Chapter 53

Containing the further Progress of the Plotcontrived by Mr Ralph Nickleby and Mr ArthurGride.

　　With that settled resolution, and steadiness of purpose towhich extreme circumstances so often give birth, actingupon far less excitable and more sluggishtemperaments than that which was the lot of Madeline Bray’sadmirer, Nicholas started, at dawn of day, from the restless couchwhich no sleep had visited on the previous night, and prepared tomake that last appeal, by whose slight and fragile thread her onlyremaining hope of escape depended.

　　Although, to restless and ardent minds, morning may be thefitting season for exertion and activity, it is not always at that timethat hope is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant. Intrying and doubtful positions, youth, custom, a steadycontemplation of the difficulties which surround us, and afamiliarity with them, imperceptibly diminish our apprehensionsand beget comparative indifference, if not a vague and recklessconfidence in some relief, the means or nature of which we carenot to foresee. But when we come, fresh, upon such things in themorning, with that dark and silent gap between us and yesterday;with every link in the brittle chain of hope, to rivet afresh; our hotenthusiasm subdued, and cool calm reason substituted in its stead;doubt and misgiving revive. As the traveller sees farthest by day,and becomes aware of rugged mountains and trackless plains which the friendly darkness had shrouded from his sight and mindtogether, so, the wayfarer in the toilsome path of human life sees,with each returning sun, some new obstacle to surmount, somenew height to be attained. Distances stretch out before him which,last night, were scarcely taken into account, and the light whichgilds all nature with its cheerful beams, seems but to shine uponthe weary obstacles that yet lie strewn between him and the grave.

　　So thought Nicholas, when, with the impatience natural to asituation like his, he softly left the house, and, feeling as though toremain in bed were to lose most precious time, and to be up andstirring were in some way to promote the end he had in view,wandered into London; perfectly well knowing that for hours tocome he could not obtain speech with Madeline, and could donothing but wish the intervening time away.

　　And, even now, as he paced the streets, and listlessly lookedround on the gradually increasing bustle and preparation for theday, everything appeared to yield him some new occasion fordespondency. Last night, the sacrifice of a young, affectionate, andbeautiful creature, to such a wretch, and in such a cause, hadseemed a thing too monstrous to succeed; and the warmer hegrew, the more confident he felt that some interposition must saveher from his clutches. But now, when he thought how regularlythings went on, from day to day, in the same unvarying round;how youth and beauty died, and ugly griping age lived totteringon; how crafty avarice grew rich, and manly honest hearts werepoor and sad; how few they were who tenanted the stately houses,and how many of those who lay in noisome pens, or rose each dayand laid them down each night, and lived and died, father and son,mother and child, race upon race, and generation upon generation, without a home to shelter them or the energies of onesingle man directed to their aid; how, in seeking, not a luxuriousand splendid life, but the bare means of a most wretched andinadequate subsistence, there were women and children in thatone town, divided into classes, numbered and estimated asregularly as the noble families and folks of great degree, andreared from infancy to drive most criminal and dreadful trades;how ignorance was punished and never taught; how jail-doorsgaped, and gallows loomed, for thousands urged towards them bycircumstances darkly curtaining their very cradles’ heads, and butfor which they might have earned their honest bread and lived inpeace; how many died in soul, and had no chance of life; howmany who could scarcely go astray, be they vicious as they would,turned haughtily from the crushed and stricken wretch who couldscarce do otherwise, and who would have been a greater wonderhad he or she done well, than even they had they done ill; howmuch injustice, misery, and wrong, there was, and yet how theworld rolled on, from year to year, alike careless and indifferent,and no man seeking to remedy or redress it; when he thought ofall this, and selected from the mass the one slight case on whichhis thoughts were bent, he felt, indeed, that there was little groundfor hope, and little reason why it should not form an atom in thehuge aggregate of distress and sorrow, and add one small andunimportant unit to swell the great amount.

　　But youth is not prone to contemplate the darkest side of apicture it can shift at will. By dint of reflecting on what he had todo, and reviving the train of thought which night had interrupted,Nicholas gradually summoned up his utmost energy, and whenthe morning was sufficiently advanced for his purpose, had no thought but that of using it to the best advantage. A hastybreakfast taken, and such affairs of business as required promptattention disposed of, he directed his steps to the residence ofMadeline Bray: whither he lost no time in arriving.

