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    Chapter 20

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    Chapter 20
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    CHAPTER 20

    Wherein Nicholas at length encounters his Uncle, to whom he
    expresses his Sentiments with much Candour. His Resolution.

    Little Miss La Creevy trotted briskly through divers streets at the
    west end of the town, early on Monday morning--the day after the
    dinner--charged with the important commission of acquainting Madame
    Mantalini that Miss Nickleby was too unwell to attend that day, but
    hoped to be enabled to resume her duties on the morrow. And as Miss
    La Creevy walked along, revolving in her mind various genteel forms
    and elegant turns of expression, with a view to the selection of the
    very best in which to couch her communication, she cogitated a good
    deal upon the probable causes of her young friend's indisposition.

    'I don't know what to make of it,' said Miss La Creevy. 'Her eyes
    were decidedly red last night. She said she had a headache;
    headaches don't occasion red eyes. She must have been crying.'

    Arriving at this conclusion, which, indeed, she had established to
    her perfect satisfaction on the previous evening, Miss La Creevy
    went on to consider--as she had done nearly all night--what new
    cause of unhappiness her young friend could possibly have had.

    'I can't think of anything,' said the little portrait painter.
    'Nothing at all, unless it was the behaviour of that old bear.
    Cross to her, I suppose? Unpleasant brute!'

    Relieved by this expression of opinion, albeit it was vented upon
    empty air, Miss La Creevy trotted on to Madame Mantalini's; and
    being informed that the governing power was not yet out of bed,
    requested an interview with the second in command; whereupon Miss
    Knag appeared.

    'So far as I am concerned,' said Miss Knag, when the message had
    been delivered, with many ornaments of speech; 'I could spare Miss
    Nickleby for evermore.'

    'Oh, indeed, ma'am!' rejoined Miss La Creevy, highly offended.
    'But, you see, you are not mistress of the business, and therefore
    it's of no great consequence.'

    'Very good, ma'am,' said Miss Knag. 'Have you any further commands
    for me?'

    'No, I have not, ma'am,' rejoined Miss La Creevy.

    'Then good-morning, ma'am,' said Miss Knag.

    'Good-morning to you, ma'am; and many obligations for your extreme
    politeness and good breeding,' rejoined Miss La Creevy.

    Thus terminating the interview, during which both ladies had
    trembled very much, and been marvellously polite--certain
    indications that they were within an inch of a very desperate
    quarrel--Miss La Creevy bounced out of the room, and into the
    street.

    'I wonder who that is,' said the queer little soul. 'A nice person
    to know, I should think! I wish I had the painting of her: I'D do
    her justice.' So, feeling quite satisfied that she had said a very
    cutting thing at Miss Knag's expense, Miss La Creevy had a hearty
    laugh, and went home to breakfast in great good humour.

    Here was one of the advantages of having lived alone so long! The
    little bustling, active, cheerful creature existed entirely within
    herself, talked to herself, made a confidante of herself, was as
    sarcastic as she could be, on people who offended her, by herself;
    pleased herself, and did no harm. If she indulged in scandal,
    nobody's reputation suffered; and if she enjoyed a little bit of
    revenge, no living soul was one atom the worse. One of the many to
    whom, from straitened circumstances, a consequent inability to form
    the associations they would wish, and a disinclination to mix with
    the society they could obtain, London is as complete a solitude as
    the plains of Syria, the humble artist had pursued her lonely, but
    contented way for many years; and, until the peculiar misfortunes of
    the Nickleby family attracted her attention, had made no friends,
    though brimful of the friendliest feelings to all mankind. There
    are many warm hearts in the same solitary guise as poor little Miss
    La Creevy's.

    However, that's neither here nor there, just now. She went home to
    breakfast, and had scarcely caught the full flavour of her first sip
    of tea, when the servant announced a gentleman, whereat Miss La
    Creevy, at once imagining a new sitter transfixed by admiration at
    the street-door case, was in unspeakable consternation at the
    presence of the tea-things.

    'Here, take 'em away; run with 'em into the bedroom; anywhere,' said
    Miss La Creevy. 'Dear, dear; to think that I should be late on this
    particular morning, of all others, after being ready for three weeks
    by half-past eight o'clock, and not a soul coming near the place!'

