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Quite unconscious of the demonstrations of their amorous neighbour, ortheir effects upon the susceptible bosom of her mama, Kate Nicklebyhad, by this time, begun to enjoy a settled feeling of tranquillity andhappiness, to which, even in occasional and transitory glimpses, shehad long been a stranger. Living under the same roof with the belovedbrother from whom she had been so suddenly and hardly separated: witha mind at ease, and free from any persecutions which could call a blushinto her cheek, or a pang into her heart, she seemed to have passed intoa new state of being. Her former cheerfulness was restored, her stepregained its elasticity and lightness, the colour which had forsakenher cheek visited it once again, and Kate Nickleby looked more beautifulthan ever.

Such was the result to which Miss La Creevy's ruminations andobservations led her, when the cottage had been, as she emphaticallysaid, 'thoroughly got to rights, from the chimney-pots to thestreet-door scraper,' and the busy little woman had at length a moment'stime to think about its inmates.

'Which I declare I haven't had since I first came down here,' saidMiss La Creevy; 'for I have thought of nothing but hammers, nails,screwdrivers, and gimlets, morning, noon, and night.'

'You never bestowed one thought upon yourself, I believe,' returnedKate, smiling.

'Upon my word, my dear, when there are so many pleasanter thingsto think of, I should be a goose if I did,' said Miss La Creevy.'By-the-bye, I HAVE thought of somebody too. Do you know, that I observea great change in one of this family--a very extraordinary change?'

'In whom?' asked Kate, anxiously. 'Not in--'

'Not in your brother, my dear,' returned Miss La Creevy, anticipatingthe close of the sentence, 'for he is always the same affectionategood-natured clever creature, with a spice of the--I won't say who--inhim when there's any occasion, that he was when I first knew you. No.Smike, as he WILL be called, poor fellow! for he won't hear of a MRbefore his name, is greatly altered, even in this short time.'

'How?' asked Kate. 'Not in health?'

'N--n--o; perhaps not in health exactly,' said Miss La Creevy, pausingto consider, 'although he is a worn and feeble creature, and has thatin his face which it would wring my heart to see in yours. No; not inhealth.'

'How then?'

'I scarcely know,' said the miniature painter. 'But I have watched him,and he has brought the tears into my eyes many times. It is not a verydifficult matter to do that, certainly, for I am easily melted; still Ithink these came with good cause and reason. I am sure that since he hasbeen here, he has grown, from some strong cause, more conscious of hisweak intellect. He feels it more. It gives him greater pain to know thathe wanders sometimes, and cannot understand very simple things. I havewatched him when you have not been by, my dear, sit brooding by himself,with such a look of pain as I could scarcely bear to see, and then getup and leave the room: so sorrowfully, and in such dejection, thatI cannot tell you how it has hurt me. Not three weeks ago, he was alight-hearted busy creature, overjoyed to be in a bustle, and ashappy as the day was long. Now, he is another being--the same willing,harmless, faithful, loving creature--but the same in nothing else.'

'Surely this will all pass off,' said Kate. 'Poor fellow!'

'I hope,' returned her little friend, with a gravity very unusual inher, 'it may. I hope, for the sake of that poor lad, it may. However,'said Miss La Creevy, relapsing into the cheerful, chattering tone, whichwas habitual to her, 'I have said my say, and a very long say it is, anda very wrong say too, I shouldn't wonder at all. I shall cheer him uptonight, at all events, for if he is to be my squire all the way to theStrand, I shall talk on, and on, and on, and never leave off, till Ihave roused him into a laugh at something. So the sooner he goes, thebetter for him, and the sooner I go, the better for me, I am sure, orelse I shall have my maid gallivanting with somebody who may rob thehouse--though what there is to take away, besides tables and chairs,I don't know, except the miniatures: and he is a clever thief who candispose of them to any great advantage, for I can't, I know, and that'sthe honest truth.'

So saying, little Miss La Creevy hid her face in a very flat bonnet, andherself in a very big shawl; and fixing herself tightly into the latter,by means of a large pin, declared that the omnibus might come as soon asit pleased, for she was quite ready.

