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 the poor body, ‘to see him come back alone. I
can’t help thinking what he must have suffered himself. I wouldn’t mind
so much if he gave way a little more; but he bears it so manfully.’
‘Why, so I should,’ said Nicholas, ‘should I not?’
‘Yes, yes,’ replied the little woman, ‘and bless you for a good
creature! but this does seem at first to a simple soul like me--I know
it’s wrong to say so, and I shall be sorry for it presently--this does
seem such a poor reward for all you have done.’
‘Nay,’ said Nicholas gently, ‘what better reward could I have, than
the knowledge that his last days were peaceful and happy, and the
recollection that I was his constant companion, and was not prevented,
as I might have been by a hundred circumstances, from being beside him?’
‘To be sure,’ sobbed Miss La Creevy; ‘it’s very true, and I’m an
ungrateful, impious, wicked little fool, I know.’
With that, the good soul fell to crying afresh, and, endeavouring to
recover herself, tried to laugh. The laugh and the cry, meeting each
other thus abruptly, had a struggle for the mastery; the result was,
that it was a drawn battle, and Miss La Creevy went into hysterics.
Waiting until they were all tolerably quiet and composed again,
Nicholas, who stood in need of some rest after his long journey, retired
to his own room, and throwing himself, dressed as he was, upon the bed,
fell into a sound sleep. When he awoke, he found Kate sitting by his
bedside, who, seeing that he had opened his eyes, stooped down to kiss
him.
‘I came to tell you how glad I am to see you home again.’
‘But I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Kate.’
‘We have been wearying so for your return,’ said Kate, ‘mama and I,
and--and Madeline.’
‘You said in your last letter that she was quite well,’ said Nicholas,
rather hastily, and colouring as he spoke. ‘Has nothing been said, since
I have been away, about any future arrangements that the brothers have
in contemplation for her?’
‘Oh, not a word,’ replied Kate. ‘I can’t think of parting from her
without sorrow; and surely, Nicholas, YOU don’t wish it!’
Nicholas coloured again, and, sitting down beside his sister on a little
couch near the window, said:
‘No, Kate, no, I do not. I might strive to disguise my real feelings
from anybody but you; but I will tell you that--briefly and plainly,
Kate--that I love her.’
Kate’s eyes brightened, and she was going to make some reply, when
Nicholas laid his hand upon her arm, and went on:
‘Nobody must know this but you. She, last of all.’
‘Dear Nicholas!’
‘Last of all; never, though never is a long day. Sometimes, I try to
think that the time may come when I may honestly tell her this; but it
is so far off; in such distant perspective, so many years must elapse
before it comes, and when it does come (if ever) I shall be so
unlike what I am now, and shall have so outlived my days of youth and
romance--though not, I am sure, of love for her--that even I feel how
visionary all such hopes must be, and try to crush them rudely myself,
and have the pain over, rather than suffer time to wither them, and keep
the disappointment in store. No, Kate! Since I have been absent, I
have had, in that poor fellow who is gone, perpetually before my eyes,
another instance of the munificent liberality of these noble brothers.
As far as in me lies, I will deserve it, and if I have wavered in
my bounden duty to them before, I am now determined to discharge it
rigidly, and to put further delays and temptations beyond my reach.’
‘Before you say another word, dear Nicholas,’ said Kate, turning pale,
‘you must hear what I have to tell you. I came on purpose, but I had not
the courage. What you say now, gives me new heart.’ She faltered, and
burst into tears.
There was that in her manner which prepared Nicholas for what was
coming. Kate tried to speak, but her tears prevented her.
‘Come, you foolish girl,’ said Nicholas; ‘why, Kate, Kate, be a woman! I
think I know what you would tell me. It concerns Mr. Frank, does it not?’
Kate sunk her head upon his shoulder, and sobbed out ‘Yes.’
‘And he has offered you his hand, perhaps, since I have been away,’ said
Nicholas; ‘is that it? Yes. Well, well; it is not so difficult, you see,
to tell me, after all. He offered you his hand?’
‘Which I refused,’ said Kate.
‘Yes; and why?’
‘I told him,’ she said, in a trembling voice, ‘all that I have since
found you told mama; and while I could not conceal from him, and cannot
from you, that--that it was a pang and a great trial, I did so firmly,
and begged him not to see me any more.’
‘That’s my own brave Kate!’ said Nicholas, pressing her to his breast.
‘I knew you would.’
‘He tried to alter my resolution,’ said Kate, ‘and declared that, be my
decision what it might, he would not only inform his uncles of the
step he had taken, but would communicate it to you also, directly you
returned. I am afraid,’ she added, her momentary composure forsaking
her, ‘I am afraid I may not have said, strongly enough, how deeply I
felt such disinterested love, and how earnestly I prayed for his future
happiness. If you do talk together, I should--I should like him to know
that.’
