In which Nicholas falls in Love. He employs aMediator, whose Proceedings are crowned withunexpected Success, excepting in one solitaryParticular.

　　O nce more out of the clutches of his old persecutor, itneeded no fresh stimulation to call forth the utmostenergy and exertion that Smike was capable ofsummoning to his aid. Without pausing for a moment to reflectupon the course he was taking, or the probability of its leadinghim homewards or the reverse, he fled away with surprisingswiftness and constancy of purpose, borne upon such wings asonly Fear can wear, and impelled by imaginary shouts in the wellremembered voice of Squeers, who, with a host of pursuers,seemed to the poor fellow’s disordered senses to press hard uponhis track; now left at a greater distance in the rear, and nowgaining faster and faster upon him, as the alternations of hope andterror agitated him by turns. Long after he had become assuredthat these sounds were but the creation of his excited brain, hestill held on, at a pace which even weakness and exhaustion couldscarcely retard. It was not until the darkness and quiet of acountry road, recalled him to a sense of external objects, and thestarry sky, above, warned him of the rapid flight of time, that,covered with dust and panting for breath, he stopped to listen andlook about him.

　　All was still and silent. A glare of light in the distance, casting a warm glow upon the sky, marked where the huge city lay. Solitaryfields, divided by hedges and ditches, through many of which hehad crashed and scrambled in his flight, skirted the road, both bythe way he had come and upon the opposite side. It was late now.

　　They could scarcely trace him by such paths as he had taken, andif he could hope to regain his own dwelling, it must surely be atsuch a time as that, and under cover of the darkness. This, bydegrees, became pretty plain, even to the mind of Smike. He had,at first, entertained some vague and childish idea of travelling intothe country for ten or a dozen miles, and then returninghomewards by a wide circuit, which should keep him clear ofLondon—so great was his apprehension of traversing the streetsalone, lest he should again encounter his dreaded enemy—but,yielding to the conviction which these thoughts inspired, heturned back, and taking the open road, though not without manyfears and misgivings, made for London again, with scarcely lessspeed of foot than that with which he had left the temporary abodeof Mr Squeers.

　　By the time he re-entered it, at the western extremity, thegreater part of the shops were closed. Of the throngs of peoplewho had been tempted abroad after the heat of the day, but fewremained in the streets, and they were lounging home. But ofthese he asked his way from time to time, and by dint of repeatedinquiries, he at length reached the dwelling of Newman Noggs.

　　All that evening, Newman had been hunting and searching inbyways and corners for the very person who now knocked at hisdoor, while Nicholas had been pursuing the same inquiry in otherdirections. He was sitting, with a melancholy air, at his poorsupper, when Smike’s timorous and uncertain knock reached his ears. Alive to every sound, in his anxious and expectant state,Newman hurried downstairs, and, uttering a cry of joyful surprise,dragged the welcome visitor into the passage and up the stairs,and said not a word until he had him safe in his own garret andthe door was shut behind them, when he mixed a great mug-full ofgin-and-water, and holding it to Smike’s mouth, as one might holda bowl of medicine to the lips of a refractory child, commandedhim to drain it to the last drop.

　　Newman looked uncommonly blank when he found that Smikedid little more than put his lips to the precious mixture; he was inthe act of raising the mug to his own mouth with a deep sigh ofcompassion for his poor friend’s weakness, when Smike,beginning to relate the adventures which had befallen him,arrested him half-way, and he stood listening, with the mug in hishand.

　　It was odd enough to see the change that came over Newman asSmike proceeded. At first he stood, rubbing his lips with the backof his hand, as a preparatory ceremony towards composinghimself for a draught; then, at the mention of Squeers, he took themug under his arm, and opening his eyes very wide, looked on, inthe utmost astonishment. When Smike came to the assault uponhimself in the hackney coach, he hastily deposited the mug uponthe table, and limped up and down the room in a state of thegreatest excitement, stopping himself with a jerk, every now andthen, as if to listen more attentively. When John Browdie came tobe spoken of, he dropped, by slow and gradual degrees, into achair, and rubbing, his hands upon his knees—quicker andquicker as the story reached its climax—burst, at last, into a laughcomposed of one loud sonorous ‘Ha! ha!’ having given vent to which, his countenance immediately fell again as he inquired, withthe utmost anxiety, whether it was probable that John Browdieand Squeers had come to blows.

　　‘No! I think not,’ replied Smike. ‘I don’t think he could havemissed me till I had got quite away.’

　　Newman scratched his head with a shout of greatdisappointment, and once more lifting up the mug, applied himselfto the contents; smiling meanwhile, over the rim, with a grim andghastly smile at Smike.

