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There are some men who, living with the one object of enrichingthemselves, no matter by what means, and being perfectly conscious ofthe baseness and rascality of the means which they will use every daytowards this end, affect nevertheless--even to themselves--a high toneof moral rectitude, and shake their heads and sigh over the depravity ofthe world. Some of the craftiest scoundrels that ever walked this earth,or rather--for walking implies, at least, an erect position and thebearing of a man--that ever crawled and crept through life by itsdirtiest and narrowest ways, will gravely jot down in diaries theevents of every day, and keep a regular debtor and creditor account withHeaven, which shall always show a floating balance in their own favour.Whether this is a gratuitous (the only gratuitous) part of the falsehoodand trickery of such men's lives, or whether they really hope to cheatHeaven itself, and lay up treasure in the next world by the same processwhich has enabled them to lay up treasure in this--not to questionhow it is, so it is. And, doubtless, such book-keeping (like certainautobiographies which have enlightened the world) cannot fail to proveserviceable, in the one respect of sparing the recording Angel some timeand labour.

Ralph Nickleby was not a man of this stamp. Stern, unyielding, dogged,and impenetrable, Ralph cared for nothing in life, or beyond it, savethe gratification of two passions, avarice, the first and predominantappetite of his nature, and hatred, the second. Affecting to considerhimself but a type of all humanity, he was at little pains to concealhis true character from the world in general, and in his own heart heexulted over and cherished every bad design as it had birth. The onlyscriptural admonition that Ralph Nickleby heeded, in the letter, was'know thyself.' He knew himself well, and choosing to imagine that allmankind were cast in the same mould, hated them; for, though no manhates himself, the coldest among us having too much self-love for that,yet most men unconsciously judge the world from themselves, and it willbe very generally found that those who sneer habitually at humannature, and affect to despise it, are among its worst and least pleasantsamples.

But the present business of these adventures is with Ralph himself, whostood regarding Newman Noggs with a heavy frown, while that worthy tookoff his fingerless gloves, and spreading them carefully on the palm ofhis left hand, and flattening them with his right to take the creasesout, proceeded to roll them up with an absent air as if he were utterlyregardless of all things else, in the deep interest of the ceremonial.

'Gone out of town!' said Ralph, slowly. 'A mistake of yours. Go backagain.'

'No mistake,' returned Newman. 'Not even going; gone.'

'Has he turned girl or baby?' muttered Ralph, with a fretful gesture.

'I don't know,' said Newman, 'but he's gone.'

The repetition of the word 'gone' seemed to afford Newman Noggsinexpressible delight, in proportion as it annoyed Ralph Nickleby. Heuttered the word with a full round emphasis, dwelling upon it as longas he decently could, and when he could hold out no longer withoutattracting observation, stood gasping it to himself as if even that werea satisfaction.

'And WHERE has he gone?' said Ralph.

'France,' replied Newman. 'Danger of another attack of erysipelas--aworse attack--in the head. So the doctors ordered him off. And he'sgone.'

'And Lord Frederick--?' began Ralph.

'He's gone too,' replied Newman.

'And he carries his drubbing with him, does he?' said Ralph, turningaway; 'pockets his bruises, and sneaks off without the retaliation of aword, or seeking the smallest reparation!'

'He's too ill,' said Newman.

'Too ill!' repeated Ralph. 'Why I would have it if I were dying; in thatcase I should only be the more determined to have it, and that withoutdelay--I mean if I were he. But he's too ill! Poor Sir Mulberry! Tooill!'

Uttering these words with supreme contempt and great irritation ofmanner, Ralph signed hastily to Newman to leave the room; and throwinghimself into his chair, beat his foot impatiently upon the ground.

'There is some spell about that boy,' said Ralph, grinding his teeth.'Circumstances conspire to help him. Talk of fortune's favours! What iseven money to such Devil's luck as this?'

He thrust his hands impatiently into his pockets, but notwithstandinghis previous reflection there was some consolation there, for his facerelaxed a little; and although there was still a deep frown upon thecontracted brow, it was one of calculation, and not of disappointment.