‘And did you suppose, Kate, when you had made this sacrifice to what
you knew was right and honourable, that I should shrink from mine?’ said
Nicholas tenderly.
‘Oh no! not if your position had been the same, but--’
‘But it is the same,’ interrupted Nicholas. ‘Madeline is not the near
relation of our benefactors, but she is closely bound to them by ties as
dear; and I was first intrusted with her history, specially because they
reposed unbounded confidence in me, and believed that I was as true as
steel. How base would it be of me to take advantage of the circumstances
which placed her here, or of the slight service I was happily able to
render her, and to seek to engage her affections when the result must
be, if I succeeded, that the brothers would be disappointed in their
darling wish of establishing her as their own child, and that I must
seem to hope to build my fortunes on their compassion for the young
creature whom I had so meanly and unworthily entrapped: turning her very
gratitude and warmth of heart to my own purpose and account, and trading
in her misfortunes! I, too, whose duty, and pride, and pleasure, Kate,
it is to have other claims upon me which I will never forget; and who
have the means of a comfortable and happy life already, and have no
right to look beyond it! I have determined to remove this weight from my
mind. I doubt whether I have not done wrong, even now; and today I
will, without reserve or equivocation, disclose my real reasons to Mr
Cherryble, and implore him to take immediate measures for removing this
young lady to the shelter of some other roof.’
‘Today? so very soon?’
‘I have thought of this for weeks, and why should I postpone it? If the
scene through which I have just passed has taught me to reflect, and has
awakened me to a more anxious and careful sense of duty, why should I
wait until the impression has cooled? You would not dissuade me, Kate;
now would you?’
‘You may grow rich, you know,’ said Kate.
‘I may grow rich!’ repeated Nicholas, with a mournful smile, ‘ay, and
I may grow old! But rich or poor, or old or young, we shall ever be the
same to each other, and in that our comfort lies. What if we have but
one home? It can never be a solitary one to you and me. What if we were
to remain so true to these first impressions as to form no others? It is
but one more link to the strong chain that binds us together. It seems
but yesterday that we were playfellows, Kate, and it will seem but
tomorrow when we are staid old people, looking back to these cares as we
look back, now, to those of our childish days: and recollecting with a
melancholy pleasure that the time was, when they could move us. Perhaps
then, when we are quaint old folks and talk of the times when our step
was lighter and our hair not grey, we may be even thankful for the
trials that so endeared us to each other, and turned our lives into that
current, down which we shall have glided so peacefully and calmly. And
having caught some inkling of our story, the young people about us--as
young as you and I are now, Kate--may come to us for sympathy, and pour
distresses which hope and inexperience could scarcely feel enough for,
into the compassionate ears of the old bachelor brother and his maiden
sister.’
Kate smiled through her tears as Nicholas drew this picture; but they
were not tears of sorrow, although they continued to fall when he had
ceased to speak.
‘Am I not right, Kate?’ he said, after a short silence.
‘Quite, quite, dear brother; and I cannot tell you how happy I am that I
have acted as you would have had me.’
‘You don’t regret?’
‘N--n--no,’ said Kate timidly, tracing some pattern upon the ground with
her little foot. ‘I don’t regret having done what was honourable
and right, of course; but I do regret that this should have ever
happened--at least sometimes I regret it, and sometimes I--I don’t know
what I say; I am but a weak girl, Nicholas, and it has agitated me very
much.’
It is no vaunt to affirm that if Nicholas had had ten thousand pounds
at the minute, he would, in his generous affection for the owner of the
blushing cheek and downcast eye, have bestowed its utmost farthing, in
perfect forgetfulness of himself, to secure her happiness. But all he
could do was to comfort and console her by kind words; and words they
were of such love and kindness, and cheerful encouragement, that poor
Kate threw her arms about his neck, and declared she would weep no more.
‘What man,’ thought Nicholas proudly, while on his way, soon afterwards,
to the brothers’ house, ‘would not be sufficiently rewarded for any
sacrifice of fortune by the possession of such a heart as Kate’s, which,
but that hearts weigh light, and gold and silver heavy, is beyond all
praise? Frank has money, and wants no more. Where would it buy him such
a treasure as Kate? And yet, in unequal marriages, the rich party is
always supposed to make a great sacrifice, and the other to get a good
bargain! But I am thinking like a lover, or like an ass: which I suppose
is pretty nearly the same.’
Checking thoughts so little adapted to the business on which he was
bound, by such self-reproofs as this and many others no less sturdy, he
proceeded on his way and presented himself before Tim Linkinwater.
