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The cold, feeble dawn of a January morning was stealing in at thewindows of the common sleeping-room, when Nicholas, raising himself onhis arm, looked among the prostrate forms which on every side surroundedhim, as though in search of some particular object.

It needed a quick eye to detect, from among the huddled mass ofsleepers, the form of any given individual. As they lay closely packedtogether, covered, for warmth's sake, with their patched and raggedclothes, little could be distinguished but the sharp outlines of palefaces, over which the sombre light shed the same dull heavy colour;with, here and there, a gaunt arm thrust forth: its thinness hidden byno covering, but fully exposed to view, in all its shrunken ugliness.There were some who, lying on their backs with upturned faces andclenched hands, just visible in the leaden light, bore more the aspectof dead bodies than of living creatures; and there were others coiled upinto strange and fantastic postures, such as might have been taken forthe uneasy efforts of pain to gain some temporary relief, rather thanthe freaks of slumber. A few--and these were among the youngest of thechildren--slept peacefully on, with smiles upon their faces, dreamingperhaps of home; but ever and again a deep and heavy sigh, breaking thestillness of the room, announced that some new sleeper had awakened tothe misery of another day; and, as morning took the place of night, thesmiles gradually faded away, with the friendly darkness which had giventhem birth.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earthin the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the sun, whichlights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through theworld.

Nicholas looked upon the sleepers; at first, with the air of one whogazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none of itssorrowful effect in consequence; and, afterwards, with a more intenseand searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed something his eye wasaccustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. He was still occupiedin this search, and had half risen from his bed in the eagerness of hisquest, when the voice of Squeers was heard, calling from the bottom ofthe stairs.

'Now then,' cried that gentleman, 'are you going to sleep all day, upthere--'

'You lazy hounds?' added Mrs Squeers, finishing the sentence, andproducing, at the same time, a sharp sound, like that which isoccasioned by the lacing of stays.

'We shall be down directly, sir,' replied Nicholas.

'Down directly!' said Squeers. 'Ah! you had better be down directly, orI'll be down upon some of you in less. Where's that Smike?'

Nicholas looked hurriedly round again, but made no answer.

'Smike!' shouted Squeers.

'Do you want your head broke in a fresh place, Smike?' demanded hisamiable lady in the same key.

Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, as didthe greater part of the boys, who were by this time roused.

'Confound his impudence!' muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-railimpatiently with his cane. 'Nickleby!'

'Well, sir.'

'Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don't you hear me calling?'

'He is not here, sir,' replied Nicholas.

'Don't tell me a lie,' retorted the schoolmaster. 'He is.'

'He is not,' retorted Nicholas angrily, 'don't tell me one.'

'We shall soon see that,' said Mr Squeers, rushing upstairs. 'I'll findhim, I warrant you.'

With which assurance, Mr Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and,swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into the cornerwhere the lean body of the drudge was usually stretched at night. Thecane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There was nobody there.

'What does this mean?' said Squeers, turning round with a very paleface. 'Where have you hid him?'

'I have seen nothing of him since last night,' replied Nicholas.

'Come,' said Squeers, evidently frightened, though he endeavoured tolook otherwise, 'you won't save him this way. Where is he?'

'At the bottom of the nearest pond for aught I know,' rejoined Nicholasin a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master's face.

'Damn you, what do you mean by that?' retorted Squeers in greatperturbation. Without waiting for a reply, he inquired of the boyswhether any one among them knew anything of their missing schoolmate.

There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which, oneshrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought):

'Please, sir, I think Smike's run away, sir.'

'Ha!' cried Squeers, turning sharp round. 'Who said that?'

'Tomkins, please sir,' rejoined a chorus of voices. Mr Squeers madea plunge into the crowd, and at one dive, caught a very little boy,habited still in his night-gear, and the perplexed expression of whosecountenance, as he was brought forward, seemed to intimate that he wasas yet uncertain whether he was about to be punished or rewarded for thesuggestion. He was not long in doubt.

'You think he has run away, do you, sir?' demanded Squeers.

'Yes, please sir,' replied the little boy.

'And what, sir,' said Squeers, catching the little boy suddenly bythe arms and whisking up his drapery in a most dexterous manner, 'whatreason have you to suppose that any boy would want to run away from thisestablishment? Eh, sir?'

