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With that settled resolution, and steadiness of purpose to which extremecircumstances so often give birth, acting upon far less excitable andmore sluggish temperaments than that which was the lot of MadelineBray's admirer, Nicholas started, at dawn of day, from the restlesscouch which no sleep had visited on the previous night, and preparedto make that last appeal, by whose slight and fragile thread her onlyremaining hope of escape depended.

Although, to restless and ardent minds, morning may be the fittingseason for exertion and activity, it is not always at that time thathope is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant. In tryingand doubtful positions, youth, custom, a steady contemplation ofthe difficulties which surround us, and a familiarity with them,imperceptibly diminish our apprehensions and beget comparativeindifference, if not a vague and reckless confidence in some relief,the means or nature of which we care not to foresee. But when we come,fresh, upon such things in the morning, with that dark and silent gapbetween us and yesterday; with every link in the brittle chain ofhope, to rivet afresh; our hot enthusiasm subdued, and cool calm reasonsubstituted in its stead; doubt and misgiving revive. As the travellersees farthest by day, and becomes aware of rugged mountains andtrackless plains which the friendly darkness had shrouded from his sightand mind together, so, the wayfarer in the toilsome path of human lifesees, with each returning sun, some new obstacle to surmount, some newheight to be attained. Distances stretch out before him which, lastnight, were scarcely taken into account, and the light which gildsall nature with its cheerful beams, seems but to shine upon the wearyobstacles that yet lie strewn between him and the grave.

So thought Nicholas, when, with the impatience natural to a situationlike his, he softly left the house, and, feeling as though to remain inbed were to lose most precious time, and to be up and stirring werein some way to promote the end he had in view, wandered into London;perfectly well knowing that for hours to come he could not obtain speechwith Madeline, and could do nothing but wish the intervening time away.

And, even now, as he paced the streets, and listlessly looked round onthe gradually increasing bustle and preparation for the day, everythingappeared to yield him some new occasion for despondency. Last night, thesacrifice of a young, affectionate, and beautiful creature, to sucha wretch, and in such a cause, had seemed a thing too monstrous tosucceed; and the warmer he grew, the more confident he felt that someinterposition must save her from his clutches. But now, when he thoughthow regularly things went on, from day to day, in the same unvaryinground; how youth and beauty died, and ugly griping age lived totteringon; how crafty avarice grew rich, and manly honest hearts were poor andsad; how few they were who tenanted the stately houses, and how many ofthose who lay in noisome pens, or rose each day and laid them down eachnight, and lived and died, father and son, mother and child, race uponrace, and generation upon generation, without a home to shelter them orthe energies of one single man directed to their aid; how, in seeking,not a luxurious and splendid life, but the bare means of a most wretchedand inadequate subsistence, there were women and children in that onetown, divided into classes, numbered and estimated as regularly as thenoble families and folks of great degree, and reared from infancy todrive most criminal and dreadful trades; how ignorance was punished andnever taught; how jail-doors gaped, and gallows loomed, for thousandsurged towards them by circumstances darkly curtaining their verycradles' heads, and but for which they might have earned their honestbread and lived in peace; how many died in soul, and had no chance oflife; how many who could scarcely go astray, be they vicious as theywould, turned haughtily from the crushed and stricken wretch who couldscarce do otherwise, and who would have been a greater wonder had heor she done well, than even they had they done ill; how much injustice,misery, and wrong, there was, and yet how the world rolled on, from yearto year, alike careless and indifferent, and no man seeking to remedy orredress it; when he thought of all this, and selected from the mass theone slight case on which his thoughts were bent, he felt, indeed, thatthere was little ground for hope, and little reason why it should notform an atom in the huge aggregate of distress and sorrow, and add onesmall and unimportant unit to swell the great amount.

But youth is not prone to contemplate the darkest side of a pictureit can shift at will. By dint of reflecting on what he had to do, andreviving the train of thought which night had interrupted, Nicholasgradually summoned up his utmost energy, and when the morning wassufficiently advanced for his purpose, had no thought but that of usingit to the best advantage. A hasty breakfast taken, and such affairs ofbusiness as required prompt attention disposed of, he directed his stepsto the residence of Madeline Bray: whither he lost no time in arriving.

