 CHAPTER 49 Chronicles the Further Proceedings of the Nickelbee Family and the Sequel of the Adventure of the Gentleman in the Small Clothes Charles Nicholas, absorbed in the one engrossing subject of interest which had recently opened upon him, occupied his leisure hours with thoughts of Madeline Bray, and in execution of the commissions which the anxiety of Brother Charles in her behalf imposed upon him, saw her again and again, and each time, with greater danger to his peace of mind, and a more weakening effect upon the lofty resolutions he had formed, Mrs. Nickelbee and Kate continued to live in peace and quiet, agitated by no other cares than those which were connected with certain harassing proceedings taken by Mr. Snolly for the recovery of his son, and their anxiety for Smyke himself, whose health, long upon the wane, began to be so much affected by apprehension and uncertainty as sometimes to occasion both them and Nicholas considerable uneasiness and even alarm. It was no complaint or murmur on the part of the poor fellow himself that thus disturbed them, ever eager to be employed in such slight services as he could render, and always anxious to repay his benefactors with cheerful and happy looks. Less friendly eyes might have seen in him no cause for any misgiving. But there were times, and often, too, when the sunken eye was too bright, the hollow cheek too flushed, the breath too thick and heavy in its course, the frame too feeble and exhausted to escape their regard and notice. There is a dread disease which so prepares its victim, as it were for death, which so refines it of its grosser aspect and throws around familiar looks unearthly indications of the coming change. A dread disease in which the struggle between soul and body is so gradual, quiet and solemn, and the result so sure, that day by day and grain by grain, the mortal part wastes and withers away, so that the spirit grows light and sanguine with its lightening load, and feeling immortality at hand, deems it but a new term of mortal life. A disease in which death and life are so strangely blended, that death takes the glow and hue of life, and life the gaunt and grizzly form of death. A disease which medicine never cured, wealth never warded off, or poverty could boast exemption from, which sometimes moves in giant strides and sometimes at a tardy sluggish pace, but slower quick is ever sure and certain. It was with some faint reference in his own mind to this disorder, though he would by no means admit it, even to himself, that Nicholas had already carried his faithful companion to a physician of great repute. There was no cause for immediate alarm, he said. There were no present symptoms which could be deemed conclusive. The Constitution had been greatly tried and injured in childhood, but still it might not be, and that was all. But he seemed to grow no worse, and as it was not difficult to find a reason for these symptoms of illness in the shock and agitation he had recently undergone, Nicholas comforted himself with the hope that his poor friend would soon recover. This hope his mother and sister shared with him, and as the object of their joint solicitude seemed to have no uneasiness or despondency for himself, but each day answered with a quiet smile that he felt better than he had upon the day before. Their fears abated, and the general happiness was by degrees restored. Many and many a time in after years did Nicholas look back to this period of his life, and tread again the humble, quiet, homely scenes that rose up as of old before him. Many and many a time, in the twilight of a summer evening, or beside the flickering winter's fire, but not so often or so sadly then, would his thoughts wander back to these old days, and dwell with a pleasant sorrow upon every slight remembrance which they brought crowding home, the little room in which they had so often sat long after it was dark, figuring such happy futures. Kate's cheerful voice and merry laugh, how if she were from home they used to sit and watch for her return, scarcely breaking silence but to say how dull it seemed without her, the glee with which poor smike would start from the darkened corner where he used to sit and hurry to admit her, and the tears they often saw upon his face, half wondering to see them too, and he looked so pleased and happy. Every little incident, and even slight words and looks of those old days little heated then, but well remembered when busy cares and trials were quite forgotten, came fresh and thick before him many and many a time, and rustling above the dusty growth of years, came back green boughs of yesterday. But there were other persons associated with these recollections, and many changes came about before they had being, a necessary reflection for the purposes of these adventures, which at once subside in their accustomed train, and shunning all flighty anticipations or wayward wanderings, pursue their steady and decorous course. If the brother cheerables, as they found Nicholas worthy of trust and confidence, bestowed upon him every day some new and substantial mark of kindness, they were not less mindful of those who depended on him. Various little presents to Mrs. Nickelby, always of the very things they most required, tended in no slight degree to the improvement and embellishment of the cottage. Kate's little store of trinkets became quite dazzling, and for company. If Brother Charles and Brother Ned failed to look in for at least a few minutes every Sunday, or one evening in the week, there was Mr. Tim Lincoln Water, who had never made half a dozen other acquaintances in all his life, and who took such delight in his new friends as no words can express, constantly coming and going in his evening walks, and stopping to rest, while Mr. Frank Cheerable happened by some strange conjunction of circumstances to be passing the door on some business or other at least three nights in the week. He is the most attentive young man I ever saw, Kate, said Mrs. Nickelby to her daughter one evening, when this last-named gentleman had been the subject of the worthy lady's eulogium for some time, and Kate had sat perfectly silent. "'Attentive, Mama,' rejoined Kate. "'Bless my heart, Kate,' cried Mrs. Nickelby, with her wanted suddenness. "'What a colour you have got! Why, you're quite flushed!' "'Oh, Mama, what strange things you fancy!' "'It wasn't fancy, Kate, my dear, I'm certain of that,' returned her mother. "'However, it's gone now at any rate, so it don't much matter whether it was or not. "'What was it we were talking about? Oh, Mr. Frank, I never saw such attention in my life. Never!' "'Surely you're not serious,' returned Kate, colouring again, and this time beyond all dispute. "'Not serious,' returned Mrs. Nickelby, "'why shouldn't I be serious? I'm sure I never was more serious. I will say that his politeness and attention to me is one of the most becoming, gratifying, pleasant things I have seen for a very long time. You don't often meet with such behaviour in young men, and it strikes one more when one does meet with it.' "'Oh, attention to you, Mama!' rejoined Kate quickly. "'Oh, yes.' "'Dear me, Kate,' retorted Mrs. Nickelby, "'what an extraordinary girl you are. Was it likely I should be talking of his attention to anybody else?' "'I declare. I'm quite sorry to think he should be in love with a German lady. That I am.' "'He said very positively that it was no such thing, Mama,' returned Kate. "'Don't you remember his saying so, that very first night he came here?' "'Pasides,' she added, in a more gentle tone. "'Why should we be sorry if it is the case? What is it to us, Mama?' "'Nothing to us, Kate, perhaps,' said Mrs. Nickelby, emphatically. "'But something to me, I confess. I like English people to be thorough English people, and not half English and half I don't know what. I shall tell him point blank next time he comes, that I wish he would marry one of his own countrywomen, and see what he says to that.' "'Pray don't think of such a thing, Mama,' returned Kate hastily, "'not for the world. Consider how very—' "'Well, my dear, how very what?' said Mrs. Nickelby, opening her eyes in great astonishment. Before Kate had returned any reply, a queer little double-knock announced that Miss Lacrievy had called to see them, and when Miss Lacrievy presented herself, Mrs. Nickelby, though strongly disposed to be argumentative on the previous question, forgot all about it in a gush of supposes about the coach she had come by. Supposing that the man who drove must have been either the man in the shirt sleeves or