The child raised a dismal cry, by way of answer, and Mr Squeers,throwing himself into the most favourable attitude for exercising hisstrength, beat him until the little urchin in his writhings actuallyrolled out of his hands, when he mercifully allowed him to roll away, ashe best could.

'There,' said Squeers. 'Now if any other boy thinks Smike has run away,I shall be glad to have a talk with him.'

There was, of course, a profound silence, during which Nicholas showedhis disgust as plainly as looks could show it.

'Well, Nickleby,' said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. 'YOU think hehas run away, I suppose?'

'I think it extremely likely,' replied Nicholas, in a quiet manner.

'Oh, you do, do you?' sneered Squeers. 'Maybe you know he has?'

'I know nothing of the kind.'

'He didn't tell you he was going, I suppose, did he?' sneered Squeers.

'He did not,' replied Nicholas; 'I am very glad he did not, for it wouldthen have been my duty to have warned you in time.'

'Which no doubt you would have been devilish sorry to do,' said Squeersin a taunting fashion.

'I should indeed,' replied Nicholas. 'You interpret my feelings withgreat accuracy.'

Mrs Squeers had listened to this conversation, from the bottom ofthe stairs; but, now losing all patience, she hastily assumed hernight-jacket, and made her way to the scene of action.

'What's all this here to-do?' said the lady, as the boys fell off rightand left, to save her the trouble of clearing a passage with her brawnyarms. 'What on earth are you a talking to him for, Squeery!'

'Why, my dear,' said Squeers, 'the fact is, that Smike is not to befound.'

'Well, I know that,' said the lady, 'and where's the wonder? If youget a parcel of proud-stomached teachers that set the young dogs arebelling, what else can you look for? Now, young man, you just have thekindness to take yourself off to the schoolroom, and take the boys offwith you, and don't you stir out of there till you have leave given you,or you and I may fall out in a way that'll spoil your beauty, handsomeas you think yourself, and so I tell you.'

'Indeed!' said Nicholas.

'Yes; and indeed and indeed again, Mister Jackanapes,' said the excitedlady; 'and I wouldn't keep such as you in the house another hour, if Ihad my way.'

'Nor would you if I had mine,' replied Nicholas. 'Now, boys!'

'Ah! Now, boys,' said Mrs Squeers, mimicking, as nearly as she could,the voice and manner of the usher. 'Follow your leader, boys, and takepattern by Smike if you dare. See what he'll get for himself, when heis brought back; and, mind! I tell you that you shall have as bad, andtwice as bad, if you so much as open your mouths about him.'

'If I catch him,' said Squeers, 'I'll only stop short of flaying himalive. I give you notice, boys.'

'IF you catch him,' retorted Mrs Squeers, contemptuously; 'you are sureto; you can't help it, if you go the right way to work. Come! Away withyou!'

With these words, Mrs Squeers dismissed the boys, and after a littlelight skirmishing with those in the rear who were pressing forward toget out of the way, but were detained for a few moments by the throngin front, succeeded in clearing the room, when she confronted her spousealone.

'He is off,' said Mrs Squeers. 'The cow-house and stable are locked up,so he can't be there; and he's not downstairs anywhere, for the girl haslooked. He must have gone York way, and by a public road too.'

'Why must he?' inquired Squeers.

'Stupid!' said Mrs Squeers angrily. 'He hadn't any money, had he?'

'Never had a penny of his own in his whole life, that I know of,'replied Squeers.

'To be sure,' rejoined Mrs Squeers, 'and he didn't take anything to eatwith him; that I'll answer for. Ha! ha! ha!'

'Ha! ha! ha!' laughed Squeers.

'Then, of course,' said Mrs S., 'he must beg his way, and he could dothat, nowhere, but on the public road.'

'That's true,' exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands.

'True! Yes; but you would never have thought of it, for all that, if Ihadn't said so,' replied his wife. 'Now, if you take the chaise and goone road, and I borrow Swallow's chaise, and go the other, what withkeeping our eyes open, and asking questions, one or other of us ispretty certain to lay hold of him.'