It had occurred to him that, very possibly, the young lady might bedenied, although to him she never had been; and he was still ponderingupon the surest method of obtaining access to her in that case,when, coming to the door of the house, he found it had been leftajar--probably by the last person who had gone out. The occasion wasnot one upon which to observe the nicest ceremony; therefore, availinghimself of this advantage, Nicholas walked gently upstairs and knockedat the door of the room into which he had been accustomed to be shown.Receiving permission to enter, from some person on the other side, heopened the door and walked in.

Bray and his daughter were sitting there alone. It was nearly threeweeks since he had seen her last, but there was a change in the lovelygirl before him which told Nicholas, in startling terms, how much mentalsuffering had been compressed into that short time. There are no wordswhich can express, nothing with which can be compared, the perfectpallor, the clear transparent whiteness, of the beautiful face whichturned towards him when he entered. Her hair was a rich deep brown,but shading that face, and straying upon a neck that rivalled it inwhiteness, it seemed by the strong contrast raven black. Something ofwildness and restlessness there was in the dark eye, but there was thesame patient look, the same expression of gentle mournfulness which hewell remembered, and no trace of a single tear. Most beautiful--morebeautiful, perhaps, than ever--there was something in her face whichquite unmanned him, and appeared far more touching than the wildestagony of grief. It was not merely calm and composed, but fixed andrigid, as though the violent effort which had summoned that composurebeneath her father's eye, while it mastered all other thoughts, hadprevented even the momentary expression they had communicated to thefeatures from subsiding, and had fastened it there, as an evidence ofits triumph.

The father sat opposite to her; not looking directly in her face, butglancing at her, as he talked with a gay air which ill disguisedthe anxiety of his thoughts. The drawing materials were not on theiraccustomed table, nor were any of the other tokens of her usualoccupations to be seen. The little vases which Nicholas had alwaysseen filled with fresh flowers were empty, or supplied only with a fewwithered stalks and leaves. The bird was silent. The cloth that coveredhis cage at night was not removed. His mistress had forgotten him.

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

'Now, sir, what do you want? Name your errand here, quickly, if youplease, for my daughter and I are busily engaged with other and moreimportant matters than those you come about. Come, sir, address yourselfto your business at once.'

Nicholas could very well discern that the irritability and impatience ofthis speech were assumed, and that Bray, in his heart, was rejoiced atany interruption which promised to engage the attention of his daughter.He bent his eyes involuntarily upon the father as he spoke, and markedhis uneasiness; for he coloured and turned his head away.

The device, however, so far as it was a device for causing Madelineto interfere, was successful. She rose, and advancing towards Nicholaspaused half-way, and stretched out her hand as expecting a letter.

'Madeline,' said her father impatiently, 'my love, what are you doing?'

'Miss Bray expects an inclosure perhaps,' said Nicholas, speaking verydistinctly, and with an emphasis she could scarcely misunderstand. 'Myemployer is absent from England, or I should have brought a letter withme. I hope she will give me time--a little time. I ask a very littletime.'

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

'A--a trifle, I believe,' returned Madeline, faintly.

'I suppose you think now,' said Bray, wheeling his chair round andconfronting Nicholas, 'that, but for such pitiful sums as you bringhere, because my daughter has chosen to employ her time as she has, weshould starve?'

'I have not thought about it,' returned Nicholas.

'You have not thought about it!' sneered the invalid. 'You know you HAVEthought about it, and have thought that, and think so every time youcome here. Do you suppose, young man, that I don't know what littlepurse-proud tradesmen are, when, through some fortunate circumstances,they get the upper hand for a brief day--or think they get the upperhand--of a gentleman?'

'My business,' said Nicholas respectfully, 'is with a lady.'

'With a gentleman's daughter, sir,' returned the sick man, 'and thepettifogging spirit is the same. But perhaps you bring ORDERS, eh? Haveyou any fresh ORDERS for my daughter, sir?'

Nicholas understood the tone of triumph in which this interrogatory wasput; but remembering the necessity of supporting his assumed character,produced a scrap of paper purporting to contain a list of some subjectsfor drawings which his employer desired to have executed; and with whichhe had prepared himself in case of any such contingency.

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

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

'Then you may tell your master,' said Bray, tossing the paper backagain, with an exulting smile, 'that my daughter, Miss Madeline Bray,condescends to employ herself no longer in such labours as these; thatshe is not at his beck and call, as he supposes her to be; that we don'tlive upon his money, as he flatters himself we do; that he may givewhatever he owes us, to the first beggar that passes his shop, or add itto his own profits next time he calculates them; and that he may go tothe devil for me. That's my acknowledgment of his orders, sir!'