　　It had occurred to him that, very possibly, the young lady mightbe denied, although to him she never had been; and he was stillpondering upon the surest method of obtaining access to her inthat case, when, coming to the door of the house, he found it hadbeen left ajar—probably by the last person who had gone out. Theoccasion was not one upon which to observe the nicest ceremony;therefore, availing himself of this advantage, Nicholas walkedgently upstairs and knocked at the door of the room into which hehad been accustomed to be shown. Receiving permission to enter,from some person on the other side, he opened the door andwalked in.

　　Bray and his daughter were sitting there alone. It was nearlythree weeks since he had seen her last, but there was a change inthe lovely girl before him which told Nicholas, in startling terms,how much mental suffering had been compressed into that shorttime. There are no words which can express, nothing with whichcan be compared, the perfect pallor, the clear transparentwhiteness, of the beautiful face which turned towards him whenhe entered. Her hair was a rich deep brown, but shading that face,and straying upon a neck that rivalled it in whiteness, it seemed bythe strong contrast raven black. Something of wildness andrestlessness there was in the dark eye, but there was the samepatient look, the same expression of gentle mournfulness which hewell remembered, and no trace of a single tear. Most beautiful—more beautiful, perhaps, than ever—there was something in her face which quite unmanned him, and appeared far more touchingthan the wildest agony of grief. It was not merely calm andcomposed, but fixed and rigid, as though the violent effort whichhad summoned that composure beneath her father’s eye, while itmastered all other thoughts, had prevented even the momentaryexpression they had communicated to the features from subsiding,and had fastened it there, as an evidence of its triumph.

　　The father sat opposite to her; not looking directly in her face,but glancing at her, as he talked with a gay air which ill disguisedthe anxiety of his thoughts. The drawing materials were not ontheir accustomed table, nor were any of the other tokens of herusual occupations to be seen. The little vases which Nicholas hadalways seen filled with fresh flowers were empty, or supplied onlywith a few withered stalks and leaves. The bird was silent. Thecloth that covered his cage at night was not removed. His mistresshad forgotten him.

　　There are times when, the mind being painfully alive to receiveimpressions, a great deal may be noted at a glance. This was one,for Nicholas had but glanced round him when he was recognisedby Mr Bray, who said impatiently:

　　‘Now, sir, what do you want? Name your errand here, quickly,if you please, for my daughter and I are busily engaged with otherand more important matters than those you come about. Come,sir, address yourself to your business at once.’

　　Nicholas could very well discern that the irritability andimpatience of this speech were assumed, and that Bray, in hisheart, was rejoiced at any interruption which promised to engagethe attention of his daughter. He bent his eyes involuntarily uponthe father as he spoke, and marked his uneasiness; for he coloured and turned his head away.

　　The device, however, so far as it was a device for causingMadeline to interfere, was successful. She rose, and advancingtowards Nicholas paused half-way, and stretched out her hand asexpecting a letter.

　　‘Madeline,’ said her father impatiently, ‘my love, what are youdoing?’

　　‘Miss Bray expects an inclosure perhaps,’ said Nicholas,speaking very distinctly, and with an emphasis she could scarcelymisunderstand. ‘My employer is absent from England, or I shouldhave brought a letter with me. I hope she will give me time—alittle time. I ask a very little time.’

　　‘If that is all you come about, sir,’ said Mr Bray, ‘you may makeyourself easy on that head. Madeline, my dear, I didn’t know thisperson was in your debt?’

　　‘A—a trifle, I believe,’ returned Madeline, faintly.

　　‘I suppose you think now,’ said Bray, wheeling his chair roundand confronting Nicholas, ‘that, but for such pitiful sums as youbring here, because my daughter has chosen to employ her time asshe has, we should starve?’

　　‘I have not thought about it,’ returned Nicholas.

　　‘You have not thought about it!’ sneered the invalid. ‘You knowyou have thought about it, and have thought that, and think soevery time you come here. Do you suppose, young man, that Idon’t know what little purse-proud tradesmen are, when, throughsome fortunate circumstances, they get the upper hand for a briefday—or think they get the upper hand—of a gentleman?’

　　‘My business,’ said Nicholas respectfully, ‘is with a lady.’