The worthy lady's plan was adopted and put in execution without amoment's delay. After a very hasty breakfast, and the prosecution ofsome inquiries in the village, the result of which seemed to show thathe was on the right track, Squeers started forth in the pony-chaise,intent upon discovery and vengeance. Shortly afterwards, Mrs Squeers,arrayed in the white top-coat, and tied up in various shawls andhandkerchiefs, issued forth in another chaise and another direction,taking with her a good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strongcord, and a stout labouring man: all provided and carried upon theexpedition, with the sole object of assisting in the capture, and (oncecaught) insuring the safe custody of the unfortunate Smike.

Nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible that whatevermight be the upshot of the boy's flight, nothing but painful anddeplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it. Death, from wantand exposure to the weather, was the best that could be expected fromthe protracted wandering of so poor and helpless a creature, alone andunfriended, through a country of which he was wholly ignorant. There waslittle, perhaps, to choose between this fate and a return to the tendermercies of the Yorkshire school; but the unhappy being had established ahold upon his sympathy and compassion, which made his heart ache at theprospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo. He lingered on, inrestless anxiety, picturing a thousand possibilities, until the eveningof next day, when Squeers returned, alone, and unsuccessful.

'No news of the scamp!' said the schoolmaster, who had evidently beenstretching his legs, on the old principle, not a few times during thejourney. 'I'll have consolation for this out of somebody, Nickleby, ifMrs Squeers don't hunt him down; so I give you warning.'

'It is not in my power to console you, sir,' said Nicholas. 'It isnothing to me.'

'Isn't it?' said Squeers in a threatening manner. 'We shall see!'

'We shall,' rejoined Nicholas.

'Here's the pony run right off his legs, and me obliged to come homewith a hack cob, that'll cost fifteen shillings besides other expenses,'said Squeers; 'who's to pay for that, do you hear?'

Nicholas shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.

'I'll have it out of somebody, I tell you,' said Squeers, his usualharsh crafty manner changed to open bullying 'None of your whiningvapourings here, Mr Puppy, but be off to your kennel, for it's past yourbedtime! Come! Get out!'

Nicholas bit his lip and knit his hands involuntarily, for hisfingerends tingled to avenge the insult; but remembering that theman was drunk, and that it could come to little but a noisy brawl, hecontented himself with darting a contemptuous look at the tyrant, andwalked, as majestically as he could, upstairs: not a little nettled,however, to observe that Miss Squeers and Master Squeers, and theservant girl, were enjoying the scene from a snug corner; the twoformer indulging in many edifying remarks about the presumption of poorupstarts, which occasioned a vast deal of laughter, in which even themost miserable of all miserable servant girls joined: while Nicholas,stung to the quick, drew over his head such bedclothes as he had, andsternly resolved that the outstanding account between himself andMr Squeers should be settled rather more speedily than the latteranticipated.

Another day came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard thewheels of a chaise approaching the house. It stopped. The voice of MrsSqueers was heard, and in exultation, ordering a glass of spiritsfor somebody, which was in itself a sufficient sign that somethingextraordinary had happened. Nicholas hardly dared to look out of thewindow; but he did so, and the very first object that met his eyes wasthe wretched Smike: so bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard and worn,and wild, that, but for his garments being such as no scarecrow was everseen to wear, he might have been doubtful, even then, of his identity.

'Lift him out,' said Squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes,in silence, upon the culprit. 'Bring him in; bring him in!'

'Take care,' cried Mrs Squeers, as her husband proffered his assistance.'We tied his legs under the apron and made'em fast to the chaise, toprevent his giving us the slip again.'

With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord; andSmike, to all appearance more dead than alive, was brought into thehouse and securely locked up in a cellar, until such time as Mr Squeersshould deem it expedient to operate upon him, in presence of theassembled school.

Upon a hasty consideration of the circumstances, it may be matter ofsurprise to some persons, that Mr and Mrs Squeers should have taken somuch trouble to repossess themselves of an incumbrance of which it wastheir wont to complain so loudly; but their surprise will cease whenthey are informed that the manifold services of the drudge, if performedby anybody else, would have cost the establishment some ten or twelveshillings per week in the shape of wages; and furthermore, that allrunaways were, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of, atDotheboys Hall, inasmuch as, in consequence of the limited extent ofits attractions, there was but little inducement, beyond the powerfulimpulse of fear, for any pupil, provided with the usual number of legsand the power of using them, to remain.