'And this is the independence of a man who sells his daughter as he hassold that weeping girl!' thought Nicholas.

The father was too much absorbed with his own exultation to mark thelook of scorn which, for an instant, Nicholas could not have suppressedhad he been upon the rack. 'There,' he continued, after a shortsilence, 'you have your message and can retire--unless you have anyfurther--ha!--any further orders.'

'I have none,' said Nicholas; 'nor, in the consideration of the stationyou once held, have I used that or any other word which, howeverharmless in itself, could be supposed to imply authority on my part ordependence on yours. I have no orders, but I have fears--fears that Iwill express, chafe as you may--fears that you may be consigning thatyoung lady to something worse than supporting you by the labour of herhands, had she worked herself dead. These are my fears, and these fearsI found upon your own demeanour. Your conscience will tell you, sir,whether I construe it well or not.'

'For Heaven's sake!' cried Madeline, interposing in alarm between them.'Remember, sir, he is ill.'

'Ill!' cried the invalid, gasping and catching for breath. 'Ill! Ill! Iam bearded and bullied by a shop-boy, and she beseeches him to pity meand remember I am ill!'

He fell into a paroxysm of his disorder, so violent that for a fewmoments Nicholas was alarmed for his life; but finding that he began torecover, he withdrew, after signifying by a gesture to the young ladythat he had something important to communicate, and would wait for heroutside the room. He could hear that the sick man came gradually, butslowly, to himself, and that without any reference to what had justoccurred, as though he had no distinct recollection of it as yet, herequested to be left alone.

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

'You are charged with some commission to me, sir,' said Madeline,presenting herself in great agitation. 'Do not press it now, I beg andpray you. The day after tomorrow; come here then.'

'It will be too late--too late for what I have to say,' rejoinedNicholas, 'and you will not be here. Oh, madam, if you have but onethought of him who sent me here, but one last lingering care for yourown peace of mind and heart, I do for God's sake urge you to give me ahearing.'

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

'A hearing,' said Nicholas. 'I ask you but to hear me: not me alone, buthim for whom I speak, who is far away and does not know your danger. Inthe name of Heaven hear me!'

The poor attendant, with her eyes swollen and red with weeping, stoodby; and to her Nicholas appealed in such passionate terms that sheopened a side-door, and, supporting her mistress into an adjoining room,beckoned Nicholas to follow them.

'Leave me, sir, pray,' said the young lady.

'I cannot, will not leave you thus,' returned Nicholas. 'I have a dutyto discharge; and, either here, or in the room from which we have justnow come, at whatever risk or hazard to Mr Bray, I must beseech you tocontemplate again the fearful course to which you have been impelled.'

'What course is this you speak of, and impelled by whom, sir?' demandedthe young lady, with an effort to speak proudly.

'I speak of this marriage,' returned Nicholas, 'of this marriage, fixedfor tomorrow, by one who never faltered in a bad purpose, or lent hisaid to any good design; of this marriage, the history of which is knownto me, better, far better, than it is to you. I know what web is woundabout you. I know what men they are from whom these schemes have come.You are betrayed and sold for money; for gold, whose every coin isrusted with tears, if not red with the blood of ruined men, who havefallen desperately by their own mad hands.'

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

'Say rather with the help of devils,' replied Nicholas, 'with the helpof men, one of them your destined husband, who are--'

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

'Not until I have besought you, with all the earnestness and fervour bywhich I am animated,' cried Nicholas, 'to postpone this marriage for oneshort week. Not until I have besought you to think more deeply than youcan have done, influenced as you are, upon the step you are about totake. Although you cannot be fully conscious of the villainy of this manto whom you are about to give your hand, some of his deeds you know. Youhave heard him speak, and have looked upon his face. Reflect, reflect,before it is too late, on the mockery of plighting to him at the altar,faith in which your heart can have no share--of uttering solemn words,against which nature and reason must rebel--of the degradation ofyourself in your own esteem, which must ensue, and must be aggravatedevery day, as his detested character opens upon you more and more.Shrink from the loathsome companionship of this wretch as you would fromcorruption and disease. Suffer toil and labour if you will, but shunhim, shun him, and be happy. For, believe me, I speak the truth; themost abject poverty, the most wretched condition of human life, with apure and upright mind, would be happiness to that which you must undergoas the wife of such a man as this!'

