 Chapter 57 of Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Shane Nolan. Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens, chapter 57. It was a dark, wet, gloomy night in autumn when in an upper room of a mean house situated in an obscure street or where the court near Lambeth, there sat all alone a one-eyed man grotesquely habited, either for lack of better garments or for purposes of disguise in a loose, great coat with arms half as long again as his own and the capacity of breath and length which would have admitted of his winding himself in it head and all with the utmost ease and without any risk of straining the old and greasy material of which it was composed. So attired and in a place so far removed from his usual haunts and occupations and so very poor and wretched in his character, perhaps Mrs. Squeers herself would have had some difficulty in recognizing her Lord, quickened though her natural sagacity doubtless would have been by the affectionate yearnings and impulses of a tender wife, but Mrs. Squeers Lord it was an inatorably disconsolate mood Mrs. Squeers Lord appeared to be as helping himself from a black bottle which stood on the table beside him. He cast round the chamber a look in which very slight regard for the object within view was plainly mingled with some regretful and impatient recollection of distant scenes and persons. There were certainly no particular attractions either in the room over which the glance of Mr. Squeers so discontentedly wondered or in the narrow street into which it might have penetrated if he had thought fit to approach the window. The attic chamber in which he was sat was bare and mean, the bedstead and such few other articles of necessary furniture as it contained were of the commonest description in the most crazy state and of a most uninviting appearance. The street was muddy, dirty and deserted having but one outlet it was traversed by few but the inhabitants at any time and the night being one of those on which most people are glad to be within doors it is now presented no other signs of life than the dull glimmering of poor candles from the dirty windows and few sounds but the pattering of rain and occasionally the heavy closing of some creaking door. Mr. Squeers continued to look disconsolently about him and to listen to these noises in profound silence broken only by the rustling of his large coat as he now and then moved his arm to race his gloss to his lips. Mr. Squeers continued to do this for some time until the increasing gloom warned him to snuff the candle. Seeming to be slightly aroused by this exertion he raised his eyes to the ceiling and fixed it upon some uncouth and fantastic figures placed upon it by the wet and damp which had penetrated through the roof broke into the following soliloquy. Well, this is a pretty go. Is this here? An uncommon pretty go. Yeah, I've been a matter of how many weeks hard upon six of following up this year. Blessed old Dowager, Penny Lawson, Mr. Squeers delivered himself on this epitaph with great difficulty and effort. And Dothi Boy's Hall are running itself regularly to see the while. That's the worst of ever being in with an odacious chap like that old nickel bee. You never know when he's done with you. And if you're in for a penny, you're in for a pound. This remark perhaps reminded Mr. Squeers that he was in 400 pound at any rate. His countenance relaxed and he raised his gloss to his mouth for the air of greater enjoyment of its contents than he had ever before evinced. I never see soliloquy's Mr. Squeers in continuation. I never seen or come across such a file as that old nickel bee, never. He's out of everybody's depth, he is. He's what you may call a raspa is nickel bee to see how sly and cunning he grubbed on day after day. A warm and implaudent and tracing and turning and twining himself about really found out where this precious Mrs. Pig was hid and cleared the ground for me to work upon. Free, spinning, crawling and gliding like an ugly old bright eyed stagnation bloody atta. He'd have made a good and in our line but it would have been too limited for him. His genius would have busted all bonds and coming over every obstacle broke down all before till it erected itself into a monument of well, I think of the rest I say when it's convenient. Making a halt to this reflection at this place Mr. Squeers again put his gloss to his lips and drawn a dirty letter from his pocket proceeded to con over its contents with the air of a man who had read it very often and now refreshed his memory rather in the absence of better amusement than for any specific information. The pigs as well said Mrs. Squeers. The cows as well and the boys as bobbish. Young spout has been a winking has he? I'll wink him when I get back. Colby would persist in sniffing while he was eating his dinner and said that the beef was so strong it made him very good, Colby. We'll see if we can't make you sniff a little without beef. Pitcher was took ill with another fever. Of course he has. And being fetched by his friends died the day after he got home. Of course he did an out of aggravation. It's part of a deep laid system. There ain't another chap in the school but that boy was as would have died exactly at the end of the quarter taking it out of me to the very last and then carrying his spite to the utmost extremity. The juniors Palmer said that he wished he was in heaven. I really don't know. I do not know what's to be done with that young fella. He's always a wish and something horrid. He once said he wished he was a donkey because then he wouldn't have a father as didn't love him. Great he wishes that for a child of six. Mr. Squeers was so much moved by the contemplation of this hard nature and once so young that he angrily put up the letter and saw in a new train of ideas a subject of consolation. It's a long time to have been a lingering in London. He said, and this is a precious hole to come and live and even if it's in only for a week or so, steel. 100 pound is five boys and five boys takes a whole year to pay 100 pounds. And there's their keep to be subtracted besides. There's nothing lost neither by once being here because the boys money comes in just the same as if I was at home. And Mrs. Squeers, she keeps them in order. There'll be some lost time to make up, of course. There'll be a rear of flogging as I'll have to be gone through still. A couple of days makes that all right and I don't mind a little extra work for 100 pound. It's pretty nigh the time to wait upon the old woman. From what she said last night, I suspect that if I'm to succeed at all, I shall succeed tonight. So I'll have a half a glass more to wish myself success and put myself in spirits. Mrs. Squeers, my dear, your health. Learing with his one eyes if the lady to whom he drank had been actually present, Mr. Squeers and his enthusiasm no doubt poured out a full glass and emptied it. As the liquor was raw spirits and he had applied himself to the same bottle more than once already, it is not a surprise that he found himself by this time in an extremely cheerful state and quite enough excited for his purpose. What this purpose was soon appeared. For after a few turns about the room to steady himself, he took the bottle under his arm and the glass in his hand and blowing out the candle as if he proposed being gone for some time, stole out about upon the staircase and creeping softly to a door opposite his own, tapped gently at it. But what's the use of tapping? He said, she'll never hear. I suppose she isn't doing anything very particular. And if she is, it don't much matter that I see. With this brief preface, Mr. Squeers applied his hand to the latch of the door and thrusting his head into a garret far more deplorable than that he had just slapped and seeing that there was nobody there but an old woman who was bending over a wretched fire. For although the weather was still warm, the evening was chilly, walked in and tapped her on the shoulder. Well, my slider said, Mr. Squeers, jocularly, is that you, inquired Peg? Oh, it's me. And me's the first person sing you a nominative case agreeing with the verb, it's, and governed by squeers understood as an acorn an hour. But when the H is sounded, the A only is to be used as a and, a ought, an a I way, replied Mr. Squeers, quoting it random from the grammar. At least if it isn't, you don't know any better. And if it is, I've done it accidentally. Delivering this reply in his accustomed tone of voice in which of course it was inaudible to Peg, Mr. Squeers drew a stool to the fire and placing himself over against her and the bottle and the glass on the floor between them roared out loud, again, very loud. Well, my slider, I hear, said Peg, receiving him very graciously. I've come according to promise, roared squeers. So they used to say in that part of the country I come from observed Peg complacently, but I think oil's better. Better than what, roared Squeers, adding some rather strong language in an undertone. No, said Peg, of course not. I never saw such a monster as you are, muttered Squeers, looking as amiable as he possibly could the while, for Peg's eye was upon him and she was chuckling fearfully as though in delighted having made a choice repartee. Do you see this? This is a bottle. I see it, answered Peg. Well, and do you see this? Bald Squeers, this is a glass. Peg saw that too. See here then, said Squeers. A company has remarked with an appropriate action. I feel the glass from the bottle and I say your elf slider and empty it. And then I rinse it gently with a little drop which I'm forced to throw into the fire. Ah, lo, we shall have the chimney all light next. Fill it again and end it over to you. Your elf, said Peg. She understands that anyways, muttered Squeers, watching Mrs. Slider skewer as she dispatched her portion and choked in gas but in the most awful manner after doing. Now then, let's have a talk. How's the rheumatics? Mrs. Slider skewer with much blinking and chuckling and looks with expressive of her strong admiration of Mr. Squeers, his person, manners and conversation replied that the rheumatics were better. What's the reason, said Mr. Squeers, deriving fresh freshness from the bottle. What's the reason of rheumatics? What do they mean? What do people have them for, eh? Mrs. Slider skewer didn't know but suggested that it was possible because they couldn't help it. Muscles, rheumatics, whooping cough, fevers, agures, lama, agures, said Mr. Squeers. It's all philosophy together. That's what it is. The heavenly bodies is philosophy and the earthly bodies is philosophy. If there's a screw loose in a heavenly body, that's philosophy. And if there's a screw loose in an earthly body, that's philosophy too. Or it may be that sometimes there's a little metaphysics in it, but that's not often. Philosophy's the chap for me. If a parent asks a question in the classical commercial or mathematical line, says I gravely. Why sir, in the first place, are you a philosopher? No, Mr. Squeers. He says, I ain't. Then sir, says I, I'm sorry for you, for I shan't be able to explain it. Naturally, the parent goes away in wishes he was a philosopher and equally naturally thinks I'm one. Saying this in a great deal more with tipsy profundity and a serial comic air and keeping his eye all the time on Mrs. Slider skewer, who wasn't able to hear one word, Mr. Squeers concluded by helping himself and passing the bottle, to which Peg did becoming reverence. That's the time, O day, said Mr. Squeers. You look 20 pound, 10 better than you did. Again, Mrs. Slider skewed chuckle, but modesty forbade her assenting verbally to the compliment. 