The news that Smike had been caught and brought back in triumph, ranlike wild-fire through the hungry community, and expectation was ontiptoe all the morning. On tiptoe it was destined to remain, however,until afternoon; when Squeers, having refreshed himself with his dinner,and further strengthened himself by an extra libation or so, made hisappearance (accompanied by his amiable partner) with a countenance ofportentous import, and a fearful instrument of flagellation, strong,supple, wax-ended, and new,--in short, purchased that morning, expresslyfor the occasion.

'Is every boy here?' asked Squeers, in a tremendous voice.

Every boy was there, but every boy was afraid to speak, so Squeersglared along the lines to assure himself; and every eye drooped, andevery head cowered down, as he did so.

'Each boy keep his place,' said Squeers, administering his favouriteblow to the desk, and regarding with gloomy satisfaction the universalstart which it never failed to occasion. 'Nickleby! to your desk, sir.'

It was remarked by more than one small observer, that there was a verycurious and unusual expression in the usher's face; but he took hisseat, without opening his lips in reply. Squeers, casting a triumphantglance at his assistant and a look of most comprehensive despotism onthe boys, left the room, and shortly afterwards returned, draggingSmike by the collar--or rather by that fragment of his jacket which wasnearest the place where his collar would have been, had he boasted sucha decoration.

In any other place, the appearance of the wretched, jaded, spiritlessobject would have occasioned a murmur of compassion and remonstrance. Ithad some effect, even there; for the lookers-on moved uneasily in theirseats; and a few of the boldest ventured to steal looks at each other,expressive of indignation and pity.

They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on theluckless Smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases,whether he had anything to say for himself.

'Nothing, I suppose?' said Squeers, with a diabolical grin.

Smike glanced round, and his eye rested, for an instant, on Nicholas,as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on hisdesk.

'Have you anything to say?' demanded Squeers again: giving his right armtwo or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness. 'Stand a littleout of the way, Mrs Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got room enough.'

'Spare me, sir!' cried Smike.

'Oh! that's all, is it?' said Squeers. 'Yes, I'll flog you within aninch of your life, and spare you that.'

'Ha, ha, ha,' laughed Mrs Squeers, 'that's a good 'un!'

'I was driven to do it,' said Smike faintly; and casting anotherimploring look about him.

'Driven to do it, were you?' said Squeers. 'Oh! it wasn't your fault; itwas mine, I suppose--eh?'

'A nasty, ungrateful, pig-headed, brutish, obstinate, sneakingdog,' exclaimed Mrs Squeers, taking Smike's head under her arm, andadministering a cuff at every epithet; 'what does he mean by that?'

'Stand aside, my dear,' replied Squeers. 'We'll try and find out.'

Mrs Squeers, being out of breath with her exertions, complied. Squeerscaught the boy firmly in his grip; one desperate cut had fallen on hisbody--he was wincing from the lash and uttering a scream of pain--it wasraised again, and again about to fall--when Nicholas Nickleby, suddenlystarting up, cried 'Stop!' in a voice that made the rafters ring.

'Who cried stop?' said Squeers, turning savagely round.

'I,' said Nicholas, stepping forward. 'This must not go on.'

'Must not go on!' cried Squeers, almost in a shriek.

'No!' thundered Nicholas.

Aghast and stupefied by the boldness of the interference, Squeersreleased his hold of Smike, and, falling back a pace or two, gazed uponNicholas with looks that were positively frightful.

'I say must not,' repeated Nicholas, nothing daunted; 'shall not. I willprevent it.'

Squeers continued to gaze upon him, with his eyes starting out of hishead; but astonishment had actually, for the moment, bereft him ofspeech.

'You have disregarded all my quiet interference in the miserable lad'sbehalf,' said Nicholas; 'you have returned no answer to the letter inwhich I begged forgiveness for him, and offered to be responsiblethat he would remain quietly here. Don't blame me for this publicinterference. You have brought it upon yourself; not I.'

'Sit down, beggar!' screamed Squeers, almost beside himself with rage,and seizing Smike as he spoke.

'Wretch,' rejoined Nicholas, fiercely, 'touch him at your peril! I willnot stand by, and see it done. My blood is up, and I have the strengthof ten such men as you. Look to yourself, for by Heaven I will not spareyou, if you drive me on!'

'Stand back,' cried Squeers, brandishing his weapon.

'I have a long series of insults to avenge,' said Nicholas, flushed withpassion; 'and my indignation is aggravated by the dastardly crueltiespractised on helpless infancy in this foul den. Have a care; for if youdo raise the devil within me, the consequences shall fall heavily uponyour own head!'