'This Hawk will come back, however,' muttered Ralph; 'and if I know theman (and I should by this time) his wrath will have lost nothing of itsviolence in the meanwhile. Obliged to live in retirement--themonotony of a sick-room to a man of his habits--no life--no drink--noplay--nothing that he likes and lives by. He is not likely to forgethis obligations to the cause of all this. Few men would; but he of allothers? No, no!'

He smiled and shook his head, and resting his chin upon his hand, fell amusing, and smiled again. After a time he rose and rang the bell.

'That Mr Squeers; has he been here?' said Ralph.

'He was here last night. I left him here when I went home,' returnedNewman.

'I know that, fool, do I not?' said Ralph, irascibly. 'Has he been heresince? Was he here this morning?'

'No,' bawled Newman, in a very loud key.

'If he comes while I am out--he is pretty sure to be here by ninetonight--let him wait. And if there's another man with him, as therewill be--perhaps,' said Ralph, checking himself, 'let him wait too.'

'Let 'em both wait?' said Newman.

'Ay,' replied Ralph, turning upon him with an angry look. 'Help me onwith this spencer, and don't repeat after me, like a croaking parrot.'

'I wish I was a parrot,' Newman, sulkily.

'I wish you were,' rejoined Ralph, drawing his spencer on; 'I'd havewrung your neck long ago.'

Newman returned no answer to this compliment, but looked over Ralph'sshoulder for an instant, (he was adjusting the collar of the spencerbehind, just then,) as if he were strongly disposed to tweak him by thenose. Meeting Ralph's eye, however, he suddenly recalled his wanderingfingers, and rubbed his own red nose with a vehemence quite astonishing.

Bestowing no further notice upon his eccentric follower than athreatening look, and an admonition to be careful and make no mistake,Ralph took his hat and gloves, and walked out.

He appeared to have a very extraordinary and miscellaneous connection,and very odd calls he made, some at great rich houses, and some at smallpoor ones, but all upon one subject: money. His face was a talisman tothe porters and servants of his more dashing clients, and procured himready admission, though he trudged on foot, and others, who were denied,rattled to the door in carriages. Here he was all softness and cringingcivility; his step so light, that it scarcely produced a sound uponthe thick carpets; his voice so soft that it was not audible beyond theperson to whom it was addressed. But in the poorer habitations Ralphwas another man; his boots creaked upon the passage floor as he walkedboldly in; his voice was harsh and loud as he demanded the money thatwas overdue; his threats were coarse and angry. With another class ofcustomers, Ralph was again another man. These were attorneys of morethan doubtful reputation, who helped him to new business, or raisedfresh profits upon old. With them Ralph was familiar and jocose,humorous upon the topics of the day, and especially pleasant uponbankruptcies and pecuniary difficulties that made good for trade. Inshort, it would have been difficult to have recognised the same manunder these various aspects, but for the bulky leather case full ofbills and notes which he drew from his pocket at every house, and theconstant repetition of the same complaint, (varied only in tone andstyle of delivery,) that the world thought him rich, and that perhapshe might be if he had his own; but there was no getting money in when itwas once out, either principal or interest, and it was a hard matter tolive; even to live from day to day.

It was evening before a long round of such visits (interrupted only bya scanty dinner at an eating-house) terminated at Pimlico, and Ralphwalked along St James's Park, on his way home.

There were some deep schemes in his head, as the puckered brow andfirmly-set mouth would have abundantly testified, even if they had beenunaccompanied by a complete indifference to, or unconsciousness of, theobjects about him. So complete was his abstraction, however, thatRalph, usually as quick-sighted as any man, did not observe that he wasfollowed by a shambling figure, which at one time stole behind him withnoiseless footsteps, at another crept a few paces before him, and atanother glided along by his side; at all times regarding him with an eyeso keen, and a look so eager and attentive, that it was more like theexpression of an intrusive face in some powerful picture or stronglymarked dream, than the scrutiny even of a most interested and anxiousobserver.

The sky had been lowering and dark for some time, and the commencementof a violent storm of rain drove Ralph for shelter to a tree. He wasleaning against it with folded arms, still buried in thought, when,happening to raise his eyes, he suddenly met those of a man who,creeping round the trunk, peered into his face with a searching look.There was something in the usurer's expression at the moment, which theman appeared to remember well, for it decided him; and stepping close upto Ralph, he pronounced his name.