20 pound, 10 better, repeated Mr. Squeers. Then you did that day when I first introduced myself, don't you know? Oh, said Peg shaking her head. But you frightened me that day. Did I, said Squeers. Well, it was a rather startling thing for a stranger to come and recommend himself by saying that he knew all about you and what your name was and why you were living so quiet here and what you had boned and who you boned it from wasn't it? Peg nodded her head in strong ascent. But I know everything that happens in that way, you see continued Mr. Squeers. Nothing takes place at that coin that I ain't up to entirely. I'm a sort of a lie lawyer, Slider, of a first rate standing and understanding too. I'm the intimate friend and confidential advisor pretty night every man, woman and child that gets themself into difficulties by being too nimble with the fingers. I'm Mr. Squeers' catalog of his own merits and accomplishments which was partly the result of a concerted plan between himself and Ralph Nickelby and flowed in part from the black bottle was here interrupted by Mrs. Slider's skew. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. She cried folding her arms and wagging her head. And so he wasn't married after all, was he? Not married after all. No, replied Squeers, that he wasn't. And the young lover come and carried off the broad day, said Peg, from under his nose, replied Squeers, and I'm told the young chap cut up rough besides and broke the windows and forced him to swallow his wedding favor, which nearly joked him. Tell me all about it again, cried Peg with the malicious relish of her old master's defeat which made her natural hideousness something quite fearful. Lates hear it all again, beginning at the beginning now as if you never told me. Let's have it every word now, now, beginning at the very first, you know, when he went to the house that morning. Mr. Squeers, applying Mrs. Slider's skew freely with the liquor and sustaining himself under the exertion of speaking so loud by frequent applications to it himself, complied with this request by describing the discomforture of Arthur Greid with such improvements on the truth as happened to occur to him. And the ingenious invention and application of which had been very instrumental in recommending him to her notice in the beginning of their acquaintance. Mrs. Slider's skew was an ecstasy of delight, rolling her head about, drawing up her skinny shoulders and wrinkling her cadaverous face into so many and such complicated forms of ugliness as awakened the unbounded astonishment and disgust of even Mr. Squeers. He's a treacherous old goat, said Peg, and cousin me with cunning tricks and lying promises, but never mind, I'm even with him, I'm even with him. More than ever, Slider returned Squeers. You'd have been even with him even if he got married, but with the disappointment besides, you're a long way ahead, out of sight, Slider, quite out of sight. And that reminds me, he added, handing her the glass. If you want me to give you my opinion of them deeds and tell you what you better keep and what you better burn, why? Now's your time, Slider. There ain't no hurry for that, said Peg, with several annoying looks and winks. Oh, very well, observed Squeers. It don't matter to me. You ask me, you know, I shouldn't charge you nothing being a friend. You're the best judge, of course, but you're a bold woman, Slider. How do you mean bold, said Peg? Why? I mean that if it was me, I wouldn't keep papers as Mark hang me, littering about when they might be turned into money. Them as wasn't useful made away with, and them that was laid by somewhere safe, that's all. Returned Squeers. But everybody's the best judge of their own affairs. All I say is, Slider, I wouldn't do it. Come, said Peg, thing you shall see him. I don't wanna see him, replied Squeers, affecting to be out of humor. Don't talk as if it was a treat. Show him to somebody else and take their advice. Mr. Squeers would very likely have carried about the far speed, offended a little longer, Mrs. Slider skew, in her anxiety to restore herself to her former high position in his good graces, had not become so extremely affectionate, that he stood at some risk of being smothered by her caresses, repressing with as good a grace as possible these little familiarities, for which there is reason to believe the black bottle was at least as much to blame as any constitutional infirmity on the part of Mrs. Slider skew. He protested that he had only been joking, and in proof of his unimpaired good humor, that he was ready to examine the deeds at once, if by doing so he could afford any satisfaction or relief of mind to his fair friend. And now you're up, my Slider. Bald Squeers, as she rose to fetch them, bolt the door. Peg trotted to the door, and after filming at the bolt, wrapped to the other end of the room, and from beneath the coals, which filled the bottom of the cupboard, drew forth a small deal box, having placed this at the floor at Squeers feet. He brought from under the pillow of her bed a small key with which she signed to the gentleman to open it. Mr. Squeers, who had eagerly followed or every motion lost no time in obeying this hint and throwing back the lid, gazed with rapture on the documents with lay within. Now you see, said Peg kneeling on the floor beside him and staying his impatient hand. Lots of no use will burn. What we can get any money by will keep, and if there's any we could get him into trouble by and threaten waste away as hot to shreds, those will take particular care of, but that's what I want to do and what I hope to do when I left him. I thought, said Squeers, that you didn't bear many particular goodwill, but I say, why didn't you take some money besides some what? Asked Peg, some money. Lord Squeers, I do believe the woman ears me and wants to make me break a vessel so that she may have the pleasure of nesting me. Some money, slider, my knee. Why what a man you are to ask, cried Peg, was some content. If I had taken money from Arthur Gryde, he'd have scoured the all earth to find me eye and he'd have smelt it out and raked it up somehow if I'd have buried it at the bottom of the deepest well in England. No, no, I knew better than that. I took what I thought his secrets were hidden and then he couldn't afford to make public. Let him be worth ever so much money. He's an old dog, a sly old cunning, thankless dog. He first starved and then tricked me and if I could I'd kill him. All right, and very laudable said Squeers, but first informal slider, burn the box. You should never keep things as may lead to discovery. Always mind that. So while you pull it to pieces, which you can do very easily, so it's very old and rickety and burn it in little bits. I'll look over the papers and tell you what they are. Egg, expressing her acquiescence in this arrangement, Mr. Squeers turned the box bottom upwards and tumbling the contents upon the floor, handed it to her, the destruction of the box being an extemporary device for engaging her attention in case it should prove desirable to distract it from his own proceedings. There, said Squeers, you poke the pieces between the bars and make up a wood fire and I'll read the while. Let me see, let me see. And taking the candle down beside him, Mr. Squeers with great eagerness and a cunning grin over spreading his face entered upon his task of examination. If the old woman had not been very deaf, she must have heard when she last went to the door the breathing of two persons close behind it. And if those two persons had been unacquainted with her infirmity, they must probably have chosen that moment either for presenting themselves or for taking flight. But knowing with whom they had to deal, they remained quite still and now not only appeared unobserved at the door, which was not bolted for the bolt had no hasp but warily and with noiseless footsteps advanced into the room. As they stole farther and farther in by slight and scarcely perceptible degrees and with such caution that they scarcely seem to breathe, the old hag and Squeers little dreaming of such invasion and utterly unconscious of their being any soul near themselves were busily occupied with their task. The old woman with her wrinkled face close to the bars of the stove, puffing at the dull embers which had not yet caught the wood, Squeers stooping down to the candle which brought out his full ugliness of his face as the light of the fire did that of his companion. Both intently engaged in wearing faces of exaltation, which it contrasted strongly with the anxious looks of those behind who took advantage of the slightest sound to cover their advance and almost before they moved an inch and all was silent stopped again. This with the large bare room, damp walls and flickering doubtful light combined to form a scene which the most careless and indifferent spectator that even have been present it scarcely have failed to derive some interest from and would not readily have forgotten. Of the stealthy comers, Frank Cheeribull was one and Newman nods the other. Newman had caught up by the rusty nozzle and old pair of bellows which were just undergoing a flourish in the air preparatory to dissent upon the head of Mr. Squeers when Frank with an earnest gesture stayed his arm and taken another step in advance came so close up behind the schoolmaster that by leaning slightly forward he could plainly distinguish the writing which he held up to his eye. Mr. Squeers not being remarkably erudite appeared to be considerably puzzled by his first prize which was in an engrossing hand and not very legible except to a practiced eye. Having tried it by reading from left to right and from right to left and finding it equally clear both ways he turned it upside down with no better success. Ha ha ha ha, chuckle peg, who on her knees before the fire was feeding it with fragments of the bogs and grinning in most devilish exultation. What's that writing about a nothing particular replied Squeers tossing it towards her? It's only an old lease as well as I can make out. Throw it in the fire. Mrs. Slightest Q complied and inquired what the next one was. This said Squeers is a bundle of overdue acceptances and renewed bills of six or eight young gentlemen. But they're all MPs so it's of no use to anybody. Throw it in the fire. Peg did as she was bitten and waited for the next. This said Squeers seems to be some deed of sale of the ride of presentation to the rectory of pure church in the Valley of Kashup. Take care of that slider. Literally for God's sake, it'll fetch its price at the auction market. What's the next? Inquired peg. Why this? Said Squeers. Scenes from the two letters that it's with to be a bond from a cure. Down at the country to pay half a year's wages of 40 pound for borrowing 20. Take care of that. For if he don't pay it, his bishop will very soon be down upon him. We know what the camel and the needle I mean. So no man has can't live upon his income. Whatever it is must expect to go to heaven at any price. It's very odd. I don't see anything like it yet. What's the matter? Said Peg. Nothing, replied Squeers. Only I'm looking for Newman raised the bellows again. Once more frank by a rapid motion of his arm unaccompanied by any noise, checked him in his purpose. Here you are. Said Squeers. Bonds, take care of them. Warrant of attorney, take care of that. Two cognizance, take care of them. Least and release, burn that. Ah! Madeline Bray, come of age or marry the said Madeline. Here, burn that. Eagley throwing towards the old woman appartement that he had caught up for the purpose. Squeers, as she turned her head thrust into the breast of his large coat, the deed in which these words had caught his eye and burst into a shout of triumph. I've got it, said Squeers. I've got it, hurrah! The plan was a good one, though the chance was desperate and the days are own at last. Peg demanded what he laughed at, but no answer was returned. Newman's arm could no longer be restrained. The bellows, descending heavily and with unerring aim on the very center of Mr. Squeers' head, felled him to the floor and stretched him on it flat and senseless. End of chapter 57, recorded by Shane Nolan. Chapter 58 of Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens. Chapter 58, in which one scene of this history is closed. Dividing the distance into two days' journey, in order that his charge might sustain the less exhaustion and fatigue from traveling so far, Nicholas, at the end of the second day from their leaving home, found himself within a very few miles of