Long before Nicholas ceased to speak, the young lady buried her face inher hands, and gave her tears free way. In a voice at first inarticulatewith emotion, but gradually recovering strength as she proceeded, sheanswered him:

'I will not disguise from you, sir--though perhaps I ought--that I haveundergone great pain of mind, and have been nearly broken-hearted sinceI saw you last. I do NOT love this gentleman. The difference between ourages, tastes, and habits, forbids it. This he knows, and knowing, stilloffers me his hand. By accepting it, and by that step alone, I canrelease my father who is dying in this place; prolong his life, perhaps,for many years; restore him to comfort--I may almost call it affluence;and relieve a generous man from the burden of assisting one, by whom,I grieve to say, his noble heart is little understood. Do not think sopoorly of me as to believe that I feign a love I do not feel. Do notreport so ill of me, for THAT I could not bear. If I cannot, in reasonor in nature, love the man who pays this price for my poor hand, I candischarge the duties of a wife: I can be all he seeks in me, and will.He is content to take me as I am. I have passed my word, and shouldrejoice, not weep, that it is so. I do. The interest you take in one sofriendless and forlorn as I, the delicacy with which you have dischargedyour trust, the faith you have kept with me, have my warmest thanks:and, while I make this last feeble acknowledgment, move me to tears,as you see. But I do not repent, nor am I unhappy. I am happy in theprospect of all I can achieve so easily. I shall be more so when I lookback upon it, and all is done, I know.'

'Your tears fall faster as you talk of happiness,' said Nicholas, 'andyou shun the contemplation of that dark future which must be ladenwith so much misery to you. Defer this marriage for a week. For but oneweek!'

'He was talking, when you came upon us just now, with such smiles as Iremember to have seen of old, and have not seen for many and many a day,of the freedom that was to come tomorrow,' said Madeline, with momentaryfirmness, 'of the welcome change, the fresh air: all the new scenes andobjects that would bring fresh life to his exhausted frame. His eye grewbright, and his face lightened at the thought. I will not defer it foran hour.'

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

'I'll hear no more,' said Madeline, hurriedly; 'I have heard toomuch--more than I should--already. What I have said to you, sir, I havesaid as to that dear friend to whom I trust in you honourably to repeatit. Some time hence, when I am more composed and reconciled to my newmode of life, if I should live so long, I will write to him. Meantime,all holy angels shower blessings on his head, and prosper and preservehim.'

She was hurrying past Nicholas, when he threw himself before her, andimplored her to think, but once again, upon the fate to which she wasprecipitately hastening.

'There is no retreat,' said Nicholas, in an agony of supplication; 'nowithdrawing! All regret will be unavailing, and deep and bitter it mustbe. What can I say, that will induce you to pause at this last moment?What can I do to save you?'

'Nothing,' she incoherently replied. 'This is the hardest trial I havehad. Have mercy on me, sir, I beseech, and do not pierce my heart withsuch appeals as these. I--I hear him calling. I--I--must not, will not,remain here for another instant.'

'If this were a plot,' said Nicholas, with the same violent rapiditywith which she spoke, 'a plot, not yet laid bare by me, but which, withtime, I might unravel; if you were (not knowing it) entitled to fortuneof your own, which, being recovered, would do all that this marriage canaccomplish, would you not retract?'

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

'It may be the last time we shall ever meet on earth,' said Nicholas,'it may be better for me that we should never meet more.'

'For both, for both,' replied Madeline, not heeding what she said. 'Thetime will come when to recall the memory of this one interview mightdrive me mad. Be sure to tell them, that you left me calm and happy. AndGod be with you, sir, and my grateful heart and blessing!'

She was gone. Nicholas, staggering from the house, thought of thehurried scene which had just closed upon him, as if it were the phantomof some wild, unquiet dream. The day wore on; at night, having beenenabled in some measure to collect his thoughts, he issued forth again.

That night, being the last of Arthur Gride's bachelorship, found him intiptop spirits and great glee. The bottle-green suit had been brushed,ready for the morrow. Peg Sliderskew had rendered the accounts of herpast housekeeping; the eighteen-pence had been rigidly accounted for(she was never trusted with a larger sum at once, and the accounts werenot usually balanced more than twice a day); every preparation hadbeen made for the coming festival; and Arthur might have sat down andcontemplated his approaching happiness, but that he preferred sittingdown and contemplating the entries in a dirty old vellum-book with rustyclasps.