Astonished for the moment, Ralph fell back a couple of paces andsurveyed him from head to foot. A spare, dark, withered man, of abouthis own age, with a stooping body, and a very sinister face renderedmore ill-favoured by hollow and hungry cheeks, deeply sunburnt, andthick black eyebrows, blacker in contrast with the perfect whiteness ofhis hair; roughly clothed in shabby garments, of a strange and uncouthmake; and having about him an indefinable manner of depression anddegradation--this, for a moment, was all he saw. But he looked again,and the face and person seemed gradually to grow less strange; to changeas he looked, to subside and soften into lineaments that were familiar,until at last they resolved themselves, as if by some strange opticalillusion, into those of one whom he had known for many years, andforgotten and lost sight of for nearly as many more.

The man saw that the recognition was mutual, and beckoning to Ralph totake his former place under the tree, and not to stand in the fallingrain, of which, in his first surprise, he had been quite regardless,addressed him in a hoarse, faint tone.

'You would hardly have known me from my voice, I suppose, Mr Nickleby?'he said.

'No,' returned Ralph, bending a severe look upon him. 'Though there issomething in that, that I remember now.'

'There is little in me that you can call to mind as having been thereeight years ago, I dare say?' observed the other.

'Quite enough,' said Ralph, carelessly, and averting his face. 'Morethan enough.'

'If I had remained in doubt about YOU, Mr Nickleby,' said the other,'this reception, and YOUR manner, would have decided me very soon.'

'Did you expect any other?' asked Ralph, sharply.

'No!' said the man.

'You were right,' retorted Ralph; 'and as you feel no surprise, needexpress none.'

'Mr Nickleby,' said the man, bluntly, after a brief pause, during whichhe had seemed to struggle with an inclination to answer him by somereproach, 'will you hear a few words that I have to say?'

'I am obliged to wait here till the rain holds a little,' said Ralph,looking abroad. 'If you talk, sir, I shall not put my fingers in myears, though your talking may have as much effect as if I did.'

'I was once in your confidence--' thus his companion began. Ralph lookedround, and smiled involuntarily.

'Well,' said the other, 'as much in your confidence as you ever chose tolet anybody be.'

'Ah!' rejoined Ralph, folding his arms; 'that's another thing, quiteanother thing.'

'Don't let us play upon words, Mr Nickleby, in the name of humanity.'

'Of what?' said Ralph.

'Of humanity,' replied the other, sternly. 'I am hungry and in want. Ifthe change that you must see in me after so long an absence--must see,for I, upon whom it has come by slow and hard degrees, see it and knowit well--will not move you to pity, let the knowledge that bread; notthe daily bread of the Lord's Prayer, which, as it is offered up incities like this, is understood to include half the luxuries of theworld for the rich, and just as much coarse food as will support lifefor the poor--not that, but bread, a crust of dry hard bread, is beyondmy reach today--let that have some weight with you, if nothing elsehas.'

'If this is the usual form in which you beg, sir,' said Ralph, 'you havestudied your part well; but if you will take advice from one who knowssomething of the world and its ways, I should recommend a lower tone; alittle lower tone, or you stand a fair chance of being starved in goodearnest.'

As he said this, Ralph clenched his left wrist tightly with his righthand, and inclining his head a little on one side and dropping his chinupon his breast, looked at him whom he addressed with a frowning, sullenface. The very picture of a man whom nothing could move or soften.

'Yesterday was my first day in London,' said the old man, glancing athis travel-stained dress and worn shoes.

'It would have been better for you, I think, if it had been your lastalso,' replied Ralph.

'I have been seeking you these two days, where I thought you were mostlikely to be found,' resumed the other more humbly, 'and I met you hereat last, when I had almost given up the hope of encountering you, MrNickleby.'

He seemed to wait for some reply, but Ralph giving him none, hecontinued:

'I am a most miserable and wretched outcast, nearly sixty years old, andas destitute and helpless as a child of six.'

'I am sixty years old, too,' replied Ralph, 'and am neither destitutenor helpless. Work. Don't make fine play-acting speeches about bread,but earn it.'

'How?' cried the other. 'Where? Show me the means. Will you give them tome--will you?'