But there was still Mrs Nickleby to take leave of; and long before thatgood lady had concluded some reminiscences bearing upon, and appropriateto, the occasion, the omnibus arrived. This put Miss La Creevy in agreat bustle, in consequence whereof, as she secretly rewarded theservant girl with eighteen-pence behind the street-door, she pulledout of her reticule ten-pennyworth of halfpence, which rolled into allpossible corners of the passage, and occupied some considerable timein the picking up. This ceremony had, of course, to be succeeded by asecond kissing of Kate and Mrs Nickleby, and a gathering together of thelittle basket and the brown-paper parcel, during which proceedings, 'theomnibus,' as Miss La Creevy protested, 'swore so dreadfully, that it wasquite awful to hear it.' At length and at last, it made a feint of goingaway, and then Miss La Creevy darted out, and darted in, apologisingwith great volubility to all the passengers, and declaring that shewouldn't purposely have kept them waiting on any account whatever. Whileshe was looking about for a convenient seat, the conductor pushed Smikein, and cried that it was all right--though it wasn't--and away went thehuge vehicle, with the noise of half-a-dozen brewers' drays at least.

Leaving it to pursue its journey at the pleasure of the conductoraforementioned, who lounged gracefully on his little shelf behind,smoking an odoriferous cigar; and leaving it to stop, or go on, orgallop, or crawl, as that gentleman deemed expedient and advisable; thisnarrative may embrace the opportunity of ascertaining the condition ofSir Mulberry Hawk, and to what extent he had, by this time, recoveredfrom the injuries consequent on being flung violently from hiscabriolet, under the circumstances already detailed.

With a shattered limb, a body severely bruised, a face disfigured byhalf-healed scars, and pallid from the exhaustion of recent pain andfever, Sir Mulberry Hawk lay stretched upon his back, on the couch towhich he was doomed to be a prisoner for some weeks yet to come. Mr Pykeand Mr Pluck sat drinking hard in the next room, now and then varyingthe monotonous murmurs of their conversation with a half-smotheredlaugh, while the young lord--the only member of the party who was notthoroughly irredeemable, and who really had a kind heart--sat beside hisMentor, with a cigar in his mouth, and read to him, by the light of alamp, such scraps of intelligence from a paper of the day, as were mostlikely to yield him interest or amusement.

'Curse those hounds!' said the invalid, turning his head impatientlytowards the adjoining room; 'will nothing stop their infernal throats?'

Messrs Pyke and Pluck heard the exclamation, and stopped immediately:winking to each other as they did so, and filling their glasses to thebrim, as some recompense for the deprivation of speech.

'Damn!' muttered the sick man between his teeth, and writhingimpatiently in his bed. 'Isn't this mattress hard enough, and the roomdull enough, and pain bad enough, but THEY must torture me? What's thetime?'

'Half-past eight,' replied his friend.

'Here, draw the table nearer, and let us have the cards again,' said SirMulberry. 'More piquet. Come.'

It was curious to see how eagerly the sick man, debarred from any changeof position save the mere turning of his head from side to side, watchedevery motion of his friend in the progress of the game; and with whateagerness and interest he played, and yet how warily and coolly. Hisaddress and skill were more than twenty times a match for his adversary,who could make little head against them, even when fortune favoured himwith good cards, which was not often the case. Sir Mulberry won everygame; and when his companion threw down the cards, and refused to playany longer, thrust forth his wasted arm and caught up the stakes with aboastful oath, and the same hoarse laugh, though considerably lowered intone, that had resounded in Ralph Nickleby's dining-room, months before.

While he was thus occupied, his man appeared, to announce that Mr RalphNickleby was below, and wished to know how he was, tonight.

'Better,' said Sir Mulberry, impatiently.

'Mr Nickleby wishes to know, sir--'

'I tell you, better,' replied Sir Mulberry, striking his hand upon thetable.

The man hesitated for a moment or two, and then said that Mr Nicklebyhad requested permission to see Sir Mulberry Hawk, if it was notinconvenient.

'It IS inconvenient. I can't see him. I can't see anybody,' said hismaster, more violently than before. 'You know that, you blockhead.'

'I am very sorry, sir,' returned the man. 'But Mr Nickleby pressed somuch, sir--'

The fact was, that Ralph Nickleby had bribed the man, who, being anxiousto earn his money with a view to future favours, held the door in hishand, and ventured to linger still.

'Did he say whether he had any business to speak about?' inquired SirMulberry, after a little impatient consideration.

'No, sir. He said he wished to see you, sir. Particularly, Mr Nicklebysaid, sir.'

