for this purpose, and directed to thisone end. That for two long years, toiling by day and often too bynight, working at the needle, the pencil, and the pen, andsubmitting, as a daily governess, to such caprices and indignitiesas women (with daughters too) too often love to inflict upon theirown sex when they serve in such capacities, as though in jealousyof the superior intelligence which they are necessitated toemploy,—indignities, in ninety-nine cases out of every hundred,heaped upon persons immeasurably and incalculably their betters, but outweighing in comparison any that the most heartlessblackleg would put upon his groom—that for two long years, bydint of labouring in all these capacities and wearying in none, shehad not succeeded in the sole aim and object of her life, but that,overwhelmed by accumulated difficulties and disappointments,she had been compelled to seek out her mother’s old friend, and,with a bursting heart, to confide in him at last.

　　‘If I had been poor,’ said brother Charles, with sparkling eyes;‘if I had been poor, Mr Nickleby, my dear sir, which thank God Iam not, I would have denied myself (of course anybody wouldunder such circumstances) the commonest necessaries of life, tohelp her. As it is, the task is a difficult one. If her father were dead,nothing could be easier, for then she should share and cheer thehappiest home that brother Ned and I could have, as if she wereour child or sister. But he is still alive. Nobody can help him; thathas been tried a thousand times; he was not abandoned by allwithout good cause, I know.’

　　‘Cannot she be persuaded to—’ Nicholas hesitated when he hadgot thus far.

　　‘To leave him?’ said brother Charles. ‘Who could entreat a childto desert her parent? Such entreaties, limited to her seeing himoccasionally, have been urged upon her—not by me—but alwayswith the same result.’

　　‘Is he kind to her?’ said Nicholas. ‘Does he requite heraffection?’

　　‘True kindness, considerate self-denying kindness, is not in hisnature,’ returned Mr Cheeryble. ‘Such kindness as he knows, heregards her with, I believe. The mother was a gentle, loving,confiding creature, and although he wounded her from their marriage till her death as cruelly and wantonly as ever man did,she never ceased to love him. She commended him on her deathbed to her child’s care. Her child has never forgotten it, and neverwill.’

　　‘Have you no influence over him?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘I, my dear sir! The last man in the world. Such are his jealousyand hatred of me, that if he knew his daughter had opened herheart to me, he would render her life miserable with hisreproaches; although—this is the inconsistency and selfishness ofhis character—although if he knew that every penny she had camefrom me, he would not relinquish one personal desire that themost reckless expenditure of her scanty stock could gratify.’

　　‘An unnatural scoundrel!’ said Nicholas, indignantly.

　　‘We will use no harsh terms,’ said brother Charles, in a gentlevoice; ‘but accommodate ourselves to the circumstances in whichthis young lady is placed. Such assistance as I have prevailed uponher to accept, I have been obliged, at her own earnest request, todole out in the smallest portions, lest he, finding how easily moneywas procured, should squander it even more lightly than he isaccustomed to do. She has come to and fro, to and fro, secretly andby night, to take even this; and I cannot bear that things should goon in this way, Mr Nickleby, I really cannot bear it.’

　　Then it came out by little and little, how that the twins hadbeen revolving in their good old heads manifold plans andschemes for helping this young lady in the most delicate andconsiderate way, and so that her father should not suspect thesource whence the aid was derived; and how they had at last cometo the conclusion, that the best course would be to make a feint ofpurchasing her little drawings and ornamental work at a high price, and keeping up a constant demand for the same. For thefurtherance of which end and object it was necessary thatsomebody should represent the dealer in such commodities, andafter great deliberation they had pitched upon Nicholas to supportthis character.

　　‘He knows me,’ said brother Charles, ‘and he knows my brotherNed. Neither of us would do. Frank is a very good fellow—a veryfine fellow—but we are afraid that he might be a little flighty andthoughtless in such a delicate matter, and that he might,perhaps—that he might, in short, be too susceptible (for she is abeautiful creature, sir; just what her poor mother was), and fallingin love with her before he knew well his own mind, carry pain andsorrow into that innocent breast, which we would be the humbleinstruments of gradually making happy. He took an extraordinaryinterest in her fortunes when he first happened to encounter her;and we gather from the inquiries we have made of him, that it wasshe in whose behalf he made that turmoil which led to your firstacquaintance.’

　　Nicholas stammered out that he had before suspected thepossibility of such a thing; and in explanation of its havingoccurred to him, described when and where he had seen theyoung lady himself.

