Comprises certain Particulars arising out of a Visitof Condolence, which may prove importanthereafter. Smike unexpectedly encounters a veryold Friend, who invites him to his House, and willtake no Denial.

　　Quite unconscious of the demonstrations of their amorousneighbour, or their effects upon the susceptible bosom ofher mama, Kate Nickleby had, by this time, begun to enjoya settled feeling of tranquillity and happiness, to which, even inoccasional and transitory glimpses, she had long been a stranger.

　　Living under the same roof with the beloved brother from whomshe had been so suddenly and hardly separated: with a mind atease, and free from any persecutions which could call a blush intoher cheek, or a pang into her heart, she seemed to have passedinto a new state of being. Her former cheerfulness was restored,her step regained its elasticity and lightness, the colour which hadforsaken her cheek visited it once again, and Kate Nickleby lookedmore beautiful than ever.

　　Such was the result to which Miss La Creevy’s ruminations andobservations led her, when the cottage had been, as sheemphatically said, ‘thoroughly got to rights, from the chimney-potsto the street-door scraper,’ and the busy little woman had at lengtha moment’s time to think about its inmates.

　　‘Which I declare I haven’t had since I first came down here,’

　　 said Miss La Creevy; ‘for I have thought of nothing but hammers,nails, screwdrivers, and gimlets, morning, noon, and night.’

　　‘You never bestowed one thought upon yourself, I believe,’

　　returned Kate, smiling.

　　‘Upon my word, my dear, when there are so many pleasanterthings to think of, I should be a goose if I did,’ said Miss La Creevy.

　　‘By-the-bye, I have thought of somebody too. Do you know, that Iobserve a great change in one of this family—a very extraordinarychange?’

　　‘In whom?’ asked Kate, anxiously. ‘Not in—’

　　‘Not in your brother, my dear,’ returned Miss La Creevy,anticipating the close of the sentence, ‘for he is always the sameaffectionate good-natured clever creature, with a spice of the—Iwon’t say who—in him when there’s any occasion, that he waswhen I first knew you. No. Smike, as he will be called, poor fellow!

　　for he won’t hear of a Mr before his name, is greatly altered, evenin this short time.’

　　‘How?’ asked Kate. ‘Not in health?’

　　‘N-n-o; perhaps not in health exactly,’ said Miss La Creevy,pausing to consider, ‘although he is a worn and feeble creature,and has that in his face which it would wring my heart to see inyours. No; not in health.’

　　‘How then?’

　　‘I scarcely know,’ said the miniature painter. ‘But I havewatched him, and he has brought the tears into my eyes manytimes. It is not a very difficult matter to do that, certainly, for I ameasily melted; still I think these came with good cause and reason.

　　I am sure that since he has been here, he has grown, from somestrong cause, more conscious of his weak intellect. He feels it more. It gives him greater pain to know that he wanderssometimes, and cannot understand very simple things. I havewatched him when you have not been by, my dear, sit brooding byhimself, with such a look of pain as I could scarcely bear to see,and then get up and leave the room: so sorrowfully, and in suchdejection, that I cannot tell you how it has hurt me. Not threeweeks ago, he was a light-hearted busy creature, overjoyed to be ina bustle, and as happy as the day was long. Now, he is anotherbeing—the same willing, harmless, faithful, loving creature—butthe same in nothing else.’

　　‘Surely this will all pass off,’ said Kate. ‘Poor fellow!’

　　‘I hope,’ returned her little friend, with a gravity very unusualin her, ‘it may. I hope, for the sake of that poor lad, it may.

　　However,’ said Miss La Creevy, relapsing into the cheerful,chattering tone, which was habitual to her, ‘I have said my say,and a very long say it is, and a very wrong say too, I shouldn’twonder at all. I shall cheer him up tonight, at all events, for if he isto be my squire all the way to the Strand, I shall talk on, and on,and on, and never leave off, till I have roused him into a laugh atsomething. So the sooner he goes, the better for him, and thesooner I go, the better for me, I am sure, or else I shall have mymaid gallivanting with somebody who may rob the house—thoughwhat there is to take away, besides tables and chairs, I don’t know,except the miniatures: and he is a clever thief who can dispose ofthem to any great advantage, for I can’t, I know, and that’s thehonest truth.’

　　So saying, little Miss La Creevy hid her face in a very flatbonnet, and herself in a very big shawl; and fixing herself tightlyinto the latter, by means of a large pin, declared that the omnibus might come as soon as it pleased, for she was quite ready.

