Chapter 49

Chronicles the further Proceedings of the NicklebyFamily, and the Sequel of the Adventure of theGentleman in the Small-clothes.

　　While Nicholas, absorbed in the one engrossing subject ofinterest which had recently opened upon him, occupiedhis leisure hours with thoughts of Madeline Bray, andin execution of the commissions which the anxiety of brotherCharles in her behalf imposed upon him, saw her again and again,and each time with greater danger to his peace of mind and amore weakening effect upon the lofty resolutions he had formed,Mrs Nickleby and Kate continued to live in peace and quiet,agitated by no other cares than those which were connected withcertain harassing proceedings taken by Mr Snawley for therecovery of his son, and their anxiety for Smike himself, whosehealth, long upon the wane, began to be so much affected byapprehension and uncertainty as sometimes to occasion both themand Nicholas considerable uneasiness, and even alarm.

　　It was no complaint or murmur on the part of the poor fellowhimself that thus disturbed them. Ever eager to be employed insuch slight services as he could render, and always anxious torepay his benefactors with cheerful and happy looks, less friendlyeyes might have seen in him no cause for any misgiving. But therewere times, and often too, when the sunken eye was too bright, thehollow cheek too flushed, the breath too thick and heavy in itscourse, the frame too feeble and exhausted, to escape their regard and notice.

　　There is a dread disease which so prepares its victim, as it were,for death; which so refines it of its grosser aspect, and throwsaround familiar looks unearthly indications of the coming change;a dread disease, in which the struggle between soul and body is sogradual, quiet, and solemn, and the result so sure, that day by day,and grain by grain, the mortal part wastes and withers away, sothat the spirit grows light and sanguine with its lightening load,and, feeling immortality at hand, deems it but a new term ofmortal life; a disease in which death and life are so strangelyblended, that death takes the glow and hue of life, and life thegaunt and grisly form of death; a disease which medicine nevercured, wealth never warded off, or poverty could boast exemptionfrom; which sometimes moves in giant strides, and sometimes at atardy sluggish pace, but, slow or quick, is ever sure and certain.

　　It was with some faint reference in his own mind to thisdisorder, though he would by no means admit it, even to himself,that Nicholas had already carried his faithful companion to aphysician of great repute. There was no cause for immediatealarm, he said. There were no present symptoms which could bedeemed conclusive. The constitution had been greatly tried andinjured in childhood, but still it might not be—and that was all.

　　But he seemed to grow no worse, and, as it was not difficult tofind a reason for these symptoms of illness in the shock andagitation he had recently undergone, Nicholas comforted himselfwith the hope that his poor friend would soon recover. This hopehis mother and sister shared with him; and as the object of theirjoint solicitude seemed to have no uneasiness or despondency forhimself, but each day answered with a quiet smile that he felt better than he had upon the day before, their fears abated, and thegeneral happiness was by degrees restored.

　　Many and many a time in after years did Nicholas look back tothis period of his life, and tread again the humble quiet homelyscenes that rose up as of old before him. Many and many a time, inthe twilight of a summer evening, or beside the flickering winter’sfire—but not so often or so sadly then—would his thoughtswander back to these old days, and dwell with a pleasant sorrowupon every slight remembrance which they brought crowdinghome. The little room in which they had so often sat long after itwas dark, figuring such happy futures; Kate’s cheerful voice andmerry laugh; how, if she were from home, they used to sit andwatch for her return scarcely breaking silence but to say how dullit seemed without her; the glee with which poor Smike would startfrom the darkened corner where he used to sit, and hurry to admither, and the tears they often saw upon his face, half wondering tosee them too, and he so pleased and happy; every little incident,and even slight words and looks of those old days little heededthen, but well remembered when busy cares and trials were quiteforgotten, came fresh and thick before him many and many a time,and, rustling above the dusty growth of years, came back greenboughs of yesterday.

　　But there were other persons associated with theserecollections, and many changes came about before they hadbeing. A necessary reflection for the purposes of these adventures,which at once subside into their accustomed train, and shunningall flighty anticipations or wayward wanderings, pursue theirsteady and decorous course.