the man with the black eye, that whoever he was he hadn't found that parasol she left inside last week, that no doubt they had stopped a long while at the halfway house coming down, or that perhaps being full they had come straight on, and lastly, that they surely must have passed Nicholas on the road. "'I saw nothing of him,' answered Miss Lacrievy, but I saw that dear old soul, Mr. Lincoln-Water, taking his evening walk and coming on to rest here before he turns back to the city I'll be bound,' said Mrs. Nickelby. "'I should think he was,' returned Miss Lacrievy, especially as young Mr. Cheerable was with him. "'Surely that is no reason why Mr. Lincoln-Water should be coming here,' said Kate. "'Why, I think it is, my dear,' said Miss Lacrievy. "'For a young man, Mr. Frank is not a very great walker, and I observe that he generally falls tired and requires a good long rest when he has come as far as this. "'But where is my friend?' said the little woman, looking about, after having glanced slyly at Kate. "'He has not been run away with again, has he?' "'Ah, where is Mr. Smyke?' said Mrs. Nickelby. He was here this instant.' "'Apon further inquiry, it turned out, to the good lady's unbounded astonishment, that Smyke had, that moment, gone upstairs to bed.' "'Well, now,' said Mrs. Nickelby, "'he is the strangest creature.' "'Last Tuesday?' "'Was it Tuesday?' "'Yes, to be sure it was. You recollect, Kate, my dear. The very last time young Mr. Cheerable was here. Last Tuesday night he went off in just the same strange way. At the very moment the knock came to the door. It cannot be that he don't like company, because he is always fond of people who are fond of Nicholas, and I am sure young Mr. Cheerable is.' "'And the strangest thing is, that he does not go to bed. Therefore it cannot be because he is tired. I know he doesn't go to bed, because my room is the next one. And when I went upstairs last Tuesday, hours after him, I found that he had not even taken his shoes off, and he had no candle. So he must have sat moping in the dark all the time. Now upon my word,' said Mrs. Nickelby, "'when I come to think of it, that's very extraordinary.' As the hearers did not echo this sentiment, but remained profoundly silent, either as not knowing what to say, or as being unwilling to interrupt, Mrs. Nickelby pursued the threat of her discourse after her own fashion. "'I hope,' said that lady, that this unaccountable conduct may not be the beginning of his taking to his bed and living there all his life, like the thirsty woman of Tutbury, or the cock-lain ghost, or some of those extraordinary creatures. One of them had some connection with our family. I forget without looking back to some old letters I have upstairs, whether it was my great-grandfather who went to school with the cock-lain ghost, or the thirsty woman of Tutbury who went to school with my grandmother. Miss the Crevy, you know, of course. Which was it that didn't mind what the clergyman said, the cock-lain ghost or the thirsty woman of Tutbury? The cock-lain ghost, I believe. Then I have no doubt,' said Mrs. Nickelby, that it was with him my great-grandfather went to school, for I know the master of his school was a dissenter, and that would, in a great measure, account for the cock-lain ghost's behaving in such an inappropriate manner to the clergyman when he grew up. Ah, train up a ghost, child, I mean. Any further reflections on this fruitful theme were abruptly cut short by the arrival of Tim Lincolnwater and Mr. Frank Cheerable. In the hurry of receiving whom, Mrs. Nickelby speedily lost sight of everything else. I am so sorry, Nicholas is not at home, said Mrs. Nickelby. Kate, my dear, you must be both Nicholas and yourself. Miss Nickelby need be but herself, said Frank. I, if I may venture to say so, oppose all change in her. Then at all events she shall press you to stay, return to Mrs. Nickelby. Mr. Lincolnwater says ten minutes, but I cannot let you go so soon. Nicholas would be very much vexed, I am sure. Kate, my dear. In obedience to a great number of nods and winks and frowns of extra significance, Kate added her entreaties that the visitors would remain, but it was observable that she addressed them exclusively to Tim Lincolnwater, and there was, besides, a certain embarrassment in her manner, which, although it was as far from impairing its graceful character as the tinge it communicated to her cheek was from diminishing her beauty, was obvious at a glance even to Mrs. Nickelby. Not being of a very speculative character, however, save under circumstances when her speculations could be put into words and uttered aloud, that discreet matron attributed the emotion to the circumstance of her daughters not happening to have her best frock on. Though I never saw her look better, certainly, she reflected at the same time. Having settled the question in this way, and being most complacently satisfied that in this, as in all other instances, her conjecture could not fail to be the right one, Mrs. Nickelby dismissed it from her thoughts, and inwardly congratulated herself on being so shrewd and knowing. Nicholas did not come home, nor did Smyke reappear, but neither circumstance, to say the truth, had any great effect upon the little party, who were all in the best humour possible. Indeed, there sprung up quite a flirtation between Miss Lacrievy and Tim Lincolnwater, who said a thousand jacquotes and facetious things, and became, by degrees, quite gallant, not to say tender. Little Miss Lacrievy on her part was in high spirits, and rallied Tim on having remained a bachelor all his life with so much success, that Tim was actually induced to declare that if he could get anybody to have him, he didn't know but what he might change his condition even yet. Miss Lacrievy earnestly recommended a lady she knew, who would exactly suit Mr. Lincolnwater, and had a very comfortable property of her own. But this latter qualification had very little effect upon Tim, who manfully protested that fortune would be no object with him, but that true worth and cheerfulness of disposition were what a man should look for in a wife, and that if he had these he could find money enough for the moderate wants of both. This avowal was considered so honourable to Tim, that neither Mrs. Nicolby nor Miss Lacrievy could sufficiently extol it, and stimulated by their praises, Tim launched out into several other declarations also manifesting the disinterestedness of his heart, and a great devotion to the fair sex, which were received with no less approbation. This was done and said with a comical mixture of jest and earnest, and leading to a great amount of laughter made them very merry indeed. Kate was commonly the life and soul of the conversation at home, but she was more silent than usual upon this occasion, perhaps because Tim and Miss Lacrievy engrossed so much of it, and keeping aloof from the talkers, sat at the window watching the shadows as the evening closed in, and enjoying the quiet beauty of the night, which seemed to have scarcely less attractions to Frank, who first lingered near, and then sat down beside her. No doubt there are a great many things to be said appropriate to a summer evening, and no doubt they are best said in a low voice, as being most suitable to the peace and serenity of the hour. Long pauses too at times, and then an earnest word or so, and then another interval of silence, which somehow does not seem like silence either, and perhaps now and then a hasty turning away of the head, or drooping of the eyes towards the ground, all these minor circumstances, with a disinclination to have candles introduced, and a tendency to confuse hours with minutes, are doubtless mere influences of the time, as many lovely lips can clearly testify. Neither is there the slightest reason why Mrs. Nicolby should have expressed surprise, when candles being at length brought in, Kate's bright eyes were unable to bear the light, which obliged her to avert her face, and even to leave the room for some short time, because when one had sat in the dark for so long, candles are dazzling, and nothing can be more strictly natural than that such results should be produced, as all well-informed young people know. For that matter old people know it too, or did know it once, but they forget these things sometimes, and more is the pity. The Good Lady's surprise, however, did not end here. It was greatly increased when it was discovered that Kate had not the least appetite for supper, a discovery so alarming that there is no knowing in what unaccountable efforts of