    'Don't let me put you out of the way,' said a voice Miss La Creevy
    knew. 'I told the servant not to mention my name, because I wished
    to surprise you.'

    'Mr Nicholas!' cried Miss La Creevy, starting in great astonishment.
    'You have not forgotten me, I see,' replied Nicholas, extending his
    hand.

    'Why, I think I should even have known you if I had met you in the
    street,' said Miss La Creevy, with a smile. 'Hannah, another cup
    and saucer. Now, I'll tell you what, young man; I'll trouble you
    not to repeat the impertinence you were guilty of, on the morning
    you went away.'

    'You would not be very angry, would you?' asked Nicholas.

    'Wouldn't I!' said Miss La Creevy. 'You had better try; that's
    all!'

    Nicholas, with becoming gallantry, immediately took Miss La Creevy
    at her word, who uttered a faint scream and slapped his face; but it
    was not a very hard slap, and that's the truth.

    'I never saw such a rude creature!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy.

    'You told me to try,' said Nicholas.

    'Well; but I was speaking ironically,' rejoined Miss La Creevy.

    'Oh! that's another thing,' said Nicholas; 'you should have told me
    that, too.'

    'I dare say you didn't know, indeed!' retorted Miss La Creevy.
    'But, now I look at you again, you seem thinner than when I saw you
    last, and your face is haggard and pale. And how come you to have
    left Yorkshire?'

    She stopped here; for there was so much heart in her altered tone
    and manner, that Nicholas was quite moved.

    'I need look somewhat changed,' he said, after a short silence; 'for
    I have undergone some suffering, both of mind and body, since I left
    London. I have been very poor, too, and have even suffered from
    want.'

    'Good Heaven, Mr Nicholas!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy, 'what are you
    telling me?'

    'Nothing which need distress you quite so much,' answered Nicholas,
    with a more sprightly air; 'neither did I come here to bewail my
    lot, but on matter more to the purpose. I wish to meet my uncle
    face to face. I should tell you that first.'

    'Then all I have to say about that is,' interposed Miss La Creevy,
    'that I don't envy you your taste; and that sitting in the same room
    with his very boots, would put me out of humour for a fortnight.'

    'In the main,' said Nicholas, 'there may be no great difference of
    opinion between you and me, so far; but you will understand, that I
    desire to confront him, to justify myself, and to cast his duplicity
    and malice in his throat.'

    'That's quite another matter,' rejoined Miss La Creevy. 'Heaven
    forgive me; but I shouldn't cry my eyes quite out of my head, if
    they choked him. Well?'

    'To this end, I called upon him this morning,' said Nicholas. 'He
    only returned to town on Saturday, and I knew nothing of his arrival
    until late last night.'

    'And did you see him?' asked Miss La Creevy.

    'No,' replied Nicholas. 'He had gone out.'

    'Hah!' said Miss La Creevy; 'on some kind, charitable business, I
    dare say.'

    'I have reason to believe,' pursued Nicholas, 'from what has been
    told me, by a friend of mine who is acquainted with his movements,
    that he intends seeing my mother and sister today, and giving them
    his version of the occurrences that have befallen me. I will meet
    him there.'

    'That's right,' said Miss La Creevy, rubbing her hands. 'And yet, I
    don't know,' she added, 'there is much to be thought of--others to
    be considered.'

    'I have considered others,' rejoined Nicholas; 'but as honesty and
    honour are both at issue, nothing shall deter me.'

    'You should know best,' said Miss La Creevy.

    'In this case I hope so,' answered Nicholas. 'And all I want you to
    do for me, is, to prepare them for my coming. They think me a long
    way off, and if I went wholly unexpected, I should frighten them.
    If you can spare time to tell them that you have seen me, and that I
    shall be with them in a quarter of an hour afterwards, you will do
    me a great service.'

    'I wish I could do you, or any of you, a greater,' said Miss La
    Creevy; 'but the power to serve, is as seldom joined with the will,
    as the will is with the power, I think.'