the spot where the happiest years of his life had been passed, and which, while it filled his mind with pleasant and peaceful thoughts, brought back many painful and vivid recollections of the circumstances in which he and his had wandered forth from their old home, cast upon the rough world and the mercy of strangers. It needed no such reflections as those which the memory of old days and wanderings among scenes where our childhood has been passed, usually awakened in the most insensible minds to soften the heart of Nicholas, and render him more than usually mindful of his drooping friend. By night and day, at all times and seasons, always watchful, attentive, and solicitous, and never varying in the discharge of his self-imposed duty to one so friendless and helpless as he whose sands of life were now fast running out and dwindling rapidly away. He was ever at his side. He never left him. To encourage and animate him, administer to his wants, support and cheer him to the utmost of his power was now his constant and unceasing occupation. They procured a humble lodging in a small farmhouse surrounded by meadows where Nicholas had often reveled when a child with a troupe of Mary school fellows, and here they took up their rest. At first, Smyke was strong enough to walk about for short distances at a time, with no other support or aid than that which Nicholas could afford him. At this time nothing appeared to interest him so much as visiting those places which had been most familiar to his friend in bygone days. Yielding to this fancy and pleased to find that its indulgence beguiled the sick boy of many tedious hours and never failed to afford him matter for thought and conversation afterwards, Nicholas made such thoughts the scenes of their daily rambles, driving him from place to place in a little pony chair and supporting him on his arm while they walked slowly among these old haunts or lingered in the sunlight to take long parting looks of those which were most quiet and beautiful. It was on such occasions as these that Nicholas, yielding almost unconsciously to the interest of old associations, would point out some tree that he had climbed a hundred times to peep at the young birds in their nest and the branch from which he used to shout to little Kate who stood below terrified at the height he had gained and yet urging him higher still by the intensity of her admiration. There was the old house, too, which they would pass every day, looking up at the tiny window through which the sun used to stream in and wake him on the summer mornings. They were all summer mornings then and climbing up the garden wall and looking over, Nicholas could see the very rose bush which had come, a present to Kate, from some little lover and she had planted with her own hands. There were the hedgerows where the brother and sister had so often gathered wild flowers together and the green fields and shady paths where they had so often strayed. There was not a lane or brook or cops or cottage near with which some childish event was not entwined and back it came upon the mind as events of childhood do. Nothing in itself, perhaps a word, a laugh, a look, some slight distress, a passing thought or fear and yet more strongly and distinctly marked and better remembered than the hardest trials or severest sorrows of a year ago. One of these expeditions led them through the churchyard where was his father's grave. Even here, said Nicholas softly, we used to loiter before we knew what death was and when we little thought of whose ashes would rest beneath and wondering at the silence, sit down to rest and speak below our breath. Once Kate was lost and after an hour of fruitless search they found her fast asleep under that tree which shades my father's grave. He was very fond of her and said when he took her up in his arms, still sleeping, that whenever he died he would wish to be buried where his dear little child had lain her head. You see, his wish was not forgotten. Nothing more passed at the time but that night as Nicholas sat beside his bed Smyke started from what had seemed to be a slumber and laying his hand in his, prayed as the tears coursed down his face that he would make him one solemn promise. What is that? said Nicholas kindly. If I can redeem it or hope to do so, you know I will. I am sure you will, was the reply. Promise me that when I die I shall be buried near as near as they can make my grave to the tree we saw today. Nicholas gave the promise. He had few words to give it in but they were solemn and earnest. His poor friend kept his hand in his and turned as if to sleep. But there were stifled sobs and the hand was pressed more than once or twice or thrice before he sank to rest and slowly loosed his hold. In a fortnight's time he became too ill to move about. Once or twice Nicholas drove him out and propped up with pillows but the motion of the chase was painful to him and brought on fits of fainting which in his weakened state were dangerous. There was an old couch in the house which was his favorite resting place by day and when the sun shone and the weather was warm Nicholas had this wheeled into a little orchard which was close at hand and his charge being well wrapped up and carried out to it they used to sit there sometimes for hours together. He was on one of these occasions that a circumstance took place which Nicholas at the time thoroughly believed to be the mere delusion of an imagination affected by disease but which he had afterwards too good reason to know was of real and actual occurrence. He had brought smike out in his arms poor fellow a child might have carried him then to see the sunset and having arranged his couch had taken his seat beside it. He had been watching the whole of the night before and being greatly fatigued both in mind and body gradually fell asleep. He could not have closed his eyes five minutes when he was awakened by a scream and starting up in that kind of terror which affects a person suddenly roused saw to his great astonishment that his charge had struggled into a sitting posture and with eyes almost starting from their sockets cold dew standing on his forehead and in a fit of trembling which quite convulsed his frame was calling to him for help. Good Heaven, what is this? said Nicholas, bending over him. Be calm, you have been dreaming. No, no, no, cried Smike, clinging to him. Hold me tight, don't let me go. There, there, behind the tree. Nicholas followed his eyes which were directed to some distance behind the chair from which he himself had just risen but there was nothing there. There is nothing but your fancy, he said as he strove to compose him. Nothing else, indeed. I know better. I saw as plain as I see now was the answer. Oh, say you'll keep me with you. Swear you won't leave me for an instant. Do I ever leave you? returned Nicholas. Lie down again, there. You see, I'm here. Now tell me, what was it? Do you remember, said Smike, in a low voice and glancing fearfully round? Do you remember my telling you of the man who first took me to the school? Yes, surely. I raised my eyes just now towards that tree, that one with the thick trunk, and there with his eyes fixed on me, he stood. Only reflect from one moment, said Nicholas, granting for an instant that it's likely he is alive and wandering about a lonely place like this, so far removed from the public road. Do you think that at this distance of time you could possibly know that man again? Anywhere, in any dress, returned Smike. But just now he stood leaning upon his stick and looking at me, exactly as I told you I remembered him. He was dusty with walking and poorly dressed. I think his clothes were ragged, but directly I saw him, the wet night, his face when he left me, the parlor I was left in, and the people that were there, all seemed to come back together. When he knew I saw him, he looked frightened, for he started and shrunk away. I have thought of him by day and dreamt of him by night. He looked in my sleep when I was quite a little child and has looked in my sleep ever since, as he did just now. Nicholas endeavored by every persuasion and argument he could think of to convince the terrified creature that his imagination had deceived him, and that this close resemblance between the creation of his dreams and the man he supposed he had seen was but a proof of it, but all in vain. When he could persuade him to remain for a few moments in the care of the people to whom the house belonged, he instituted a strict inquiry whether any stranger had been seen and searched himself behind the tree and through the orchard and upon the land immediately adjoining and in every place near where it was possible for a man to lie concealed, but all in vain. Satisfied that he was right in his original conjecture, he applied himself to calming the fears of Smike, which after some time he partially succeeded in doing, though not in removing the impression upon his mind, for he still declared again and again in the most solemn and fervid manner that he had positively seen what he had described and that nothing could ever remove his conviction of its reality. And now Nicholas began to see that hope was gone and that upon the partner of his poverty and the sharer of his better fortune, the world was closing fast. There was little pain, little uneasiness, but there was no rallying, no effort, no struggle for life. He was worn and wasted to the last degree. His voice had sunk so low that he could scarce be heard to speak. Nature was thoroughly exhausted and he had lain him down to die. On a fine, mild autumn day, when all was tranquil and at peace, when the soft, sweet air crept in at the open window of the quiet room and not a sound was heard but the gentle rustling of the leaves, Nicholas sat in his old place by the bedside and knew that the time was nearly come. So very still it was that every now and then he bent down his ear to listen for the breathing of him who lay asleep, as if to assure himself that life was still there and that he had not fallen into that deep slumber from which on earth there is no waking. While he was thus employed, the closed eyes opened and on the pale face there came a placid smile. That's well, said Nicholas, the sleep has done you good. I have had such pleasant dreams, was the answer, such pleasant happy dreams. Of what, said Nicholas? The dying boy turned towards him and putting his arm about his neck, made answer, I shall soon be there. After a short silence, he spoke again. I am not afraid to die, he said. I am quite contented. I almost think that if I could rise from this bed quite well, I would not wish to do so now. You have so often told me we shall meet again. So very often lately, and now I feel the truth of that so strongly that I can even bear to part from you. The trembling voice and tearful eye and the closer grasp of the arm which accompanied these latter words showed how they filled the speaker's heart, nor were there wanting indications of how deeply they had touched the heart of him to whom they were addressed. You say well, returned to Nicholas at length, and comfort me very much, dear fellow. Let me hear you say you are happy, if you can. I must tell you something first. I should not have a secret from you. You would not blame me at a time like this, I know. I blame you, exclaimed Nicholas. I am sure you would not. You asked me why I was so changed and sat so much alone. Shall I tell you why? Not if it pains you, said Nicholas. I only asked that I might make you happier if I could. I know. I felt that at the time. He drew his friend closer to him. You will forgive me. I could not help it, but though I would have died to make her happy, it broke my heart to see. I know he loves her dearly. Oh, who could find that out so soon as I? The words which followed were feeble and faintly uttered and broken by long pauses. But from them Nicholas learnt for the first time that the dying boy, with all the ardour of a nature concentrated on one absorbing, hopeless, secret passion, loved his sister Kate. He had procured a lock of her hair, which hung at his breast, folded in one or