'I did once,' replied Ralph, composedly; 'you scarcely need ask mewhether I will again.'

'It's twenty years ago, or more,' said the man, in a suppressed voice,'since you and I fell out. You remember that? I claimed a share in theprofits of some business I brought to you, and, as I persisted, youarrested me for an old advance of ten pounds, odd shillings, includinginterest at fifty per cent, or so.'

'I remember something of it,' replied Ralph, carelessly. 'What then?'

'That didn't part us,' said the man. 'I made submission, being on thewrong side of the bolts and bars; and as you were not the made man thenthat you are now, you were glad enough to take back a clerk who wasn'tover nice, and who knew something of the trade you drove.'

'You begged and prayed, and I consented,' returned Ralph. 'That was kindof me. Perhaps I did want you. I forget. I should think I did, or youwould have begged in vain. You were useful; not too honest, not toodelicate, not too nice of hand or heart; but useful.'

'Useful, indeed!' said the man. 'Come. You had pinched and ground medown for some years before that, but I had served you faithfully up tothat time, in spite of all your dog's usage. Had I?'

Ralph made no reply.

'Had I?' said the man again.

'You had had your wages,' rejoined Ralph, 'and had done your work. Westood on equal ground so far, and could both cry quits.'

'Then, but not afterwards,' said the other.

'Not afterwards, certainly, nor even then, for (as you have just said)you owed me money, and do still,' replied Ralph.

'That's not all,' said the man, eagerly. 'That's not all. Mark that. Ididn't forget that old sore, trust me. Partly in remembrance of that,and partly in the hope of making money someday by the scheme, I tookadvantage of my position about you, and possessed myself of a hold uponyou, which you would give half of all you have to know, and never canknow but through me. I left you--long after that time, remember--and,for some poor trickery that came within the law, but was nothing to whatyou money-makers daily practise just outside its bounds, was sent awaya convict for seven years. I have returned what you see me. Now, MrNickleby,' said the man, with a strange mixture of humility and sense ofpower, 'what help and assistance will you give me; what bribe, to speakout plainly? My expectations are not monstrous, but I must live, and tolive I must eat and drink. Money is on your side, and hunger and thirston mine. You may drive an easy bargain.'

'Is that all?' said Ralph, still eyeing his companion with the samesteady look, and moving nothing but his lips.

'It depends on you, Mr Nickleby, whether that's all or not,' was therejoinder.

'Why then, harkye, Mr--, I don't know by what name I am to call you,'said Ralph.

'By my old one, if you like.'

'Why then, harkye, Mr Brooker,' said Ralph, in his harshest accents,'and don't expect to draw another speech from me. Harkye, sir. I knowyou of old for a ready scoundrel, but you never had a stout heart; andhard work, with (maybe) chains upon those legs of yours, and shorterfood than when I "pinched" and "ground" you, has blunted your wits, oryou would not come with such a tale as this to me. You a hold upon me!Keep it, or publish it to the world, if you like.'

'I can't do that,' interposed Brooker. 'That wouldn't serve me.'

'Wouldn't it?' said Ralph. 'It will serve you as much as bringing it tome, I promise you. To be plain with you, I am a careful man, and know myaffairs thoroughly. I know the world, and the world knows me. Whateveryou gleaned, or heard, or saw, when you served me, the world knows andmagnifies already. You could tell it nothing that would surprise it,unless, indeed, it redounded to my credit or honour, and then it wouldscout you for a liar. And yet I don't find business slack, or clientsscrupulous. Quite the contrary. I am reviled or threatened every day byone man or another,' said Ralph; 'but things roll on just the same, andI don't grow poorer either.'

'I neither revile nor threaten,' rejoined the man. 'I can tell you ofwhat you have lost by my act, what I only can restore, and what, if Idie without restoring, dies with me, and never can be regained.'

'I tell my money pretty accurately, and generally keep it in my owncustody,' said Ralph. 'I look sharply after most men that I deal with,and most of all I looked sharply after you. You are welcome to all youhave kept from me.'