oratory Mrs. Nicolby's apprehensions might have been vented, if the general attention had not been attracted at the moment by a very strange and uncommon noise, proceeding, as the pale and trembling servant-girl affirmed, and as everybody's sense of hearing seemed to affirm also, write down the chimney of the adjoining room. It being quite plain to the comprehension of all present that, however extraordinary and improbable it might appear, the noise did nevertheless proceed from the chimney in question, and the noise, which was a strange compound of various shuffling, sliding, rumbling, and struggling sounds, all muffled by the chimney, still continuing, Frank Cheerable caught up a candle, and Tim Lincoln watered the tongs, and they would have very quickly ascertained the cause of this disturbance if Mrs. Nicolby had not been taken very faint, and declined being left behind on any account. This produced a short remonstrance, which terminated in their all-proceeding to the troubled chamber in a body, accepting only Miss Lucrevy, who, as the servant-girl volunteered a confession of having been subject to fits in her infancy, remained with her to give the alarm and apply restoratives in case of extremity. Advancing to the door of the mysterious apartment, they were not a little surprised to hear a human voice, chanting with a highly elaborated expression of melancholy, and in tones of suffocation which a human voice might have produced from under five or six feather-beds of the best quality, the once popular air of, has she then failed in her truth, the beautiful maid I adore? Noor, on bursting into the room without demanding a parlay, was their astonishment lessened by the discovery that these romantic sounds certainly proceeded from the throat of some man up the chimney, of whom nothing was visible but a pair of legs, which were dangling above the grate, apparently feeling with extreme anxiety for the top bar whereon to effect a landing. A sight so unusual and un-business-like as this, completely paralyzed Tim Lincoln-Water, who after one or two gentle pinches at the stranger's ankles, which were productive of no effect, stood clapping the tongs together, as if he were sharpening them for another assault, and did nothing else. This must be some drunken fellow, said Frank. No thief would announce his presence thus. As he said this with great indignation, he raised the candle to obtain a better view of the legs, and was darting forward to pull them down with very little ceremony, when Mrs. Nicolby, clasping her hands, uttered a sharp sound something between a scream at an exclamation, and demanded to know whether the mysterious limbs were not clad in small clothes and gray worsted stockings, or whether her eyes had deceived her. Yes, cried Frank, looking a little closer, small clothes certainly, and—and rough gray stockings, too! Do you know him, ma'am? Kate, my dear, said Mrs. Nicolby, deliberately sitting herself down in a chair with that sort of desperate resignation, which seemed to imply that now matters had come to a crisis, and all disguise was useless. You will have the goodness my love to explain precisely how this matter stands. I have given him no encouragement, none whatever, not the least in the world. You know that, my dear, perfectly well. He was very respectful, exceedingly respectful, when he declared, as you were a witness to. Still at the same time, if I am to be persecuted in this way, if vegetable, what's his names, and all kinds of garden stuff are tipped, strew my path out of doors, and gentlemen are to come choking up our chimneys at home, I really don't know. Upon my word I do not know what is to become of me. It's a very hard case, harder than anything I was ever exposed to before I married your poor dear papa, though I suffered a good deal of annoyance then, but that, of course, I expected, and made up my mind for. When I was not nearly so old as you, my dear, there was a young gentleman who sat next to us at church, who used almost every Sunday to cut my name in large letters in the front of his pew while the sermon was going on. It was gratifying, of course, naturally so, but still it was an annoyance, because the pew was in a very conspicuous place, and he was several times publicly taken out by the beetle for doing it. But that was nothing to this. This is a great deal worse, and a great deal more embarrassing. I would rather, Kate, my dear, said Mrs. Nicolby, with great solemnity, and in a fusion of tears, I would rather, I declare, have been a pig-faced lady, than be exposed to such a life as this. Frank Cherable and Tim Lincoln-Water looked, in irrepressible astonishment, first at each other, and then at Kate, who felt that some explanation was necessary, but who, between her terror at the apparition of the legs, her fear lest their owner should be smothered, and her anxiety to give the least ridiculous solution of the mystery that it was capable of bearing was quite unable to utter a single word. He gives me great pain, continued Mrs. Nicolby, drying her eyes, great pain, but don't hurt a hair of his head I beg, on no account hurt a hair of his head. It would not, under existing circumstances, have been quite so easy to hurt a hair of the gentleman's head as Mrs. Nicolby seemed to imagine, in as much as that part of his person was some feet up the chimney, which was by no means a wide one. But as all this time he had never left off singing about the bankruptcy of the beautiful maid in respect of truth, and now began not only to croak very feebly, but to kick with great violence as if respiration became a task of difficulty. Frank Cherable, without further hesitation, pulled at the shorts and worsted with such hardiness as to bring him floundering into the room, with greater precipitation than he had quite calculated upon. Oh, yes, yes, said Kate. Directly the whole figure of this singular visitor appeared in this abrupt manner. I know who it is. Pray don't be rough with him. Is he hurt? I hope not. Oh, pray see if he is hurt. He is not, I assure you, replied Frank, handling the object of his surprise after this appeal, with sudden tenderness and respect. He is not hurt in the least. Don't let him come any nearer, said Kate, retiring as far as she could. Oh, no, he shall not, rejoined Frank. You see, I have him secure here. But may I ask you what this means, and whether you expected this old gentleman? Oh, no, said Kate, of course not. But he—mama does not think so, I believe—but he is a mad gentleman who has escaped from the next house, and must have found an opportunity of secreting himself here. Kate, interposed Mrs. Nicolby, with severe dignity. I am surprised at you. Dear mama, Kate gently remonstrated. I am surprised at you, repeated Mrs. Nicolby, upon my word, Kate, I am quite astonished that you should join the persecutors of this unfortunate gentleman, when you know very well that they have the basest designs upon his property, and that that is the whole secret of it. It would be much kinder of you, Kate, to ask Mr. Lincoln-Water or Mr. Cherable to interfere on his behalf and see him righted. You ought not to allow your feelings to influence you. It's not right very far from it. What should my feelings be, do you suppose? If anybody ought to be indignant, who is it? I, of course, and very properly so. Still, at the same time, I wouldn't commit such an injustice for the world. No, continued Mrs. Nicolby drawing herself up, and looking another way with a kind of bashful stateliness. This gentleman will understand me, when I tell him that I repeat the answer I gave him the other day, that I always will repeat it, though I do believe him to be sincere when I find him placing himself in such dreadful situations on my account, and that I request him to have the goodness to go away directly, or it will be impossible to keep his behaviour a secret from my son Nicholas. I am obliged to him, very much obliged to him, but I cannot listen to his addresses for a moment. It's quite impossible. While this address was in course of delivery, the old gentleman, with his nose and cheeks embellished with large patches of soot, sat upon the ground with his arms folded, eyeing the spectators in profound silence, and with a very majestic demeanour. He did not appear to take the smallest notice of what Mrs. Nicolby said, but when she ceased to speak he honoured her with a long stare, and inquired if she had quite finished. I have nothing more to say, replied that lady modestly, I really cannot say anything more. Very good, said the old gentleman, raising his voice, then