　　‘With a gentleman’s daughter, sir,’ returned the sick man, ‘and the pettifogging spirit is the same. But perhaps you bring orders,eh? Have you any fresh orders for my daughter, sir?’

　　Nicholas understood the tone of triumph in which thisinterrogatory was put; but remembering the necessity ofsupporting his assumed character, produced a scrap of paperpurporting to contain a list of some subjects for drawings whichhis employer desired to have executed; and with which he hadprepared himself in case of any such contingency.

　　‘Oh!’ said Mr Bray. ‘These are the orders, are they?’

　　‘Since you insist upon the term, sir, yes,’ replied Nicholas.

　　‘Then you may tell your master,’ said Bray, tossing the paperback again, with an exulting smile, ‘that my daughter, MissMadeline Bray, condescends to employ herself no longer in suchlabours as these; that she is not at his beck and call, as hesupposes her to be; that we don’t live upon his money, as heflatters himself we do; that he may give whatever he owes us, tothe first beggar that passes his shop, or add it to his own profitsnext time he calculates them; and that he may go to the devil forme. That’s my acknowledgment of his orders, sir!’

　　‘And this is the independence of a man who sells his daughteras he has sold that weeping girl!’ thought Nicholas.

　　The father was too much absorbed with his own exultation tomark the look of scorn which, for an instant, Nicholas could nothave suppressed had he been upon the rack. ‘There,’ hecontinued, after a short silence, ‘you have your message and canretire—unless you have any further—ha!—any further orders.’

　　‘I have none,’ said Nicholas; ‘nor, in the consideration of thestation you once held, have I used that or any other word which,however harmless in itself, could be supposed to imply authority on my part or dependence on yours. I have no orders, but I havefears—fears that I will express, chafe as you may—fears that youmay be consigning that young lady to something worse thansupporting you by the labour of her hands, had she worked herselfdead. These are my fears, and these fears I found upon your owndemeanour. Your conscience will tell you, sir, whether I construeit well or not.’

　　‘For Heaven’s sake!’ cried Madeline, interposing in alarmbetween them. ‘Remember, sir, he is ill.’

　　‘Ill!’ cried the invalid, gasping and catching for breath. ‘Ill! Ill! Iam bearded and bullied by a shop-boy, and she beseeches him topity me and remember I am ill!’

　　He fell into a paroxysm of his disorder, so violent that for a fewmoments Nicholas was alarmed for his life; but finding that hebegan to recover, he withdrew, after signifying by a gesture to theyoung lady that he had something important to communicate, andwould wait for her outside the room. He could hear that the sickman came gradually, but slowly, to himself, and that without anyreference to what had just occurred, as though he had no distinctrecollection of it as yet, he requested to be left alone.

　　‘Oh!’ thought Nicholas, ‘that this slender chance might not belost, and that I might prevail, if it were but for one week’s time andreconsideration!’

　　‘You are charged with some commission to me, sir,’ saidMadeline, presenting herself in great agitation. ‘Do not press itnow, I beg and pray you. The day after tomorrow; come herethen.’

　　‘It will be too late—too late for what I have to say,’ rejoinedNicholas, ‘and you will not be here. Oh, madam, if you have but one thought of him who sent me here, but one last lingering carefor your own peace of mind and heart, I do for God’s sake urge youto give me a hearing.’

　　She attempted to pass him, but Nicholas gently detained her.

　　‘A hearing,’ said Nicholas. ‘I ask you but to hear me: not mealone, but him for whom I speak, who is far away and does notknow your danger. In the name of Heaven hear me!’

　　The poor attendant, with her eyes swollen and red withweeping, stood by; and to her Nicholas appealed in suchpassionate terms that she opened a side-door, and, supporting hermistress into an adjoining room, beckoned Nicholas to followthem.

　　‘Leave me, sir, pray,’ said the young lady.

　　‘I cannot, will not leave you thus,’ returned Nicholas. ‘I have aduty to discharge; and, either here, or in the room from which wehave just now come, at whatever risk or hazard to Mr Bray, I mustbeseech you to contemplate again the fearful course to which youhave been impelled.’

　　‘What course is this you speak of, and impelled by whom, sir?’

　　demanded the young lady, with an effort to speak proudly.