two slight ribbons she had worn. He prayed that when he was dead, Nicholas would take it off, so that no eyes but his might see it, and that when he was laid in his coffin and about to be placed in the earth, he would hang it round his neck again, but it might rest with him in the grave. Upon his knees Nicholas gave him this pledge and promised again that he should rest in the spot he had pointed out. They embraced and kissed each other on the cheek. Now he murmured, I am happy. He fell into a light slumber and, waking, smiled as before, then spoke of beautiful gardens, which he said stretched out before him and were filled with figures of men, women and many children, all with light upon their faces. Then whispered that it was Eden, and so died. End of chapter 58. Recorded by Megan Manley on December 7th, 2008, in Cozumel, Mexico. Chapter 59 of Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bruce Peary. Nicholas Nicolby by Charles Dickens, chapter 59. The plots begin to fail and doubts and dangers to disturb the plotter. Ralph sat alone in the solitary room where he was accustomed to take his meals and to sit of nights when no profitable occupation called him abroad. Before him was an untasted breakfast and near to where his fingers beat restlessly upon the table lay his watch. It was long past the time at which, for many years, he had put it in his pocket and gone with measured steps downstairs to the business of the day. But he took as little heed of its monotonous warning as of the meat and drink before him and remained with his head resting on one hand and his eyes fixed moodily on the ground. This departure from his regular and constant habit in one so regular and unvarying in all that appertained to the daily pursuit of riches would almost of itself have told that the usurer was not well, that he labored under some mental or bodily indisposition, and that it was one of no slight kind so to affect a man like him was sufficiently shown by his haggard face, jaded air and hollow languid eyes which he raised at last with a start and a hasty glance around him as one who suddenly awakes from sleep and cannot immediately recognize the place in which he finds himself. What is this, he said, that hangs over me and I cannot shake off. I have never pampered myself and should not be ill. I have never moped and pined and yielded to fancies, but what can a man do without rest? He pressed his hand upon his forehead. Night after night comes and goes and I have no rest. If I sleep, what rest is that which is disturbed by constant dreams of the same detested faces crowding round me, of the same detested people in every variety of action mingling with all I say and do and always to my defeat. Waking, what rest have I, constantly haunted by this heavy shadow of, I know not what, which is its worst character? I must have rest. One night's unbroken rest and I should be a man again. Pushing the table from him while he spoke as though he loathed the sight of food, he encountered the watch, the hands of which were almost upon noon. This is strange, he said, noon and nogg's not here. What drunken brawl keeps him away? I would give something now, something in money even after that dreadful loss if he had stabbed a man in a tavern scuffle or broken into a house or picked a pocket or done anything that would send him abroad with an iron ring upon his leg and rid me of him. Better still if I could throw temptation in his way and lure him on to rob me. He should be welcome to what he took so I brought the law upon him for he is a traitor, I swear. How or when or where I don't know, though I suspect. After waiting for another half hour he dispatched the woman who kept his house to Newman's lodging to inquire if he were ill and what he had not come or sent. She brought back answer that he had not been home all night and that no one could tell her anything about him. But there is a gentleman, sir, she said, below who was standing at the door when I came in and he says, what, says he, demanded Ralph, turning angrily upon her. I told you I would see nobody. He says, replied the woman, abashed by his harshness, that he comes on very particular business which admits of no excuse and I thought perhaps it might be about. About what in the devil's name, said Ralph, you spy and speculate on people's business with me, do you? Dear no, sir, I saw you were anxious and thought it might be about Mr. Knox, that's all. Saw I was anxious, muttered Ralph. They all watch me now. Where is this person? You did not say I was not down yet, I hope. The woman replied that he was in the little office and that she had said her master was engaged but she would take the message. Well, said Ralph, I'll see him. Go you to your kitchen and keep there. Do you mind me? Glad to be released, the woman quickly disappeared. Collecting herself and assuming as much of his accustomed manner as his utmost resolution could summon, Ralph descended the stairs. After pausing for a few moments, with his hand upon the lock, he entered Newman's room and confronted Mr. Charles Cheerable. Of all men alive, this was one of the last he would have wished to meet at any time, but now that he recognized in him only the patron and protector of Nicholas, he would rather have seen a specter. One beneficial effect, however, the encounter had upon him, it instantly roused all his dormant energies, rekindled in his breast the passions that for many years had found an improving home there, called up all his wrath, hatred, and malice, restored the sneer to his lip and the scowl to his brow and made him again in all outward appearance, the same Ralph Nicolby whom so many had bitter cause to remember. Hmph! said Ralph, pausing at the door. This is an unexpected favour, sir. And an unwelcome one, said Brother Charles, an unwelcome one I know. Men say you are truth itself, sir, replied Ralph. You speak truth now at all events and I'll not contradict you. The favour is at least as unwelcome as it is unexpected, I can scarcely say more. Plainly, sir, began Brother Charles. Plainly, sir, interrupted Ralph. I wish this conference to be a short one and to end where it begins. I guess the subject upon which you are about to speak and I'll not hear you. You like plainness, I believe, there it is. Here is the door as you see. Our way lies in very different directions. Take yours, I beg of you, and leave me to pursue mine in quiet. In quiet, repeated Brother Charles mildly and looking at him with more of pity than reproach. To pursue his way in quiet. You will scarcely remain in my house, I presume, sir, against my will, said Ralph, or you can scarcely hope to make an impression upon a man who closes his ears to all that you can say and is firmly and resolutely determined not to hear you. Mr. Nickelby, sir, returned Brother Charles no less mildly than before, but firmly, too. I come here against my will, sorely and grievously against my will. I have never been in this house before, and to speak my mind, sir, I don't feel at home or easy in it and have no wish ever to be here again. You do not guess the subject on which I come to speak to you, you do not indeed. I am sure of that, or your manner would be a very different one. Ralph glanced keenly at him, but the clear eye and open countenance of the honest old merchant underwent no change of expression and met his look without reserve. Shall I go on, said Mr. Cheerable? No by all means, if you please, returned Ralph dryly. Here are walls to speak to, sir, a desk and two stools, most attentive auditors, and certain not to interrupt you. Go on, I beg. Make my house yours, and perhaps by the time I return from my walk you will have finished what you have to say and will yield me up possession again. So saying he buttoned his coat and turning into the passage took down his hat. The old gentleman followed and was about to speak when Ralph waved him off impatiently and said, not a word, I tell you, sir, not a word. Virtuous as you are, you are not an angel yet to appear in men's houses whether they will or no and pour your speech into unwilling ears. Preach to the walls, I tell you, not to me. I am no angel, heaven knows, returned Brother Charles, shaking his head, but an airing and imperfect man. Nevertheless there is one quality which all men have in common with the angels, blessed opportunities of exercising if they will. Mercy. It is an errand of mercy that brings me here. Pray let me discharge it. I show no mercy retorted Ralph with a triumphant smile and I ask none. Seek no mercy from me, sir, in behalf of the fellow who has imposed upon your childish credulity, but let him expect the worst that I can do. He asked mercy at your hands, exclaimed the old merchant warmly. Ask it at his, sir, ask it at his. If you will not hear me now when you may, hear me when you must or anticipate what I would say and take measures to prevent our ever-meeting again. Your nephew is a noble lad, sir, an honest noble lad. What you are, Mr. Nicolby, I will not say, but what you have done, I know. Now, sir, when you go about the business in which you have been recently engaged and find it difficult of pursuing, come to me and my brother Ned and Tom Lincoln-Water, sir, and we'll explain it for you. And come soon, or it may be too late, and you may have it explained with a little more roughness and a little less delicacy, and never forget, sir, that I came here this morning in mercy to you and am still ready to talk to you in the same spirit. With these words uttered with great emphasis and emotion, brother Charles put on his broad-brimmed hat and passing Ralph Nicolby without any other remark trotted nimbly into the street. Ralph looked after him, but neither moved nor spoke for some time. When he broke what almost seemed the silence of stupefaction by a scornful laugh, this, he said, from its wildness should be another of those dreams that have so broken my rest of late in mercy to me. Fah, the old simpleton has gone mad. Although he expressed himself in a sterile and contemptuous manner, it was plain that the more Ralph pondered, the more ill at ease he became and the more he labored under some vague anxiety and alarm, which increased as time passed on and no tidings of Newman-nogs arrived. After waiting until late in the afternoon tortured by various apprehensions and misgivings and the recollection of the warning which his nephew had given him when they last met, the further confirmation of which now presented itself in one shape of probability, now in another, and haunted him perpetually, he left home and, scarcely knowing why, saved that he was in a suspicious and agitated mood, he took himself to Snally's house. His wife presented herself, and of her, Ralph inquired whether her husband was at home. No, she said sharply, he is not indeed, and I don't think he will be at home for a very long time, that's more. Do you know who I am? asked Ralph. Oh, yes, I know you very well. Too well, perhaps, and perhaps he does too, and sorry am I that I should have to say it. Tell him that I saw him through the window-blind above as I crossed the road just now and that I would speak to him on business, said Ralph. Do you hear? I hear rejoin Mrs. Snally taking no further notice of the request. I knew this woman was a hypocrite in the way of psalms and scripture phrases, said Ralph, passing quietly by, but I never knew she drank before. Stop, you don't come in here, said Mrs. Snally's better half, interposing her person, which was a robust one, in the doorway. You have said more than enough to him on business before now. I always told him what dealing with you and working out your schemes would do. It was either you or the schoolmaster, one of you, or the two between you that got the forged letter done, remember that. That wasn't his doing, so don't lay it at his door. Hold your tongue, you Jezebel, said Ralph, looking fearfully round. Ah, I know when to hold my tongue and when to speak, Mr. Nickelbey retorted the dame. Take care that other people know when to hold theirs. You jade, said Ralph. If your husband has been idiot enough to trust you with his secrets, keep