Nicholas Nickleby
reparation comes too late; and, neither in this world nor in the next,
can I have hope again!’
He had hardly spoken, when the lamp, which stood upon the table close
to where Ralph was seated, and which was the only one in the room, was
thrown to the ground, and left them in darkness. There was some trifling
confusion in obtaining another light; the interval was a mere nothing;
but when the light appeared, Ralph Nickleby was gone.
The good brothers and Tim Linkinwater occupied some time in discussing
the probability of his return; and, when it became apparent that he
would not come back, they hesitated whether or no to send after him.
At length, remembering how strangely and silently he had sat in one
immovable position during the interview, and thinking he might possibly
be ill, they determined, although it was now very late, to send to his
house on some pretence. Finding an excuse in the presence of Brooker,
whom they knew not how to dispose of without consulting his wishes, they
concluded to act upon this resolution before going to bed.
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 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