　　‘I speak of this marriage,’ returned Nicholas, ‘of this marriage,fixed for tomorrow, by one who never faltered in a bad purpose, orlent his aid to any good design; of this marriage, the history ofwhich is known to me, better, far better, than it is to you. I knowwhat web is wound about you. I know what men they are fromwhom these schemes have come. You are betrayed and sold formoney; for gold, whose every coin is rusted with tears, if not redwith the blood of ruined men, who have fallen desperately by theirown mad hands.’

　　 ‘You say you have a duty to discharge,’ said Madeline, ‘and sohave I. And with the help of Heaven I will perform it.’

　　‘Say rather with the help of devils,’ replied Nicholas, ‘with thehelp of men, one of them your destined husband, who are—’

　　‘I must not hear this,’ cried the young lady, striving to repress ashudder, occasioned, as it seemed, even by this slight allusion toArthur Gride. ‘This evil, if evil it be, has been of my own seeking. Iam impelled to this course by no one, but follow it of my own freewill. You see I am not constrained or forced. Report this,’ saidMadeline, ‘to my dear friend and benefactor, and, taking with youmy prayers and thanks for him and for yourself, leave me for ever!’

　　‘Not until I have besought you, with all the earnestness andfervour by which I am animated,’ cried Nicholas, ‘to postpone thismarriage for one short week. Not until I have besought you tothink more deeply than you can have done, influenced as you are,upon the step you are about to take. Although you cannot be fullyconscious of the villainy of this man to whom you are about to giveyour hand, some of his deeds you know. You have heard himspeak, and have looked upon his face. Reflect, reflect, before it istoo late, on the mockery of plighting to him at the altar, faith inwhich your heart can have no share—of uttering solemn words,against which nature and reason must rebel—of the degradationof yourself in your own esteem, which must ensue, and must beaggravated every day, as his detested character opens upon youmore and more. Shrink from the loathsome companionship of thiswretch as you would from corruption and disease. Suffer toil andlabour if you will, but shun him, shun him, and be happy. For,believe me, I speak the truth; the most abject poverty, the mostwretched condition of human life, with a pure and upright mind, would be happiness to that which you must undergo as the wife ofsuch a man as this!’

　　Long before Nicholas ceased to speak, the young lady buriedher face in her hands, and gave her tears free way. In a voice atfirst inarticulate with emotion, but gradually recovering strengthas she proceeded, she answered him:

　　‘I will not disguise from you, sir—though perhaps I ought—thatI have undergone great pain of mind, and have been nearlybroken-hearted since I saw you last. I do not love this gentleman.

　　The difference between our ages, tastes, and habits, forbids it.

　　This he knows, and knowing, still offers me his hand. By acceptingit, and by that step alone, I can release my father who is dying inthis place; prolong his life, perhaps, for many years; restore him tocomfort—I may almost call it affluence; and relieve a generousman from the burden of assisting one, by whom, I grieve to say, hisnoble heart is little understood. Do not think so poorly of me as tobelieve that I feign a love I do not feel. Do not report so ill of me,for that I could not bear. If I cannot, in reason or in nature, lovethe man who pays this price for my poor hand, I can discharge theduties of a wife: I can be all he seeks in me, and will. He is contentto take me as I am. I have passed my word, and should rejoice, notweep, that it is so. I do. The interest you take in one so friendlessand forlorn as I, the delicacy with which you have discharged yourtrust, the faith you have kept with me, have my warmest thanks:

　　and, while I make this last feeble acknowledgment, move me totears, as you see. But I do not repent, nor am I unhappy. I amhappy in the prospect of all I can achieve so easily. I shall be moreso when I look back upon it, and all is done, I know.’

　　‘Your tears fall faster as you talk of happiness,’ said Nicholas, ‘and you shun the contemplation of that dark future which mustbe laden with so much misery to you. Defer this marriage for aweek. For but one week!’

　　‘He was talking, when you came upon us just now, with suchsmiles as I remember to have seen of old, and have not seen formany and many a day, of the freedom that was to come tomorrow,’

　　said Madeline, with momentary firmness, ‘of the welcome change,the fresh air: all the new scenes and objects that would bring freshlife to his exhausted frame. His eye grew bright, and his facelightened at the thought. I will not defer it for an hour.’

　　‘These are but tricks and wiles to urge you on,’ cried Nicholas.