    Talking on very fast and very much, Miss La Creevy finished her
    breakfast with great expedition, put away the tea-caddy and hid the
    key under the fender, resumed her bonnet, and, taking Nicholas's
    arm, sallied forth at once to the city. Nicholas left her near the
    door of his mother's house, and promised to return within a quarter
    of an hour.

    It so chanced that Ralph Nickleby, at length seeing fit, for his own
    purposes, to communicate the atrocities of which Nicholas had been
    guilty, had (instead of first proceeding to another quarter of the
    town on business, as Newman Noggs supposed he would) gone straight
    to his sister-in-law. Hence, when Miss La Creevy, admitted by a
    girl who was cleaning the house, made her way to the sitting-room,
    she found Mrs Nickleby and Kate in tears, and Ralph just concluding
    his statement of his nephew's misdemeanours. Kate beckoned her not
    to retire, and Miss La Creevy took a seat in silence.

    'You are here already, are you, my gentleman?' thought the little
    woman. 'Then he shall announce himself, and see what effect that
    has on you.'

    'This is pretty,' said Ralph, folding up Miss Squeers's note; 'very
    pretty. I recommend him--against all my previous conviction, for I
    knew he would never do any good--to a man with whom, behaving
    himself properly, he might have remained, in comfort, for years.
    What is the result? Conduct for which he might hold up his hand at
    the Old Bailey.'

    'I never will believe it,' said Kate, indignantly; 'never. It is
    some base conspiracy, which carries its own falsehood with it.'

    'My dear,' said Ralph, 'you wrong the worthy man. These are not
    inventions. The man is assaulted, your brother is not to be found;
    this boy, of whom they speak, goes with him--remember, remember.'

    'It is impossible,' said Kate. 'Nicholas!--and a thief too! Mama,
    how can you sit and hear such statements?'

    Poor Mrs Nickleby, who had, at no time, been remarkable for the
    possession of a very clear understanding, and who had been reduced
    by the late changes in her affairs to a most complicated state of
    perplexity, made no other reply to this earnest remonstrance than
    exclaiming from behind a mass of pocket-handkerchief, that she never
    could have believed it--thereby most ingeniously leaving her hearers
    to suppose that she did believe it.

    'It would be my duty, if he came in my way, to deliver him up to
    justice,' said Ralph, 'my bounden duty; I should have no other
    course, as a man of the world and a man of business, to pursue. And
    yet,' said Ralph, speaking in a very marked manner, and looking
    furtively, but fixedly, at Kate, 'and yet I would not. I would
    spare the feelings of his--of his sister. And his mother of
    course,' added Ralph, as though by an afterthought, and with far
    less emphasis.

    Kate very well understood that this was held out as an additional
    inducement to her to preserve the strictest silence regarding the
    events of the preceding night. She looked involuntarily towards
    Ralph as he ceased to speak, but he had turned his eyes another way,
    and seemed for the moment quite unconscious of her presence.

    'Everything,' said Ralph, after a long silence, broken only by Mrs
    Nickleby's sobs, 'everything combines to prove the truth of this
    letter, if indeed there were any possibility of disputing it. Do
    innocent men steal away from the sight of honest folks, and skulk in
    hiding-places, like outlaws? Do innocent men inveigle nameless
    vagabonds, and prowl with them about the country as idle robbers do?
    Assault, riot, theft, what do you call these?'

    'A lie!' cried a voice, as the door was dashed open, and Nicholas
    came into the room.

    In the first moment of surprise, and possibly of alarm, Ralph rose
    from his seat, and fell back a few paces, quite taken off his guard
    by this unexpected apparition. In another moment, he stood, fixed
    and immovable with folded arms, regarding his nephew with a scowl;
    while Kate and Miss La Creevy threw themselves between the two, to
    prevent the personal violence which the fierce excitement of
    Nicholas appeared to threaten.

    'Dear Nicholas,' cried his sister, clinging to him. 'Be calm,
    consider--'

    'Consider, Kate!' cried Nicholas, clasping her hand so tight in
    the tumult of his anger, that she could scarcely bear the pain.
    'When I consider all, and think of what has passed, I need be
    made of iron to stand before him.'