　　If the brothers Cheeryble, as they found Nicholas worthy of trust and confidence, bestowed upon him every day some new andsubstantial mark of kindness, they were not less mindful of thosewho depended on him. Various little presents to Mrs Nickleby,always of the very things they most required, tended in no slightdegree to the improvement and embellishment of the cottage.

　　Kate’s little store of trinkets became quite dazzling; and forcompany! If brother Charles and brother Ned failed to look in forat least a few minutes every Sunday, or one evening in the week,there was Mr Tim Linkinwater (who had never made half-a-dozenother acquaintances in all his life, and who took such delight in hisnew friends as no words can express) constantly coming and goingin his evening walks, and stopping to rest; while Mr FrankCheeryble happened, by some strange conjunction ofcircumstances, to be passing the door on some business or other atleast three nights in the week.

　　‘He is the most attentive young man I ever saw, Kate,’ said MrsNickleby to her daughter one evening, when this last-namedgentleman had been the subject of the worthy lady’s eulogium forsome time, and Kate had sat perfectly silent.

　　‘Attentive, mama!’ rejoined Kate.

　　‘Bless my heart, Kate!’ cried Mrs Nickleby, with her wontedsuddenness, ‘what a colour you have got; why, you’re quiteflushed!’

　　‘Oh, mama! what strange things you fancy!’

　　‘It wasn’t fancy, Kate, my dear, I’m certain of that,’ returnedher mother. ‘However, it’s gone now at any rate, so it don’t muchmatter whether it was or not. What was it we were talking about?

　　Oh! Mr Frank. I never saw such attention in my life, never.’

　　‘Surely you are not serious,’ returned Kate, colouring again; and this time beyond all dispute.

　　‘Not serious!’ returned Mrs Nickleby; ‘why shouldn’t I beserious? I’m sure I never was more serious. I will say that hispoliteness and attention to me is one of the most becoming,gratifying, pleasant things I have seen for a very long time. Youdon’t often meet with such behaviour in young men, and it strikesone more when one does meet with it.’

　　‘Oh! attention to you, mama,’ rejoined Kate quickly—‘oh yes.’

　　‘Dear me, Kate,’ retorted Mrs Nickleby, ‘what an extraordinarygirl you are! Was it likely I should be talking of his attention toanybody else? I declare I’m quite sorry to think he should be inlove with a German lady, that I am.’

　　‘He said very positively that it was no such thing, mama,’

　　returned Kate. ‘Don’t you remember his saying so that very firstnight he came here? Besides,’ she added, in a more gentle tone,‘why should we be sorry if it is the case? What is it to us, mama?’

　　‘Nothing to us, Kate, perhaps,’ said Mrs Nickleby, emphatically;‘but something to me, I confess. I like English people to bethorough English people, and not half English and half I don’tknow what. I shall tell him point-blank next time he comes, that Iwish he would marry one of his own country-women; and see whathe says to that.’

　　‘Pray don’t think of such a thing, mama,’ returned Kate, hastily;‘not for the world. Consider. How very—’

　　‘Well, my dear, how very what?’ said Mrs Nickleby, opening hereyes in great astonishment.

　　Before Kate had returned any reply, a queer little double knockannounced that Miss La Creevy had called to see them; and whenMiss La Creevy presented herself, Mrs Nickleby, though strongly disposed to be argumentative on the previous question, forgot allabout it in a gush of supposes about the coach she had come by;supposing that the man who drove must have been either the manin the shirt-sleeves or the man with the black eye; that whoever hewas, he hadn’t found that parasol she left inside last week; that nodoubt they had stopped a long while at the Halfway House, comingdown; or that perhaps being full, they had come straight on; and,lastly, that they, surely, must have passed Nicholas on the road.

　　‘I saw nothing of him,’ answered Miss La Creevy; ‘but I saw thatdear old soul Mr Linkinwater.’

　　‘Taking his evening walk, and coming on to rest here, before heturns back to the city, I’ll be bound!’ said Mrs Nickleby.

　　‘I should think he was,’ returned Miss La Creevy; ‘especially asyoung Mr Cheeryble was with him.’