'Well-a-day!' he chuckled, as sinking on his knees before a strongchest screwed down to the floor, he thrust in his arm nearly up to theshoulder, and slowly drew forth this greasy volume. 'Well-a-day now,this is all my library, but it's one of the most entertaining books thatwere ever written! It's a delightful book, and all true and real--that'sthe best of it--true as the Bank of England, and real as its gold andsilver. Written by Arthur Gride. He, he, he! None of your storybookwriters will ever make as good a book as this, I warrant me. It'scomposed for private circulation, for my own particular reading, andnobody else's. He, he, he!'

Muttering this soliloquy, Arthur carried his precious volume to thetable, and, adjusting it upon a dusty desk, put on his spectacles, andbegan to pore among the leaves.

'It's a large sum to Mr Nickleby,' he said, in a dolorous voice.'Debt to be paid in full, nine hundred and seventy-five, four, three.Additional sum as per bond, five hundred pound. One thousand, fourhundred and seventy-five pounds, four shillings, and threepence,tomorrow at twelve o'clock. On the other side, though, there's the PERCONTRA, by means of this pretty chick. But, again, there's the questionwhether I mightn't have brought all this about, myself. "Faint heartnever won fair lady." Why was my heart so faint? Why didn't I boldlyopen it to Bray myself, and save one thousand four hundred andseventy-five, four, three?'

These reflections depressed the old usurer so much, as to wring a feeblegroan or two from his breast, and cause him to declare, with upliftedhands, that he would die in a workhouse. Remembering on furthercogitation, however, that under any circumstances he must have paid, orhandsomely compounded for, Ralph's debt, and being by no means confidentthat he would have succeeded had he undertaken his enterprise alone, heregained his equanimity, and chattered and mowed over more satisfactoryitems, until the entrance of Peg Sliderskew interrupted him.

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

'It's the fowl,' replied Peg, holding up a plate containing a little, avery little one. Quite a phenomenon of a fowl. So very small and skinny.

'A beautiful bird!' said Arthur, after inquiring the price, and findingit proportionate to the size. 'With a rasher of ham, and an egg madeinto sauce, and potatoes, and greens, and an apple pudding, Peg, and alittle bit of cheese, we shall have a dinner for an emperor. There'llonly be she and me--and you, Peg, when we've done.'

'Don't you complain of the expense afterwards,' said Mrs Sliderskew,sulkily.

'I am afraid we must live expensively for the first week,' returnedArthur, with a groan, 'and then we must make up for it. I won't eat morethan I can help, and I know you love your old master too much to eatmore than YOU can help, don't you, Peg?'

'Don't I what?' said Peg.

'Love your old master too much--'

'No, not a bit too much,' said Peg.

'Oh, dear, I wish the devil had this woman!' cried Arthur: 'love him toomuch to eat more than you can help at his expense.'

'At his what?' said Peg.

'Oh dear! she can never hear the most important word, and hears all theothers!' whined Gride. 'At his expense--you catamaran!'

The last-mentioned tribute to the charms of Mrs Sliderskew being utteredin a whisper, that lady assented to the general proposition by a harshgrowl, which was accompanied by a ring at the street-door.

'There's the bell,' said Arthur.

'Ay, ay; I know that,' rejoined Peg.

'Then why don't you go?' bawled Arthur.

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

Arthur Gride in reply repeated the word 'bell' as loud as he could roar;and, his meaning being rendered further intelligible to Mrs Sliderskew'sdull sense of hearing by pantomime expressive of ringing at astreet-door, Peg hobbled out, after sharply demanding why he hadn't saidthere was a ring before, instead of talking about all manner of thingsthat had nothing to do with it, and keeping her half-pint of beerwaiting on the steps.

'There's a change come over you, Mrs Peg,' said Arthur, following herout with his eyes. 'What it means I don't quite know; but, if it lasts,we shan't agree together long I see. You are turning crazy, I think. Ifyou are, you must take yourself off, Mrs Peg--or be taken off. All's oneto me.' Turning over the leaves of his book as he muttered this, he soonlighted upon something which attracted his attention, and forgot PegSliderskew and everything else in the engrossing interest of its pages.