　　‘Well; then you see,’ continued brother Charles, ‘that hewouldn’t do. Tim Linkinwater is out of the question; for Tim, sir, issuch a tremendous fellow, that he could never contain himself, butwould go to loggerheads with the father before he had been in theplace five minutes. You don’t know what Tim is, sir, when he isaroused by anything that appeals to his feelings very strongly;then he is terrific, sir, is Tim Linkinwater, absolutely terrific. Now, in you we can repose the strictest confidence; in you we haveseen—or at least I have seen, and that’s the same thing, for there’sno difference between me and my brother Ned, except that he isthe finest creature that ever lived, and that there is not, and neverwill be, anybody like him in all the world—in you we have seendomestic virtues and affections, and delicacy of feeling, whichexactly qualify you for such an office. And you are the man, sir.’

　　‘The young lady, sir,’ said Nicholas, who felt so embarrassedthat he had no small difficulty in saying anything at all—‘Does—is—is she a party to this innocent deceit?’

　　‘Yes, yes,’ returned Mr Cheeryble; ‘at least she knows you comefrom us; she does not know, however, but that we shall dispose ofthese little productions that you’ll purchase from time to time;and, perhaps, if you did it very well (that is, very well indeed),perhaps she might be brought to believe that we—that we made aprofit of them. Eh? Eh?’

　　In this guileless and most kind simplicity, brother Charles wasso happy, and in this possibility of the young lady being led tothink that she was under no obligation to him, he evidently felt sosanguine and had so much delight, that Nicholas would notbreathe a doubt upon the subject.

　　All this time, however, there hovered upon the tip of his tonguea confession that the very same objections which Mr Cheeryblehad stated to the employment of his nephew in this commissionapplied with at least equal force and validity to himself, and ahundred times had he been upon the point of avowing the realstate of his feelings, and entreating to be released from it. But asoften, treading upon the heels of this impulse, came another whichurged him to refrain, and to keep his secret to his own breast.

　　 ‘Why should I,’ thought Nicholas, ‘why should I throw difficultiesin the way of this benevolent and high-minded design? What if Ido love and reverence this good and lovely creature. Should I notappear a most arrogant and shallow coxcomb if I gravelyrepresented that there was any danger of her falling in love withme? Besides, have I no confidence in myself? Am I not now boundin honour to repress these thoughts? Has not this excellent man aright to my best and heartiest services, and should anyconsiderations of self deter me from rendering them?’

　　Asking himself such questions as these, Nicholas mentallyanswered with great emphasis ‘No!’ and persuading himself thathe was a most conscientious and glorious martyr, nobly resolvedto do what, if he had examined his own heart a little morecarefully, he would have found he could not resist. Such is thesleight of hand by which we juggle with ourselves, and change ourvery weaknesses into stanch and most magnanimous virtues!

　　Mr Cheeryble, being of course wholly unsuspicious that suchreflections were presenting themselves to his young friend,proceeded to give him the needful credentials and directions forhis first visit, which was to be made next morning; and allpreliminaries being arranged, and the strictest secrecy enjoined,Nicholas walked home for the night very thoughtfully indeed.

　　The place to which Mr Cheeryble had directed him was a row ofmean and not over-cleanly houses, situated within ‘the Rules’ ofthe King’s Bench Prison, and not many hundred paces distantfrom the obelisk in St George’s Fields. The Rules are a certainliberty adjoining the prison, and comprising some dozen streets inwhich debtors who can raise money to pay large fees, from whichtheir creditors do not derive any benefit, are permitted to reside by the wise provisions of the same enlightened laws which leave thedebtor who can raise no money to starve in jail, without the food,clothing, lodging, or warmth, which are provided for felonsconvicted of the most atrocious crimes that can disgracehumanity. There are many pleasant fictions of the law in constantoperation, but there is not one so pleasant or practically humorousas that which supposes every man to be of equal value in itsimpartial eye, and the benefits of all laws to be equally attainableby all men, without the smallest reference to the furniture of theirpockets.

　　To the row of houses indicated to him by Mr Charles Cheeryble,Nicholas directed his steps, without much troubling his head withsuch matters as these; and at this row of houses—after traversinga very dirty and dusty suburb, of which minor theatricals, shellfish, ginger-beer, spring vans, greengrocery, and brokers’ shops,appeared to compose the main and most prominent features—heat length arrived with a palpitating heart. There were smallgardens in front which, being wholly neglected in all otherrespects, served as little pens for the dust to collect in, until thewind came round the corner and blew it down the road. Openingthe rickety gate which, dangling on its broken hinges before one ofthese, half admitted and half repulsed the visitor, Nicholasknocked at the street door with a faltering hand.