　　‘You shall stay here,’ said Newman; ‘you’re tired—fagged. I’lltell them you’re come back. They have been half mad about you.

　　Mr Nicholas—’

　　‘God bless him!’ cried Smike.

　　‘Amen!’ returned Newman. ‘He hasn’t had a minute’s rest orpeace; no more has the old lady, nor Miss Nickleby.’

　　‘No, no. Has she thought about me?’ said Smike. ‘Has shethough? oh, has she, has she? Don’t tell me so if she has not.’

　　‘She has,’ cried Newman. ‘She is as noble-hearted as she isbeautiful.’

　　‘Yes, yes!’ cried Smike. ‘Well said!’

　　‘So mild and gentle,’ said Newman.

　　‘Yes, yes!’ cried Smike, with increasing eagerness.

　　‘And yet with such a true and gallant spirit,’ pursued Newman.

　　He was going on, in his enthusiasm, when, chancing to look athis companion, he saw that he had covered his face with hishands, and that tears were stealing out between his fingers.

　　A moment before, the boy’s eyes were sparkling with unwontedfire, and every feature had been lighted up with an excitementwhich made him appear, for the moment, quite a different being.

　　 ‘Well, well,’ muttered Newman, as if he were a little puzzled. ‘Ithas touched me, more than once, to think such a nature shouldhave been exposed to such trials; this poor fellow—yes, yes,—hefeels that too—it softens him—makes him think of his formermisery. Hah! That’s it? Yes, that’s—hum!’

　　It was by no means clear, from the tone of these brokenreflections, that Newman Noggs considered them as explaining, atall satisfactorily, the emotion which had suggested them. He sat, ina musing attitude, for some time, regarding Smike occasionallywith an anxious and doubtful glance, which sufficiently showedthat he was not very remotely connected with his thoughts.

　　At length he repeated his proposition that Smike should remainwhere he was for that night, and that he (Noggs) shouldstraightway repair to the cottage to relieve the suspense of thefamily. But, as Smike would not hear of this—pleading his anxietyto see his friends again—they eventually sallied forth together;and the night being, by this time, far advanced, and Smike being,besides, so footsore that he could hardly crawl along, it was withinan hour of sunrise when they reached their destination.

　　At the first sound of their voices outside the house, Nicholas,who had passed a sleepless night, devising schemes for therecovery of his lost charge, started from his bed, and joyfullyadmitted them. There was so much noisy conversation, andcongratulation, and indignation, that the remainder of the familywere soon awakened, and Smike received a warm and cordialwelcome, not only from Kate, but from Mrs Nickleby also, whoassured him of her future favour and regard, and was so obligingas to relate, for his entertainment and that of the assembled circle,a most remarkable account extracted from some work the name of which she had never known, of a miraculous escape from someprison, but what one she couldn’t remember, effected by an officerwhose name she had forgotten, confined for some crime which shedidn’t clearly recollect.

　　At first Nicholas was disposed to give his uncle credit for someportion of this bold attempt (which had so nearly provedsuccessful) to carry off Smike; but on more mature consideration,he was inclined to think that the full merit of it rested with MrSqueers. Determined to ascertain, if he could, through JohnBrowdie, how the case really stood, he betook himself to his dailyoccupation: meditating, as he went, on a great variety of schemesfor the punishment of the Yorkshire schoolmaster, all of whichhad their foundation in the strictest principles of retributivejustice, and had but the one drawback of being whollyimpracticable.

　　‘A fine morning, Mr Linkinwater!’ said Nicholas, entering theoffice.

　　‘Ah!’ replied Tim, ‘talk of the country, indeed! What do youthink of this, now, for a day—a London day—eh?’

　　‘It’s a little clearer out of town,’ said Nicholas.

　　‘Clearer!’ echoed Tim Linkinwater. ‘You should see it from mybedroom window.’

　　‘You should see it from mine,’ replied Nicholas, with a smile.

　　‘Pooh! pooh!’ said Tim Linkinwater, ‘don’t tell me. Country!’

　　(Bow was quite a rustic place to Tim.) ‘Nonsense! What can youget in the country but new-laid eggs and flowers? I can buy new-laid eggs in Leadenhall Market, any morning before breakfast; andas to flowers, it’s worth a run upstairs to smell my mignonette, orto see the double wallflower in the back-attic window, at No. 6, in the court.’

　　‘There is a double wallflower at No. 6, in the court, is there?’

　　said Nicholas.