The room had no other light than that which it derived from a dim anddirt-clogged lamp, whose lazy wick, being still further obscured by adark shade, cast its feeble rays over a very little space, and left allbeyond in heavy shadow. This lamp the money-lender had drawn so close tohim, that there was only room between it and himself for the book overwhich he bent; and as he sat, with his elbows on the desk, and his sharpcheek-bones resting on his hands, it only served to bring out his uglyfeatures in strong relief, together with the little table at which hesat, and to shroud all the rest of the chamber in a deep sullen gloom.Raising his eyes, and looking vacantly into this gloom as he made somemental calculation, Arthur Gride suddenly met the fixed gaze of a man.

'Thieves! thieves!' shrieked the usurer, starting up and folding hisbook to his breast. 'Robbers! Murder!'

'What is the matter?' said the form, advancing.

'Keep off!' cried the trembling wretch. 'Is it a man or a--a--'

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

'Yes, yes,' cried Arthur Gride, shading his eyes with his hand, 'it is aman, and not a spirit. It is a man. Robbers! robbers!'

'For what are these cries raised? Unless indeed you know me, and havesome purpose in your brain?' said the stranger, coming close up to him.'I am no thief.'

'What then, and how come you here?' cried Gride, somewhat reassured, butstill retreating from his visitor: 'what is your name, and what do youwant?'

'My name you need not know,' was the reply. 'I came here, because I wasshown the way by your servant. I have addressed you twice or thrice, butyou were too profoundly engaged with your book to hear me, and I havebeen silently waiting until you should be less abstracted. What I wantI will tell you, when you can summon up courage enough to hear andunderstand me.'

Arthur Gride, venturing to regard his visitor more attentively, andperceiving that he was a young man of good mien and bearing, returned tohis seat, and muttering that there were bad characters about, andthat this, with former attempts upon his house, had made him nervous,requested his visitor to sit down. This, however, he declined.

'Good God! I don't stand up to have you at an advantage,' said Nicholas(for Nicholas it was), as he observed a gesture of alarm on the part ofGride. 'Listen to me. You are to be married tomorrow morning.'

'N--n--no,' rejoined Gride. 'Who said I was? How do you know that?'

'No matter how,' replied Nicholas, 'I know it. The young lady who isto give you her hand hates and despises you. Her blood runs cold at themention of your name; the vulture and the lamb, the rat and the dove,could not be worse matched than you and she. You see I know her.'

Gride looked at him as if he were petrified with astonishment, but didnot speak; perhaps lacking the power.

'You and another man, Ralph Nickleby by name, have hatched this plotbetween you,' pursued Nicholas. 'You pay him for his share in bringingabout this sale of Madeline Bray. You do. A lie is trembling on yourlips, I see.'

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

'You pay yourself by defrauding her. How or by what means--for I scornto sully her cause by falsehood or deceit--I do not know; at present Ido not know, but I am not alone or single-handed in this business. Ifthe energy of man can compass the discovery of your fraud and treacherybefore your death; if wealth, revenge, and just hatred, can hunt andtrack you through your windings; you will yet be called to a dearaccount for this. We are on the scent already; judge you, who know whatwe do not, when we shall have you down!'

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

'If you were a man to whom I could appeal with any hope of touchinghis compassion or humanity,' said Nicholas, 'I would urge upon you toremember the helplessness, the innocence, the youth, of this lady; herworth and beauty, her filial excellence, and last, and more than all,as concerning you more nearly, the appeal she has made to your mercy andyour manly feeling. But, I take the only ground that can be taken withmen like you, and ask what money will buy you off. Remember the dangerto which you are exposed. You see I know enough to know much more withvery little help. Bate some expected gain for the risk you save, and saywhat is your price.'

Old Arthur Gride moved his lips, but they only formed an ugly smile andwere motionless again.

'You think,' said Nicholas, 'that the price would not be paid. Miss Brayhas wealthy friends who would coin their very hearts to save her in sucha strait as this. Name your price, defer these nuptials for but a fewdays, and see whether those I speak of, shrink from the payment. Do youhear me?'