'Tell him to come up. Here,' cried Sir Mulberry, calling the man back,as he passed his hand over his disfigured face, 'move that lamp, andput it on the stand behind me. Wheel that table away, and place a chairthere--further off. Leave it so.'

The man obeyed these directions as if he quite comprehended the motivewith which they were dictated, and left the room. Lord FrederickVerisopht, remarking that he would look in presently, strolled into theadjoining apartment, and closed the folding door behind him.

Then was heard a subdued footstep on the stairs; and Ralph Nickleby, hatin hand, crept softly into the room, with his body bent forward as if inprofound respect, and his eyes fixed upon the face of his worthy client.

'Well, Nickleby,' said Sir Mulberry, motioning him to the chair by thecouch side, and waving his hand in assumed carelessness, 'I have had abad accident, you see.'

'I see,' rejoined Ralph, with the same steady gaze. 'Bad, indeed! Ishould not have known you, Sir Mulberry. Dear, dear! This IS bad.'

Ralph's manner was one of profound humility and respect; and the lowtone of voice was that, which the gentlest consideration for a sick manwould have taught a visitor to assume. But the expression of his face,Sir Mulberry's being averted, was in extraordinary contrast; and ashe stood, in his usual attitude, calmly looking on the prostrate formbefore him, all that part of his features which was not cast into shadowby his protruding and contracted brows, bore the impress of a sarcasticsmile.

'Sit down,' said Sir Mulberry, turning towards him, as though by aviolent effort. 'Am I a sight, that you stand gazing there?'

As he turned his face, Ralph recoiled a step or two, and making asthough he were irresistibly impelled to express astonishment, but wasdetermined not to do so, sat down with well-acted confusion.

'I have inquired at the door, Sir Mulberry, every day,' said Ralph,'twice a day, indeed, at first--and tonight, presuming upon oldacquaintance, and past transactions by which we have mutually benefitedin some degree, I could not resist soliciting admission to your chamber.Have you--have you suffered much?' said Ralph, bending forward, andallowing the same harsh smile to gather upon his face, as the otherclosed his eyes.

'More than enough to please me, and less than enough to please somebroken-down hacks that you and I know of, and who lay their ruin betweenus, I dare say,' returned Sir Mulberry, tossing his arm restlessly uponthe coverlet.

Ralph shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of the intense irritationwith which this had been said; for there was an aggravating, colddistinctness in his speech and manner which so grated on the sick manthat he could scarcely endure it.

'And what is it in these "past transactions," that brought you heretonight?' asked Sir Mulberry.

'Nothing,' replied Ralph. 'There are some bills of my lord's which needrenewal; but let them be till you are well. I--I--came,' said Ralph,speaking more slowly, and with harsher emphasis, 'I came to say howgrieved I am that any relative of mine, although disowned by me, shouldhave inflicted such punishment on you as--'

'Punishment!' interposed Sir Mulberry.

'I know it has been a severe one,' said Ralph, wilfully mistaking themeaning of the interruption, 'and that has made me the more anxious totell you that I disown this vagabond--that I acknowledge him as no kinof mine--and that I leave him to take his deserts from you, andevery man besides. You may wring his neck if you please. I shall notinterfere.'

'This story that they tell me here, has got abroad then, has it?' askedSir Mulberry, clenching his hands and teeth.

'Noised in all directions,' replied Ralph. 'Every club and gaming-roomhas rung with it. There has been a good song made about it, as I amtold,' said Ralph, looking eagerly at his questioner. 'I have not heardit myself, not being in the way of such things, but I have been toldit's even printed--for private circulation--but that's all over town, ofcourse.'

'It's a lie!' said Sir Mulberry; 'I tell you it's all a lie. The maretook fright.'

'They SAY he frightened her,' observed Ralph, in the same unmoved andquiet manner. 'Some say he frightened you, but THAT'S a lie, I know. Ihave said that boldly--oh, a score of times! I am a peaceable man, but Ican't hear folks tell that of you. No, no.'

When Sir Mulberry found coherent words to utter, Ralph bent forwardwith his hand to his ear, and a face as calm as if its every line ofsternness had been cast in iron.