　　It was in truth a shabby house outside, with very dim parlourwindows and very small show of blinds, and very dirty muslincurtains dangling across the lower panes on very loose and limpstrings. Neither, when the door was opened, did the inside appearto belie the outward promise, as there was faded carpeting on thestairs and faded oil-cloth in the passage; in addition to which discomforts a gentleman Ruler was smoking hard in the frontparlour (though it was not yet noon), while the lady of the housewas busily engaged in turpentining the disjointed fragments of atent-bedstead at the door of the back parlour, as if in preparationfor the reception of some new lodger who had been fortunateenough to engage it.

　　Nicholas had ample time to make these observations while thelittle boy, who went on errands for the lodgers, clattered down thekitchen stairs and was heard to scream, as in some remote cellar,for Miss Bray’s servant, who, presently appearing and requestinghim to follow her, caused him to evince greater symptoms ofnervousness and disorder than so natural a consequence of hishaving inquired for that young lady would seem calculated tooccasion.

　　Upstairs he went, however, and into a front room he wasshown, and there, seated at a little table by the window, on whichwere drawing materials with which she was occupied, sat thebeautiful girl who had so engrossed his thoughts, and who,surrounded by all the new and strong interest which Nicholasattached to her story, seemed now, in his eyes, a thousand timesmore beautiful than he had ever yet supposed her.

　　But how the graces and elegancies which she had dispersedabout the poorly-furnished room went to the heart of Nicholas!

　　Flowers, plants, birds, the harp, the old piano whose notes hadsounded so much sweeter in bygone times; how many struggleshad it cost her to keep these two last links of that broken chainwhich bound her yet to home! With every slender ornament, theoccupation of her leisure hours, replete with that graceful charmwhich lingers in every little tasteful work of woman’s hands, how much patient endurance and how many gentle affections wereentwined! He felt as though the smile of Heaven were on the littlechamber; as though the beautiful devotion of so young and weak acreature had shed a ray of its own on the inanimate things around,and made them beautiful as itself; as though the halo with whichold painters surround the bright angels of a sinless world playedabout a being akin in spirit to them, and its light were visiblybefore him.

　　And yet Nicholas was in the Rules of the King’s Bench Prison!

　　If he had been in Italy indeed, and the time had been sunset, andthe scene a stately terrace! But, there is one broad sky over all theworld, and whether it be blue or cloudy, the same heaven beyondit; so, perhaps, he had no need of compunction for thinking as hedid.

　　It is not to be supposed that he took in everything at one glance,for he had as yet been unconscious of the presence of a sick manpropped up with pillows in an easy-chair, who, moving restlesslyand impatiently in his seat, attracted his attention.

　　He was scarce fifty, perhaps, but so emaciated as to appearmuch older. His features presented the remains of a handsomecountenance, but one in which the embers of strong andimpetuous passions were easier to be traced than any expressionwhich would have rendered a far plainer face much moreprepossessing. His looks were very haggard, and his limbs andbody literally worn to the bone, but there was something of the oldfire in the large sunken eye notwithstanding, and it seemed tokindle afresh as he struck a thick stick, with which he seemed tohave supported himself in his seat, impatiently on the floor twiceor thrice, and called his daughter by her name.

　　 ‘Madeline, who is this? What does anybody want here? Whotold a stranger we could be seen? What is it?’

　　‘I believe—’ the young lady began, as she inclined her headwith an air of some confusion, in reply to the salutation ofNicholas.

　　‘You always believe,’ returned her father, petulantly. ‘What isit?’

　　By this time Nicholas had recovered sufficient presence of mindto speak for himself, so he said (as it had been agreed he shouldsay) that he had called about a pair of hand-screens, and somepainted velvet for an ottoman, both of which were required to beof the most elegant design possible, neither time nor expensebeing of the smallest consideration. He had also to pay for the twodrawings, with many thanks, and, advancing to the little table, helaid upon it a bank note, folded in an envelope and sealed.

　　‘See that the money is right, Madeline,’ said the father. ‘Openthe paper, my dear.’

　　‘It’s quite right, papa, I’m sure.’

　　‘Here!’ said Mr Bray, putting out his hand, and opening andshutting his bony fingers with irritable impatience. ‘Let me see.

　　What are you talking about, Madeline? You’re sure? How can yoube sure of any such thing? Five pounds—well, is that right?’

　　‘Quite,’ said Madeline, bending over him. She was so busilyemployed in arranging the pillows that Nicholas could not see herface, but as she stooped he thought he saw a tear fall.

　　‘Ring the bell, ring the bell,’ said the sick man, with the samenervous eagerness, and motioning towards it with such aquivering hand that the bank note rustled in the air. ‘Tell her toget it changed, to get me a newspaper, to buy me some grapes, another bottle of the wine that I had last week—and—and—Iforget half I want just now, but she can go out again. Let her getthose first, those first. Now, Madeline, my love, quick, quick! GoodGod, how slow you are!’