bring in the bottled lightning, a clean tumbler, and a corkscrew. Nobody executing this order, the old gentleman, after a short pause, raised his voice again and demanded a thunder sandwich. This article not being forthcoming either, he requested to be served with a fricassee of boot tops and goldfish sauce, and then, laughing heartily, gratified his hearers with a very long, very loud, and most melodious bellow. But still Mrs. Nicolby, in reply to the significant looks of all about her, shook her head as though to assure them that she saw nothing whatever in all this. In less indeed it were a slight degree of eccentricity. She might have remained impressed with these opinions down to the latest moment of her life, but for a slight train of circumstances, which trivial as they were, altered the whole complexion of the case. It happened that Miss Lucrevy, finding her patient in no very threatening condition, and being strongly impelled by curiosity to see what was going forward, bustled into the room while the old gentleman was in the very act of bellowing. It happened, too, that the instant the old gentleman saw her, he stopped short, skipped suddenly on his feet, and felt a kissing his hand violently, a change of demeanor which almost terrified the little portrait painter out of her senses, and caused her to retreat behind Tim Lincoln-Water with the utmost expedition. A-ha! cried the old gentleman, folding his hands and squeezing them with great force against each other. I see her now, I see her now! My love, my life, my bride, my peerless beauty! She has come at last, at last, and all is gas and gators. Mrs. Nicolby looked rather disconcerted for a moment, but immediately recovering, nodded to Miss Lucrevy and the other spectators several times, and frowned and smiled gravely, giving them to understand that she saw where the mistake was, and would set it all to rights in a minute or two. She has come, said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon his heart. Cormoran in blunderbore, she has come! All the wealth I have is hers, if she will take me for her slave. Where are grace, beauty, and blandishments like those? In the Empress of Madagascar? No. In the Queen of Diamonds? No. In Mrs. Rowland, who every morning bathes in Kallidor for nothing? No. Melt all those down into one, with the three graces, the nine muses, and fourteen biscuit-bakers' daughters from Oxford Street, and make a woman half as lovely. I defy you! After uttering this rhapsody, the old gentleman snapped his fingers twenty or thirty times, and then subsided into an ecstatic contemplation of Miss Lucrevy's charms. This affording Mrs. Nicolby a favourable opportunity of explanation, she went about it straight. I am sure, said the worthy lady, with a prefatory cough, that it's a great relief under such trying circumstances as these, to have anybody else mistaken for me a very great relief, and it's a circumstance that never occurred before, although I have several times been mistaken for my daughter Kate. I have no doubt the people were very foolish, and perhaps ought to have known better. But still they did take me for her, and of course that was no fault of mine, and it would be very hard indeed if I was to be made responsible for it. However, in this instance, of course, I must feel that I should do exceedingly wrong if I suffered anybody, especially anybody that I am under great obligations to, to be made uncomfortable on my account. And therefore I think it my duty to tell that gentleman that he is mistaken, that I am the lady who he was told by some impertinent person, was the niece to the council of paving-stones, and that I do beg and entreat of him to go quietly away, if it's only for—here, Mrs. Nicolby, simpered and hesitated—for my sake! It might have been expected that the old gentleman would have been penetrated to the heart by the delicacy and condescension of this appeal, and that he would have at least have returned a courteous and suitable reply. What, then, was the shock which Mrs. Nicolby received? When accosting her in the most unmistakable manner, he replied in a loud and sonorous voice, a vaunt, cat! Sir! cried Mrs. Nicolby in a faint tone. Cat! replied the old gentleman, puss, kit, tit, gremolkin, tabby, brindle, whoosh! With which last sound, uttered in a hissing manner between his teeth, the old gentleman swung his arms violently round and round, and at the same time alternately advanced on Mrs. Nicolby and retreated from her in that species of savage dance with which boys on market days may be seen to frighten pigs, sheep, and other animals, when they give out obstinate indications of turning down a wrong street. Mrs. Nicolby wasted no words, but uttered an exclamation of horror and surprise, and immediately fainted away. Al attend to Mama, said Kate hastily, I am not at all frightened, but pray take him away, pray take him away! Frank was not at all confident of his power of complying with this request, until he bethought himself of the stratagem of sending Miss Lucrevy on a few paces in advance, and urging the old gentleman to follow her. It succeeded to a miracle, and he went away in a rapture of admiration, strongly guarded by Tim Lincolnwater on one side, and Frank himself on the other. Kate murmured Mrs. Nicolby, reviving when the coast was clear. Is he gone? She was assured that he was. I shall never forgive myself, Kate, said Mrs. Nicolby, never! That gentleman has lost his senses, and I am the unhappy cause. You, the cause, said Kate, greatly astonished. I, my love, replied Mrs. Nicolby, with a desperate calmness. You saw what he was the other day, you see what he is now. I told your brother, weeks and weeks ago, Kate, that I hoped a disappointment might not be too much for him, you see what a wreck he is. Making allowance for his being a little flighty, you know how rationally, and sensibly, and honourably he talked when we saw him in the garden. You have heard the dreadful nonsense he has been guilty of this night, and the manner in which he has gone on with that poor unfortunate little old maid, can anybody doubt how all this has been brought about? I should scarcely think they could, said Kate mildly. I should scarcely think so either, rejoined his mother. Well, if I am the unfortunate cause of this, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am not to blame. I told Nicholas I said to him, Nicholas, my dear, we should be very careful how we proceed. He would scarcely hear me, if the matter had only been properly taken up at first, as I wished it to be, but you are both of you so like your poor papa. However, I have my consolation, and that should be enough for me. Washing her hands, thus, of all responsibility under this head, past, present, or to come, Mrs. Nickelby kindly added that she hoped her children might never have greater cause to reproach themselves than she had, and prepared herself to receive the escort, who soon returned with the intelligence that the old gentleman was safely housed, and that they had found his custodians, who had been making merry with some friends, wholly ignorant of his absence. Quiet being again restored, a delicious half hour, so Frank called it in the course of subsequent conversation with Tim Lincolnwater as they were walking home, was spent in conversation, and Tim's watch at length apprising him that it was high time to depart, the ladies were left alone, though not without many offers on the part of Frank to remain until Nicholas arrived, no matter what hour of the night it might be, if, after the late neighborly interruption, they entertained the least fear of being left to themselves. As their freedom from all further apprehension, however, left no pretext for his insisting on mounting guard, he was obliged to abandon the citadel, and retire with the trusty Tim. Nearly three hours of silence passed away, Kate blushed to find when Nicholas returned how long she had been sitting alone, occupied with her own thoughts. I really thought it had not been half an hour, she said. They must have been pleasant thoughts, Kate, rejoined Nicholas gaily, to make time pass away like that. What were they now? Kate was confused. She toyed with some trifle on the table, looked up and smiled, looked down and dropped a tear. Why, Kate, said Nicholas, drawing his sister towards him and kissing her, let me see your face. No? Ah, that was but a glimpse, that's scarcely fair. A longer look than that, Kate. Come, and I'll read your thoughts for you. There was something in this proposition, albeit it was said without the slightest consciousness or