them. She double that you are. Not so much his secrets as other people's secrets, perhaps, retorted the woman. Not so much his secrets as yours. None of your black looks at me. You'll want them all, perhaps, for another time. You'd better keep him. Will you, said Ralph, suppressing his passion as well as he could, and clutching her tightly by the wrist, will you go to your husband and tell him that I know he is at home and that I must see him? And will you tell me what it is that you and he mean by this new style of behavior? No, replied the woman. Violently disengaging herself, I'll do neither. You set me at defiance, do you, said Ralph? Yes was the answer, I do. For an instant Ralph had his hand raised as though he were about to strike her, but checking himself and nodding his head and muttering as though to assure her he would not forget this, walked away. Thence he went straight to the inn which Mr. Squeers frequented and inquired when he had been there last. In the vague hope that, successful or unsuccessful, he might by this time have returned from his mission and be able to assure him that all was safe, but Mr. Squeers had not been there for ten days and all that the people could tell about him was that he had left his luggage and his bill. Disturbed by a thousand fears and surmises and bent upon ascertaining whether Squeers had any suspicion of Snolly or was in any way a party to this altered behavior, Ralph determined to hazard the extreme step of inquiring for him at the Lambeth lodging and having an interview with him, even there. Bent upon this purpose and in that mood in which delay is insupportable, he repaired it once to the place and, being by description perfectly acquainted with the situation of his room, crept upstairs and knocked gently at the door. Not one nor two nor three nor yet a dozen knocks served to convince Ralph against his wish that there was nobody inside. He reasoned that he might be asleep and listening almost persuaded himself that he could hear him breathe. Even when he was satisfied that he could not be there, he sat patiently on a broken stair and waited, arguing that he had gone out upon some slight errand and must soon return. Many feet came up the creaking stairs and the step of some seemed to his listening ear so like that of the man for whom he waited that Ralph often stood up to be ready to address him when he reached the top, but one by one each person turned off into some room short of the place where he was stationed and at every such disappointment he felt quite chilled and lonely. At length he felt it was hopeless to remain and going downstairs again inquired of one of the lodgers if he knew anything of Mr. Squeers' movements, mentioning that worthy by an assumed name which had been agreed upon between them. By this lodger he was referred to another and by him to someone else from whom he learned that late on the previous night he had gone out hastily with two men who had shortly afterwards returned for the old woman who lived on the same floor and that although the circumstance had attracted the attention of the informant he had not spoken to them at the time nor made any inquiry afterwards. This possessed him with the idea that perhaps Pegg Sliderskew had been apprehended for the robbery and that Mr. Squeers being with her at the time had been apprehended also on suspicion of being a Confederate. If this were so the fact must be known to Gryde and to Gryde's house he directed his steps and now thoroughly alarmed and fearful that there were indeed plots afoot tending to his discomforture and ruin. Arrived at the userer's house he found the windows close shut. The dingy blinds drawn down all was silent, melancholy and deserted but this was its usual aspect. He knocked gently at first then loud and vigorously. Nobody came. He wrote a few words in pencil on a card and having thrust it under the door was going away when the noise above as though a window sash were stealthily raised caught his ear and looking up he could just discern the face of Gryde himself cautiously peering over the house parapet from the window of the garret. Seeing who was below he drew it in again not so quickly however but that Ralph let him know he was observed and called to him to come down. The call being repeated Gryde looked out again so cautiously that no part of the old man's body was visible. The sharp features and white hair appearing alone above the parapet looked like a severed head garnishing the wall. Hush! he cried. Go away, go away. Come down said Ralph beckoning him. Go away, squeaked Gryde, shaking his head in a sort of ecstasy of impatience. Don't speak to me, don't knock, don't call attention to the house but go away. I'll knock I swear till I have your neighbors up in arms said Ralph if you don't tell me what you mean by lurking there you whining curr. I can't hear what you say, don't talk to me, it isn't safe. Go away, go away, returned Gryde. Come down I say, will you come down? said Ralph fiercely. No, snarled Gryde. He drew in his head and Ralph, left standing in street, could hear the sash closed as gently and carefully as it had been opened. How is this, said he, that they all fall from me and shun me like the plague, these men who have licked the dust from my feet. Is my day past and is this indeed the coming on of night? I'll know what it means, I will at any cost, I am firmer and more myself just now than I have been these many days. Turning from the door which in the first transport at his rage he had meditated battering upon until Gryde's very fears should impel him to open it, he turned his face towards the city and working his way steadily through the crowd which was pouring from it, it was by this time between five and six o'clock in the afternoon went straight to the house of business of the brother's cheeribo and putting his head into the glass case found Tom Lincoln water alone. My name's Nickelby, said Ralph. I know it, replied Tim, surveying him through his spectacles. Which of your firm was it who called on me this morning? Demanded Ralph. Mr. Charles. Then tell Mr. Charles I want to see him. You shall see, said Tim, getting off his stool with great agility, you shall see not only Mr. Charles but Mr. Ned likewise. Tim stopped, looking steadily and severely at Ralph, nodded his head once in a curt manner which seemed to say that there was a little more behind and vanished. After a short interval he returned and ushering Ralph into the presence of the two brothers remained in the room himself. I want to speak to you who spoke to me this morning, said Ralph, pointing out with his finger the man whom he addressed. I have no secrets from my brother Ned or from Tom Lincoln water, observed Brother Charles quietly. I have, said Ralph. Mr. Nickelby, sir, said Brother Ned. The matter upon which my brother Charles called upon you this morning is one which is already perfectly well known to us three and to others besides and must unhappily soon become known to a great many more. He waited upon you, sir, this morning alone as a matter of delicacy and consideration. We feel now that further delicacy and consideration would be misplaced and if we confer together, it must be as we are or not at all. Well, gentlemen, said Ralph with a curl of the lip, talking in riddles would seem to be the peculiar forte of you two and I suppose your clerk like a prudent man has studied the art also with a view to your good graces. Talk in company, gentlemen, in God's name, I'll humor you. Humour! cried Tom Lincoln water, suddenly growing very red in the face. He'll humor us. He'll humor cheerable brothers. Do you hear that? Do you hear him? Do you hear him say he'll humor cheerable brothers? Tim, said Charles and Ned together, pray, Tim, pray now, don't. Tim, taking the hint, stifled his indignation as well as he could and suffered it to escape through his spectacles with the additional safety valve of a short hysterical laugh now and then which seemed to relieve him mightily. As nobody bids me to a seat, said Ralph, looking round, I'll take one, for I am fatigued with walking and now, if you please, gentlemen, I wish to know, I demand to know, I have the right, what you have to say to me which justifies such a tone as you have assumed and that underhand interference in my affairs which I have reason to suppose you have been practicing. I tell you plainly, gentlemen, that little as I care for the opinion of the world as the slang goes, I don't choose to submit quietly to slander and malice. Whether you suffer yourselves to be imposed upon too easily or willfully make yourselves parties to it, the result to me is the same. In either case, you can't expect from a plain man like myself much consideration or forbearance. So coolly and deliberately was this said that nine men out of ten ignorant of the circumstances would have supposed Ralph to be really an injured man. There he sat with folded arms, paler than usual certainly and sufficiently ill-favored but quite collected, far more so than the brothers or the exasperated Tim and ready to face out the worst. Very well, sir, said Brother Charles, very well. Brother Ned, will you ring the bell? Charles, my dear fellow, stopped one instant, returned the other. It will be better for Mr. Nicolby and for our object that he should remain silent, if he can, till we have said what we have to say. I wish him to understand that. Quite right, quite right, said Brother Charles. Ralph smiled but made no reply. The bell was rung, the room door opened, a man came in with a halting walk, and looking round, Ralph's eyes met those of Newman nogs. From that moment his heart began to fail him. "'This is a good beginning,' he said bitterly. "'Oh, this is a good beginning. "'You are candid, honest, open-hearted, fair-dealing men. "'I always knew the real worth of such characters as yours "'to tamper with a fellow like this, "'who would sell his soul if he had one for drink, "'and whose every word is a lie. "'What men are safe if this is done? "'Oh, it's a good beginning.' "'I will speak,' cried Newman, "'standing on tiptoe to look over Tim's head, "'who had interposed to prevent him. "'Hello, you, Sir. Old Nicolby. "'What do you mean when you talk of a fellow like this? "'Who made me a fellow like this? "'If I would sell my soul for drink, "'why wasn't I a thief, swindler, housebreaker, "'area sneak, robber of pence out of the trays "'of blind men's dogs rather than your drudge and pack-horse? "'If my every word was a lie, "'why wasn't I a pet in favour of yours? "'Lie, when did I ever cringe and fawn to you? "'Tell me that I served you faithfully. "'I did more work because I was poor "'and took more hard words from you "'because I despised you and them "'than any man you could have got "'from the parish work-house. "'I did. I served you because I was proud, "'because I was a lonely man with you, "'and there were no other dredges to see my degradation, "'and because nobody knew better than you "'that I was a ruined man, "'that I hadn't always been what I am, "'and that I might have been better off "'if I hadn't been a fool and fallen into the hands of you "'and others who were nays. "'Do you deny that?' "'Gently, reasoned Tim. "'You said you wouldn't. "'I said I wouldn't, cried Newman, "'thrusting him aside and moving his hand as Tim moved "'so as to keep him at arm's length. "'Don't tell me, here, you nickel-bee, "'don't pretend not to mind me. "'It won't do. I know better. "'You were talking of tampering, just now? "'Who tampered with Yorkshire school-masters? "'And while they sent the drudge out "'that he shouldn't overhear, "'forgot that such great caution might render him suspicious "'and that he might watch his master out at night "'and might set other's eyes to watch the school-master? "'Who tampered with a selfish father "'urging him to sell his daughter to old Arthur Gryde "'and tampered with Gryde, too, "'and did so in the little office "'with a closet in the room?' Ralf had put a great command upon himself, "'but he could not have suppressed a slight start "'if he had been certain to be beheaded for it "'the next moment.' "'Aha!' cried