　　‘I’ll hear no more,’ said Madeline, hurriedly; ‘I have heard toomuch—more than I should—already. What I have said to you, sir, Ihave said as to that dear friend to whom I trust in you honourablyto repeat it. Some time hence, when I am more composed andreconciled to my new mode of life, if I should live so long, I willwrite to him. Meantime, all holy angels shower blessings on hishead, and prosper and preserve him.’

　　She was hurrying past Nicholas, when he threw himself beforeher, and implored her to think, but once again, upon the fate towhich she was precipitately hastening.

　　‘There is no retreat,’ said Nicholas, in an agony of supplication;‘no withdrawing! All regret will be unavailing, and deep and bitterit must be. What can I say, that will induce you to pause at this lastmoment? What can I do to save you?’

　　‘Nothing,’ she incoherently replied. ‘This is the hardest trial Ihave had. Have mercy on me, sir, I beseech, and do not pierce myheart with such appeals as these. I—I hear him calling. I—I—mustnot, will not, remain here for another instant.’

　　 ‘If this were a plot,’ said Nicholas, with the same violentrapidity with which she spoke, ‘a plot, not yet laid bare by me, butwhich, with time, I might unravel; if you were (not knowing it)entitled to fortune of your own, which, being recovered, would doall that this marriage can accomplish, would you not retract?’

　　‘No, no, no! It is impossible; it is a child’s tale. Time would bringhis death. He is calling again!’

　　‘It may be the last time we shall ever meet on earth,’ saidNicholas, ‘it may be better for me that we should never meetmore.’

　　‘For both, for both,’ replied Madeline, not heeding what shesaid. ‘The time will come when to recall the memory of this oneinterview might drive me mad. Be sure to tell them, that you leftme calm and happy. And God be with you, sir, and my gratefulheart and blessing!’

　　She was gone. Nicholas, staggering from the house, thought ofthe hurried scene which had just closed upon him, as if it were thephantom of some wild, unquiet dream. The day wore on; at night,having been enabled in some measure to collect his thoughts, heissued forth again.

　　That night, being the last of Arthur Gride’s bachelorship, foundhim in tiptop spirits and great glee. The bottle-green suit had beenbrushed, ready for the morrow. Peg Sliderskew had rendered theaccounts of her past housekeeping; the eighteen-pence had beenrigidly accounted for (she was never trusted with a larger sum atonce, and the accounts were not usually balanced more than twicea day); every preparation had been made for the coming festival;and Arthur might have sat down and contemplated hisapproaching happiness, but that he preferred sitting down and contemplating the entries in a dirty old vellum-book with rustyclasps.

　　‘Well-a-day!’ he chuckled, as sinking on his knees before astrong chest screwed down to the floor, he thrust in his arm nearlyup to the shoulder, and slowly drew forth this greasy volume.

　　‘Well-a-day now, this is all my library, but it’s one of the mostentertaining books that were ever written! It’s a delightful book,and all true and real—that’s the best of it—true as the Bank ofEngland, and real as its gold and silver. Written by Arthur Gride.

　　He, he, he! None of your storybook writers will ever make as gooda book as this, I warrant me. It’s composed for private circulation,for my own particular reading, and nobody else’s. He, he, he!’

　　Muttering this soliloquy, Arthur carried his precious volume tothe table, and, adjusting it upon a dusty desk, put on hisspectacles, and began to pore among the leaves.

　　‘It’s a large sum to Mr Nickleby,’ he said, in a dolorous voice.

　　‘Debt to be paid in full, nine hundred and seventy-five, four, three.

　　Additional sum as per bond, five hundred pound. One thousand,four hundred and seventy-five pounds, four shillings, andthreepence, tomorrow at twelve o’clock. On the other side, though,there’s the per contra, by means of this pretty chick. But, again,there’s the question whether I mightn’t have brought all thisabout, myself. “Faint heart never won fair lady.” Why was myheart so faint? Why didn’t I boldly open it to Bray myself, and saveone thousand four hundred and seventy-five, four, three?’

　　These reflections depressed the old usurer so much, as to wringa feeble groan or two from his breast, and cause him to declare,with uplifted hands, that he would die in a workhouse.

　　Remembering on further cogitation, however, that under any circumstances he must have paid, or handsomely compounded for,Ralph’s debt, and being by no means confident that he would havesucceeded had he undertaken his enterprise alone, he regainedhis equanimity, and chattered and mowed over more satisfactoryitems, until the entrance of Peg Sliderskew interrupted him.