'When I am off this cursed bed,' said the invalid, actually striking athis broken leg in the ecstasy of his passion, 'I'll have such revenge asnever man had yet. By God, I will. Accident favouring him, he has markedme for a week or two, but I'll put a mark on him that he shall carryto his grave. I'll slit his nose and ears, flog him, maim him for life.I'll do more than that; I'll drag that pattern of chastity, that pink ofprudery, the delicate sister, through--'

It might have been that even Ralph's cold blood tingled in his cheeksat that moment. It might have been that Sir Mulberry remembered, that,knave and usurer as he was, he must, in some early time of infancy, havetwined his arm about her father's neck. He stopped, and menacing withhis hand, confirmed the unuttered threat with a tremendous oath.

'It is a galling thing,' said Ralph, after a short term of silence,during which he had eyed the sufferer keenly, 'to think that the manabout town, the rake, the ROUE, the rook of twenty seasons should bebrought to this pass by a mere boy!'

Sir Mulberry darted a wrathful look at him, but Ralph's eyes were bentupon the ground, and his face wore no other expression than one ofthoughtfulness.

'A raw, slight stripling,' continued Ralph, 'against a man whose veryweight might crush him; to say nothing of his skill in--I am right, Ithink,' said Ralph, raising his eyes, 'you WERE a patron of the ringonce, were you not?'

The sick man made an impatient gesture, which Ralph chose to consider asone of acquiescence.

'Ha!' he said, 'I thought so. That was before I knew you, but I waspretty sure I couldn't be mistaken. He is light and active, I suppose.But those were slight advantages compared with yours. Luck, luck! Thesehang-dog outcasts have it.'

'He'll need the most he has, when I am well again,' said Sir MulberryHawk, 'let him fly where he will.'

'Oh!' returned Ralph quickly, 'he doesn't dream of that. He is here,good sir, waiting your pleasure, here in London, walking the streetsat noonday; carrying it off jauntily; looking for you, I swear,' saidRalph, his face darkening, and his own hatred getting the upper handof him, for the first time, as this gay picture of Nicholas presenteditself; 'if we were only citizens of a country where it could be safelydone, I'd give good money to have him stabbed to the heart and rolledinto the kennel for the dogs to tear.'

As Ralph, somewhat to the surprise of his old client, vented thislittle piece of sound family feeling, and took up his hat preparatory todeparting, Lord Frederick Verisopht looked in.

'Why what in the deyvle's name, Hawk, have you and Nickleby been talkingabout?' said the young man. 'I neyver heard such an insufferable riot.Croak, croak, croak. Bow, wow, wow. What has it all been about?'

'Sir Mulberry has been angry, my Lord,' said Ralph, looking towards thecouch.

'Not about money, I hope? Nothing has gone wrong in business, has it,Nickleby?'

'No, my Lord, no,' returned Ralph. 'On that point we always agree. SirMulberry has been calling to mind the cause of--'

There was neither necessity nor opportunity for Ralph to proceed; forSir Mulberry took up the theme, and vented his threats and oaths againstNicholas, almost as ferociously as before.

Ralph, who was no common observer, was surprised to see that as thistirade proceeded, the manner of Lord Frederick Verisopht, who at thecommencement had been twirling his whiskers with a most dandifiedand listless air, underwent a complete alteration. He was still moresurprised when, Sir Mulberry ceasing to speak, the young lord angrily,and almost unaffectedly, requested never to have the subject renewed inhis presence.

'Mind that, Hawk!' he added, with unusual energy. 'I never will be aparty to, or permit, if I can help it, a cowardly attack upon this youngfellow.'

'Cowardly!' interrupted his friend.

'Ye-es,' said the other, turning full upon him. 'If you had told himwho you were; if you had given him your card, and found out, afterwards,that his station or character prevented your fighting him, it would havebeen bad enough then; upon my soul it would have been bad enough then.As it is, you did wrong. I did wrong too, not to interfere, and Iam sorry for it. What happened to you afterwards, was as much theconsequence of accident as design, and more your fault than his; and itshall not, with my knowledge, be cruelly visited upon him, it shall notindeed.'

With this emphatic repetition of his concluding words, the young lordturned upon his heel; but before he had reached the adjoining room heturned back again, and said, with even greater vehemence than he haddisplayed before,

'I do believe, now; upon my honour I do believe, that the sister is asvirtuous and modest a young lady as she is a handsome one; and of thebrother, I say this, that he acted as her brother should, and in a manlyand spirited manner. And I only wish, with all my heart and soul, thatany one of us came out of this matter half as well as he does.'