When Nicholas began, Arthur Gride's impression was, that Ralph Nicklebyhad betrayed him; but, as he proceeded, he felt convinced that howeverhe had come by the knowledge he possessed, the part he acted was agenuine one, and that with Ralph he had no concern. All he seemed toknow, for certain, was, that he, Gride, paid Ralph's debt; but that,to anybody who knew the circumstances of Bray's detention--even to Brayhimself, on Ralph's own statement--must be perfectly notorious. As tothe fraud on Madeline herself, his visitor knew so little about itsnature or extent, that it might be a lucky guess, or a hap-hazardaccusation. Whether or no, he had clearly no key to the mystery, andcould not hurt him who kept it close within his own breast. Theallusion to friends, and the offer of money, Gride held to be mere emptyvapouring, for purposes of delay. 'And even if money were to be had,'thought Arthur Gride, as he glanced at Nicholas, and trembled withpassion at his boldness and audacity, 'I'd have that dainty chick for mywife, and cheat YOU of her, young smooth-face!'

Long habit of weighing and noting well what clients said, and nicelybalancing chances in his mind and calculating odds to their faces,without the least appearance of being so engaged, had rendered Gridequick in forming conclusions, and arriving, from puzzling, intricate,and often contradictory premises, at very cunning deductions. Henceit was that, as Nicholas went on, he followed him closely with his ownconstructions, and, when he ceased to speak, was as well prepared as ifhe had deliberated for a fortnight.

'I hear you,' he cried, starting from his seat, casting back thefastenings of the window-shutters, and throwing up the sash. 'Help here!Help! Help!'

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

'I'll cry robbers, thieves, murder, alarm the neighbourhood, strugglewith you, let loose some blood, and swear you came to rob me, ifyou don't quit my house,' replied Gride, drawing in his head with afrightful grin, 'I will!'

'Wretch!' cried Nicholas.

'YOU'LL bring your threats here, will you?' said Gride, whom jealousyof Nicholas and a sense of his own triumph had converted into a perfectfiend. 'You, the disappointed lover? Oh dear! He! he! he! But you shan'thave her, nor she you. She's my wife, my doting little wife. Do youthink she'll miss you? Do you think she'll weep? I shall like to see herweep, I shan't mind it. She looks prettier in tears.'

'Villain!' said Nicholas, choking with his rage.

'One minute more,' cried Arthur Gride, 'and I'll rouse the street withsuch screams, as, if they were raised by anybody else, should wake meeven in the arms of pretty Madeline.'

'You hound!' said Nicholas. 'If you were but a younger man--'

'Oh yes!' sneered Arthur Gride, 'If I was but a younger man it wouldn'tbe so bad; but for me, so old and ugly! To be jilted by little Madelinefor me!'

'Hear me,' said Nicholas, 'and be thankful I have enough command overmyself not to fling you into the street, which no aid could prevent mydoing if I once grappled with you. I have been no lover of this lady's.No contract or engagement, no word of love, has ever passed between us.She does not even know my name.'

'I'll ask it for all that. I'll beg it of her with kisses,' said ArthurGride. 'Yes, and she'll tell me, and pay them back, and we'll laughtogether, and hug ourselves, and be very merry, when we think of thepoor youth that wanted to have her, but couldn't because she was bespokeby me!'

This taunt brought such an expression into the face of Nicholas, thatArthur Gride plainly apprehended it to be the forerunner of his puttinghis threat of throwing him into the street in immediate execution; forhe thrust his head out of the window, and holding tight on with bothhands, raised a pretty brisk alarm. Not thinking it necessary to abidethe issue of the noise, Nicholas gave vent to an indignant defiance,and stalked from the room and from the house. Arthur Gride watched himacross the street, and then, drawing in his head, fastened the window asbefore, and sat down to take breath.

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

When he had become restored to his usual condition by these and othercomments on his approaching triumph, Arthur Gride put away his book,and, having locked the chest with great caution, descended into thekitchen to warn Peg Sliderskew to bed, and scold her for having affordedsuch ready admission to a stranger.

The unconscious Peg, however, not being able to comprehend the offenceof which she had been guilty, he summoned her to hold the light, whilehe made a tour of the fastenings, and secured the street-door with hisown hands.

'Top bolt,' muttered Arthur, fastening as he spoke, 'bottom bolt, chain,bar, double lock, and key out to put under my pillow! So, if any morerejected admirers come, they may come through the keyhole. And now I'llgo to sleep till half-past five, when I must get up to be married, Peg!'

With that, he jocularly tapped Mrs Sliderskew under the chin, andappeared, for the moment, inclined to celebrate the close of hisbachelor days by imprinting a kiss on her shrivelled lips. Thinkingbetter of it, however, he gave her chin another tap, in lieu of thatwarmer familiarity, and stole away to bed.