　　‘Surely that is no reason why Mr Linkinwater should be cominghere,’ said Kate.

　　‘Why I think it is, my dear,’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘For a youngman, Mr Frank is not a very great walker; and I observe that hegenerally falls tired, and requires a good long rest, when he hascome as far as this. But where is my friend?’ said the little woman,looking about, after having glanced slyly at Kate. ‘He has not beenrun away with again, has he?’

　　‘Ah! where is Mr Smike?’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘he was here thisinstant.’ Upon further inquiry, it turned out, to the good lady’sunbounded astonishment, that Smike had, that moment, goneupstairs to bed.

　　‘Well now,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘he is the strangest creature!

　　Last Tuesday—was it Tuesday? Yes, to be sure it was; yourecollect, Kate, my dear, the very last time young Mr Cheeryble was here—last Tuesday night he went off in just the same strangeway, at the very moment the knock came to the door. It cannot bethat he don’t like company, because he is always fond of peoplewho are fond of Nicholas, and I am sure young Mr Cheeryble is.

　　And the strangest thing is, that he does not go to bed; therefore itcannot be because he is tired. I know he doesn’t go to bed, becausemy room is the next one, and when I went upstairs last Tuesday,hours after him, I found that he had not even taken his shoes off;and he had no candle, so he must have sat moping in the dark allthe time. Now, upon my word,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘when I come tothink of it, that’s very extraordinary!’

　　As the hearers did not echo this sentiment, but remainedprofoundly silent, either as not knowing what to say, or as beingunwilling to interrupt, Mrs Nickleby pursued the thread of herdiscourse after her own fashion.

　　‘I hope,’ said that lady, ‘that this unaccountable conduct maynot be the beginning of his taking to his bed and living there all hislife, like the Thirsty Woman of Tutbury, or the Cock-lane Ghost, orsome of those extraordinary creatures. One of them had someconnection with our family. I forget, without looking back to someold letters I have upstairs, whether it was my great-grandfatherwho went to school with the Cock-lane Ghost, or the ThirstyWoman of Tutbury who went to school with my grandmother.

　　Miss La Creevy, you know, of course. Which was it that didn’tmind what the clergyman said? The Cock-lane Ghost or theThirsty Woman of Tutbury?’

　　‘The Cock-lane Ghost, I believe.’

　　‘Then I have no doubt,’ said Mrs Nickleby, ‘that it was with himmy great-grandfather went to school; for I know the master of his school was a dissenter, and that would, in a great measure,account for the Cock-lane Ghost’s behaving in such an impropermanner to the clergyman when he grew up. Ah! Train up aGhost—child, I mean—’

　　Any further reflections on this fruitful theme were abruptly cutshort by the arrival of Tim Linkinwater and Mr Frank Cheeryble;in the hurry of receiving whom, Mrs Nickleby speedily lost sight ofeverything else.

　　‘I am so sorry Nicholas is not at home,’ said Mrs Nickleby.

　　‘Kate, my dear, you must be both Nicholas and yourself.’

　　‘Miss Nickleby need be but herself,’ said Frank. ‘I—if I mayventure to say so—oppose all change in her.’

　　‘Then at all events she shall press you to stay,’ returned MrsNickleby. ‘Mr Linkinwater says ten minutes, but I cannot let yougo so soon; Nicholas would be very much vexed, I am sure. Kate,my dear!’

　　In obedience to a great number of nods, and winks, and frownsof extra significance, Kate added her entreaties that the visitorswould remain; but it was observable that she addressed themexclusively to Tim Linkinwater; and there was, besides, a certainembarrassment in her manner, which, although it was as far fromimpairing its graceful character as the tinge it communicated toher cheek was from diminishing her beauty, was obvious at aglance even to Mrs Nickleby. Not being of a very speculativecharacter, however, save under circumstances when herspeculations could be put into words and uttered aloud, thatdiscreet matron attributed the emotion to the circumstance of herdaughter’s not happening to have her best frock on: ‘though Inever saw her look better, certainly,’ she reflected at the same time. Having settled the question in this way, and being mostcomplacently satisfied that in this, and in all other instances, herconjecture could not fail to be the right one, Mrs Nicklebydismissed it from her thoughts, and inwardly congratulatedherself on being so shrewd and knowing.