    'Or bronze,' said Ralph, quietly; 'there is not hardihood enough in
    flesh and blood to face it out.'

    'Oh dear, dear!' cried Mrs Nickleby, 'that things should have come
    to such a pass as this!'

    'Who speaks in a tone, as if I had done wrong, and brought disgrace
    on them?' said Nicholas, looking round.

    'Your mother, sir,' replied Ralph, motioning towards her.

    'Whose ears have been poisoned by you,' said Nicholas; 'by you--who,
    under pretence of deserving the thanks she poured upon you, heaped
    every insult, wrong, and indignity upon my head. You, who sent me
    to a den where sordid cruelty, worthy of yourself, runs wanton, and
    youthful misery stalks precocious; where the lightness of childhood
    shrinks into the heaviness of age, and its every promise blights,
    and withers as it grows. I call Heaven to witness,' said Nicholas,
    looking eagerly round, 'that I have seen all this, and that he knows
    it.'

    'Refute these calumnies,' said Kate, 'and be more patient, so that
    you may give them no advantage. Tell us what you really did, and
    show that they are untrue.'

    'Of what do they--or of what does he--accuse me?' said Nicholas.

    'First, of attacking your master, and being within an ace of
    qualifying yourself to be tried for murder,' interposed Ralph. 'I
    speak plainly, young man, bluster as you will.'

    'I interfered,' said Nicholas, 'to save a miserable creature from
    the vilest cruelty. In so doing, I inflicted such punishment upon a
    wretch as he will not readily forget, though far less than he
    deserved from me. If the same scene were renewed before me now, I
    would take the same part; but I would strike harder and heavier, and
    brand him with such marks as he should carry to his grave, go to it
    when he would.'

    'You hear?' said Ralph, turning to Mrs Nickleby. 'Penitence, this!'

    'Oh dear me!' cried Mrs Nickleby, 'I don't know what to think, I
    really don't.'

    'Do not speak just now, mama, I entreat you,' said Kate. 'Dear
    Nicholas, I only tell you, that you may know what wickedness can
    prompt, but they accuse you of--a ring is missing, and they dare to
    say that--'

    'The woman,' said Nicholas, haughtily, 'the wife of the fellow from
    whom these charges come, dropped--as I suppose--a worthless ring
    among some clothes of mine, early in the morning on which I left the
    house. At least, I know that she was in the bedroom where they lay,
    struggling with an unhappy child, and that I found it when I opened
    my bundle on the road. I returned it, at once, by coach, and they
    have it now.'

    'I knew, I knew,' said Kate, looking towards her uncle. 'About this
    boy, love, in whose company they say you left?'

    'The boy, a silly, helpless creature, from brutality and hard usage,
    is with me now,' rejoined Nicholas.

    'You hear?' said Ralph, appealing to the mother again, 'everything
    proved, even upon his own confession. Do you choose to restore that
    boy, sir?'

    'No, I do not,' replied Nicholas.

    'You do not?' sneered Ralph.

    'No,' repeated Nicholas, 'not to the man with whom I found him. I
    would that I knew on whom he has the claim of birth: I might wring
    something from his sense of shame, if he were dead to every tie of
    nature.'

    'Indeed!' said Ralph. 'Now, sir, will you hear a word or two from
    me?'

    'You can speak when and what you please,' replied Nicholas,
    embracing his sister. 'I take little heed of what you say or
    threaten.'

    'Mighty well, sir,' retorted Ralph; 'but perhaps it may concern
    others, who may think it worth their while to listen, and consider
    what I tell them. I will address your mother, sir, who knows the
    world.'

    'Ah! and I only too dearly wish I didn't,' sobbed Mrs Nickleby.

