Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Nicholas varies the Monotony of Dothebys Hall by a most vigorous and
remarkable proceeding, which leads to Consequences of some
Importance

The cold, feeble dawn of a January morning was stealing in at the
windows of the common sleeping-room, when Nicholas, raising himself
on his arm, looked among the prostrate forms which on every side
surrounded him, as though in search of some particular object.

It needed a quick eye to detect, from among the huddled mass of
sleepers, the form of any given individual. As they lay closely
packed together, covered, for warmth's sake, with their patched and
ragged clothes, little could be distinguished but the sharp outlines
of pale faces, over which the sombre light shed the same dull heavy
colour; with, here and there, a gaunt arm thrust forth: its thinness
hidden by no covering, but fully exposed to view, in all its
shrunken ugliness. There were some who, lying on their backs with
upturned faces and clenched hands, just visible in the leaden light,
bore more the aspect of dead bodies than of living creatures; and
there were others coiled up into strange and fantastic postures,
such as might have been taken for the uneasy efforts of pain to gain
some temporary relief, rather than the freaks of slumber. A few--
and these were among the youngest of the children--slept peacefully
on, with smiles upon their faces, dreaming perhaps of home; but ever
and again a deep and heavy sigh, breaking the stillness of the room,
announced that some new sleeper had awakened to the misery of
another day; and, as morning took the place of night, the smiles
gradually faded away, with the friendly darkness which had given
them birth.

Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on
earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the
sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily
pilgrimage through the world.

Nicholas looked upon the sleepers; at first, with the air of one who
gazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none of
its sorrowful effect in consequence; and, afterwards, with a more
intense and searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed something
his eye was accustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. He
was still occupied in this search, and had half risen from his bed
in the eagerness of his quest, when the voice of Squeers was heard,
calling from the bottom of the stairs.

'Now then,' cried that gentleman, 'are you going to sleep all day,
up there--'

'You lazy hounds?' added Mrs Squeers, finishing the sentence, and
producing, at the same time, a sharp sound, like that which is
occasioned by the lacing of stays.

'We shall be down directly,