　　‘Yes, is there!’ replied Tim, ‘and planted in a cracked jug,without a spout. There were hyacinths there, this last spring,blossoming, in—but you’ll laugh at that, of course.’

　　‘At what?’

　　‘At their blossoming in old blacking-bottles,’ said Tim.

　　‘Not I, indeed,’ returned Nicholas.

　　Tim looked wistfully at him, for a moment, as if he wereencouraged by the tone of this reply to be more communicative onthe subject; and sticking behind his ear, a pen that he had beenmaking, and shutting up his knife with a smart click, said,‘They belong to a sickly bedridden hump-backed boy, and seemto be the only pleasure, Mr Nickleby, of his sad existence. Howmany years is it,’ said Tim, pondering, ‘since I first noticed him,quite a little child, dragging himself about on a pair of tinycrutches? Well! Well! Not many; but though they would appearnothing, if I thought of other things, they seem a long, long time,when I think of him. It is a sad thing,’ said Tim, breaking off, ‘tosee a little deformed child sitting apart from other children, whoare active and merry, watching the games he is denied the powerto share in. He made my heart ache very often.’

　　‘It is a good heart,’ said Nicholas, ‘that disentangles itself fromthe close avocations of every day, to heed such things. You weresaying—’

　　‘That the flowers belonged to this poor boy,’ said Tim; ‘that’sall. When it is fine weather, and he can crawl out of bed, he drawsa chair close to the window, and sits there, looking at them and arranging them, all day long. He used to nod, at first, and then wecame to speak. Formerly, when I called to him of a morning, andasked him how he was, he would smile, and say, “Better!” but nowhe shakes his head, and only bends more closely over his oldplants. It must be dull to watch the dark housetops and the flyingclouds, for so many months; but he is very patient.’

　　‘Is there nobody in the house to cheer or help him?’ askedNicholas.

　　‘His father lives there, I believe,’ replied Tim, ‘and other peopletoo; but no one seems to care much for the poor sickly cripple. Ihave asked him, very often, if I can do nothing for him; his answeris always the same. “Nothing.” His voice is growing weak of late,but I can see that he makes the old reply. He can’t leave his bednow, so they have moved it close beside the window, and there helies, all day: now looking at the sky, and now at his flowers, whichhe still makes shift to trim and water, with his own thin hands. Atnight, when he sees my candle, he draws back his curtain, andleaves it so, till I am in bed. It seems such company to him to knowthat I am there, that I often sit at my window for an hour or more,that he may see I am still awake; and sometimes I get up in thenight to look at the dull melancholy light in his little room, andwonder whether he is awake or sleeping.

　　‘The night will not be long coming,’ said Tim, ‘when he willsleep, and never wake again on earth. We have never so much asshaken hands in all our lives; and yet I shall miss him like an oldfriend. Are there any country flowers that could interest me likethese, do you think? Or do you suppose that the withering of ahundred kinds of the choicest flowers that blow, called by thehardest Latin names that were ever invented, would give me one fraction of the pain that I shall feel when these old jugs and bottlesare swept away as lumber? Country!’ cried Tim, with acontemptuous emphasis; ‘don’t you know that I couldn’t have sucha court under my bedroom window, anywhere, but in London?’

　　With which inquiry, Tim turned his back, and pretending to beabsorbed in his accounts, took an opportunity of hastily wiping hiseyes when he supposed Nicholas was looking another way.

　　Whether it was that Tim’s accounts were more than usuallyintricate that morning, or whether it was that his habitual serenityhad been a little disturbed by these recollections, it so happenedthat when Nicholas returned from executing some commission,and inquired whether Mr Charles Cheeryble was alone in hisroom, Tim promptly, and without the smallest hesitation, repliedin the affirmative, although somebody had passed into the roomnot ten minutes before, and Tim took especial and particular pridein preventing any intrusion on either of the brothers when theywere engaged with any visitor whatever.

　　‘I’ll take this letter to him at once,’ said Nicholas, ‘if that’s thecase.’ And with that, he walked to the room and knocked at thedoor.

　　No answer.

　　Another knock, and still no answer.

　　‘He can’t be here,’ thought Nicholas. ‘I’ll lay it on his table.’

　　So, Nicholas opened the door and walked in; and very quicklyhe turned to walk out again, when he saw, to his greatastonishment and discomfiture, a young lady upon her knees atMr Cheeryble’s feet, and Mr Cheeryble beseeching her to rise, andentreating a third person, who had the appearance of the younglady’s female attendant, to add her persuasions to his to induce her to do so.

　　Nicholas stammered out an awkward apology, and wasprecipitately retiring, when the young lady, turning her head alittle, presented to his view the features of the lovely girl whom hehad seen at the register-office on his first visit long before.