　　Nicholas did not come home nor did Smike reappear; butneither circumstance, to say the truth, had any great effect uponthe little party, who were all in the best humour possible. Indeed,there sprung up quite a flirtation between Miss La Creevy andTim Linkinwater, who said a thousand jocose and facetious things,and became, by degrees, quite gallant, not to say tender. LittleMiss La Creevy, on her part, was in high spirits, and rallied Timon having remained a bachelor all his life with so much success,that Tim was actually induced to declare, that if he could getanybody to have him, he didn’t know but what he might changehis condition even yet. Miss La Creevy earnestly recommended alady she knew, who would exactly suit Mr Linkinwater, and had avery comfortable property of her own; but this latter qualificationhad very little effect upon Tim, who manfully protested thatfortune would be no object with him, but that true worth andcheerfulness of disposition were what a man should look for in awife, and that if he had these, he could find money enough for themoderate wants of both. This avowal was considered sohonourable to Tim, that neither Mrs Nickleby nor Miss La Creevycould sufficiently extol it; and stimulated by their praises, Timlaunched out into several other declarations also manifesting thedisinterestedness of his heart, and a great devotion to the fair sex:

　　which were received with no less approbation. This was done andsaid with a comical mixture of jest and earnest, and, leading to a great amount of laughter, made them very merry indeed.

　　Kate was commonly the life and soul of the conversation athome; but she was more silent than usual upon this occasion(perhaps because Tim and Miss La Creevy engrossed so much ofit), and, keeping aloof from the talkers, sat at the window watchingthe shadows as the evening closed in, and enjoying the quietbeauty of the night, which seemed to have scarcely less attractionsto Frank, who first lingered near, and then sat down beside, her.

　　No doubt, there are a great many things to be said appropriate to asummer evening, and no doubt they are best said in a low voice, asbeing most suitable to the peace and serenity of the hour; longpauses, too, at times, and then an earnest word or so, and thenanother interval of silence which, somehow, does not seem likesilence either, and perhaps now and then a hasty turning away ofthe head, or drooping of the eyes towards the ground, all theseminor circumstances, with a disinclination to have candlesintroduced and a tendency to confuse hours with minutes, aredoubtless mere influences of the time, as many lovely lips canclearly testify. Neither is there the slightest reason why MrsNickleby should have expressed surprise when, candles being atlength brought in, Kate’s bright eyes were unable to bear the lightwhich obliged her to avert her face, and even to leave the room forsome short time; because, when one has sat in the dark so long,candles are dazzling, and nothing can be more strictly naturalthan that such results should be produced, as all well-informedyoung people know. For that matter, old people know it too, or didknow it once, but they forget these things sometimes, and more’sthe pity.

　　The good lady’s surprise, however, did not end here. It was greatly increased when it was discovered that Kate had not theleast appetite for supper: a discovery so alarming that there is noknowing in what unaccountable efforts of oratory Mrs Nickleby’sapprehensions might have been vented, if the general attentionhad not been attracted, at the moment, by a very strange anduncommon noise, proceeding, as the pale and trembling servantgirl affirmed, and as everybody’s sense of hearing seemed toaffirm also, ‘right down’ the chimney of the adjoining room.

　　It being quite plain to the comprehension of all present that,however extraordinary and improbable it might appear, the noisedid nevertheless proceed from the chimney in question; and thenoise (which was a strange compound of various shuffling, sliding,rumbling, and struggling sounds, all muffled by the chimney) stillcontinuing, Frank Cheeryble caught up a candle, and TimLinkinwater the tongs, and they would have very quicklyascertained the cause of this disturbance if Mrs Nickleby had notbeen taken very faint, and declined being left behind, on anyaccount. This produced a short remonstrance, which terminatedin their all proceeding to the troubled chamber in a body,excepting only Miss La Creevy, who, as the servant girlvolunteered a confession of having been subject to fits in herinfancy, remained with her to give the alarm and applyrestoratives, in case of extremity.