Newman. "'You mind me now, do you? "'What first set this fag to be jealous of his master's actions "'and to feel that if he hadn't crossed him when he might, "'he would have been as bad as he, or worse, "'that master's cruel treatment of his own flesh and blood "'and vile designs upon a young girl "'who interested even his broken-down drunken miserable hack "'and made him linger in his service "'in the hope of doing her some good "'as, thank God, he had done others once or twice before. "'When he would otherwise have relieved his feelings "'by pummeling his master soundly "'and then going to the devil, "'he would mark that and mark this, "'that I'm here now because these gentlemen thought it best. "'When I sought them out, as I did, "'there was no tampering with me, "'I told them I wanted help to find you out, "'to trace you down, to go through with what I had begun, "'to help the right, "'and that when I had done it I'd burst into your room "'and tell you all, face to face, man to man, and like a man. "'Now I've said my say and let anybody else say theirs "'and fire away.' "'With this concluding sentiment Newman Nogs, "'who had been perpetually sitting down "'and getting up again all through his speech, "'which he had delivered in a series of jerks, "'and who was, from the violent exercise "'and the excitement combined, "'in a state of most intense and fiery heat, "'became, without passing through any intermediate stage, "'stiff, upright, and motionless, and so remained, "'staring at Ralph Nicolby with all his might and main. "'Ralph looked at him for an instant "'and for an instant only. "'Then waved his hand, "'and beating the ground with his foot, "'said in a choking voice. "'Go on, gentlemen, go on. "'I'm patient you see. "'There's law to be had, there's law. "'I shall call you to an account for this. "'Take care of what you say. "'I shall make you prove it. "'The proof is ready,' returned Brother Charles, "'quite ready to our hands. "'The man Snolly last night made a confession. "'Who may the man Snolly be?' returned Ralph, "'and what may his confession have to do with my affairs? "'To this inquiry put with a dogged inflexibility of manner, "'the old gentleman returned no answer, "'but went on to say that to show him "'how much they were in earnest, "'it would be necessary to tell him "'not only what accusations were made against him, "'but what proof of them they had, "'and how that proof had been acquired. "'This laying open of the whole question "'brought up Brother Ned, Tom Lincoln-Water, "'and Newman-Noggs all three at once, "'who, after a vast deal of talking together "'in a scene of great confusion, "'laid before Ralph in distinct terms, "'the following statement, "'that Newman having been solemnly assured "'by one not then producible "'that Smike was not the son of Snolly, "'and this person having offered to make oath "'to that effect if necessary, "'they had by this communication "'been first led to doubt the claim set up, "'which they would otherwise have seen "'no reason to dispute, "'supported as it was by evidence "'which they had no power of disproving, "'that once suspecting the existence of a conspiracy, "'they had no difficulty in tracing back its origin "'to the malice of Ralph "'and the vindictiveness and avarice of Squeers, "'that suspicion and proof "'being two very different things, "'they had been advised by a lawyer "'eminent for his sagacity and acuteness in such practice "'to resist the proceedings taken on the other side "'for the recovery of the youth "'as slowly and artfully as possible, "'and meanwhile to be set Snolly, "'with whom it was clear the main falsehood must rest, "'to lead him, if possible, "'into contradictory and conflicting statements, "'to harass him by all available means, "'and so to practice on his fears "'and regard for his own safety, "'as to induce him to divulge the whole scheme "'and to give up his employer "'and whomesoever else he could implicate. "'That all this had been skillfully done, "'but that Snolly, who was well-practiced "'in the arts of low cunning and intrigue, "'had successfully baffled all their attempts "'until an unexpected circumstance "'had brought him last night upon his knees. "'It thus arose, when Newman-Noggs reported "'that Squeers was again in town "'and that an interview of such secrecy "'had taken place between him and Ralph "'that he had been sent out of the house "'plainly lest he should overhear a word. "'A watch was set upon the schoolmaster "'in the hope that something might be discovered "'which would throw some light upon the suspected plot. "'It being found, however, "'that he held no further communication with Ralph, "'nor any with Snolly, and lived quite alone, "'they were completely at fault. "'The watch was withdrawn "'and they would have observed his motions no longer "'if it had not happened that, one night, "'Newman stumbled, unobserved, "'on him and Ralph in the street together. "'Following them, he discovered to his surprise "'that they repaired to various low lodging-houses "'and taverns kept by broken gamblers "'to more than one of whom Ralph was known, "'and that they were in pursuit, "'so he found by inquiries when they had left, "'of an old woman, whose description exactly "'tallied with that of deaf Mrs. Sliderskew. "'A fair is now appearing to assume "'a more serious complexion. "'The watch was renewed with increased vigilance. "'An officer was procured who took up his abode "'in the same tavern with Squires, "'and by him and Frank Cherable "'the footsteps of the unconscious schoolmaster "'were dogged, until he was safely housed "'in the lodging at Lambeth. "'Mr. Squires, having shifted his lodging, "'the officer shifted his, "'and lying concealed in the same street "'and indeed in the opposite house, "'soon found that Mr. Squires and Mrs. Sliderskew "'were in constant communication. "'In this state of things Arthur Gryde "'was appealed to. "'The robbery, partly owing to the inquisitiveness "'of the neighbors, and partly to his own grief and rage, "'had long ago become known, "'but he positively refused to give his sanction "'or yield any assistance to the old woman's capture, "'and was seized with such a panic at the idea "'of being called upon to give evidence against her, "'that he shut himself up close in his house "'and refused to hold communication with anybody. "'Upon this the pursuers took counsel together, "'and coming so near the truth as to arrive "'at the conclusion that Gryde and Ralph, "'with Squires for their instrument, "'were negotiating for the recovery "'of some of the stolen papers "'which would not bear the light, "'and might possibly explain the hints "'relative to Madeline, which Newman had overheard, "'resolved that Mrs. Sliderskew "'should be taken into custody "'before she had parted with them, "'and Squires too, if anything suspicious, "'could be attached to him. "'Accordingly, a search warrant "'being procured and all prepared, "'Mr. Squires's window was watched, "'until his light was put out, "'and the time arrived when, "'as had been previously ascertained, "'he usually visited Mrs. Sliderskew. "'This done, Frank Cherable and Newman "'stole upstairs to listen to their discourse, "'and to give the signal to the officer "'at the most favorable time. "'At what an opportune moment they arrived, "'how they listened, and what they heard, "'is already known to the reader. "'Mr. Squires, still half stunned, "'was hurried off with a stolen deed "'in his possession, "'and Mrs. Sliderskew was apprehended likewise. "'The information being promptly carried to Snolly "'that Squires was in custody, "'he was not told for what. "'That worthy, first extorting a promise "'that he should be kept harmless, "'declared the whole tale concerning Smyke "'to be a fiction and forgery, "'and implicated Ralph Nickelby "'to the fullest extent. "'As to Mr. Squires, "'he had, that morning, "'undergone a private examination "'before a magistrate, "'and being unable to account satisfactorily "'for his possession of the deed, "'or his companionship with Mrs. Sliderskew "'had been, with her, remanded for a week. "'All these discoveries were now related to Ralph "'circumstantially and in detail. "'Whatever impression they secretly produced, "'he suffered no sign of emotion to escape him, "'but sat perfectly still, "'not raising his frowning eyes from the ground "'and covering his mouth with his hand. "'When the narrative was concluded, "'he raised his head hastily, "'as if about to speak, "'but unbrother Charles resuming "'fell into his old attitude again. "'I told you this morning,' said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon his brother's shoulder, "'that I came to you in mercy. "'How far you may be implicated "'in this last transaction, "'or how far the person who is now in custody "'may discriminate you, you best know. "'But justice must take its course "'against the parties implicated "'in the plot against this poor, "'unoffending, injured lad. "'It is not in my power, "'or in the power of my brother Ned, "'to save you from the consequences. "'The utmost we can do is to warn you in time "'and to give you an opportunity of escaping them. "'We would not have an old man like you "'discraced and punished by your near relation. "'Nor would we have him forget, like you, "'all ties of blood and nature. "'We entreat you, brother Ned, "'you join me, I know, in this entreaty, "'and so Tom Lincoln watered to you, "'although you pretend to be an obstinate dog, "'sir, and sit there frowning as if you didn't. "'We entreat you to retire from London "'to take shelter in some place where you will be safe "'from the consequences of these wicked designs, "'and where you may have time, sir, "'to atone for them and to become a better man. "'And do you think,' returned Ralph, rising, "'and do you think you will so easily crush me? "'Do you think that a hundred well-arranged plans "'or a hundred suborned witnesses, "'or a hundred false currs at my heels, "'or a hundred canting speeches full of oily words "'will move me? "'I thank you for disclosing your schemes, "'which I am now prepared for. "'You have not the man to deal with that you think, "'try me, and remember that I spit upon your fair words "'and false dealings, and dare you, provoke you, "'taunt you, to do to me the very worst you can.' "'Thus they parted for that time. "'But the worst had not come yet.' Instead of going home, Ralph threw himself into the first street cabriolet he could find, and, directing the driver towards the police office of the district in which Mr. Squeers's misfortunes had occurred, alighted at a short distance from it, and, discharging the man, went the rest of his way, thither on foot. Inquiring for the object of his solicitude, he learned that he had timed his visit well, for Mr. Squeers was in fact at that moment waiting for a hackney coach he had ordered, and in which he purposed proceeding to his week's retirement like a gentleman. Demanding speech with the prisoner, he was ushered into a kind of waiting-room, in which, by reason of his scholastic profession and superior respectability, Mr. Squeers had been permitted to pass the day. Here, by the light of a guttering and blackened candle, he could barely discern the schoolmaster, fast asleep on a bench in a remote corner. An empty glass stood on a table before him, which, with his somnilent condition and a very strong smell of brandy and water, forewarned the visitor that Mr. Squeers had been seeking in creature comforts a temporary forgetfulness of his unpleasant situation. It was not a very easy matter to rouse him, so lethargic and heavy were his slumbers. Regaining his faculties by slow and faint glimmerings, he at length sat upright and, displaying a very yellow face, a very red nose, and a very bristly beard, the joint effect of which was considerably heightened by a dirty white handkerchief, spotted with blood drawn over the crown of his head and tied under his chin, stared roofily at Ralph, in silence, until his feelings found a vent in this pithy sentence. I say, young fellow, you've been and done it now, you have. What's the matter with