'Are those of your own name dear to you?' said the man emphatically. 'Ifthey are--'

'They are not,' returned Ralph, exasperated at this perseverance, andthe thought of Nicholas, which the last question awakened. 'They arenot. If you had come as a common beggar, I might have thrown a sixpenceto you in remembrance of the clever knave you used to be; but since youtry to palm these stale tricks upon one you might have known better,I'll not part with a halfpenny--nor would I to save you from rotting.And remember this, 'scape-gallows,' said Ralph, menacing him withhis hand, 'that if we meet again, and you so much as notice me by onebegging gesture, you shall see the inside of a jail once more, andtighten this hold upon me in intervals of the hard labour that vagabondsare put to. There's my answer to your trash. Take it.'

With a disdainful scowl at the object of his anger, who met his eyebut uttered not a word, Ralph walked away at his usual pace, withoutmanifesting the slightest curiosity to see what became of his latecompanion, or indeed once looking behind him. The man remained on thesame spot with his eyes fixed upon his retreating figure until it waslost to view, and then drawing his arm about his chest, as if the dampand lack of food struck coldly to him, lingered with slouching steps bythe wayside, and begged of those who passed along.

Ralph, in no-wise moved by what had lately passed, further than as hehad already expressed himself, walked deliberately on, and turning outof the Park and leaving Golden Square on his right, took his way throughsome streets at the west end of the town until he arrived in thatparticular one in which stood the residence of Madame Mantalini. Thename of that lady no longer appeared on the flaming door-plate, that ofMiss Knag being substituted in its stead; but the bonnets and dresseswere still dimly visible in the first-floor windows by the decayinglight of a summer's evening, and excepting this ostensible alteration inthe proprietorship, the establishment wore its old appearance.

'Humph!' muttered Ralph, drawing his hand across his mouth with aconnoisseur-like air, and surveying the house from top to bottom; 'thesepeople look pretty well. They can't last long; but if I know of theirgoing in good time, I am safe, and a fair profit too. I must keep themclosely in view; that's all.'

So, nodding his head very complacently, Ralph was leaving the spot, whenhis quick ear caught the sound of a confused noise and hubbub of voices,mingled with a great running up and down stairs, in the very housewhich had been the subject of his scrutiny; and while he was hesitatingwhether to knock at the door or listen at the keyhole a little longer, afemale servant of Madame Mantalini's (whom he had often seen) openedit abruptly and bounced out, with her blue cap-ribbons streaming in theair.

'Hallo here. Stop!' cried Ralph. 'What's the matter? Here am I. Didn'tyou hear me knock?'

'Oh! Mr Nickleby, sir,' said the girl. 'Go up, for the love of Gracious.Master's been and done it again.'

'Done what?' said Ralph, tartly; 'what d'ye mean?'

'I knew he would if he was drove to it,' cried the girl. 'I said so allalong.'

'Come here, you silly wench,' said Ralph, catching her by the wrist;'and don't carry family matters to the neighbours, destroying the creditof the establishment. Come here; do you hear me, girl?'

Without any further expostulation, he led or rather pulled thefrightened handmaid into the house, and shut the door; then bidding herwalk upstairs before him, followed without more ceremony.

Guided by the noise of a great many voices all talking together, andpassing the girl in his impatience, before they had ascended many steps,Ralph quickly reached the private sitting-room, when he was ratheramazed by the confused and inexplicable scene in which he suddenly foundhimself.

There were all the young-lady workers, some with bonnets and somewithout, in various attitudes expressive of alarm and consternation;some gathered round Madame Mantalini, who was in tears upon one chair;and others round Miss Knag, who was in opposition tears upon another;and others round Mr Mantalini, who was perhaps the most striking figurein the whole group, for Mr Mantalini's legs were extended at full lengthupon the floor, and his head and shoulders were supported by a verytall footman, who didn't seem to know what to do with them, and MrMantalini's eyes were closed, and his face was pale and his hair wascomparatively straight, and his whiskers and moustache were limp, andhis teeth were clenched, and he had a little bottle in his right hand,and a little tea-spoon in his left; and his hands, arms, legs, andshoulders, were all stiff and powerless. And yet Madame Mantalini wasnot weeping upon the body, but was scolding violently upon her chair;and all this amidst a clamour of tongues perfectly deafening, and whichreally appeared to have driven the unfortunate footman to the utmostverge of distraction.

'What is the matter here?' said Ralph, pressing forward.