So saying, Lord Frederick Verisopht walked out of the room, leavingRalph Nickleby and Sir Mulberry in most unpleasant astonishment.

'Is this your pupil?' asked Ralph, softly, 'or has he come fresh fromsome country parson?'

'Green fools take these fits sometimes,' replied Sir Mulberry Hawk,biting his lip, and pointing to the door. 'Leave him to me.'

Ralph exchanged a familiar look with his old acquaintance; for they hadsuddenly grown confidential again in this alarming surprise; and tookhis way home, thoughtfully and slowly.

While these things were being said and done, and long before they wereconcluded, the omnibus had disgorged Miss La Creevy and her escort, andthey had arrived at her own door. Now, the good-nature of the littleminiature painter would by no means allow of Smike's walking back again,until he had been previously refreshed with just a sip of somethingcomfortable and a mixed biscuit or so; and Smike, entertaining noobjection either to the sip of something comfortable, or the mixedbiscuit, but, considering on the contrary that they would be a verypleasant preparation for a walk to Bow, it fell out that he delayed muchlonger than he originally intended, and that it was some half-hour afterdusk when he set forth on his journey home.

There was no likelihood of his losing his way, for it lay quite straightbefore him, and he had walked into town with Nicholas, and back alone,almost every day. So, Miss La Creevy and he shook hands with mutualconfidence, and, being charged with more kind remembrances to Mrs andMiss Nickleby, Smike started off.

At the foot of Ludgate Hill, he turned a little out of the road tosatisfy his curiosity by having a look at Newgate. After staring up atthe sombre walls, from the opposite side of the way, with great careand dread for some minutes, he turned back again into the old track, andwalked briskly through the city; stopping now and then to gaze in at thewindow of some particularly attractive shop, then running for a littleway, then stopping again, and so on, as any other country lad might do.

He had been gazing for a long time through a jeweller's window, wishinghe could take some of the beautiful trinkets home as a present, andimagining what delight they would afford if he could, when the clocksstruck three-quarters past eight; roused by the sound, he hurried on ata very quick pace, and was crossing the corner of a by-street when hefelt himself violently brought to, with a jerk so sudden that he wasobliged to cling to a lamp-post to save himself from falling. At thesame moment, a small boy clung tight round his leg, and a shrill cry of'Here he is, father! Hooray!' vibrated in his ears.

Smike knew that voice too well. He cast his despairing eyes downwardtowards the form from which it had proceeded, and, shuddering from headto foot, looked round. Mr Squeers had hooked him in the coat collar withthe handle of his umbrella, and was hanging on at the other end with allhis might and main. The cry of triumph proceeded from Master Wackford,who, regardless of all his kicks and struggles, clung to him with thetenacity of a bull-dog!

One glance showed him this; and in that one glance the terrifiedcreature became utterly powerless and unable to utter a sound.

'Here's a go!' cried Mr Squeers, gradually coming hand-over-hand downthe umbrella, and only unhooking it when he had got tight hold of thevictim's collar. 'Here's a delicious go! Wackford, my boy, call up oneof them coaches.'

'A coach, father!' cried little Wackford.

'Yes, a coach, sir,' replied Squeers, feasting his eyes upon thecountenance of Smike. 'Damn the expense. Let's have him in a coach.'

'What's he been a doing of?' asked a labourer with a hod of bricks,against whom and a fellow-labourer Mr Squeers had backed, on the firstjerk of the umbrella.

'Everything!' replied Mr Squeers, looking fixedly at his old pupil ina sort of rapturous trance. 'Everything--running away, sir--joining inbloodthirsty attacks upon his master--there's nothing that's bad that hehasn't done. Oh, what a delicious go is this here, good Lord!'

The man looked from Squeers to Smike; but such mental faculties as thepoor fellow possessed, had utterly deserted him. The coach came up;Master Wackford entered; Squeers pushed in his prize, and followingclose at his heels, pulled up the glasses. The coachman mounted hisbox and drove slowly off, leaving the two bricklayers, and an oldapple-woman, and a town-made little boy returning from an eveningschool, who had been the only witnesses of the scene, to meditate uponit at their leisure.