　　‘He remembers nothing that she wants!’ thought Nicholas.

　　Perhaps something of what he thought was expressed in hiscountenance, for the sick man, turning towards him with greatasperity, demanded to know if he waited for a receipt.

　　‘It is no matter at all,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘No matter! what do you mean, sir?’ was the tart rejoinder. ‘Nomatter! Do you think you bring your paltry money here as a favouror a gift; or as a matter of business, and in return for valuereceived? D—n you, sir, because you can’t appreciate the time andtaste which are bestowed upon the goods you deal in, do you thinkyou give your money away? Do you know that you are talking to agentleman, sir, who at one time could have bought up fifty suchmen as you and all you have? What do you mean?’

　　‘I merely mean that as I shall have many dealings with this lady,if she will kindly allow me, I will not trouble her with such forms,’

　　said Nicholas.

　　‘Then I mean, if you please, that we’ll have as many forms as wecan, returned the father. ‘My daughter, sir, requires no kindnessfrom you or anybody else. Have the goodness to confine yourdealings strictly to trade and business, and not to travel beyond it.

　　Every petty tradesman is to begin to pity her now, is he? Upon mysoul! Very pretty. Madeline, my dear, give him a receipt; and mindyou always do so.’

　　While she was feigning to write it, and Nicholas was ruminatingupon the extraordinary but by no means uncommon character thus presented to his observation, the invalid, who appeared attimes to suffer great bodily pain, sank back in his chair andmoaned out a feeble complaint that the girl had been gone anhour, and that everybody conspired to goad him.

　　‘When,’ said Nicholas, as he took the piece of paper, ‘when shallI call again?’

　　This was addressed to the daughter, but the father answeredimmediately.

　　‘When you’re requested to call, sir, and not before. Don’t worryand persecute. Madeline, my dear, when is this person to callagain?’

　　‘Oh, not for a long time, not for three or four weeks; it is notnecessary, indeed; I can do without,’ said the young lady, withgreat eagerness.

　　‘Why, how are we to do without?’ urged her father, notspeaking above his breath. ‘Three or four weeks, Madeline! Threeor four weeks!’

　　‘Then sooner, sooner, if you please,’ said the young lady,turning to Nicholas.

　　‘Three or four weeks!’ muttered the father. ‘Madeline, what onearth—do nothing for three or four weeks!’

　　‘It is a long time, ma’am,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘You think so, do you?’ retorted the father, angrily. ‘If I chose tobeg, sir, and stoop to ask assistance from people I despise, three orfour months would not be a long time; three or four years wouldnot be a long time. Understand, sir, that is if I chose to bedependent; but as I don’t, you may call in a week.’

　　Nicholas bowed low to the young lady and retired, ponderingupon Mr Bray’s ideas of independence, and devoutly hoping that there might be few such independent spirits as he mingling withthe baser clay of humanity.

　　He heard a light footstep above him as he descended the stairs,and looking round saw that the young lady was standing there,and glancing timidly towards him, seemed to hesitate whether sheshould call him back or no. The best way of settling the questionwas to turn back at once, which Nicholas did.

　　‘I don’t know whether I do right in asking you, sir,’ saidMadeline, hurriedly, ‘but pray, pray, do not mention to my poormother’s dear friends what has passed here today. He has sufferedmuch, and is worse this morning. I beg you, sir, as a boon, a favourto myself.’

　　‘You have but to hint a wish,’ returned Nicholas fervently, ‘andI would hazard my life to gratify it.’

　　‘You speak hastily, sir.’

　　‘Truly and sincerely,’ rejoined Nicholas, his lips trembling as heformed the words, ‘if ever man spoke truly yet. I am not skilled indisguising my feelings, and if I were, I could not hide my heartfrom you. Dear madam, as I know your history, and feel as menand angels must who hear and see such things, I do entreat you tobelieve that I would die to serve you.’

　　The young lady turned away her head, and was plainlyweeping.

　　‘Forgive me,’ said Nicholas, with respectful earnestness, ‘if Iseem to say too much, or to presume upon the confidence whichhas been intrusted to me. But I could not leave you as if myinterest and sympathy expired with the commission of the day. Iam your faithful servant, humbly devoted to you from this hour,devoted in strict truth and honour to him who sent me here, and in pure integrity of heart, and distant respect for you. If I meantmore or less than this, I should be unworthy his regard, and falseto the very nature that prompts the honest words I utter.’

　　She waved her hand, entreating him to be gone, but answerednot a word. Nicholas could say no more, and silently withdrew.

　　And thus ended his first interview with Madeline Bray.