　　Advancing to the door of the mysterious apartment, they werenot a little surprised to hear a human voice, chanting with a highlyelaborated expression of melancholy, and in tones of suffocationwhich a human voice might have produced from under five or sixfeather-beds of the best quality, the once popular air of ‘Has shethen failed in her truth, the beautiful maid I adore?’ Nor, on bursting into the room without demanding a parley, was theirastonishment lessened by the discovery that these romanticsounds certainly proceeded from the throat of some man up thechimney, of whom nothing was visible but a pair of legs, whichwere dangling above the grate; apparently feeling, with extremeanxiety, for the top bar whereon to effect a landing.

　　A sight so unusual and unbusiness-like as this, completelyparalysed Tim Linkinwater, who, after one or two gentle pinchesat the stranger’s ankles, which were productive of no effect, stoodclapping the tongs together, as if he were sharpening them foranother assault, and did nothing else.

　　‘This must be some drunken fellow,’ said Frank. ‘No thiefwould announce his presence thus.’

　　As he said this, with great indignation, he raised the candle toobtain a better view of the legs, and was darting forward to pullthem down with very little ceremony, when Mrs Nickleby,clasping her hands, uttered a sharp sound, something between ascream and an exclamation, and demanded to know whether themysterious limbs were not clad in small-clothes and grey worstedstockings, or whether her eyes had deceived her.

　　‘Yes,’ cried Frank, looking a little closer. ‘Small-clothescertainly, and—and—rough grey stockings, too. Do you know him,ma’am?’

　　‘Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, deliberately sitting herselfdown in a chair with that sort of desperate resignation whichseemed to imply that now matters had come to a crisis, and alldisguise was useless, ‘you will have the goodness, my love, toexplain precisely how this matter stands. I have given him noencouragement—none whatever—not the least in the world. You know that, my dear, perfectly well. He was very respectful,exceedingly respectful, when he declared, as you were a witnessto; still at the same time, if I am to be persecuted in this way, ifvegetable what’s-his-names and all kinds of garden-stuff are tostrew my path out of doors, and gentlemen are to come choking upour chimneys at home, I really don’t know—upon my word I donot know—what is to become of me. It’s a very hard case—harderthan anything I was ever exposed to, before I married your poordear papa, though I suffered a good deal of annoyance then—butthat, of course, I expected, and made up my mind for. When I wasnot nearly so old as you, my dear, there was a young gentlemanwho sat next us at church, who used, almost every Sunday, to cutmy name in large letters in the front of his pew while the sermonwas going on. It was gratifying, of course, naturally so, but still itwas an annoyance, because the pew was in a very conspicuousplace, and he was several times publicly taken out by the beadlefor doing it. But that was nothing to this. This is a great dealworse, and a great deal more embarrassing. I would rather, Kate,my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby, with great solemnity, and an effusionof tears: ‘I would rather, I declare, have been a pig-faced lady, thanbe exposed to such a life as this!’

　　Frank Cheeryble and Tim Linkinwater looked, in irrepressibleastonishment, first at each other and then at Kate, who felt thatsome explanation was necessary, but who, between her terror atthe apparition of the legs, her fear lest their owner should besmothered, and her anxiety to give the least ridiculous solution ofthe mystery that it was capable of bearing, was quite unable toutter a single word.

　　‘He gives me great pain,’ continued Mrs Nickleby, drying her eyes, ‘great pain; but don’t hurt a hair of his head, I beg. On noaccount hurt a hair of his head.’

　　It would not, under existing circumstances, have been quite soeasy to hurt a hair of the gentleman’s head as Mrs Nicklebyseemed to imagine, inasmuch as that part of his person was somefeet up the chimney, which was by no means a wide one. But, asall this time he had never left off singing about the bankruptcy ofthe beautiful maid in respect of truth, and now began not only tocroak very feebly, but to kick with great violence as if respirationbecame a task of difficulty, Frank Cheeryble, without furtherhesitation, pulled at the shorts and worsteds with such heartinessas to bring him floundering into the room with greaterprecipitation than he had quite calculated upon.