    There really was no necessity for the good lady to be much
    distressed upon this particular head; the extent of her worldly
    knowledge being, to say the least, very questionable; and so Ralph
    seemed to think, for he smiled as she spoke. He then glanced
    steadily at her and Nicholas by turns, as he delivered himself in
    these words:

    'Of what I have done, or what I meant to do, for you, ma'am, and my
    niece, I say not one syllable. I held out no promise, and leave you
    to judge for yourself. I hold out no threat now, but I say that
    this boy, headstrong, wilful and disorderly as he is, should not
    have one penny of my money, or one crust of my bread, or one grasp
    of my hand, to save him from the loftiest gallows in all Europe. I
    will not meet him, come where he comes, or hear his name. I will
    not help him, or those who help him. With a full knowledge of what
    he brought upon you by so doing, he has come back in his selfish
    sloth, to be an aggravation of your wants, and a burden upon his
    sister's scanty wages. I regret to leave you, and more to leave
    her, now, but I will not encourage this compound of meanness and
    cruelty, and, as I will not ask you to renounce him, I see you no
    more.'

    If Ralph had not known and felt his power in wounding those he
    hated, his glances at Nicholas would have shown it him, in all its
    force, as he proceeded in the above address. Innocent as the young
    man was of all wrong, every artful insinuation stung, every well-
    considered sarcasm cut him to the quick; and when Ralph noted his
    pale face and quivering lip, he hugged himself to mark how well he
    had chosen the taunts best calculated to strike deep into a young
    and ardent spirit.

    'I can't help it,' cried Mrs Nickleby. 'I know you have been very
    good to us, and meant to do a good deal for my dear daughter. I am
    quite sure of that; I know you did, and it was very kind of you,
    having her at your house and all--and of course it would have been a
    great thing for her and for me too. But I can't, you know, brother-
    in-law, I can't renounce my own son, even if he has done all you say
    he has--it's not possible; I couldn't do it; so we must go to rack
    and ruin, Kate, my dear. I can bear it, I dare say.' Pouring forth
    these and a perfectly wonderful train of other disjointed
    expressions of regret, which no mortal power but Mrs Nickleby's
    could ever have strung together, that lady wrung her hands, and her
    tears fell faster.

    'Why do you say "IF Nicholas has done what they say he has," mama?'
    asked Kate, with honest anger. 'You know he has not.'

    'I don't know what to think, one way or other, my dear,' said Mrs
    Nickleby; 'Nicholas is so violent, and your uncle has so much
    composure, that I can only hear what he says, and not what Nicholas
    does. Never mind, don't let us talk any more about it. We can go
    to the Workhouse, or the Refuge for the Destitute, or the Magdalen
    Hospital, I dare say; and the sooner we go the better.' With this
    extraordinary jumble of charitable institutions, Mrs Nickleby again
    gave way to her tears.

    'Stay,' said Nicholas, as Ralph turned to go. 'You need not leave
    this place, sir, for it will be relieved of my presence in one
    minute, and it will be long, very long, before I darken these doors
    again.'

    'Nicholas,' cried Kate, throwing herself on her brother's shoulder,
    'do not say so. My dear brother, you will break my heart. Mama,
    speak to him. Do not mind her, Nicholas; she does not mean it, you
    should know her better. Uncle, somebody, for Heaven's sake speak to
    him.'

    'I never meant, Kate,' said Nicholas, tenderly, 'I never meant to
    stay among you; think better of me than to suppose it possible. I
    may turn my back on this town a few hours sooner than I intended,
    but what of that? We shall not forget each other apart, and better
    days will come when we shall part no more. Be a woman, Kate,' he
    whispered, proudly, 'and do not make me one, while HE looks on.'

    'No, no, I will not,' said Kate, eagerly, 'but you will not leave
    us. Oh! think of all the happy days we have had together, before
    these terrible misfortunes came upon us; of all the comfort and
    happiness of home, and the trials we have to bear now; of our having
    no protector under all the slights and wrongs that poverty so much
    favours, and you cannot leave us to bear them alone, without one
    hand to help us.'

    'You will be helped when I am away,' replied Nicholas hurriedly. 'I
    am no help to you, no protector; I should bring you nothing but
    sorrow, and want, and suffering. My own mother sees it, and her
    fondness and fears for you, point to the course that I should take.
    And so all good angels bless you, Kate, till I can carry you to some
    home of mine, where we may revive the happiness denied to us now,
    and talk of these trials as of things gone by. Do not keep me here,
    but let me go at once. There. Dear girl--dear girl.'

