Nicholas Nickleby
whole of which time Nicholas thought of nothing but the young lady, and
her exceeding beauty, and what could possibly have brought her there,
and why they made such a mystery of it. The more he thought of all this,
the more it perplexed him, and the more anxious he became to know who
and what she was. ‘I should have known her among ten thousand,’ thought
Nicholas. And with that he walked up and down the room, and recalling
her face and figure (of which he had a peculiarly vivid remembrance),
discarded all other subjects of reflection and dwelt upon that alone.
At length Tim Linkinwater came back--provokingly cool, and with papers
in his hand, and a pen in his mouth, as if nothing had happened.
‘Is she quite recovered?’ said Nicholas, impetuously.
‘Who?’ returned Tim Linkinwater.
‘Who!’ repeated Nicholas. ‘The young lady.’
‘What do you make, Mr. Nickleby,’ said Tim, taking his pen out of his
mouth, ‘what do you make of four hundred and twenty-seven times three
thousand two hundred and thirty-eight?’
‘Nay,’ returned Nicholas, ‘what do you make of my question first? I
asked you--’
‘About the young lady,’ said Tim Linkinwater, putting on his spectacles.
‘To be sure. Yes. Oh! she’s very well.’
‘Very well, is she?’ returned Nicholas.
‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Linkinwater, gravely.
‘Will she be able to go home today?’ asked Nicholas.
‘She’s gone,’ said Tim.
‘Gone!’
‘Yes.’
‘I hope she has not far to go?’ said Nicholas, looking earnestly at the
other.
‘Ay,’ replied the immovable Tim, ‘I hope she hasn’t.’
Nicholas hazarded one or two further remarks, but it was evident that
Tim Linkinwater had his own reasons for evading the subject, and that
he was determined to afford no further information respecting the fair
unknown, who had awakened so much curiosity in the breast of his young
friend. Nothing daunted by this repulse, Nicholas returned to the charge
next day, emboldened by the circumstance of Mr. Linkinwater being in
a very talkative and communicative mood; but, directly he resumed the
theme, Tim relapsed into a state of most provoking taciturnity, and from
answering in monosyllables, came to returning no answers at all, save
such as were to be inferred from several grave nods and shrugs, which
only served to whet that appetite for intelligence in Nicholas, which
had already attained a most unreasonable height.
Foiled in these attempts, he was fain to content himself with watching
for the young lady’s next visit, but here again he was disappointed.
Day after day passed, and she did not return. He looked eagerly at the
superscription of all the notes and letters, but there was not one among
them which he could fancy to be in her handwriting. On two or three
occasions he was employed on business which took him to a distance, and
had formerly been transacted by Tim Linkinwater. Nicholas could not help
suspecting that, for some reason or other, he was sent out of the way
on purpose, and that the young lady was there in his absence. Nothing
transpired, however, to confirm this suspicion, and Tim could not be
entrapped into any confession or admission tending to support it in the
smallest degree.
Mystery and disappointment are not absolutely indispensable to the
growth of love, but they are, very often, its powerful auxiliaries. ‘Out
of sight, out of mind,’ is well enough as a proverb applicable to cases
of friendship, though absence is not always necessary to hollowness
of heart, even between friends, and truth and honesty, like precious
stones, are perhaps most easily imitated at a distance, when the
counterfeits often pass for real. Love, however, is very materially
assisted by a warm and active imagination: which has a long memory, and
will thrive, for a considerable time, on very slight and sparing
food. Thus it is, that it often attains its most luxuriant growth in
separation and under circumstances of the utmost difficulty; and thus it
was, that Nicholas, thinking of nothing but the unknown young lady, from
day to day and from hour to hour, began, at last, to think that he was
very desperately in love with her, and that never was such an ill-used
and persecuted lover as he.
Still, though he loved and languished after the most orthodox models,
and was only deterred from making a confidante of Kate by the slight
considerations of having never, in all his life, spoken to the object
of his passion, and having never set eyes upon her, except on two
occasions, on both of which she had come and gone like a flash of
lightning--or, as Nicholas himself said, in the numerous conversations
he held with himself, like a vision of youth and beauty much too bright
to last--his ardour and devotion remained without its reward. The young
lady appeared no more; so there was a great deal of love wasted (enough
indeed to have set up half-a-dozen young gentlemen, as times go, with
the utmost decency), and nobody was a bit the wiser for it; not even
Nicholas himself, who, on the contrary, became more dull, sentimental,
and lackadaisical, every day.
While matters were in this state, the failure of a correspondent of
the brothers Cheeryble, in Germany, imposed upon Tim Linkinwater and
Nicholas the necessity of going through some very long and complicated
accounts, extending over a considerable space of time. To get through
them with the greater dispatch, Tim Linkinwater proposed that they
should remain at the counting-house, for a week or so, until ten o’clock
at night; to this, as nothing damped the zeal of Nicholas in the
service of his kind patrons--not even romance, which has seldom business
habits--he cheerfully assented. On the very first night of these later
hours, at nine exactly, there came: not the young lady herself, but her
servant, who, being closeted with brother Charles for some time, went
away, and returned next night at the same hour, and on the next, and on
the next again.