application, which so alarmed his sister that Nicholas laughingly changed the subjects to domestic matters, and thus gathered by degrees, as they left the room and went upstairs together, how lonely Smyke had been all night, and by very slow degrees, too, for on this subject also Kate seemed to speak with some reluctance. Poor fellow, said Nicholas, tapping gently at his door, what can be the cause of all this? Kate was hanging on her brother's arm. The door being quickly opened, she had not time to disengage herself before Smyke, very pale and haggard and completely dressed, confronted them. And have you not been to bed, said Nicholas? No, was the reply. Nicholas gently detained his sister, who made an effort to retire, and asked, Why not? I could not sleep, said Smyke, grasping the hand which his friend extended to him. You are not well, rejoined Nicholas? I am better, indeed, a great deal better, said Smyke quickly. Then why do you give way to these fits of melancholy, inquired Nicholas, in his kindest manner? Or why not tell us the cause? You grow a different creature, Smyke? I do, I know I do, he replied. I will tell you the reason one day, but not now. I hate myself for this. You are also good and kind, but I cannot help it. My heart is very full. You do not know how full it is. He wrung Nicholas's hand before he released it, and glancing for a moment at the brother and sister as they stood together, as if there were something in their strong affection which touched him very deeply, withdrew into his chamber, and was soon the only watcher under that quiet roof. End of Chapter 49 Recorded by Megan Manley on January 13, 2009, in Chetumal, Mexico Chapter 50 of Nicholas Nicobay by Charles Dickens This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, visit LibriVox.org Nicholas Nicobay by Charles Dickens Chapter 50 Involves a Serious Catastrophe The little race course at Hampton was in the full tide and height of its gait. The day as dazzling as could be, the sun high in the cloudless sky, and shining in its fullest splendor. Every gaudy color that fluttered in the air from carriage seat and garish tent top shone out in its gaudiest hues. Old dinghy flags grew new again. Faded garden was reburnished. Stained rotten canvas looked a snowy white. The very beggar's rags were freshened up, and sentiment quite forgot its charity in its fervent admiration of poverty so picturesque. It was one of those scenes of life and animation, caught in its very brightest and freshest moments, which can scarcely fail to please. For if the eye be tired of show and glare, or the ear be wary with a sisteless round of noise, the one may repose, the one may repose, turn almost where it will, on eager, happy and expectant faces, and the other dead in all consciousness of more annoying sounds in those of met and exhilaration. Even the sun-bound faces of gypsy children, half-naked do they be, suggest a drop of comfort. It is a pleasant thing to see that the sun has been there, to know that the air and light are on them every day, to feel that they are children and lead children's lives. That if their pillows be damp, it is with the dues of heaven, and not with tears, that the limbs of their girls are free and that they are not crippled by distortions, imposing an unnatural and horrible penance upon their sex. That their lives are spent from day to day, at least among the weaving trees, and not in the mist of dreadful engines which make young children old before they know what childhood is, and give them the exhaustion and infamity of age, without like age the privilege to die. God sent that old nursery tales were true, and that gypsies stole such children by the score. The great race of the day had just been run, and the closed lines of people on either side of the course, suddenly breaking up and pouring into it, imparted a new liveliness to the scene, which was again all busy movement. Some hurried eagerly to catch a glimpse of the winning horse, others darted to and through, searching no less eagerly for the carriages they had left in quest of better stations. Here a little knot gathered round a pea and timble table, to watch the plucking of some unhappy green horn, and there another proprietor, which is confederates in various disguises, one man in spectacles, another with an eyeglass and a stylish hat, a third dressed as a farmer well to do in the world, which is top coat over his arm, and his flash notes in a large liven pocketbook, and all with heavy-handled weeps, to represent most innocent country fellows who had trotted there on horseback, sought, by loud and noisy talk and pretended play, to entrap some unwary customer, while the gentleman confederates, of more villainous aspects still, in clean leaning and good clothes, betrayed their close interest in the concern by the anxious shooting glass they cast on all newcomers. These would be hanging on the outskirts of a wide circle of people, assembled round some itinerant chocolate, opposed in his turn by a noisy band of music, or the classic game of Ring the Boon, while ventriloquists holding dialogues with wooden dolls, and fortune telling women, smothering the cries of real babies, divided with them, and many more, the general attention of the company. Drinking tents were full, glasses began to clink in carriages, hampers to be unpacked, tempting provisions to be set forth, knives and forks to rattle, champagne corks to fly, eyes to brighten that were not dull before, and pickpockets to count their games during the last hit. The attention so recently strained on one object or interest, was now divided among a hundred, and look where you would. There was a monthly assemblage of feasting, laughing, talking, begging, gambling, and mummary. Of the gambling boots, there was a plentiful show, flourishing in all the splendor of carpeted ground, striped hangings, crimson cloth, pinnacled roofs, geranium pots, and lively servants. There were the strangers clubhouse, the Athenium clubhouse, the Hampton clubhouse, the St. James clubhouse, and half a mile of clubhouses to play in. And there were rouge et noir, French hazard, and other games to play at. It is into one of these boots that our story takes its way. Feated up with three tables for the purposes of play, and crowded with players and lookers on. It was, although the largest place of the kind upon the course, intensely hot, notwithstanding that a portion of the canvas roof was rolled back to admit more air. And there were two doors for a free passage in and out, accepting one or two men who, each with a long roll of half crowns, checkered with a few stray sovereigns in his left hand, staked their money at every roll of the ball with a business-like sedateness, which showed that they were used to it, and had been playing all day, and most probably all the day before. There was no very distinctive character about the players, who were chiefly young men, apparently attracted by curiosity, or staking small sums as part of the amusement of the day, with no very great interest in winning or losing. There were two persons present, however, who, as peculiarly good specimens of a class, deserve a passing notice. Of these, one was a man of six or eight and fifty, who sat on a chair near one of the entrances of the boot, with his hands folded on the top of his stick, and his shin appearing above them. He was a tall, fat, long-bodied man, buttoned up to the truth in a light green coat, which made his body look still longer than it was. He wore, besides drab breeches and gaiters, a white-necked chief, and a broad-brimmed white hat, amid all the boys' noise of the games, and the perpetual passing in and out of the people. He seemed perfectly calm and abstracted, without the smallest particle of excitement in his composition. He exhibited no indication of weariness, nor to a casual observer of interest either. There he sat, quite still and collected, sometimes but very rarely. He nodded to some passing face, or beckoned to a waiter to obey a call from one of the tables. The next instant, he subsided into his old state. He might have been some profoundly death-old gentleman who had come in to take a rest, or he might have been patiently waiting for a friend without the least consciousness of anybody's presence, or fixed in a trance, or under the influence of opium. People turned round and looked at him. He made no gesture, cut nobody's eye, led them pass away and others come on, and be succeeded by others, and took no notice. When he did move, it seemed wonderful how he could have seen anything to occasion it, and so