He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and struckhim a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raisedup a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agonyof the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelingsof rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested theweapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffiantill he roared for mercy.

The boys--with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to hisfather's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear--moved not, hand orfoot; but Mrs Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tailof her partner's coat, and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriatedadversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping through thekeyhole in expectation of a very different scene, darted in at the verybeginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstandsat the usher's head, beat Nicholas to her heart's content; animatingherself, at every blow, with the recollection of his having refused herproffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which(as she took after her mother in this respect) was, at no time, one ofthe weakest.

Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no morethan if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tired of thenoise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threwall his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flungSqueers from him with all the force he could muster. The violence ofhis fall precipitated Mrs Squeers completely over an adjacent form; andSqueers striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his fulllength on the ground, stunned and motionless.

Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained, tohis thorough satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead(upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), Nicholasleft his family to restore him, and retired to consider what course hehad better adopt. He looked anxiously round for Smike, as he left theroom, but he was nowhere to be seen.

After a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a smallleathern valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose hisprogress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortly afterwards,struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.

When he had cooled sufficiently to be enabled to give his presentcircumstances some little reflection, they did not appear in a veryencouraging light; he had only four shillings and a few pence in hispocket, and was something more than two hundred and fifty milesfrom London, whither he resolved to direct his steps, that he mightascertain, among other things, what account of the morning's proceedingsMr Squeers transmitted to his most affectionate uncle.

Lifting up his eyes, as he arrived at the conclusion that there was noremedy for this unfortunate state of things, he beheld a horseman comingtowards him, whom, on nearer approach, he discovered, to his infinitechagrin, to be no other than Mr John Browdie, who, clad in cords andleather leggings, was urging his animal forward by means of a thick ashstick, which seemed to have been recently cut from some stout sapling.

'I am in no mood for more noise and riot,' thought Nicholas, 'and yet,do what I will, I shall have an altercation with this honest blockhead,and perhaps a blow or two from yonder staff.'

In truth, there appeared some reason to expect that such a result wouldfollow from the encounter, for John Browdie no sooner saw Nicholasadvancing, than he reined in his horse by the footpath, and waited untilsuch time as he should come up; looking meanwhile, very sternly betweenthe horse's ears, at Nicholas, as he came on at his leisure.

'Servant, young genelman,' said John.

'Yours,' said Nicholas.

'Weel; we ha' met at last,' observed John, making the stirrup ring undera smart touch of the ash stick.

'Yes,' replied Nicholas, hesitating. 'Come!' he said, frankly, after amoment's pause, 'we parted on no very good terms the last time we met;it was my fault, I believe; but I had no intention of offending you, andno idea that I was doing so. I was very sorry for it, afterwards. Willyou shake hands?'

'Shake honds!' cried the good-humoured Yorkshireman; 'ah! that I weel;'at the same time, he bent down from the saddle, and gave Nicholas's fista huge wrench: 'but wa'at be the matther wi' thy feace, mun? it be allbrokken loike.'

'It is a cut,' said Nicholas, turning scarlet as he spoke,--'a blow; butI returned it to the giver, and with good interest too.'

'Noa, did 'ee though?' exclaimed John Browdie. 'Well deane! I loike 'unfor thot.'

'The fact is,' said Nicholas, not very well knowing how to make theavowal, 'the fact is, that I have been ill-treated.'

'Noa!' interposed John Browdie, in a tone of compassion; for he was agiant in strength and stature, and Nicholas, very likely, in his eyes,seemed a mere dwarf; 'dean't say thot.'

'Yes, I have,' replied Nicholas, 'by that man Squeers, and I have beatenhim soundly, and am leaving this place in consequence.'

'What!' cried John Browdie, with such an ecstatic shout, that the horsequite shied at it. 'Beatten the schoolmeasther! Ho! ho! ho! Beatten theschoolmeasther! who ever heard o' the loike o' that noo! Giv' us theehond agean, yoongster. Beatten the schoolmeasther! Dang it, I loov' theefor't.'

With these expressions of delight, John Browdie laughed and laughedagain--so loud that the echoes, far and wide, sent back nothing butjovial peals of merriment--and shook Nicholas by the hand meanwhile, noless heartily. When his mirth had subsided, he inquired what Nicholasmeant to do; on his informing him, to go straight to London, he shookhis head doubtfully, and inquired if he knew how much the coachescharged to carry passengers so far.

