Chapter 53

CHAPTER 53

Containing the further Progress of the Plot contrived by Mr Ralph
Nickleby and Mr Arthur Gride

With that settled resolution, and steadiness of purpose to which
extreme circumstances so often give birth, acting upon far less
excitable and more sluggish temperaments than that which was the lot
of Madeline Bray's admirer, Nicholas started, at dawn of day, from
the restless couch which no sleep had visited on the previous night,
and prepared to make that last appeal, by whose slight and fragile
thread her only remaining hope of escape depended.

Although, to restless and ardent minds, morning may be the fitting
season for exertion and activity, it is not always at that time that
hope is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant. In
trying and doubtful positions, youth, custom, a steady contemplation
of the difficulties which surround us, and a familiarity with them,
imperceptibly diminish our apprehensions and beget comparative
indifference, if not a vague and reckless confidence in some relief,
the means or nature of which we care not to foresee. But when we
come, fresh, upon such things in the morning, with that dark and
silent gap between us and yesterday; with every link in the brittle
chain of hope, to rivet afresh; our hot enthusiasm subdued, and cool
calm reason substituted in its stead; doubt and misgiving revive.
As the traveller sees farthest by day, and becomes aware of rugged
mountains and trackless plains which the friendly darkness had
shrouded from his sight and mind together, so, the wayfarer in the
toilsome path of human life sees, with each returning sun, some new
obstacle to surmount, some new height to be attained. Distances
stretch out before him which, last night, were scarcely taken into
account, and the light which gilds all nature with its cheerful
beams, seems but to shine upon the weary obstacles that yet lie
strewn between him and the grave.

So thought Nicholas, when, with the impatience natural to a
situation like his, he softly left the house, and, feeling as though
to remain in bed were to lose most precious time, and to be up and
stirring were in some way to promote the end he had in view,
wandered into London; perfectly well knowing that for hours to come
he could not obtain speech with Madeline, and could do nothing but
wish the intervening time away.

And, even now, as he paced the streets, and listlessly looked round
on the gradually increasing bustle and preparation for the day,
everything appeared to yield him some new occasion for despondency.
Last night, the sacrifice of a young, affectionate, and beautiful
creature, to such a wretch, and in such a cause, had seemed a thing
too monstrous to succeed; and the warmer