　　‘Oh! yes, yes,’ said Kate, directly the whole figure of thissingular visitor appeared in this abrupt manner. ‘I know who it is.

　　Pray don’t be rough with him. Is he hurt? I hope not. Oh, pray seeif he is hurt.’

　　‘He is not, I assure you,’ replied Frank, handling the object ofhis surprise, after this appeal, with sudden tenderness andrespect. ‘He is not hurt in the least.’

　　‘Don’t let him come any nearer,’ said Kate, retiring as far as shecould.

　　‘Oh, no, he shall not,’ rejoined Frank. ‘You see I have himsecure here. But may I ask you what this means, and whether youexpected, this old gentleman?’

　　‘Oh, no,’ said Kate, ‘of course not; but he—mama does not thinkso, I believe—but he is a mad gentleman who has escaped fromthe next house, and must have found an opportunity of secretinghimself here.’

　　 ‘Kate,’ interposed Mrs Nickleby with severe dignity, ‘I amsurprised at you.’

　　‘Dear mama,’ Kate gently remonstrated.

　　‘I am surprised at you,’ repeated Mrs Nickleby; ’upon my word,Kate, I am quite astonished that you should join the persecutors ofthis unfortunate gentleman, when you know very well that theyhave the basest designs upon his property, and that that is thewhole secret of it. It would be much kinder of you, Kate, to ask MrLinkinwater or Mr Cheeryble to interfere in his behalf, and seehim righted. You ought not to allow your feelings to influence you;it’s not right, very far from it. What should my feelings be, do yousuppose? If anybody ought to be indignant, who is it? I, of course,and very properly so. Still, at the same time, I wouldn’t commitsuch an injustice for the world. No,’ continued Mrs Nickleby,drawing herself up, and looking another way with a kind ofbashful stateliness; ‘this gentleman will understand me when I tellhim that I repeat the answer I gave him the other day; that Ialways will repeat it, though I do believe him to be sincere when Ifind him placing himself in such dreadful situations on myaccount; and that I request him to have the goodness to go awaydirectly, or it will be impossible to keep his behaviour a secretfrom my son Nicholas. I am obliged to him, very much obliged tohim, but I cannot listen to his addresses for a moment. It’s quiteimpossible.’

　　While this address was in course of delivery, the old gentleman,with his nose and cheeks embellished with large patches of soot,sat upon the ground with his arms folded, eyeing the spectators inprofound silence, and with a very majestic demeanour. He did notappear to take the smallest notice of what Mrs Nickleby said, but when she ceased to speak he honoured her with a long stare, andinquired if she had quite finished.

　　‘I have nothing more to say,’ replied that lady modestly. ‘I reallycannot say anything more.’

　　‘Very good,’ said the old gentleman, raising his voice, ‘thenbring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew.’

　　Nobody executing this order, the old gentleman, after a shortpause, raised his voice again and demanded a thunder sandwich.

　　This article not being forthcoming either, he requested to beserved with a fricassee of boot-tops and goldfish sauce, and thenlaughing heartily, gratified his hearers with a very long, very loud,and most melodious bellow.

　　But still Mrs Nickleby, in reply to the significant looks of allabout her, shook her head as though to assure them that she sawnothing whatever in all this, unless, indeed, it were a slight degreeof eccentricity. She might have remained impressed with theseopinions down to the latest moment of her life, but for a slighttrain of circumstances, which, trivial as they were, altered thewhole complexion of the case.

　　It happened that Miss La Creevy, finding her patient in no verythreatening condition, and being strongly impelled by curiosity tosee what was going forward, bustled into the room while the oldgentleman was in the very act of bellowing. It happened, too, thatthe instant the old gentleman saw her, he stopped short, skippedsuddenly on his feet, and fell to kissing his hand violently: achange of demeanour which almost terrified the little portraitpainter out of her senses, and caused her to retreat behind TimLinkinwater with the utmost expedition.

　　‘Aha!’ cried the old gentleman, folding his hands, and squeezing them with great force against each other. ‘I see her now; I see hernow! My love, my life, my bride, my peerless beauty. She is comeat last—at last—and all is gas and gaiters!’