‘Ah! Mr. Nickleby!’ cried Tim, ‘God bless you! how d’ye do? Well? Say
you’re quite well and never better. Do now.’
‘Quite,’ said Nicholas, shaking him by both hands.
‘Ah!’ said Tim, ‘you look tired though, now I come to look at you. Hark!
there he is, d’ye hear him? That was Dick, the blackbird. He hasn’t been
himself since you’ve been gone. He’d never get on without you, now; he
takes as naturally to you as he does to me.’
‘Dick is a far less sagacious fellow than I supposed him, if he thinks I
am half so well worthy of his notice as you,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Why, I’ll tell you what, sir,’ said Tim, standing in his favourite
attitude and pointing to the cage with the feather of his pen, ‘it’s a
very extraordinary thing about that bird, that the only people he ever
takes the smallest notice of, are Mr. Charles, and Mr. Ned, and you, and
me.’
Here, Tim stopped and glanced anxiously at Nicholas; then unexpectedly
catching his eye repeated, ‘And you and me, sir, and you and me.’ And
then he glanced at Nicholas again, and, squeezing his hand, said, ‘I am
a bad one at putting off anything I am interested in. I didn’t mean to
ask you, but I should like to hear a few particulars about that poor
boy. Did he mention Cheeryble Brothers at all?’
‘Yes,’ said Nicholas, ‘many and many a time.’
‘That was right of him,’ returned Tim, wiping his eyes; ‘that was very
right of him.’
‘And he mentioned your name a score of times,’ said Nicholas, ‘and often
bade me carry back his love to Mr. Linkinwater.’
‘No, no, did he though?’ rejoined Tim, sobbing outright. ‘Poor fellow!
I wish we could have had him buried in town. There isn’t such a
burying-ground in all London as that little one on the other side of the
square--there are counting-houses all round it, and if you go in there,
on a fine day, you can see the books and safes through the open windows.
And he sent his love to me, did he? I didn’t expect he would have
thought of me. Poor fellow, poor fellow! His love too!’
Tim was so completely overcome by this little mark of recollection, that
he was quite unequal to any more conversation at the moment. Nicholas
therefore slipped quietly out, and went to brother Charles’s room.
If he had previously sustained his firmness and fortitude, it had been
by an effort which had cost him no little pain; but the warm welcome,
the hearty manner, the homely unaffected commiseration, of the good old
man, went to his heart, and no inward struggle could prevent his showing
it.
‘Come, come, my dear sir,’ said the benevolent merchant; ‘we must not
be cast down; no, no. We must learn to bear misfortune, and we must
remember that there are many sources of consolation even in death.
Every day that this poor lad had lived, he must have been less and
less qualified for the world, and more and more unhappy in is own
deficiencies. It is better as it is, my dear sir. Yes, yes, yes, it’s
better as it is.’
‘I have thought of all that, sir,’ replied Nicholas, clearing his
throat. ‘I feel it, I assure you.’
‘Yes, that’s well,’ replied Mr. Cheeryble, who, in the midst of all his
comforting, was quite as much taken aback as honest old Tim; ‘that’s
well. Where is my brother Ned? Tim Linkinwater, sir, where is my brother
Ned?’
‘Gone out with Mr. Trimmers, about getting that unfortunate man into the
hospital, and sending a nurse to his children,’ said Tim.
‘My brother Ned is a fine fellow, a great fellow!’ exclaimed brother
Charles as he shut the door and returned to Nicholas. ‘He will be
overjoyed to see you, my dear sir. We have been speaking of you every
day.’
‘To tell you the truth, sir, I am glad to find you alone,’ said
Nicholas, with some natural hesitation; ‘for I am anxious to say
something to you. Can you spare me a very few minutes?’
‘Surely, surely,’ returned brother Charles, looking at him with an
anxious countenance. ‘Say on, my dear sir, say on.’
‘I scarcely know how, or where, to begin,’ said Nicholas. ‘If ever one
mortal had reason to be penetrated with love and reverence for another:
with such attachment as would make the hardest service in his behalf a
pleasure and delight: with such grateful recollections as must rouse the
utmost zeal and fidelity of his nature: those are the feelings which I
should entertain for you, and do, from my heart and soul, believe me!’
‘I do believe you,’ replied the old gentleman, ‘and I am happy in
the belief. I have never doubted it; I never shall. I am sure I never
shall.’
‘Your telling me that so kindly,’ said Nicholas, ‘emboldens me to
proceed. When you first took me into your confidence, and dispatched me
on those missions to Miss Bray, I should have told you that I had seen
her long before; that her beauty had made an impression upon me which I
could not efface; and that I had fruitlessly endeavoured to trace her,
and become acquainted with her history. I did not tell you so, because
I vainly thought I could conquer my weaker feelings, and render every
consideration subservient to my duty to you.’