These repeated visits inflamed the curiosity of Nicholas to the very
highest pitch. Tantalised and excited, beyond all bearing, and unable
to fathom the mystery without neglecting his duty, he confided the whole
secret to Newman Noggs, imploring him to be on the watch next night;
to follow the girl home; to set on foot such inquiries relative to
the name, condition, and history of her mistress, as he could, without
exciting suspicion; and to report the result to him with the least
possible delay.
Beyond all measure proud of this commission, Newman Noggs took up his
post, in the square, on the following evening, a full hour before the
needful time, and planting himself behind the pump and pulling his hat
over his eyes, began his watch with an elaborate appearance of mystery,
admirably calculated to excite the suspicion of all beholders. Indeed,
divers servant girls who came to draw water, and sundry little boys who
stopped to drink at the ladle, were almost scared out of their senses,
by the apparition of Newman Noggs looking stealthily round the
pump, with nothing of him visible but his face, and that wearing the
expression of a meditative Ogre.
Punctual to her time, the messenger came again, and, after an interview
of rather longer duration than usual, departed. Newman had made two
appointments with Nicholas: one for the next evening, conditional on his
success: and one the next night following, which was to be kept under
all circumstances. The first night he was not at the place of meeting (a
certain tavern about half-way between the city and Golden Square), but
on the second night he was there before Nicholas, and received him with
open arms.
‘It’s all right,’ whispered Newman. ‘Sit down. Sit down, there’s a dear
young man, and let me tell you all about it.’
Nicholas needed no second invitation, and eagerly inquired what was the
news.
‘There’s a great deal of news,’ said Newman, in a flutter of exultation.
‘It’s all right. Don’t be anxious. I don’t know where to begin. Never
mind that. Keep up your spirits. It’s all right.’
‘Well?’ said Nicholas eagerly. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ replied Newman. ‘That’s it.’
‘What’s it?’ said Nicholas. ‘The name--the name, my dear fellow!’
‘The name’s Bobster,’ replied Newman.
‘Bobster!’ repeated Nicholas, indignantly.
‘That’s the name,’ said Newman. ‘I remember it by lobster.’
‘Bobster!’ repeated Nicholas, more emphatically than before. ‘That must
be the servant’s name.’
‘No, it an’t,’ said Newman, shaking his head with great positiveness.
‘Miss Cecilia Bobster.’
‘Cecilia, eh?’ returned Nicholas, muttering the two names together
over and over again in every variety of tone, to try the effect. ‘Well,
Cecilia is a pretty name.’
‘Very. And a pretty creature too,’ said Newman.
‘Who?’ said Nicholas.
‘Miss Bobster.’
‘Why, where have you seen her?’ demanded Nicholas.
‘Never mind, my dear boy,’ retorted Noggs, clapping him on the shoulder.
‘I HAVE seen her. You shall see her. I’ve managed it all.’
‘My dear Newman,’ cried Nicholas, grasping his hand, ‘are you serious?’
‘I am,’ replied Newman. ‘I mean it all. Every word. You shall see her
tomorrow night. She consents to hear you speak for yourself. I persuaded
her. She is all affability, goodness, sweetness, and beauty.’
‘I know she is; I know she must be, Newman!’ said Nicholas, wringing his
hand.
‘You are right,’ returned Newman.
‘Where does she live?’ cried Nicholas. ‘What have you learnt of her
history? Has she a father--mother--any brothers--sisters? What did she
say? How came you to see her? Was she not very much surprised? Did you
say how passionately I have longed to speak to her? Did you tell her
where I had seen her? Did you tell her how, and when, and where, and how
long, and how often, I have thought of that sweet face which came upon
me in my bitterest distress like a glimpse of some better world--did
you, Newman--did you?’
Poor Noggs literally gasped for breath as this flood of questions rushed
upon him, and moved spasmodically in his chair at every fresh inquiry,
staring at Nicholas meanwhile with a most ludicrous expression of
perplexity.
‘No,’ said Newman, ‘I didn’t tell her that.’
‘Didn’t tell her which?’ asked Nicholas.
‘About the glimpse of the better world,’ said Newman. ‘I didn’t tell her
who you were, either, or where you’d seen her. I said you loved her to
distraction.’
‘That’s true, Newman,’ replied Nicholas, with his characteristic
vehemence. ‘Heaven knows I do!’
‘I said too, that you had admired her for a long time in secret,’ said
Newman.
‘Yes, yes. What did she say to that?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Blushed,’ said Newman.
‘To be sure. Of course she would,’ said Nicholas approvingly. Newman
then went on to say, that the young lady was an only child, that her
mother was dead, that she resided with her father, and that she had been
induced to allow her lover a secret interview, at the intercession of
her servant, who had great influence with her. He further related how it
required much moving and great eloquence to bring the young lady to this
pass; how it was expressly understood that she merely afforded Nicholas
an opportunity of declaring his passion; and how she by no means pledged
herself to be favourably impressed with his attentions. The mystery of
her visits to the brothers Cheeryble remained wholly unexplained, for
Newman had not alluded to them, either in his preliminary conversations
with the servant or his subsequent interview with the mistress, merely
remarking that he had been instructed to watch the girl home and plead
his young friend’s cause, and not saying how far he had followed her,
or from what point. But Newman hinted that from what had fallen from the
confidante, he had been led to suspect that the young lady led a very
miserable and unhappy life, under the strict control of her only parent,