Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Nicholas starts for Yorkshire. Of his Leave-taking and his Fellow-
Travellers, and what befell them on the Road

If tears dropped into a trunk were charms to preserve its owner from
sorrow and misfortune, Nicholas Nickleby would have commenced his
expedition under most happy auspices. There was so much to be done,
and so little time to do it in; so many kind words to be spoken, and
such bitter pain in the hearts in which they rose to impede their
utterance; that the little preparations for his journey were made
mournfully indeed. A hundred things which the anxious care of his
mother and sister deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas
insisted on leaving behind, as they might prove of some after use,
or might be convertible into money if occasion required. A hundred
affectionate contests on such points as these, took place on the sad
night which preceded his departure; and, as the termination of every
angerless dispute brought them nearer and nearer to the close of
their slight preparations, Kate grew busier and busier, and wept
more silently.

The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some
little delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against
the expense of which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when
Nicholas was out. The poor lady nearly choked himself by attempting
to partake of it, and almost suffocated himself in affecting a jest
or two, and forcing a melancholy laugh. Thus, they lingered on till
the hour of separating for the night was long past; and then they
found that they might as well have given vent to their real feelings
before, for they could not suppress them, do what they would. So,
they let them have their way, and even that was a relief.

Nicholas slept well till six next morning; dreamed of home, or of
what was home once--no matter which, for things that are changed or
gone will come back as they used to be, thank God! in sleep--and
rose quite brisk and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil, to say
the goodbye which he was afraid to pronounce himself, and laying
them, with half his scanty stock of money, at his sister's door,
shouldered his box and crept softly downstairs.

'Is that you, Hannah?' cried a voice from Miss La Creevy's sitting-
room, whence shone the light of a feeble candle.

'It is I, Miss La Creevy,' said Nicholas, putting down the box and
looking in.

'Bless us!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her hand
to her curl-papers. 'You're up very early, Mr Nickleby.'

'So are you,' replied Nicholas.

'It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr Nickleby,' returned
the lady. 'I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea.'

Miss La Creevy had got