At this inquiry, the clamour was increased twenty-fold, and anastounding string of such shrill contradictions as 'He's poisonedhimself'--'He hasn't'--'Send for a doctor'--'Don't'--'He's dying'--'Heisn't, he's only pretending'--with various other cries, poured forthwith bewildering volubility, until Madame Mantalini was seen to addressherself to Ralph, when female curiosity to know what she would say,prevailed, and, as if by general consent, a dead silence, unbroken by asingle whisper, instantaneously succeeded.

'Mr Nickleby,' said Madame Mantalini; 'by what chance you came here, Idon't know.'

Here a gurgling voice was heard to ejaculate, as part of the wanderingsof a sick man, the words 'Demnition sweetness!' but nobody heededthem except the footman, who, being startled to hear such awful tonesproceeding, as it were, from between his very fingers, dropped hismaster's head upon the floor with a pretty loud crash, and then, withoutan effort to lift it up, gazed upon the bystanders, as if he had donesomething rather clever than otherwise.

'I will, however,' continued Madame Mantalini, drying her eyes, andspeaking with great indignation, 'say before you, and before everybodyhere, for the first time, and once for all, that I never will supplythat man's extravagances and viciousness again. I have been a dupe and afool to him long enough. In future, he shall support himself if hecan, and then he may spend what money he pleases, upon whom and how hepleases; but it shall not be mine, and therefore you had better pausebefore you trust him further.'

Thereupon Madame Mantalini, quite unmoved by some most patheticlamentations on the part of her husband, that the apothecary had notmixed the prussic acid strong enough, and that he must take anotherbottle or two to finish the work he had in hand, entered into acatalogue of that amiable gentleman's gallantries, deceptions,extravagances, and infidelities (especially the last), winding up witha protest against being supposed to entertain the smallest remnantof regard for him; and adducing, in proof of the altered state of heraffections, the circumstance of his having poisoned himself in privateno less than six times within the last fortnight, and her not havingonce interfered by word or deed to save his life.

'And I insist on being separated and left to myself,' said MadameMantalini, sobbing. 'If he dares to refuse me a separation, I'll haveone in law--I can--and I hope this will be a warning to all girls whohave seen this disgraceful exhibition.'

Miss Knag, who was unquestionably the oldest girl in company, said withgreat solemnity, that it would be a warning to HER, and so did theyoung ladies generally, with the exception of one or two who appeared toentertain some doubts whether such whispers could do wrong.

'Why do you say all this before so many listeners?' said Ralph, in a lowvoice. 'You know you are not in earnest.'

'I AM in earnest,' replied Madame Mantalini, aloud, and retreatingtowards Miss Knag.

'Well, but consider,' reasoned Ralph, who had a great interest in thematter. 'It would be well to reflect. A married woman has no property.'

'Not a solitary single individual dem, my soul,' and Mr Mantalini,raising himself upon his elbow.

'I am quite aware of that,' retorted Madame Mantalini, tossing her head;'and I have none. The business, the stock, this house, and everything init, all belong to Miss Knag.'

'That's quite true, Madame Mantalini,' said Miss Knag, with whom herlate employer had secretly come to an amicable understanding on thispoint. 'Very true, indeed, Madame Mantalini--hem--very true. And I neverwas more glad in all my life, that I had strength of mind to resistmatrimonial offers, no matter how advantageous, than I am when I thinkof my present position as compared with your most unfortunate and mostundeserved one, Madame Mantalini.'

'Demmit!' cried Mr Mantalini, turning his head towards his wife. 'Willit not slap and pinch the envious dowager, that dares to reflect uponits own delicious?'

But the day of Mr Mantalini's blandishments had departed. 'MissKnag, sir,' said his wife, 'is my particular friend;' and although MrMantalini leered till his eyes seemed in danger of never coming back totheir right places again, Madame Mantalini showed no signs of softening.

To do the excellent Miss Knag justice, she had been mainly instrumentalin bringing about this altered state of things, for, finding by dailyexperience, that there was no chance of the business thriving, or evencontinuing to exist, while Mr Mantalini had any hand in the expenditure,and having now a considerable interest in its well-doing, she hadsedulously applied herself to the investigation of some little mattersconnected with that gentleman's private character, which she had so wellelucidated, and artfully imparted to Madame Mantalini, as to open hereyes more effectually than the closest and most philosophical reasoningcould have done in a series of years. To which end, the accidentaldiscovery by Miss Knag of some tender correspondence, in which MadameMantalini was described as 'old' and 'ordinary,' had most providentiallycontributed.