your head? asked Ralph. Why, your man, your informing kidnapping man, has been and broke it, rejoined Squeers sulkily. That's what's the matter with it. You've come at last, have you? Why, have you not sent to me? said Ralph. How could I come till I knew what had befallen you? My family hiccups Mr. Squeers raising his eye to the ceiling. My daughter, as is at that age, when all the sensibilities is a coming out strong and blow. My son, as is the young Norval of private life and the pride and ornament of a doting willage. Here's a shock for my family. The coat of arms of the Squeers' is tore, and their son has gone down into the ocean wave. You have been drinking, said Ralph, and have not yet slept yourself sober. I haven't been drinking your health, my caudra, replied Mr. Squeers, so you have nothing to do with that. Ralph suppressed the indignation which the school masters altered in insolent manner awakened, and asked again why he had not sent to him. What should I get by sending to you, returned Squeers? To be known to be in with you wouldn't do me a deal of good, and they won't take bail till they know something more of the case, so here I am hard and fast, and there you are, loose and comfortable. And so must you be in a few days, retarded Ralph, with affected good humor. They can't hurt you, man. Well, I suppose they can't do much to me if I explain how it was that I got into the good company of that there cadavris old slider, replied Squeers viciously, who I wish was dead and buried and resurrected and dissected and hung upon wires in an anatomical museum before ever I'd had anything to do with her. This is what him with the powdered head says this morning, in so many words, Prisoner, as you have been found in company with this woman, as you were detected in possession of this document, as you were engaged with her in fraudulently destroying others, and can give no satisfactory account of yourself, shall remand you for a week in order that inquiries may be made and evidence got, and meanwhile I can't take any bail for your appearance. Well then, what I say now is that I can give a satisfactory account of myself. I can hand in the card of my establishment and say, I am the Wackford Squeers as is therein named, sir. I am the man as is guaranteed by unimpeachable references to be an out-and-outer in morals and uprightness of principle. Whatever is wrong in this business is no fault of mine. I had no evil design in it, sir. I was not aware that anything was wrong. I was merely employed by a friend, my friend Mr. Ralph Nickleby of Golden Square. Send for him, sir, and ask him what he has to say. He's the man, not me. What document was it that you had? Asked Ralph, evading for the moment the point just raised. What document? Why THE document? replied Squeers. The Madeleine, what's her name one? It was a will, that's what it was. Of what nature? Whose will? When dated. How benefiting her? To what extent? Asked Ralph, hurriedly. A will in her favour, that's all I know, rejoined Squeers, and that's more than you'd have known if you'd had them bellows on your head. It's all owing to your precious caution that they got hold of it. If you had let me burn it and taken my word that it was gone, it would have been a heap of ashes behind the fire, instead of being whole and sound inside of my great coat. Beaten at every point, muttered Ralph. Ah, sighed Squeers, who between the brandy and water and his broken head wandered strangely. At the delightful village of Do the Boys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire, youth are bordered, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with pocket money, provided with all necessaries, instructed in all languages, living and dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigonometry. This is a altered state of trigonomics. This is A-L-L, all, everything, a cobbler's weapon. U-P, up, adjective, not down, S-Q-U-E-R-S, Squeers, noun substantive, a educator of youth, total, all, up, with, Squeers. His running on in this way had afforded Ralph an opportunity of recovering his presence of mind, which at once suggested to him the necessity of removing, as far as possible, the schoolmaster's misgivings, and leading him to believe that his safety and best policy lay in the preservation of a rigid silence. I tell you once again, he said, they can't hurt you. You shall have an action for false imprisonment and make a profit of this yet. We will devise a story for you that should carry you through twenty times such a trivial scrape as this. And if they want security in a thousand pounds for your reappearance in case you should be called upon, you shall have it. All you have to do is to keep back the truth. You're a little fuddled tonight and may not be able to see this as clearly as you would at another time, but this is what you must do, and you'll need all your senses about you for a slip might be awkward. Oh, said Squeers, who had looked cunningly at him with his head stuck on one side like an old raven. That's what I'm to do, is it? Now, then, just you hear a word or two from me. I am to going to have any stories made for me, and I am to going to stick to any. If I find matters going again me, I shall expect you to take your share, and I'll take care you do. You never said anything about danger. I never bargained for being brought into such a plight as this, and I don't mean to take it as quiet as you think. I'll let you lead me on from one thing to another, because we had been mixed up together in a certain sort of way. And if you had liked to be ill-natured, you might perhaps have hurt the business, and if you liked to be good-natured, you might throw a good deal in my way. Well, if all goes right now, that's quite correct, and I don't mind it. But if anything goes wrong, then times are altered, and I shall just say and do whatever I think may serve me most and take advice from nobody. My moral influence with them lads, added Mr. Squeers, with deeper gravity, is a tottering to its basis. The images of Mrs. Squeers, my daughter, and my son Wackford, all short of vittles, is perpetually before me. Every other consideration melts away and vanishes in front of these. The only number in all arithmetic that I know of as a husband and a father is number one, under this here most fatal go. How long Mr. Squeers might have declaimed, or how stormy a discussion his declamation might have led to, nobody knows. Being interrupted at this point by the arrival of the coach and an attendant who was to bear him company, he perched his hat with great dignity on the top of the handkerchief that bound his head, and thrusting one hand in his pocket, and taking the attendant's arm with the other, suffered himself to be led forth. As I supposed from his not-sending thought-routh, this fellow I plainly see through all his tipsy fooling, has made up his mind to turn upon me, I am so beset and hemmed in, that they are not only all struck with fear but like the beasts in the fable have their fling at me now, though time was and no longer ago than yesterday too when they were all civility and compliance, but they shall not move me, I'll not give way, I will not budge one inch. He went home and was glad to find his housekeeper complaining of illness that he might have an excuse for being alone and sending her away to where she lived, which was hard by. Then he sat down by the light of a single candle and began to think, for the first time, on all that had taken place that day. He had neither eaten nor drunk since last night, and in addition to the anxiety of mind he had undergone, had been travelling about from place to place almost incessantly for many hours. He felt sick and exhausted but could taste nothing save a glass of water, and continued to sit with his head upon his hand, not resting nor thinking, but laboriously trying to do both, and feeling that every sense but one of weariness and desolation was for the time benumbed. It was nearly ten o'clock when he heard a knocking at the door, and still sat quiet as before as if he could not even bring his thoughts to bear upon that. It had been often repeated, and he had several times heard a voice outside, saying that there was a light in the window, meaning as he knew his own candle, before he could rouse himself and go downstairs. Mr. Nickelby, there is terrible news for you, and I am sent to beg you will come with me directly, said a voice he seemed to recognise. He held his hand above his eyes and looking out, saw Tom Lincoln-water on the steps. Come where? demanded Ralph. To our house, where you came this morning, I have a coach here. Why should I go there? said Ralph. Don't ask me why, but pray come with me. Another addition of today returned Ralph, making as though he would shut the door. No, no, cried Tim, catching him by the arm and speaking most earnestly. It is only that you may hear something that has occurred, something very dreadful, Mr. Nickelby, which concerns you nearly. Do you think I would tell you so or come to you like this if it were not the case? Ralph looked at him more closely. Seeing that he was indeed greatly excited, he faltered, and could not tell what to say or think. You had better hear this now than at any other time, said Tim, it may have some influence with you, for heaven's sake, come. Perhaps at another time Ralph's obstinacy and dislike would have been proof against any appeal from such a quarter, however emphatically urged. But now, after a moment's hesitation, he went into the hall for his hat, and returning got into the coach without speaking a word. Tim well remembered afterwards, and often said that as Ralph Nickelby went into the house for this purpose, he saw him by the light of the candle which he had set down upon a chair, real and staggered like a drunken man. He well remembered, too, that when he had placed his foot upon the coach-steps, he turned round and looked upon him with the face so ashy pale and so very wild and vacant that it made him shudder, and for the moment almost afraid to follow. People were fond of saying that he had some dark presentiment upon him then, but his emotion might perhaps with greater show of reason be referred to what he had undergone that day. A profound silence was observed during the ride. Arrived at their place of destination, Ralph followed his conductor into the house and into a room where the two brothers were. He was so astounded, not to say odd, by something of a mute compassion for himself, which was visible in their manner and in that of the old clerk that he could scarcely speak. Having taken a seat, however, he contrived to say, though in broken words, what have you to say to me more than has been said already. The room was old and large, very imperfectly lighted, and terminated in a bay window about which hung some heavy drapery. Casting his eyes in this direction as he spoke, he thought he made out the dusky figure of a man. He was confirmed in this impression by seeing that the object moved as if uneasy under his scrutiny. Who's that yonder, he said? One who has conveyed to us within these two hours the intelligence which caused our sending to you, replied Brother Charles. Let him be, sir, let him be for the present. More riddles, said Ralph faintly. Well, sir? In turning his face towards the brothers he was obliged to avert it from the window, but before either of them could speak he had looked round again. It was evident that he was rendered restless and uncomfortable by the presence of the unseen person, for he repeated this action several times and at length as if in a nervous state which rendered him positively unable to turn away from the place, sat so as to have it opposite him, muttering as an excuse that he could not bear the light. The brothers conferred apart for a short time, their manner showing that they were agitated. Ralph glanced at them twice or thrice and ultimately said with a great effort to recover his self-possession. Now, what is this? If I am brought from home at this time of night let it be for something, what have you got to tell me? After a short pause he added, Is my niece dead? He had struck