in truth it was. But there was not a face that passed in or out which this man failed to see, not a gesture at any one of the three tables that was lost upon him, not a word spoken by the bankers, but reached his ear, not a winner or loser he could not have marked, and he was the proprietor of the place. The order presided over the rouge at noire table. He was probably some ten years younger, and was a plump, punchy, sturdy-looking fellow, with his underlip a little pursed, from a habit of counting money inwardly as he paid it, but with no decidedly bad expression in his face, which was rather an honest and jolly one than otherwise. He wore no coat, the weather being hot, and stood behind the table with a huge mound of crowns and half-crowns before him, and a cash box for notes. This game was constantly playing. Perhaps twenty people would be taken at the same time. This man had to roll the ball to watch the stakes as they were laid down to gather them off the collar which lost, to pay those who won, to do it all with the utmost dispatch, to roll the ball again and to keep this game perpetually alive. He did it all with a rapidity, absolutely maveloss, never hesitating, never making a mistake, never stopping, and never ceasing to repeat such unconnected phrases as the following. Which partly from habit, and partly to have something appropriate and business like to say, he constantly poured out with the same monotonous emphasis, and in nearly the same order all day long. Rouge à noir from Paris. Gentlemen, make your game and back your own opinions, any time while the ball rolls. Rouge à noir from Paris. Gentlemen, it's a French game, gentlemen. I brought it over myself. I did indeed. Rouge à noir from Paris. Black wins. Black. Stop a minute sir, and I'll pay you directly. Two there, half a pound there, three there, and one there, gentlemen. The balls are rolling, any time sir, while the ball rolls. The beauty of this game is that you can double your stakes or put down your money, gentlemen, any time while the ball rolls. Black again. Black wins. I never saw such a thing, I never did in all my life. Upon my word, I never did. If any gentleman had been back in the black in the last five minutes, he must have won five and forty pound in four rolls of the ball. He must indeed. Gentlemen, with pot, sherry, cigars, and most excellent champagne. Here, waiter, bring a bottle of champagne and let's have a dozen of 15 cigars here, and let's be comfortable, gentlemen, and bring some clean glasses, any time while the ball rolls. I lost 137 pounds yesterday, gentlemen. At one roll of the ball, I did indeed. How do you do, sir? Recognizing some knowing gentleman without any halt or change of voice, and giving a wink so slight that it seems an accident. Will you take a glass of sherry, sir? Here, waiter, bring a clean glass and hand the sherry to this gentleman and hand it round. Will you, waiter? This is the rouge and noir from Paris, gentlemen, any time while the ball rolls. Gentlemen, make your game and back your own opinions. It's the rouge and noir from Paris. Quite a new game. I brought it over myself. I did indeed, gentlemen, the balls are rolling. This officer was busily playing his vocation when half a dozen persons sauntered through the boot, to whom but without stopping, either in his pitch or walk, he bowed respectfully, at the same time directing by a look, the attention of a man beside him, to the tallest figure in the group, in recognition of whom the proprietor pulled off his hat. This was Sir Mulberry Hawk, with whom were his friend and pupil, and a small train of gentlemanly dressed men of characters more doubtful than obscure. The proprietor, in a low voice, bade Sir Mulberry good day. Sir Mulberry, in the same tone, bade the proprietor go to the devil and turned to speak to his friends. There was evidently an irritable consciousness about him that he was an object of curiosity on this first occasion of showing himself in public after the accident that had befallen him, and it was easy to perceive that he appeared on the race course that day, more in the hope of meeting with a great many people who knew him, and so getting over as much as possible of the annoyance at once, than with any purpose of enjoying the sport. There yet remained a slight scar upon his face, and whenever he was recognized as he was almost every minute by people sauntering in and out, he made a restless effort to conceal it with his glove, showing how keenly he felt the disgrace he had undergone. Ah Hawk said one very sprucely dressed personage in a new market coat, a choice neckerchief and all other accessories of the most unexceptional kind. How do you do old fellow? This was a rival trainer of young noble men and gentlemen, and the person of all others whom Sir Mulberry most hated and dreaded to meet, they shook hands with excessive cordiality. And how are you now old fellow? Hey, quite well, quite well, says Sir Mulberry. That's right, said the other. How do you do very soft? He's a little pulled down our friend here, rather out of condition still, hey? It should be observed that the gentleman had very white teeth, and that when there was no excuse for laughing, he generally finished with the same monosyllable which he uttered so as to display them. He's in very good condition. There's nothing the matter with him, said the young man carelessly. Upon my soul, I'm glad to hear he's rejoined the other. Have you just returned from Brussels? We only reached town late last night, said Lord Fredericks. Sir Mulberry turned the way to speak to one of his own party, and famed not to hear. Now upon my life, said the friend, affecting to speak in a whisper. It's an uncommonly bold and game-taining hock to show himself so soon. I say it advisedly. There's a vast deal of courage in it. You see, he has just rusticated long enough to excite curiosity, and not long enough for men to have forgotten that deused unpleasant. By the by, you know the rights of their fear, of course. Why did you never give those confounded papers the lie? I seldom read the papers, but I looked in the papers for that, and may I be? Look in the papers, interrupted Sir Mulberry, turning suddenly round. Tomorrow. No, next day with you. Upon my life, my dear fellow, I seldom or never read the papers, said the other, shrugging the soldiers. But I will at your recommendation. What shall I look for? Good day, said Sir Mulberry, turning abruptly on his hill, and drawing his pupil with him. Falling again into the loitering careless space at which they had entered, they lunged out, arm in arm. I won't give him a case of murder to read. Murdered Sir Mulberry turned out. But it shall be something very near it, if whip-court curts and blood-johns bruise. His companion said nothing, but there was something in his manner which called Sir Mulberry to add, with nearly as much ferocity as if his friend had been Nicholas himself. I sent Jenkins to Old Nickel Bay before eight o'clock this morning. He's a staunch one. He was back with me before the messenger. I had it all from him in the first five minutes. I knew where this hound is to be met with. Time and place both. But there's no need to talk. Tomorrow will soon be here. And what's to be done tomorrow, inquired Lord Frederick. Sir Mulberry hawked, honoured him with an angry glass. But condescended to return no verbal answer to this inquiry. Both walked sullenly on, as though their thoughts were busily occupied. Until they were quite clear of the crowd, and almost alone, when Sir Mulberry willed round to return. Stop, said his companion. I want to speak to you in earnest. Don't turn back. Let us walk here a few minutes. What have you to say to me that you could not say yonder, as well as hear return his mentor, disengaging his arm. Hawke rejoined the other. Tell me, I must know. Must know, interrupted the other distantly. Phew. Go on. If she must know. Of course, there's no escape for me. Must know. Must ask then return Lord Frederick. And must press you for a plain and straightforward answer. Is what you have just said only a mere whim of the moment, occasioned by your being out of humor and irritated? Or is it your serious intention and one that you have actually contemplated? Why? Don't you remember what passed on the subject one night? When I was laid up with a broken limb, sit some mulberry with a snare. Perfectly well. Then take that for an answer in the devil's name replied some mulberry and asked me for no other. Such was the assidency he had acquired over his dupe and such the latter's general habit of