　　Mrs Nickleby looked rather disconcerted for a moment, butimmediately recovering, nodded to Miss La Creevy and the otherspectators several times, and frowned, and smiled gravely, givingthem to understand that she saw where the mistake was, andwould set it all to rights in a minute or two.

　　‘She is come!’ said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon hisheart. ‘Cormoran and Blunderbore! She is come! All the wealth Ihave is hers if she will take me for her slave. Where are grace,beauty, and blandishments, like those? In the Empress ofMadagascar? No. In the Queen of Diamonds? No. In MrsRowland, who every morning bathes in Kalydor for nothing? No.

　　Melt all these down into one, with the three Graces, the nineMuses, and fourteen biscuit-bakers’ daughters from Oxford Street,and make a woman half as lovely. Pho! I defy you.’

　　After uttering this rhapsody, the old gentleman snapped hisfingers twenty or thirty times, and then subsided into an ecstaticcontemplation of Miss La Creevy’s charms. This affording MrsNickleby a favourable opportunity of explanation, she went aboutit straight.

　　‘I am sure,’ said the worthy lady, with a prefatory cough, ‘thatit’s a great relief, under such trying circumstances as these, tohave anybody else mistaken for me—a very great relief; and it’s acircumstance that never occurred before, although I have severaltimes been mistaken for my daughter Kate. I have no doubt thepeople were very foolish, and perhaps ought to have known better,but still they did take me for her, and of course that was no fault of mine, and it would be very hard indeed if I was to be maderesponsible for it. However, in this instance, of course, I must feelthat I should do exceedingly wrong if I suffered anybody—especially anybody that I am under great obligations to—to bemade uncomfortable on my account. And therefore I think it myduty to tell that gentleman that he is mistaken, that I am the ladywho he was told by some impertinent person was niece to theCouncil of Paving-stones, and that I do beg and entreat of him togo quietly away, if it’s only for,’ here Mrs Nickleby simpered andhesitated, ‘for my sake.’

　　It might have been expected that the old gentleman would havebeen penetrated to the heart by the delicacy and condescension ofthis appeal, and that he would at least have returned a courteousand suitable reply. What, then, was the shock which Mrs Nicklebyreceived, when, accosting her in the most unmistakable manner,he replied in a loud and sonourous voice: ‘Avaunt! Cat!’

　　‘Sir!’ cried Mrs Nickleby, in a faint tone.

　　‘Cat!’ repeated the old gentleman. ‘Puss, Kit, Tit, Grimalkin,Tabby, Brindle! Whoosh!’ with which last sound, uttered in ahissing manner between his teeth, the old gentleman swung hisarms violently round and round, and at the same time alternatelyadvanced on Mrs Nickleby, and retreated from her, in that speciesof savage dance with which boys on market-days may be seen tofrighten pigs, sheep, and other animals, when they give outobstinate indications of turning down a wrong street.

　　Mrs Nickleby wasted no words, but uttered an exclamation ofhorror and surprise, and immediately fainted away.

　　‘I’ll attend to mama,’ said Kate, hastily; ‘I am not at allfrightened. But pray take him away: pray take him away!’

　　 Frank was not at all confident of his power of complying withthis request, until he bethought himself of the stratagem ofsending Miss La Creevy on a few paces in advance, and urging theold gentleman to follow her. It succeeded to a miracle; and hewent away in a rapture of admiration, strongly guarded by TimLinkinwater on one side, and Frank himself on the other.

　　‘Kate,’ murmured Mrs Nickleby, reviving when the coast wasclear, ‘is he gone?’

　　She was assured that he was.

　　‘I shall never forgive myself, Kate,’ said Mrs Nickleby. ‘Never!

　　That gentleman has lost his senses, and I am the unhappy cause.’

　　‘You the cause!’ said Kate, greatly astonished.

　　‘I, my love,’ replied Mrs Nickleby, with a desperate calmness.

