Chapter 61

CHAPTER 61

Wherein Nicholas and his Sister forfeit the good Opinion of all
worldly and prudent People

On the next morning after Brooker's disclosure had been made,
Nicholas returned home. The meeting between him and those whom he
had left there was not without strong emotion on both sides; for
they had been informed by his letters of what had occurred: and,
besides that his griefs were theirs, they mourned with him the death
of one whose forlorn and helpless state had first established a
claim upon their compassion, and whose truth of heart and grateful
earnest nature had, every day, endeared him to them more and more.

'I am sure,' said Mrs Nickleby, wiping her eyes, and sobbing
bitterly, 'I have lost the best, the most zealous, and most
attentive creature that has ever been a companion to me in my life--
putting you, my dear Nicholas, and Kate, and your poor papa, and
that well-behaved nurse who ran away with the linen and the twelve
small forks, out of the question, of course. Of all the tractable,
equal-tempered, attached, and faithful beings that ever lived, I
believe he was the most so. To look round upon the garden, now,
that he took so much pride in, or to go into his room and see it
filled with so many of those little contrivances for our comfort
that he was so fond of making, and made so well, and so little
thought he would leave unfinished--I can't bear it, I cannot really.
Ah! This is a great trial to me, a great trial. It will be comfort
to you, my dear Nicholas, to the end of your life, to recollect how
kind and good you always were to him--so it will be to me, to think
what excellent terms we were always upon, and how fond he always was
of me, poor fellow! It was very natural you should have been
attached to him, my dear--very--and of course you were, and are very
much cut up by this. I am sure it's only necessary to look at you
and see how changed you are, to see that; but nobody knows what my
feelings are--nobody can--it's quite impossible!'

While Mrs Nickleby, with the utmost sincerity, gave vent to her
sorrows after her own peculiar fashion of considering herself
foremost, she was not the only one who indulged such feelings.
Kate, although well accustomed to forget herself when others were to
be considered, could not repress her grief; Madeline was scarcely
less moved than she; and poor, hearty, honest little Miss La Creevy,
who had come upon one of her visits while Nicholas was away, and had
done nothing, since the sad news arrived, but console and cheer them
all, no sooner beheld him coming in at the door, than she sat
herself down upon the stairs, and bursting into a flood of tears,
refused for a long time to be comforted.

'It hurts me so,' cried