Mr Squeers sat himself down on the opposite seat to the unfortunateSmike, and, planting his hands firmly on his knees, looked at him forsome five minutes, when, seeming to recover from his trance, he uttereda loud laugh, and slapped his old pupil's face several times--taking theright and left sides alternately.

'It isn't a dream!' said Squeers. 'That's real flesh and blood! I knowthe feel of it!' and being quite assured of his good fortune by theseexperiments, Mr Squeers administered a few boxes on the ear, lest theentertainments should seem to partake of sameness, and laughed louderand longer at every one.

'Your mother will be fit to jump out of her skin, my boy, when she hearsof this,' said Squeers to his son.

'Oh, won't she though, father?' replied Master Wackford.

'To think,' said Squeers, 'that you and me should be turning out of astreet, and come upon him at the very nick; and that I should have himtight, at only one cast of the umbrella, as if I had hooked him with agrappling-iron! Ha, ha!'

'Didn't I catch hold of his leg, neither, father?' said little Wackford.

'You did; like a good 'un, my boy,' said Mr Squeers, patting his son'shead, 'and you shall have the best button-over jacket and waistcoatthat the next new boy brings down, as a reward of merit. Mind that. Youalways keep on in the same path, and do them things that you see yourfather do, and when you die you'll go right slap to Heaven and noquestions asked.'

Improving the occasion in these words, Mr Squeers patted his son's headagain, and then patted Smike's--but harder; and inquired in a banteringtone how he found himself by this time.

'I must go home,' replied Smike, looking wildly round.

'To be sure you must. You're about right there,' replied Mr Squeers.'You'll go home very soon, you will. You'll find yourself at thepeaceful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, in something under a week'stime, my young friend; and the next time you get away from there, Igive you leave to keep away. Where's the clothes you run off in, youungrateful robber?' said Mr Squeers, in a severe voice.

Smike glanced at the neat attire which the care of Nicholas had providedfor him; and wrung his hands.

'Do you know that I could hang you up, outside of the Old Bailey, formaking away with them articles of property?' said Squeers. 'Do you knowthat it's a hanging matter--and I an't quite certain whether it an'tan anatomy one besides--to walk off with up'ards of the valley of fivepound from a dwelling-house? Eh? Do you know that? What do you supposewas the worth of them clothes you had? Do you know that that Wellingtonboot you wore, cost eight-and-twenty shillings when it was a pair, andthe shoe seven-and-six? But you came to the right shop for mercy whenyou came to me, and thank your stars that it IS me as has got to serveyou with the article.'

Anybody not in Mr Squeers's confidence would have supposed that he wasquite out of the article in question, instead of having a large stockon hand ready for all comers; nor would the opinion of sceptical personshave undergone much alteration when he followed up the remark by pokingSmike in the chest with the ferrule of his umbrella, and dealing a smartshower of blows, with the ribs of the same instrument, upon his head andshoulders.

'I never threshed a boy in a hackney coach before,' said Mr Squeers,when he stopped to rest. 'There's inconveniency in it, but the noveltygives it a sort of relish, too!'

Poor Smike! He warded off the blows, as well as he could, and now shrunkinto a corner of the coach, with his head resting on his hands, and hiselbows on his knees; he was stunned and stupefied, and had no more ideathat any act of his, would enable him to escape from the all-powerfulSqueers, now that he had no friend to speak to or to advise with, thanhe had had in all the weary years of his Yorkshire life which precededthe arrival of Nicholas.

The journey seemed endless; street after street was entered and leftbehind; and still they went jolting on. At last Mr Squeers began tothrust his head out of the widow every half-minute, and to bawl avariety of directions to the coachman; and after passing, with somedifficulty, through several mean streets which the appearance of thehouses and the bad state of the road denoted to have been recentlybuilt, Mr Squeers suddenly tugged at the check string with all hismight, and cried, 'Stop!'

'What are you pulling a man's arm off for?' said the coachman lookingangrily down.

'That's the house,' replied Squeers. 'The second of them four littlehouses, one story high, with the green shutters. There's brass plate onthe door, with the name of Snawley.'

'Couldn't you say that without wrenching a man's limbs off his body?'inquired the coachman.

'No!' bawled Mr Squeers. 'Say another word, and I'll summons you forhaving a broken winder. Stop!'