submission that for the moment the young man seemed half afraid to pursue the subject. He soon overcame this feeling, however, if it had restrained him at all and retorted angrily. If I remember what passed at the time you speak of, I expressed a strong opinion on the subject and said that with my knowledge or concept, you should never do what you threaten now. Will you prevent me? Ask some mulberry to laugh. Yes, if I can return the other promptly. A very proper saving clause that lasts since a mulberry and one you stand in need of. Oh, look to your own business and leave me to look to mine. This is mine, retorted Lord Frederick. I make it mine. I will make it mine. It's mine already. I am more compromised than I should be as it is. Do as you please and what you please for yourself. Sits a mulberry affecting an easy good humor. Surely that must content you. Do nothing for me, that's all. I advise no man to interfere in proceedings that I choose to take. I am sure you know me better than to do so. The fact is, I see you mean to offer me advice. It is well meant, I have no doubt, but I reject it. Now, if you please, we will return to the carriage. I find no entertainment here, but quite the reverse. If we prolong this conversation, we might quarrel, which would be no proof of wisdom in either you, in either you or me. With this rejoinder, and waiting for no further discussion, some mulberry hawk yawned and very leisurely turned back. There was not a little tact and knowledge of the young Lord's disposition in this mode of treating him. Some mulberry clearly saw that if his dominion were to last, it must be established now. He knew that the moment he became violent, the young man would become violent too. He had many times been enabled to strengthen his influence when any circumstance had occurred to weaken it, by adopting this cool and laconic style, and he trusted to eat now, with very little doubt of its entire success. But while he did this, and wore the most careless and indifferent department, that his practised arts enabled him to assume, he inwardly resolved not only to visit all the modification of being compelled to suppress his feelings, with additional severity upon Nicholas, but also to make the young Lord pay dearly for it, one day, in some shape or other. So long as he had been a passive instrument in his hands, some mulberry had regarded him with no other feeling than contempt. But now that he presumed to avow opinions in opposition to his, and even to turn upon him with a lofty tune and an air of support, a lofty tune and an air of superiority, he began to hate him, conscious that in the vilest and most worthless sense of the term, he was dependent upon the weak young Lord. Some mulberry could the less brook humiliation at his hands, and when he began to dislike him, he measured his dislike, as men often do, by the extent of the injuries he had inflicted upon its object. When it is remembered that some mulberry hawk had plundered, duped, deceived, and fooled his pupil in every possible way, it would not be wondered at, that beginning to hate him, he began to hate him cordially. On the other hand, the young Lord, having taught, which he very seldom did about anything, and seriously too, upon their affair with Nicholas, and the circumstances which led to it, had arrived at a manly and honest conclusion. Some mulberries coerced an insulting behavior on the occasion in question, had produced a deep impression on his mind. A strong suspicion of his having led him on to pursue Ms. Nekubai, for purposes of his own, had been lurking there for some time. He was really ashamed of his share in the transaction, and deeply mortified by the misgivings that he had been called. He had had sufficient leisure to reflect upon these things, during their late retirement, and at times when his careless and indolent nature would permit, had availed himself of the opportunity. Slight circumstances too had occurred to increase his suspicion. It wanted but a very slight circumstance to kindle his wrath against some mulberry. This is the stentful and insolent tune in their recent conversation. The only one they had held upon the subject since the period took which the mulberry fared, affected. Thus they rejoined their friends, each with causes of dislike against the order rankling in his breast, and the young man haunted, besides with thoughts of the vindictive retaliation which was threatened against Nicholas, and the determination to prevent it by some strong step, if possible. But this was not all. Some mulberry, conceiving that he had silenced him effectually, could not suppress his triumph, or for bear from following up what he conceived to be his advantage. Mr. Pike was there, and Mr. Pluck was there, and Conor Chaucer, an other gentleman of the same caste. And it was a great point for some mulberry to show them that he had not lost his influence. At first, the young lord contented himself with a silent determination to take measures for withdrawing himself from the connection immediately. By degrees he grew more angry, and was exasperated by jests and familiarities, which a few hours before would have been a source of amusement to him. This did not serve him, for at such bantering or retort as suited the company, he was no match for some mulberry. Still, no violent rupture took place. They returned to town, Mr. Pike and Pluck, and other gentlemen frequently protesting on the way theater, that some mulberry had never been in so many places. Such tip-top spirits in all his life. They dined together, some tossly. The wine flowed freely, as indeed it had done all day. Some mulberry drank to recompense himself for his recent abstinence. The young lord threw drown his indignation, and the remainder of the party, because the wine was of the best, and they had nothing to pay. It was nearly midnight when they rushed out, wild, burning with wine, their blood boiling, and their brains on fire to the gaming table. Here they encountered another party, mad like themselves. The excitement of play, hot rooms, and glaring lights was not calculated to allay the fever of the time. In that giddy well of noise and confusion, the men were delirious. Who thought of money, green or the muru, in the savage intoxication of the moment? More wine was called for. Glass after glass was drained. The appached and scaled-in mouths were cracked with thirst. Down poured the wine like oil on blazing fire, and still the riot went on. The debauchery gained its height. Glasses were dashed upon the floor by hands that could not carry them to lips. Oats were shouted out by lips which could scarcely form the words to vent them in. Drunken losers cursed and roared. Some mounted on the tables, waving bottles above their heads, and bidding the fires to the rest. Some danced, some sang, some tore the cards and raved. Tomoth and Frenzy reigned supreme, when a noise arose that drowned all others. And two men, seizing each other by the truth, struggled into the middle of the room. A dozen voices, until now on head, called aloud to pat them. Those who had kept themselves cool, to win, and who earned their living in such scenes, threw themselves upon the combatants, and forcing them asunder, dragged them some space apart. Let me go, cried some mulberry, in a thick hoarse voice. He struck me. Do you hear? I say he struck me. Have I a friend here? Who is this? Westwood, do you hear me say he struck me? I hear, I hear, replied one of those who held him. Come away for tonight. I will not, by gee, he replied. A dozen men about us saw the blue. Tomorrow will be ample time, said the friend. It will not be ample time, cried some mulberry. Tonight, at once, hear. His passion was so great that he could not articulate, but stood clenching his fist, tearing his hair, and stamping upon the ground. What is this, my lord? said one of those who surrounded him. Have blows passed? One blow has, was the panting reply. I struck him. I proclaim it to all here. I struck him, and he knows why. I say with him, let this quarrel be adjusted now. Captain Adams, said the young lord, looking hurriedly about him, and addressing one of those who had interposed. Let me speak with you, I beg. The person addressed stepped forward, and taking the young man's arm, they retired together, followed shortly afterwards by some mulberry and his friend. It was a profligate hunt of the worst repute, and not a place in which such an affair was likely to awaken any sympathy for either party, or to call forth any further remonstration or interposition. Elsewhere, its further progress would have