　　‘Aha, Peg!’ said Arthur, ‘what is it? What is it now, Peg?’

　　‘It’s the fowl,’ replied Peg, holding up a plate containing a little,a very little one. Quite a phenomenon of a fowl. So very small andskinny.

　　‘A beautiful bird!’ said Arthur, after inquiring the price, andfinding it proportionate to the size. ‘With a rasher of ham, and anegg made into sauce, and potatoes, and greens, and an applepudding, Peg, and a little bit of cheese, we shall have a dinner foran emperor. There’ll only be she and me—and you, Peg, whenwe’ve done.’

　　‘Don’t you complain of the expense afterwards,’ said MrsSliderskew, sulkily.

　　‘I am afraid we must live expensively for the first week,’

　　returned Arthur, with a groan, ‘and then we must make up for it. Iwon’t eat more than I can help, and I know you love your oldmaster too much to eat more than you can help, don’t you, Peg?’

　　‘Don’t I what?’ said Peg.

　　‘Love your old master too much—’

　　‘No, not a bit too much,’ said Peg.

　　‘Oh, dear, I wish the devil had this woman!’ cried Arthur: ‘lovehim too much to eat more than you can help at his expense.’

　　‘At his what?’ said Peg.

　　‘Oh dear! she can never hear the most important word, andhears all the others!’ whined Gride. ‘At his expense—you catamaran!’

　　The last-mentioned tribute to the charms of Mrs Sliderskewbeing uttered in a whisper, that lady assented to the generalproposition by a harsh growl, which was accompanied by a ring atthe street-door.

　　‘There’s the bell,’ said Arthur.

　　‘Ay, ay; I know that,’ rejoined Peg.

　　‘Then why don’t you go?’ bawled Arthur.

　　‘Go where?’ retorted Peg. ‘I ain’t doing any harm here, am I?’

　　Arthur Gride in reply repeated the word ‘bell’ as loud as hecould roar; and, his meaning being rendered further intelligible toMrs Sliderskew’s dull sense of hearing by pantomime expressiveof ringing at a street-door, Peg hobbled out, after sharplydemanding why he hadn’t said there was a ring before, instead oftalking about all manner of things that had nothing to do with it,and keeping her half-pint of beer waiting on the steps.

　　‘There’s a change come over you, Mrs Peg,’ said Arthur,following her out with his eyes. ‘What it means I don’t quite know;but, if it lasts, we shan’t agree together long I see. You are turningcrazy, I think. If you are, you must take yourself off, Mrs Peg—orbe taken off. All’s one to me.’ Turning over the leaves of his bookas he muttered this, he soon lighted upon something whichattracted his attention, and forgot Peg Sliderskew and everythingelse in the engrossing interest of its pages.

　　The room had no other light than that which it derived from adim and dirt-clogged lamp, whose lazy wick, being still furtherobscured by a dark shade, cast its feeble rays over a very littlespace, and left all beyond in heavy shadow. This lamp the moneylender had drawn so close to him, that there was only room between it and himself for the book over which he bent; and as hesat, with his elbows on the desk, and his sharp cheek-bonesresting on his hands, it only served to bring out his ugly features instrong relief, together with the little table at which he sat, and toshroud all the rest of the chamber in a deep sullen gloom. Raisinghis eyes, and looking vacantly into this gloom as he made somemental calculation, Arthur Gride suddenly met the fixed gaze of aman.

　　‘Thieves! thieves!’ shrieked the usurer, starting up and foldinghis book to his breast. ‘Robbers! Murder!’

　　‘What is the matter?’ said the form, advancing.

　　‘Keep off!’ cried the trembling wretch. ‘Is it a man or a—a—’

　　‘For what do you take me, if not for a man?’ was the inquiry.

　　‘Yes, yes,’ cried Arthur Gride, shading his eyes with his hand, ‘itis a man, and not a spirit. It is a man. Robbers! robbers!’

　　‘For what are these cries raised? Unless indeed you know me,and have some purpose in your brain?’ said the stranger, comingclose up to him. ‘I am no thief.’

　　‘What then, and how come you here?’ cried Gride, somewhatreassured, but still retreating from his visitor: ‘what is your name,and what do you want?’