‘Mr. Nickleby,’ said brother Charles, ‘you did not violate the confidence
I placed in you, or take an unworthy advantage of it. I am sure you did
not.’
‘I did not,’ said Nicholas, firmly. ‘Although I found that the necessity
for self-command and restraint became every day more imperious, and the
difficulty greater, I never, for one instant, spoke or looked but as I
would have done had you been by. I never, for one moment, deserted my
trust, nor have I to this instant. But I find that constant association
and companionship with this sweet girl is fatal to my peace of mind, and
may prove destructive to the resolutions I made in the beginning, and up
to this time have faithfully kept. In short, sir, I cannot trust myself,
and I implore and beseech you to remove this young lady from under the
charge of my mother and sister without delay. I know that to anyone but
myself--to you, who consider the immeasurable distance between me and
this young lady, who is now your ward, and the object of your peculiar
care--my loving her, even in thought, must appear the height of rashness
and presumption. I know it is so. But who can see her as I have seen,
who can know what her life has been, and not love her? I have no excuse
but that; and as I cannot fly from this temptation, and cannot repress
this passion, with its object constantly before me, what can I do but
pray and beseech you to remove it, and to leave me to forget her?’
‘Mr. Nickleby,’ said the old man, after a short silence, ‘you can do no
more. I was wrong to expose a young man like you to this trial. I might
have foreseen what would happen. Thank you, sir, thank you. Madeline
shall be removed.’
‘If you would grant me one favour, dear sir, and suffer her to remember
me with esteem, by never revealing to her this confession--’
‘I will take care,’ said Mr. Cheeryble. ‘And now, is this all you have to
tell me?’
‘No!’ returned Nicholas, meeting his eye, ‘it is not.’
‘I know the rest,’ said Mr. Cheeryble, apparently very much relieved by
this prompt reply. ‘When did it come to your knowledge?’
‘When I reached home this morning.’
‘You felt it your duty immediately to come to me, and tell me what your
sister no doubt acquainted you with?’
‘I did,’ said Nicholas, ‘though I could have wished to have spoken to Mr
Frank first.’
‘Frank was with me last night,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘You have
done well, Mr. Nickleby--very well, sir--and I thank you again.’
Upon this head, Nicholas requested permission to add a few words. He
ventured to hope that nothing he had said would lead to the estrangement
of Kate and Madeline, who had formed an attachment for each other, any
interruption of which would, he knew, be attended with great pain to
them, and, most of all, with remorse and pain to him, as its unhappy
cause. When these things were all forgotten, he hoped that Frank and he
might still be warm friends, and that no word or thought of his humble
home, or of her who was well contented to remain there and share his
quiet fortunes, would ever again disturb the harmony between them. He
recounted, as nearly as he could, what had passed between himself
and Kate that morning: speaking of her with such warmth of pride and
affection, and dwelling so cheerfully upon the confidence they had of
overcoming any selfish regrets and living contented and happy in each
other’s love, that few could have heard him unmoved. More moved
himself than he had been yet, he expressed in a few hurried words--as
expressive, perhaps, as the most eloquent phrases--his devotion to the
brothers, and his hope that he might live and die in their service.
To all this, brother Charles listened in profound silence, and with his
chair so turned from Nicholas that his face could not be seen. He
had not spoken either, in his accustomed manner, but with a certain
stiffness and embarrassment very foreign to it. Nicholas feared he had
offended him. He said, ‘No, no, he had done quite right,’ but that was
all.
‘Frank is a heedless, foolish fellow,’ he said, after Nicholas had
paused for some time; ‘a very heedless, foolish fellow. I will take care
that this is brought to a close without delay. Let us say no more upon
the subject; it’s a very painful one to me. Come to me in half an hour;
I have strange things to tell you, my dear sir, and your uncle has
appointed this afternoon for your waiting upon him with me.’
‘Waiting upon him! With you, sir!’ cried Nicholas.
‘Ay, with me,’ replied the old gentleman. ‘Return to me in half an hour,
and I’ll tell you more.’
Nicholas waited upon him at the time mentioned, and then learnt all
that had taken place on the previous day, and all that was known of the
appointment Ralph had made with the brothers; which was for that night;
and for the better understanding of which it will be requisite to
return and follow his own footsteps from the house of the twin brothers.
Therefore, we leave Nicholas somewhat reassured by the restored kindness
of their manner towards him, and yet sensible that it was different from
what it had been (though he scarcely knew in what respect): so he was
full of uneasiness, uncertainty, and disquiet.