been instantly prevented, and time allowed for sober and cool reflection. But not there. Disturbed in their orgies, the party broke up, some reeled away with looks of tipsy gravity, others withdrew noisily discussing what had just occurred. The gentlemen of honor who lived upon their winnings remarked to each other as they went out. That hawk was a good shot, and those who had been most noisy fell fast asleep upon the sofas, and thought no more about it. Meanwhile, the two seconds as they may be called now, after a long conference, each with its principal, met together in under-room. Both utterly heartless, both men upon town, both thoroughly initiated in its worst vices, both deeply in debt, both falling from some higher estate, both addicted to every depravity for which society can find some gentle name, and plead its most depraving conventionalities as an excuse, they were naturally gentlemen of most unblemished honor themselves, and of great necessity concerning the honor of other people. These two gentlemen were unusually cheerful just now, for the affair was pretty certain to make some noise, and could scarcely fail to enhance their reputations. This is an awkward affair, Adams, said Mr Westwood, drawing himself up. There he returned the captain. A blow has been struck, and there is but one course, of course. No apology, I suppose, said Mr Westwood. Not a syllable sigh from my man, if we talk till doomsday return the captain. The original course of dispute, I understand, was some girl or order, to whom your principal applied certain terms, which Lord Frederick, defending the girl, repelled. But this led to a long recrimination upon a great many-saw subjects, charges and counter-charges. Sir Mulberry was sarcastic. Lord Frederick was excited and struck him in the heat of provocation, and under circumstances of great aggravation. That blew. Unless there is a full retraction on the part of Sir Mulberry, Lord Frederick is ready to justify. There is no more to be said, returned the order, but to settle the hour and the place of meeting. It's a responsibility, but there is a strong feeling to have it over. Do you object to say at sunrise? Sharp work replied the captain, referring to his watch. However, as this seems to have been a long-time breeding, and negotiation is only a waste of words. No. Something may possibly be said out of doors. Afterward passed in the other room, which renders it desirable that we should be off without delay. And quite clear of town, said Mr Westwood. What do you say to one of the meadows opposite Twinkenham by the riverside? The captain saw no objection. Shall we join company in the avenue of trees, which leads from Petersham to Ham House, and settle the exact spot when we arrive there? Said Mr Westwood. To this, the captain also assented. After a few other preliminaries, equally brief and having settled the road, each party should take to avoid suspicion. They separated. We shall just have comfortable time, my Lord, send the captain. When he had communicated the arrangements, to call at my rooms for a case of pistols, and then jog cool it down, if you will allow me to dismiss your servant, will take my cap, for yours perhaps might be recognized. What a contrast when they reached the street, to the scene they had just left. It was already daybreak. For the flaring yellow light within was substituted the clear, bright, glorious morning. For a hot, closed atmosphere, tinted with the smell of expiring lamps, and raking with the streams of riot and dissipation, the free, fresh, wholesome air. But to the fevered head on which that cool air blew, it seemed to come laden with remorse for time misspent, and countless opportunities neglected. With throbbing veins and burning skin, eyes wild and heavy, thoughts horrid and disordered. He felt as though the light were a reproach, and shrunk involuntarily, from the day, as if he were some foul and hideous thing. Shivering, said the captain, you are cold, rather, it does strike cool coming out of those hot rooms. Wrap that cloak about you. So so, now we are off. They rattled through the quiet streets, made their call at the captain's lodgings, cleared the town, and emerged upon the open road, without hindrance or molestation. Fields, trees, gardens, hedges, everything looked very beautiful. The young man scarcely seemed to have noticed them before, though he had passed the same objects a thousand times. There was a peace and serenity upon them all. Strangely at variance, with the bewilderment and confusion of his own half-sober thoughts, and yet impressive and welcome, he had no fear upon his mind. But as he looked about him, he had less anger, and though all old delusions, relative to his worthless lit companion, were now cleared away, he rather wished he had never known him than thought of its having come to this. The past night, the day before, and many other days and nights beside, all mingled themselves up in one unintelligible and senseless world. He could not separate the transactions of one time from those of another. Now the noise of the wheels resolved itself into some wild tune, in which he could recognize scraps of air he knew. Now there was nothing in his ears but a stunning and bewildering sound, like rushing water. But his companion rallied him on being so silent, and they talked and laughed boisterously. When they stopped, he was a little surprised to find himself in the act of smoking. But on reflection, he remembered when and where he had taken the cigar. They stopped at the avenue gate and alighted, leaving the courage to the care of the servant, who was a smart fellow, and merely as well accustomed to such proceedings as his master. Samuel Berry and his friend were already there. All four walked in, profound silence, up the aisle of stately-embed trees, which, meeting far above their heads, formed a long-green perspective of Gothic arches, terminating like some old rain in the open sky. After a pause and a brief conference between the seconds, they at length turned to the right, and taking a track across a little middle, passed Ham House, and came into some fields beyond. In one of these, they stopped. The ground was measured. Some usual forms gone through. The two principles were placed front to front at the distance agreed upon, and Samuel Berry turned his face toward his young adversary for the first time. He was very pale. His eyes were bloodshot. His dress disordered. And his head disheveled. For the face, it expressed nothing but violent and evil passions. He shaded his eyes with his hand, grazed at his opponent steadfastly, for a few moments. And then, taking the weapon which was tendered to him, bent his eyes upon that, and looked up no more until the word was given when he instantly fired. The two shots were fired, as nearly as possible at the same instant. In that instant, the young lord turned his head sharply round, fixed upon his adversary. A ghastly stare, and without a groan or stagger, fell down dead. He's gone, cried Westwood, who, with the other second, had run up to the body, and fallen on one knee beside it. His blood on his own head sits on Mulberry. He brought this upon himself and forced it upon me. Captain Adams cried Westwood hastily. Captain Adams cried Westwood hastily. I call you to witness that this was fairly done. Hock, we have not a moment to lose. We must leave this place immediately, push for Brighton, and cross to France with all speed. This has been a bad business, and maybe worse, if we delay a moment. Adams consult your own safety, and don't remain here. The living before the dead. Goodbye. With these words, he seized some Mulberry by the arm and hurried him away. Captain Adams, only person to convince himself beyond all question of the fatal result, sped off in the same direction, took concert measures with his servant for removing the body and securing his own safety likewise. So died Lord Frederick very soft, by the hand which he had loaded with gifts, and clasped a thousand times. By the act of him, but for whom and others like him, he might have lived a happy man, and died with children's faces round his bed. The sun came proudly up in all his majesty. The noble river ran its winding course. The leaves quivered and rustled in the air. The birds poured their cheerful songs from every tree. The short-lived butterfly fluttered its little wings. All the light and life of day came on, and I missed it all, and pressing down the grass, whose every blade bore twenty tiny leaves. Lady Deadman, with his tough and rigid face, turned upwards to the sky. End of chapter 50