　　‘My name you need not know,’ was the reply. ‘I came here,because I was shown the way by your servant. I have addressedyou twice or thrice, but you were too profoundly engaged withyour book to hear me, and I have been silently waiting until youshould be less abstracted. What I want I will tell you, when youcan summon up courage enough to hear and understand me.’

　　Arthur Gride, venturing to regard his visitor more attentively,and perceiving that he was a young man of good mien and bearing, returned to his seat, and muttering that there were badcharacters about, and that this, with former attempts upon hishouse, had made him nervous, requested his visitor to sit down.

　　This, however, he declined.

　　‘Good God! I don’t stand up to have you at an advantage,’ saidNicholas (for Nicholas it was), as he observed a gesture of alarmon the part of Gride. ‘Listen to me. You are to be marriedtomorrow morning.’

　　‘N-n-no,’ rejoined Gride. ‘Who said I was? How do you knowthat?’

　　‘No matter how,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I know it. The young ladywho is to give you her hand hates and despises you. Her bloodruns cold at the mention of your name; the vulture and the lamb,the rat and the dove, could not be worse matched than you andshe. You see I know her.’

　　Gride looked at him as if he were petrified with astonishment,but did not speak; perhaps lacking the power.

　　‘You and another man, Ralph Nickleby by name, have hatchedthis plot between you,’ pursued Nicholas. ‘You pay him for hisshare in bringing about this sale of Madeline Bray. You do. A lie istrembling on your lips, I see.’

　　He paused; but, Arthur making no reply, resumed again.

　　‘You pay yourself by defrauding her. How or by what means—for I scorn to sully her cause by falsehood or deceit—I do notknow; at present I do not know, but I am not alone or single-handed in this business. If the energy of man can compass thediscovery of your fraud and treachery before your death; if wealth,revenge, and just hatred, can hunt and track you through yourwindings; you will yet be called to a dear account for this. We are on the scent already; judge you, who know what we do not, whenwe shall have you down!’

　　He paused again, and still Arthur Gride glared upon him insilence.

　　‘If you were a man to whom I could appeal with any hope oftouching his compassion or humanity,’ said Nicholas, ‘I wouldurge upon you to remember the helplessness, the innocence, theyouth, of this lady; her worth and beauty, her filial excellence, andlast, and more than all, as concerning you more nearly, the appealshe has made to your mercy and your manly feeling. But, I takethe only ground that can be taken with men like you, and ask whatmoney will buy you off. Remember the danger to which you areexposed. You see I know enough to know much more with verylittle help. Bate some expected gain for the risk you save, and saywhat is your price.’

　　Old Arthur Gride moved his lips, but they only formed an uglysmile and were motionless again.

　　‘You think,’ said Nicholas, ‘that the price would not be paid.

　　Miss Bray has wealthy friends who would coin their very hearts tosave her in such a strait as this. Name your price, defer thesenuptials for but a few days, and see whether those I speak of,shrink from the payment. Do you hear me?’

　　When Nicholas began, Arthur Gride’s impression was, thatRalph Nickleby had betrayed him; but, as he proceeded, he feltconvinced that however he had come by the knowledge hepossessed, the part he acted was a genuine one, and that withRalph he had no concern. All he seemed to know, for certain, was,that he, Gride, paid Ralph’s debt; but that, to anybody who knewthe circumstances of Bray’s detention—even to Bray himself, on Ralph’s own statement—must be perfectly notorious. As to thefraud on Madeline herself, his visitor knew so little about itsnature or extent, that it might be a lucky guess, or a hap-hazardaccusation. Whether or no, he had clearly no key to the mystery,and could not hurt him who kept it close within his own breast.

　　The allusion to friends, and the offer of money, Gride held to bemere empty vapouring, for purposes of delay. ‘And even if moneywere to be had,’ thought Arthur Glide, as he glanced at Nicholas,and trembled with passion at his boldness and audacity, ‘I’d havethat dainty chick for my wife, and cheat you of her, young smooth-face!’

　　Long habit of weighing and noting well what clients said, andnicely balancing chances in his mind and calculating odds to theirfaces, without the least appearance of being so engaged, hadrendered Gride quick in forming conclusions, and arriving, frompuzzling, intricate, and often contradictory premises, at verycunning deductions. Hence it was that, as Nicholas went on, hefollowed him closely with his own constructions, and, when heceased to speak, was as well prepared as if he had deliberated for afortnight.