    The grasp which had detained him relaxed, and Kate swooned in his
    arms. Nicholas stooped over her for a few seconds, and placing her
    gently in a chair, confided her to their honest friend.

    'I need not entreat your sympathy,' he said, wringing her hand, 'for
    I know your nature. You will never forget them.'

    He stepped up to Ralph, who remained in the same attitude which he
    had preserved throughout the interview, and moved not a finger.

    'Whatever step you take, sir,' he said, in a voice inaudible beyond
    themselves, 'I shall keep a strict account of. I leave them to you,
    at your desire. There will be a day of reckoning sooner or later,
    and it will be a heavy one for you if they are wronged.'

    Ralph did not allow a muscle of his face to indicate that he heard
    one word of this parting address. He hardly knew that it was
    concluded, and Mrs Nickleby had scarcely made up her mind to detain
    her son by force if necessary, when Nicholas was gone.

    As he hurried through the streets to his obscure lodging, seeking to
    keep pace, as it were, with the rapidity of the thoughts which
    crowded upon him, many doubts and hesitations arose in his mind, and
    almost tempted him to return. But what would they gain by this?
    Supposing he were to put Ralph Nickleby at defiance, and were even
    fortunate enough to obtain some small employment, his being with
    them could only render their present condition worse, and might
    greatly impair their future prospects; for his mother had spoken of
    some new kindnesses towards Kate which she had not denied. 'No,'
    thought Nicholas, 'I have acted for the best.'

    But, before he had gone five hundred yards, some other and different
    feeling would come upon him, and then he would lag again, and
    pulling his hat over his eyes, give way to the melancholy
    reflections which pressed thickly upon him. To have committed no
    fault, and yet to be so entirely alone in the world; to be separated
    from the only persons he loved, and to be proscribed like a
    criminal, when six months ago he had been surrounded by every
    comfort, and looked up to, as the chief hope of his family--this was
    hard to bear. He had not deserved it either. Well, there was
    comfort in that; and poor Nicholas would brighten up again, to be
    again depressed, as his quickly shifting thoughts presented every
    variety of light and shade before him.

    Undergoing these alternations of hope and misgiving, which no one,
    placed in a situation of ordinary trial, can fail to have
    experienced, Nicholas at length reached his poor room, where, no
    longer borne up by the excitement which had hitherto sustained him,
    but depressed by the revulsion of feeling it left behind, he threw
    himself on the bed, and turning his face to the wall, gave free vent
    to the emotions he had so long stifled.

    He had not heard anybody enter, and was unconscious of the presence
    of Smike, until, happening to raise his head, he saw him, standing
    at the upper end of the room, looking wistfully towards him. He
    withdrew his eyes when he saw that he was observed, and affected to
    be busied with some scanty preparations for dinner.

    'Well, Smike,' said Nicholas, as cheerfully as he could speak, 'let
    me hear what new acquaintances you have made this morning, or what
    new wonder you have found out, in the compass of this street and the
    next one.'

    'No,' said Smike, shaking his head mournfully; 'I must talk of
    something else today.'

    'Of what you like,' replied Nicholas, good-humouredly.

    'Of this,' said Smike. 'I know you are unhappy, and have got into
    great trouble by bringing me away. I ought to have known that, and
    stopped behind--I would, indeed, if I had thought it then. You--
    you--are not rich; you have not enough for yourself, and I should
    not be here. You grow,' said the lad, laying his hand timidly on
    that of Nicholas, 'you grow thinner every day; your cheek is paler,
    and your eye more sunk. Indeed I cannot bear to see you so, and
    think how I am burdening you. I tried to go away today, but the
    thought of your kind face drew me back. I could not leave you
    without a word.' The poor fellow could say no more, for his eyes
    filled with tears, and his voice was gone.

    'The word which separates us,' said Nicholas, grasping him heartily
    by the shoulder, 'shall never be said by me, for you are my only
    comfort and stay. I would not lose you now, Smike, for all the
    world could give. The thought of you has upheld me through all I
    have endured today, and shall, through fifty times such trouble.
    Give me your hand. My heart is linked to yours. We will journey
    from this place together, before the week is out. What, if I am
    steeped in poverty? You lighten it, and we will be poor together.'
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