In which one Scene of this History is closed.

　　Dividing the distance into two days’ journey, in order thathis charge might sustain the less exhaustion and fatiguefrom travelling so far, Nicholas, at the end of the secondday from their leaving home, found himself within a very few milesof the spot where the happiest years of his life had been passed,and which, while it filled his mind with pleasant and peacefulthoughts, brought back many painful and vivid recollections of thecircumstances in which he and his had wandered forth from theirold home, cast upon the rough world and the mercy of strangers.

　　It needed no such reflections as those which the memory of olddays, and wanderings among scenes where our childhood hasbeen passed, usually awaken in the most insensible minds, tosoften the heart of Nicholas, and render him more than usuallymindful of his drooping friend. By night and day, at all times andseasons: always watchful, attentive, and solicitous, and nevervarying in the discharge of his self-imposed duty to one sofriendless and helpless as he whose sands of life were now fastrunning out and dwindling rapidly away: he was ever at his side.

　　He never left him. To encourage and animate him, administer tohis wants, support and cheer him to the utmost of his power, wasnow his constant and unceasing occupation.

　　They procured a humble lodging in a small farmhouse,surrounded by meadows where Nicholas had often revelled whena child with a troop of merry schoolfellows; and here they took up  1063their rest.

　　At first, Smike was strong enough to walk about, for shortdistances at a time, with no other support or aid than that whichNicholas could afford him. At this time, nothing appeared tointerest him so much as visiting those places which had been mostfamiliar to his friend in bygone days. Yielding to this fancy, andpleased to find that its indulgence beguiled the sick boy of manytedious hours, and never failed to afford him matter for thoughtand conversation afterwards, Nicholas made such spots the scenesof their daily rambles: driving him from place to place in a littlepony-chair, and supporting him on his arm while they walkedslowly among these old haunts, or lingered in the sunlight to takelong parting looks of those which were most quiet and beautiful.

　　It was on such occasions as these, that Nicholas, yielding almostunconsciously to the interest of old associations, would point outsome tree that he had climbed, a hundred times, to peep at theyoung birds in their nest; and the branch from which he used toshout to little Kate, who stood below terrified at the height he hadgained, and yet urging him higher still by the intensity of heradmiration. There was the old house too, which they would passevery day, looking up at the tiny window through which the sunused to stream in and wake him on the summer mornings—theywere all summer mornings then—and climbing up the garden-walland looking over, Nicholas could see the very rose-bush which hadcome, a present to Kate, from some little lover, and she hadplanted with her own hands. There were the hedgerows where thebrother and sister had so often gathered wild flowers together, andthe green fields and shady paths where they had so often strayed.

　　There was not a lane, or brook, or copse, or cottage near, with  1064which some childish event was not entwined, and back it cameupon the mind—as events of childhood do—nothing in itself:

　　perhaps a word, a laugh, a look, some slight distress, a passingthought or fear: and yet more strongly and distinctly marked, andbetter remembered, than the hardest trials or severest sorrows ofa year ago.

　　One of these expeditions led them through the churchyardwhere was his father’s grave. ‘Even here,’ said Nicholas softly, ‘weused to loiter before we knew what death was, and when we littlethought whose ashes would rest beneath; and, wondering at thesilence, sit down to rest and speak below our breath. Once, Katewas lost, and after an hour of fruitless search, they found her, fastasleep, under that tree which shades my father’s grave. He wasvery fond of her, and said when he took her up in his arms, stillsleeping, that whenever he died he would wish to be buried wherehis dear little child had laid her head. You see his wish was notforgotten.’

　　Nothing more passed at the time, but that night, as Nicholas satbeside his bed, Smike started from what had seemed to be aslumber, and laying his hand in his, prayed, as the tears courseddown his face, that he would make him one solemn promise.

　　‘What is that?’ said Nicholas, kindly. ‘If I can redeem it, or hopeto 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 thetree we saw today.’

　　Nicholas gave the promise; he had few words to give it in, butthey were solemn and earnest. His poor friend kept his hand inhis, and turned as if to sleep. But there were stifled sobs; and the  1065hand was pressed more than once, or twice, or thrice, before hesank to rest, and slowly loosed his hold.

　　In a fortnight’s time, he became too ill to move about. Once ortwice, Nicholas drove him out, propped up with pillows; but themotion of the chaise was painful to him, and brought on fits offainting, which, in his weakened state, were dangerous. There wasan old couch in the house, which was his favourite resting-place byday; and when the sun shone, and the weather was warm,Nicholas had this wheeled into a little orchard which was close athand, and his charge being well wrapped up and carried out to it,they used to sit there sometimes for hours together.

　　It was on one of these occasions that a circumstance took place,which Nicholas, at the time, thoroughly believed to be the meredelusion of an imagination affected by disease; but which he had,afterwards, too good reason to know was of real and actualoccurrence.

　　He had brought Smike out in his arms—poor fellow! a childmight have carried him then—to see the sunset, and, havingarranged his couch, had taken his seat beside it. He had beenwatching the whole of the night before, and being greatly fatiguedboth in mind and body, gradually fell asleep.

　　He could not have closed his eyes five minutes, when he wasawakened by a scream, and starting up in that kind of terrorwhich affects a person suddenly roused, saw, to his greatastonishment, that his charge had struggled into a sitting posture,and with eyes almost starting from their sockets, cold dewstanding on his forehead, and in a fit of trembling which quiteconvulsed his frame, was calling to him for help.

　　‘Good Heaven, what is this?’ said Nicholas, bending over him.

　　  1066‘Be calm; you have been dreaming.’

　　‘No, no, no!’ cried Smike, clinging to him. ‘Hold me tight. Don’tlet me go. There, there. Behind the tree!’

　　Nicholas followed his eyes, wh............