　　‘You saw what he was the other day; you see what he is now. I toldyour brother, weeks and weeks ago, Kate, that I hoped adisappointment might not be too much for him. You see what awreck he is. Making allowance for his being a little flighty, youknow how rationally, and sensibly, and honourably he talked,when we saw him in the garden. You have heard the dreadfulnonsense he has been guilty of this night, and the manner inwhich he has gone on with that poor unfortunate little old maid.

　　Can anybody doubt how all this has been brought about?’

　　‘I should scarcely think they could,’ said Kate mildly.

　　‘I should scarcely think so, either,’ rejoined her mother. ‘Well! ifI am the unfortunate cause of this, I have the satisfaction ofknowing that I am not to blame. I told Nicholas, I said to him,“Nicholas, my dear, we should be very careful how we proceed.”

　　He would scarcely hear me. If the matter had only been properlytaken up at first, as I wished it to be! But you are both of you so like your poor papa. However, I have my consolation, and thatshould be enough for me!’

　　Washing her hands, thus, of all responsibility under this head,past, present, or to come, Mrs Nickleby kindly added that shehoped her children might never have greater cause to reproachthemselves than she had, and prepared herself to receive theescort, who soon returned with the intelligence that the oldgentleman was safely housed, and that they found his custodians,who had been making merry with some friends, wholly ignorant ofhis absence.

　　Quiet being again restored, a delicious half-hour—so Frankcalled it, in the course of subsequent conversation with TimLinkinwater as they were walking home—was spent inconversation, and Tim’s watch at length apprising him that it washigh time to depart, the ladies were left alone, though not withoutmany offers on the part of Frank to remain until Nicholas arrived,no matter what hour of the night it might be, if, after the lateneighbourly irruption, they entertained the least fear of being leftto themselves. As their freedom from all further apprehension,however, left no pretext for his insisting on mounting guard, hewas obliged to abandon the citadel, and to retire with the trustyTim.

　　Nearly three hours of silence passed away. Kate blushed tofind, when Nicholas returned, how long she had been sitting alone,occupied with her own thoughts.

　　‘I really thought it had not been half an hour,’ she said.

　　‘They must have been pleasant thoughts, Kate,’ rejoinedNicholas gaily, ‘to make time pass away like that. What were theynow?’

　　 Kate was confused; she toyed with some trifle on the table,looked up and smiled, looked down and dropped a tear.

　　‘Why, Kate,’ said Nicholas, drawing his sister towards him andkissing her, ‘let me see your face. No? Ah! that was but a glimpse;that’s scarcely fair. A longer look than that, Kate. Come—and I’llread your thoughts for you.’

　　There was something in this proposition, albeit it was saidwithout the slightest consciousness or application, which soalarmed his sister, that Nicholas laughingly changed the subject todomestic matters, and thus gathered, by degrees, as they left theroom and went upstairs together, how lonely Smike had been allnight—and by very slow degrees, too; for on this subject also, Kateseemed to speak with some reluctance.

　　‘Poor fellow,’ said Nicholas, tapping gently at his door, ‘whatcan be the cause of all this?’

　　Kate was hanging on her brother’s arm. The door being quicklyopened, she had not time to disengage herself, before Smike, verypale and haggard, and completely dressed, confronted them.

　　‘And have you not been to bed?’ said Nicholas.

　　‘N-n-no,’ was the reply.

　　Nicholas gently detained his sister, who made an effort toretire; and asked, ‘Why not?’

　　‘I could not sleep,’ said Smike, grasping the hand which hisfriend extended to him.

　　‘You are not well?’ rejoined Nicholas.

　　‘I am better, indeed. A great deal better,’ said Smike quickly.

　　‘Then why do you give way to these fits of melancholy?’

　　inquired Nicholas, in his kindest manner; ‘or why not tell us thecause? You grow a different creature, Smike.’

　　 ‘I do; I know I do,’ he replied. ‘I will tell you the reason one day,but not now. I hate myself for this; you are all so good and kind.

　　But I cannot help it. My heart is very full; you do not know howfull it is.’

　　He wrung Nicholas’s hand before he released it; and glancing,for a moment, at the brother and sister as they stood together, as ifthere were something in their strong affection which touched himvery deeply, withdrew into his chamber, and was soon the onlywatcher under that quiet roof.