However, notwithstanding her firmness, Madame Mantalini wept verypiteously; and as she leant upon Miss Knag, and signed towards the door,that young lady and all the other young ladies with sympathising faces,proceeded to bear her out.

'Nickleby,' said Mr Mantalini in tears, 'you have been made a witnessto this demnition cruelty, on the part of the demdest enslaver andcaptivator that never was, oh dem! I forgive that woman.'

'Forgive!' repeated Madame Mantalini, angrily.

'I do forgive her, Nickleby,' said Mr Mantalini. 'You will blame me, theworld will blame me, the women will blame me; everybody will laugh,and scoff, and smile, and grin most demnebly. They will say, "She had ablessing. She did not know it. He was too weak; he was too good; he wasa dem'd fine fellow, but he loved too strong; he could not bear her tobe cross, and call him wicked names. It was a dem'd case, there neverwas a demder." But I forgive her.'

With this affecting speech Mr Mantalini fell down again very flat, andlay to all appearance without sense or motion, until all the femaleshad left the room, when he came cautiously into a sitting posture, andconfronted Ralph with a very blank face, and the little bottle still inone hand and the tea-spoon in the other.

'You may put away those fooleries now, and live by your wits again,'said Ralph, coolly putting on his hat.

'Demmit, Nickleby, you're not serious?'

'I seldom joke,' said Ralph. 'Good-night.'

'No, but Nickleby--' said Mantalini.

'I am wrong, perhaps,' rejoined Ralph. 'I hope so. You should know best.Good-night.'

Affecting not to hear his entreaties that he would stay and advise withhim, Ralph left the crest-fallen Mr Mantalini to his meditations, andleft the house quietly.

'Oho!' he said, 'sets the wind that way so soon? Half knave and halffool, and detected in both characters? I think your day is over, sir.'

As he said this, he made some memorandum in his pocket-book in which MrMantalini's name figured conspicuously, and finding by his watch that itwas between nine and ten o'clock, made all speed home.

'Are they here?' was the first question he asked of Newman.

Newman nodded. 'Been here half an hour.'

'Two of them? One a fat sleek man?'

'Ay,' said Newman. 'In your room now.'

'Good,' rejoined Ralph. 'Get me a coach.'

'A coach! What, you--going to--eh?' stammered Newman.

Ralph angrily repeated his orders, and Noggs, who might well have beenexcused for wondering at such an unusual and extraordinary circumstance(for he had never seen Ralph in a coach in his life) departed on hiserrand, and presently returned with the conveyance.

Into it went Mr Squeers, and Ralph, and the third man, whom Newman Noggshad never seen. Newman stood upon the door-step to see them off, nottroubling himself to wonder where or upon what business they were going,until he chanced by mere accident to hear Ralph name the address whitherthe coachman was to drive.

Quick as lightning and in a state of the most extreme wonder, Newmandarted into his little office for his hat, and limped after the coachas if with the intention of getting up behind; but in this design hewas balked, for it had too much the start of him and was soon hopelesslyahead, leaving him gaping in the empty street.

'I don't know though,' said Noggs, stopping for breath, 'any good thatI could have done by going too. He would have seen me if I had. DriveTHERE! What can come of this? If I had only known it yesterday I couldhave told--drive there! There's mischief in it. There must be.'

His reflections were interrupted by a grey-haired man of a veryremarkable, though far from prepossessing appearance, who, comingstealthily towards him, solicited relief.

Newman, still cogitating deeply, turned away; but the man followed him,and pressed him with such a tale of misery that Newman (who might havebeen considered a hopeless person to beg from, and who had little enoughto give) looked into his hat for some halfpence which he usually keptscrewed up, when he had any, in a corner of his pocket-handkerchief.

While he was busily untwisting the knot with his teeth, the man saidsomething which attracted his attention; whatever that something was, itled to something else, and in the end he and Newman walked away side byside--the strange man talking earnestly, and Newman listening.