　　‘I hear you,’ he cried, starting from his seat, casting back thefastenings of the window-shutters, and throwing up the sash.

　　‘Help here! Help! Help!’

　　‘What are you doing?’ said Nicholas, seizing him by the arm.

　　‘I’ll cry robbers, thieves, murder, alarm the neighbourhood,struggle with you, let loose some blood, and swear you came to robme, if you don’t quit my house,’ replied Gride, drawing in his headwith a frightful grin, ‘I will!’

　　‘Wretch!’ cried Nicholas.

　　 ‘You’ll bring your threats here, will you?’ said Gride, whomjealousy of Nicholas and a sense of his own triumph had convertedinto a perfect fiend. ‘You, the disappointed lover? Oh dear! He! he!

　　he! But you shan’t have her, nor she you. She’s my wife, my dotinglittle wife. Do you think she’ll miss you? Do you think she’ll weep?

　　I shall like to see her weep, I shan’t mind it. She looks prettier intears.’

　　‘Villain!’ said Nicholas, choking with his rage.

　　‘One minute more,’ cried Arthur Gride, ‘and I’ll rouse the streetwith such screams, as, if they were raised by anybody else, shouldwake me even in the arms of pretty Madeline.’

　　‘You hound!’ said Nicholas. ‘If you were but a younger man—’

　　‘Oh yes!’ sneered Arthur Gride, ‘If I was but a younger man itwouldn’t be so bad; but for me, so old and ugly! To be jilted bylittle Madeline for me!’

　　‘Hear me,’ said Nicholas, ‘and be thankful I have enoughcommand over myself not to fling you into the street, which no aidcould prevent my doing if I once grappled with you. I have been nolover of this lady’s. No contract or engagement, no word of love,has ever passed between us. She does not even know my name.’

　　‘I’ll ask it for all that. I’ll beg it of her with kisses,’ said ArthurGride. ‘Yes, and she’ll tell me, and pay them back, and we’ll laughtogether, and hug ourselves, and be very merry, when we think ofthe poor youth that wanted to have her, but couldn’t because shewas bespoke by me!’

　　This taunt brought such an expression into the face of Nicholas,that Arthur Gride plainly apprehended it to be the forerunner ofhis putting his threat of throwing him into the street in immediateexecution; for he thrust his head out of the window, and holding tight on with both hands, raised a pretty brisk alarm. Not thinkingit necessary to abide the issue of the noise, Nicholas gave vent toan indignant defiance, and stalked from the room and from thehouse. Arthur Gride watched him across the street, and then,drawing in his head, fastened the window as before, and sat downto take breath.

　　‘If she ever turns pettish or ill-humoured, I’ll taunt her with thatspark,’ he said, when he had recovered. ‘She’ll little think I knowabout him; and, if I manage it well, I can break her spirit by thismeans and have her under my thumb. I’m glad nobody came. Ididn’t call too loud. The audacity to enter my house, and openupon me! But I shall have a very good triumph tomorrow, andhe’ll be gnawing his fingers off: perhaps drown himself or cut histhroat! I shouldn’t wonder! That would make it quite complete,that would: quite.’

　　When he had become restored to his usual condition by theseand other comments on his approaching triumph, Arthur Grideput away his book, and, having locked the chest with greatcaution, descended into the kitchen to warn Peg Sliderskew tobed, and scold her for having afforded such ready admission to astranger.

　　The unconscious Peg, however, not being able to comprehendthe offence of which she had been guilty, he summoned her tohold the light, while he made a tour of the fastenings, and securedthe street-door with his own hands.

　　‘Top bolt,’ muttered Arthur, fastening as he spoke, ‘bottom bolt,chain, bar, double lock, and key out to put under my pillow! So, ifany more rejected admirers come, they may come through thekeyhole. And now I’ll go to sleep till half-past five, when I must get up to be married, Peg!’

　　With that, he jocularly tapped Mrs Sliderskew under the chin,and appeared, for the moment, inclined to celebrate the close ofhis bachelor days by imprinting a kiss on her shrivelled lips.

　　Thinking better of it, however, he gave her chin another tap, inlieu of that warmer familiarity, and stole away to bed.