　　Glancing from her to the attendant, he recognised the sameclumsy servant who had accompanied her then; and between hisadmiration of the young lady’s beauty, and the confusion andsurprise of this unexpected recognition, he stood stock-still, insuch a bewildered state of surprise and embarrassment that, forthe moment, he was quite bereft of the power either to speak ormove.

　　‘My dear ma’am—my dear young lady,’ cried brother Charles inviolent agitation, ‘pray don’t—not another word, I beseech andentreat you! I implore you—I beg of you—to rise. We—we—arenot alone.’

　　As he spoke, he raised the young lady, who staggered to a chairand swooned away.

　　‘She has fainted, sir,’ said Nicholas, darting eagerly forward.

　　‘Poor dear, poor dear!’ cried brother Charles ‘Where is mybrother Ned? Ned, my dear brother, come here pray.’

　　‘Brother Charles, my dear fellow,’ replied his brother, hurryinginto the room, ‘what is the—ah! what—’

　　‘Hush! hush!—not a word for your life, brother Ned,’ returnedthe other. ‘Ring for the housekeeper, my dear brother—call TimLinkinwater! Here, Tim Linkinwater, sir—Mr Nickleby, my dearsir, leave the room, I beg and beseech of you.’

　　‘I think she is better now,’ said Nicholas, who had beenwatching the patient so eagerly, that he had not heard the request.

　　 ‘Poor bird!’ cried brother Charles, gently taking her hand in his,and laying her head upon his arm. ‘Brother Ned, my dear fellow,you will be surprised, I know, to witness this, in business hours;but—’ here he was again reminded of the presence of Nicholas,and shaking him by the hand, earnestly requested him to leave theroom, and to send Tim Linkinwater without an instant’s delay.

　　Nicholas immediately withdrew and, on his way to thecounting-house, met both the old housekeeper and TimLinkinwater, jostling each other in the passage, and hurrying tothe scene of action with extraordinary speed. Without waiting tohear his message, Tim Linkinwater darted into the room, andpresently afterwards Nicholas heard the door shut and locked onthe inside.

　　He had abundance of time to ruminate on this discovery, forTim Linkinwater was absent during the greater part of an hour,during the whole of which time Nicholas thought of nothing butthe young lady, and her exceeding beauty, and what couldpossibly have brought her there, and why they made such amystery of it. The more he thought of all this, the more itperplexed him, and the more anxious he became to know who andwhat she was. ‘I should have known her among ten thousand,’

　　thought Nicholas. And with that he walked up and down the room,and recalling her face and figure (of which he had a peculiarlyvivid remembrance), discarded all other subjects of reflection anddwelt upon that alone.

　　At length Tim Linkinwater came back—provokingly cool, andwith papers in his hand, and a pen in his mouth, as if nothing hadhappened.

　　‘Is she quite recovered?’ said Nicholas, impetuously.

　　 ‘Who?’ returned Tim Linkinwater.

　　‘Who!’ repeated Nicholas. ‘The young lady.’

　　‘What do you make, Mr Nickleby,’ said Tim, taking his pen outof his mouth, ‘what do you make of four hundred and twenty-seven times three thousand two hundred and thirty-eight?’

　　‘Nay,’ returned Nicholas, ‘what do you make of my questionfirst? I asked you—’

　　‘About the young lady,’ said Tim Linkinwater, putting on hisspectacles. ‘To be sure. Yes. Oh! she’s very well.’

　　‘Very well, is she?’ returned Nicholas.

　　‘Very well,’ replied Mr Linkinwater, gravely.

　　‘Will she be able to go home today?’ asked Nicholas.

　　‘She’s gone,’ said Tim.

　　‘Gone!’

　　‘Yes.’

　　‘I hope she has not far to go?’ said Nicholas, looking earnestlyat the other.

　　‘Ay,’ replied the immovable Tim, ‘I hope she hasn’t.’

　　Nicholas hazarded one or two further remarks, but it wasevident that Tim Linkinwater had his own reasons for evading thesubject, and that he was determined to afford no furtherinformation respecting the fair unknown, who had awakened somuch curiosity in the breast of his young friend. Nothing dauntedby this repulse, Nicholas returned to the charge next day,emboldened by the circumstance of Mr Linkinwater being in avery talkative and communicative mood; but, directly he resumedthe theme, Tim relapsed into a state of most provoking taciturnity,and from answering in monosyllables, came to returning noanswers at all, save such as were to be inferred from several grave nods and shrugs, which only served to whet that appetite ............