upon a key which rendered the task of commencement an easier one. Brother Charles turned and said that it was a death of which they had to tell him, but that his niece was well. You don't mean to tell me, said Ralph as his eyes brightened, that her brother's dead. No, that's too good. I'd not believe it if you told me so. It would be too welcome news to be true. Shame on you, you hardened and unnatural man, cried the other brother warmly. Prepare yourself for intelligence, which if you have any human feeling in your breast will make even you shrink and tremble. What if we tell you that a poor unfortunate boy, a child in everything but never having known one of those tender endearments or one of those lightsome hours which make our childhood a time to be remembered like a happy dream through all our afterlife. A warm hearted, harmless, affectionate creature who never offended you or did you wrong, but on whom you have vented the malice and hatred you have conceived for your nephew, and whom you have made an instrument for wreaking your bad passions upon him. What if we tell you that sinking under your persecution, sir, and the misery and ill usage of a life short in years but long in suffering, this poor creature has gone to tell his sad tale where, for your part in it, you must surely answer. If you tell me, Sidralf, if you tell me that he is dead, I forgive you all else. If you tell me that he is dead, I am in your debt and bound to you for life. He is. I see it in your faces. Who triumphs now? Is this your dreadful news, this your terrible intelligence? You see how it moves me? You did well to send. I would have travelled a hundred miles a foot through mud, mire, and darkness to hear this news just at this time. Even then, moved as he was by this savage joy, Ralf could see in the faces of the two brothers, mingling with their look of disgust and horror, something of that indefinable compassion for himself which he had noticed before. And he brought you the intelligence, did he, said Ralf, pointing with his finger towards the recess already mentioned, and sat there no doubt to see me prostrated and overwhelmed by it. Ha-ha-ha! But I tell him that I'll be a sharp thorn in his side for many a long day to come, and I tell you too, again, that you don't know him yet and that you'll rue the day you took compassion on the vagabond. You take me for your nephew, said a hollow voice. It would be better for you and for me too, if I were he indeed. The figure that he had seen so dimly rose and came slowly down. He started back, for he found that he confronted not Nicholas, as he had supposed, but Brooker. Ralf had no reason that he knew to fear this man. He had never feared him before, but the pallor which had been observed in his face when he issued forth that night came upon him again. He was seemed to tremble, and his voice changed as he said, keeping his eyes upon him. What does this fellow here? Do you know he is a convict, a felon, a common thief? Here what he has to tell you. Oh, Mr. Nicolby, here what he has to tell you. Be he what he may, cried the brothers, with such emphatic earnestness that Ralf turned to them in wonder. They pointed to Brooker. Ralf again gazed at him as it seemed mechanically. That boy, said the man, that these gentlemen have been talking of. That boy, repeated Ralf looking vacantly at him, whom I saw stretched dead and cold upon his bed, and who is now in his grave. Who is now in his grave? I called Ralf like one who talks in his sleep. The man raised his eyes and clasped his hands solemnly together. Was your only son, so help me God in heaven? In the midst of a dead silence Ralf sat down, pressing his two hands upon his temples. He removed them after a minute, and never was there seen part of a living man undisfigured by any wound, such a ghastly face as he then disclosed. He looked at Brooker who was by this time standing at a short distance from him, but did not say one word or make the slightest sound or gesture. Gentlemen, said the man, I offer no excuses for myself. I am long past that. If in telling you how this has happened, I tell you that I was harshly used and perhaps driven out of my real nature, I do it only as a necessary part of my story, and not to shield myself. I am a guilty man. He stopped, as if to recollect, and looking away from Ralf and addressing himself to the brothers proceeded in a subdued and humble tone. Among those who once had dealings with this man, gentlemen, that's from twenty to five and twenty years ago, there was one, a rough, fox-hunting, hard-drinking gentleman who had run through his own fortune and wanted to squander away that of his sister. They were both orphans, and she lived with him and managed his house. I don't know whether it was originally to back his influence and try to over-persuade the young woman or not, but he, pointing to Ralf, used to go down to the house and less to share pretty often, and stop there many days at a time. They had had a great many dealings together, and he may have gone on some of those, or to patch up his client's affairs, which were in a ruinous state. Of course he went for profit. The gentle woman was not a girl, but she was, I have heard say, handsome and entitled to a pretty large property. In course of time he married her. The same love of gain which led him to contract this marriage led to its being kept strictly private, for a clause in her father's will declared that if she married without her brother's consent, the property in which she had only some life interest while she remained single, should pass away altogether to another branch of the family. The brother would give no consent that the sister didn't buy and pay for handsomely. Mr. Nickelby would consent to know such sacrifice, and so they went on, keeping their marriage secret, and waiting for him to break his neck or die of a fever. He did neither, and meanwhile the result of this private marriage was a son. The son was put out to nurse a long way off. His mother never saw him but once or twice, and then by stealth. And his father, so eagerly did he thirst after the money which seemed to come almost within his grasp now, for his brother-in-law was very ill, and breaking more and more every day. Never went near him to avoid raising any suspicion. The brother lingered on. Mr. Nickelby's wife constantly urged him to avow their marriage. He peremptorily refused. She remained alone in a dull country house, seeing little or no company but riotous drunken sportsmen. He lived in London and clung to his business. Angry quarrels and recriminations took place, and when they had been married nearly seven years and were within a few weeks of the time when the brother's death would have adjusted all, she eloped with a younger man, and left him. Here he paused, but Ralph did not stir, and the brother signed to him to proceed. It was then that I became acquainted with these circumstances from his own lips. They were no secrets then for the brother and others knew them, but they were communicated to me, not on this account, but because I was wanted. He followed the fugitives. Some said to make money of his wife's shame, but I believed to take some violent revenge, for that was as much his character as the other, perhaps more. He didn't find them, and she died not long after. I don't know whether he began to think he might like the child, or whether he wished to make sure that it should never fall into his mother's hands, but before he went he entrusted me with the charge of bringing it home, and I did so. He went on, from this point, in a still more humble tone and spoke in a very low voice, pointing to Ralph as he resumed. He had used me ill, cruelly. I reminded him in what not long ago when I met him in the street, and I hated him. I brought the child home to his own house, and lodged him in the front garret. Neglect had made him very sickly, and I was obliged to call in a doctor who said he must be removed for change of air, or he would die. I think that first put it in my head. I did it, then. He was gone six weeks, and when he came back I told him, with every circumstance well planned and proved nobody could have suspected me, that the child was dead and buried. He might have been disappointed in some intention he had formed, or he might have had some natural affection, but he was grieved at that. And I was confirmed in my design of opening up the secret one day, and making it a means of getting money from him. I had heard, like most other men, of Yorkshire schools, I took the child to one kept by a man named Squeers and left it there. I gave him the name of Smyke. Year by year I paid twenty pounds a year for him for six years. Never breathing the secret all the time, for I had left his father's service after more hard usage and quarreled with him again. I was sent away from this country. I have been away nearly eight years. Directly I came home again, I travelled down into Yorkshire, and skulking in the village of an evening time made inquiries about the boys at the school, and found that this one, whom I had placed there, had run away with a young man bearing the name of his own father. I sought his father out in London, and hinting at what I could tell him tried for a little money to support life, but he repulsed me with threats. I then found out his clerk, and, going on from little to little and showing him that there were good reasons for communicating with me, learnt what was going on, and it was I who told him that the boy was no son of the man who claimed to be his father. All this time I had never seen the boy. At length I heard from this same source that he was very ill and where he was. I travelled down there that I might recall myself, if possible, to his recollection and confirm my story. I came upon him unexpectedly, but before I could speak he knew me, he had good cause to remember me, poor lad, and I would have sworn to him if I had met him in the Indies. I knew the piteous face I had seen in the little child. After a few days' indecision I applied to the young gentleman in whose care he was, and I found that he was dead. He knows how quickly he recognised me again, how often he had described me and my leaving him at the school, and how he told him of a garret he recollected, which is the one I have spoken of and in his father's house to this day. This is my story. I demand to be brought face to face with the schoolmaster and put to any possible proof of any part of it, and I will show that it's too true, and that I have this guilt upon my soul. Unhappy man, said the brothers, what reparation can you make for this? None, gentlemen, none. I have none to make, and nothing to hope now. I am old in years and older still in misery and care. This confession can bring nothing upon me but new suffering and punishment, but I make it, and will abide by it, whatever comes. I have been the instrument of working out this dreadful retribution upon the head of a man who, in the hot pursuit of his bad ends, has persecuted and hunted down his own child to death. It must descend upon me too, I know it must fall. My reparation comes too late, and neither in this world nor in the next can I have hope again. He had hardly spoken when the lamp which stood upon the table close to where Ralph was seated, and which was the only one in the room, was thrown to the ground and left them in darkness. There was some trifling confusion in obtaining another light. The interval was a mere nothing, but when the light appeared, Ralph Nicolby was gone. The good brothers in Tom Lincoln Water occupied some time in discussing the probability of his return, and when it became apparent that he would not come back, they hesitated whether or no to send after him. At length, remembering how strangely and silently he had sat in one immovable position during the interview, and thinking he might possibly be ill, they determined, though it was now very late, to send to his house on some pretense. Finding an excuse in the presence of Brooker whom they knew not how to dispose of, without consulting his wishes, they concluded to act upon this resolution before going to bed.