Obedient to this direction, the coach stopped at Mr Snawley's door.Mr Snawley may be remembered as the sleek and sanctified gentlemanwho confided two sons (in law) to the parental care of Mr Squeers, asnarrated in the fourth chapter of this history. Mr Snawley's house wason the extreme borders of some new settlements adjoining Somers Town,and Mr Squeers had taken lodgings therein for a short time, as his staywas longer than usual, and the Saracen, having experience of MasterWackford's appetite, had declined to receive him on any other terms thanas a full-grown customer.

'Here we are!' said Squeers, hurrying Smike into the little parlour,where Mr Snawley and his wife were taking a lobster supper. 'Here's thevagrant--the felon--the rebel--the monster of unthankfulness.'

'What! The boy that run away!' cried Snawley, resting his knife and forkupright on the table, and opening his eyes to their full width.

'The very boy', said Squeers, putting his fist close to Smike's nose,and drawing it away again, and repeating the process several times, witha vicious aspect. 'If there wasn't a lady present, I'd fetch him sucha--: never mind, I'll owe it him.'

And here Mr Squeers related how, and in what manner, and when and where,he had picked up the runaway.

'It's clear that there has been a Providence in it, sir,' said MrSnawley, casting down his eyes with an air of humility, and elevatinghis fork, with a bit of lobster on the top of it, towards the ceiling.

'Providence is against him, no doubt,' replied Mr Squeers, scratchinghis nose. 'Of course; that was to be expected. Anybody might have knownthat.'

'Hard-heartedness and evil-doing will never prosper, sir,' said MrSnawley.

'Never was such a thing known,' rejoined Squeers, taking a little rollof notes from his pocket-book, to see that they were all safe.

'I have been, Mr Snawley,' said Mr Squeers, when he had satisfiedhimself upon this point, 'I have been that chap's benefactor, feeder,teacher, and clother. I have been that chap's classical, commercial,mathematical, philosophical, and trigonomical friend. My son--my onlyson, Wackford--has been his brother; Mrs Squeers has been his mother,grandmother, aunt,--ah! and I may say uncle too, all in one. She nevercottoned to anybody, except them two engaging and delightful boys ofyours, as she cottoned to this chap. What's my return? What's come ofmy milk of human kindness? It turns into curds and whey when I look athim.'

'Well it may, sir,' said Mrs Snawley. 'Oh! Well it may, sir.'

'Where has he been all this time?' inquired Snawley. 'Has he been livingwith--?'

'Ah, sir!' interposed Squeers, confronting him again. 'Have you been aliving with that there devilish Nickleby, sir?'

But no threats or cuffs could elicit from Smike one word of reply tothis question; for he had internally resolved that he would ratherperish in the wretched prison to which he was again about to beconsigned, than utter one syllable which could involve his first andtrue friend. He had already called to mind the strict injunctions ofsecrecy as to his past life, which Nicholas had laid upon him when theytravelled from Yorkshire; and a confused and perplexed idea that hisbenefactor might have committed some terrible crime in bringing himaway, which would render him liable to heavy punishment if detected,had contributed, in some degree, to reduce him to his present state ofapathy and terror.

Such were the thoughts--if to visions so imperfect and undefined asthose which wandered through his enfeebled brain, the term can beapplied--which were present to the mind of Smike, and rendered him deafalike to intimidation and persuasion. Finding every effort useless, MrSqueers conducted him to a little back room up-stairs, where he was topass the night; and, taking the precaution of removing his shoes, andcoat and waistcoat, and also of locking the door on the outside, lesthe should muster up sufficient energy to make an attempt at escape, thatworthy gentleman left him to his meditations.

What those meditations were, and how the poor creature's heart sunkwithin him when he thought--when did he, for a moment, cease tothink?--of his late home, and the dear friends and familiar faces withwhich it was associated, cannot be told. To prepare the mind for sucha heavy sleep, its growth must be stopped by rigour and cruelty inchildhood; there must be years of misery and suffering, lightened by noray of hope; the chords of the heart, which beat a quick response to thevoice of gentleness and affection, must have rusted and broken in theirsecret places, and bear the lingering echo of no old word of love orkindness. Gloomy, indeed, must have been the short day, and dull thelong, long twilight, preceding such a night of intellect as his.

There were voices which would have roused him, even then; but theirwelcome tones could not penetrate there; and he crept to bed the samelistless, hopeless, blighted creature, that Nicholas had first found himat the Yorkshire school.