'No, I do not,' said Nicholas; 'but it is of no great consequence to me,for I intend walking.'

'Gang awa' to Lunnun afoot!' cried John, in amazement.

'Every step of the way,' replied Nicholas. 'I should be many stepsfurther on by this time, and so goodbye!'

'Nay noo,' replied the honest countryman, reining in his impatienthorse, 'stan' still, tellee. Hoo much cash hast thee gotten?'

'Not much,' said Nicholas, colouring, 'but I can make it enough. Wherethere's a will, there's a way, you know.'

John Browdie made no verbal answer to this remark, but putting his handin his pocket, pulled out an old purse of solid leather, and insistedthat Nicholas should borrow from him whatever he required for hispresent necessities.

'Dean't be afeard, mun,' he said; 'tak' eneaf to carry thee whoam.Thee'lt pay me yan day, a' warrant.'

Nicholas could by no means be prevailed upon to borrow more than asovereign, with which loan Mr Browdie, after many entreaties that hewould accept of more (observing, with a touch of Yorkshire caution, thatif he didn't spend it all, he could put the surplus by, till he had anopportunity of remitting it carriage free), was fain to content himself.

'Tak' that bit o' timber to help thee on wi', mun,' he added, pressinghis stick on Nicholas, and giving his hand another squeeze; 'keep a goodheart, and bless thee. Beatten the schoolmeasther! 'Cod it's the bestthing a've heerd this twonty year!'

So saying, and indulging, with more delicacy than might have beenexpected from him, in another series of loud laughs, for the purpose ofavoiding the thanks which Nicholas poured forth, John Browdie set spursto his horse, and went off at a smart canter: looking back, from time totime, as Nicholas stood gazing after him, and waving his hand cheerily,as if to encourage him on his way. Nicholas watched the horse and rideruntil they disappeared over the brow of a distant hill, and then setforward on his journey.

He did not travel far that afternoon, for by this time it was nearlydark, and there had been a heavy fall of snow, which not only renderedthe way toilsome, but the track uncertain and difficult to find, afterdaylight, save by experienced wayfarers. He lay, that night, at acottage, where beds were let at a cheap rate to the more humble class oftravellers; and, rising betimes next morning, made his way before nightto Boroughbridge. Passing through that town in search of some cheapresting-place, he stumbled upon an empty barn within a couple of hundredyards of the roadside; in a warm corner of which, he stretched his wearylimbs, and soon fell asleep.

When he awoke next morning, and tried to recollect his dreams, which hadbeen all connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys Hall, he satup, rubbed his eyes and stared--not with the most composed countenancepossible--at some motionless object which seemed to be stationed withina few yards in front of him.

'Strange!' cried Nicholas; 'can this be some lingering creation of thevisions that have scarcely left me! It cannot be real--and yet I--I amawake! Smike!'

The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped upon its knees at his feet.It was Smike indeed.

'Why do you kneel to me?' said Nicholas, hastily raising him.

'To go with you--anywhere--everywhere--to the world's end--to thechurchyard grave,' replied Smike, clinging to his hand. 'Let me, oh dolet me. You are my home--my kind friend--take me with you, pray.'

'I am a friend who can do little for you,' said Nicholas, kindly. 'Howcame you here?'

He had followed him, it seemed; had never lost sight of him all the way;had watched while he slept, and when he halted for refreshment; andhad feared to appear before, lest he should be sent back. He had notintended to appear now, but Nicholas had awakened more suddenly than helooked for, and he had had no time to conceal himself.

'Poor fellow!' said Nicholas, 'your hard fate denies you any friend butone, and he is nearly as poor and helpless as yourself.'

'May I--may I go with you?' asked Smike, timidly. 'I will be yourfaithful hard-working servant, I will, indeed. I want no clothes,' addedthe poor creature, drawing his rags together; 'these will do very well.I only want to be near you.'

'And you shall,' cried Nicholas. 'And the world shall deal by you as itdoes by me, till one or both of us shall quit it for a better. Come!'

With these words, he strapped his burden on his shoulders, and, takinghis stick in one hand, extended the other to his delighted charge; andso they passed out of the old barn, together.