　　But there was still Mrs Nickleby to take leave of; and longbefore that good lady had concluded some reminiscences bearingupon, and appropriate to, the occasion, the omnibus arrived. Thisput Miss La Creevy in a great bustle, in consequence whereof, asshe secretly rewarded the servant girl with eighteen-pence behindthe street-door, she pulled out of her reticule ten-pennyworth ofhalfpence, which rolled into all possible corners of the passage,and occupied some considerable time in the picking up. Thisceremony had, of course, to be succeeded by a second kissing ofKate and Mrs Nickleby, and a gathering together of the littlebasket and the brown-paper parcel, during which proceedings,‘the omnibus,’ as Miss La Creevy protested, ‘swore so dreadfully,that it was quite awful to hear it.’ At length and at last, it made afeint of going away, and then Miss La Creevy darted out, anddarted in, apologising with great volubility to all the passengers,and declaring that she wouldn’t purposely have kept them waitingon any account whatever. While she was looking about for aconvenient seat, the conductor pushed Smike in, and cried that itwas all right—though it wasn’t—and away went the huge vehicle,with the noise of half-a-dozen brewers’ drays at least.

　　Leaving it to pursue its journey at the pleasure of the conductoraforementioned, who lounged gracefully on his little shelf behind,smoking an odoriferous cigar; and leaving it to stop, or go on, orgallop, or crawl, as that gentleman deemed expedient andadvisable; this narrative may embrace the opportunity ofascertaining the condition of Sir Mulberry Hawk, and to whatextent he had, by this time, recovered from the injuriesconsequent on being flung violently from his cabriolet, under the circumstances already detailed.

　　With a shattered limb, a body severely bruised, a face disfiguredby half-healed scars, and pallid from the exhaustion of recent painand fever, Sir Mulberry Hawk lay stretched upon his back, on thecouch to which he was doomed to be a prisoner for some weeksyet to come. Mr Pyke and Mr Pluck sat drinking hard in the nextroom, now and then varying the monotonous murmurs of theirconversation with a half-smothered laugh, while the young lord—the only member of the party who was not thoroughlyirredeemable, and who really had a kind heart—sat beside hisMentor, with a cigar in his mouth, and read to him, by the light ofa lamp, such scraps of intelligence from a paper of the day, as weremost likely to yield him interest or amusement.

　　‘Curse those hounds!’ said the invalid, turning his headimpatiently towards the adjoining room; ‘will nothing stop theirinfernal throats?’

　　Messrs Pyke and Pluck heard the exclamation, and stoppedimmediately: winking to each other as they did so, and filling theirglasses to the brim, as some recompense for the deprivation ofspeech.

　　‘Damn!’ muttered the sick man between his teeth, and writhingimpatiently in his bed. ‘Isn’t this mattress hard enough, and theroom dull enough, and pain bad enough, but they must tortureme? What’s the time?’

　　‘Half-past eight,’ replied his friend.

　　‘Here, draw the table nearer, and let us have the cards again,’

　　said Sir Mulberry. ‘More piquet. Come.’

　　It was curious to see how eagerly the sick man, debarred fromany change of position save the mere turning of his head from side to side, watched every motion of his friend in the progress of thegame; and with what eagerness and interest he played, and yethow warily and coolly. His address and skill were more thantwenty times a match for his adversary, who could make littlehead against them, even when fortune favoured him with goodcards, which was not often the case. Sir Mulberry won everygame; and when his companion threw down the cards, andrefused to play any longer, thrust forth his wasted arm and caughtup the stakes with a boastful oath, and the same hoarse laugh,though considerably lowered in tone, that had resounded in RalphNickleby’s dining-room, months before.

　　While he was thus occupied, his man appeared, to announcethat Mr Ralph Nickleby was below, and wished to know how hewas, tonight.

　　‘Better,’ said Sir Mulberry, impatiently.

　　‘Mr Nickleby wishes to know, sir—’

　　‘I tell you, better,’ replied Sir Mulberry, striking his hand uponthe table.

　　The man hesitated for a moment or two, and then said that MrNickleby had requested permission to see Sir Mulberry Hawk, if itwas not inconvenient.

　　‘It is inconvenient. I can’t see him. I can’t see anybody,’ said hismaster, more violently than before. ‘You know that, youblockhead.’

　　‘I am very sorry, sir,’ returned the man. ‘But Mr Nicklebypressed so much, sir—’

　　The fact was, that Ralph Nickleby had bribed the man, who,being anxious to earn his money with a view to future favours,held the door in his hand, and ventured to linger still.

　　 ‘Did he say whether he had any business to speak about?’

　　inquired Sir Mulberry, after a little impatient consideration.

　　‘No, sir. He said he wished to see you, sir. Particularly, MrNickleby said, sir.’

　　‘Tell him to come up. Here,’ cried Sir Mulberry, calling the manback, as he passed his hand over his disfigured face, ‘move thatlamp, and put it on the stand behind me. Wheel that table away,and place a chair there—further off. Leave it so.’

　　The man obeyed these directions as if he quite comprehendedthe motive with which they were dictated, and left the room. LordFrederick Verisopht, remarking that he would look in presently,strolled into the adjoining apartment, and closed the folding doorbehind him.

　　Then was heard a subdued footstep on the stairs; and RalphNickleby, hat in hand, crept softly into the room, with his bodybent forward as if in profound respect, and his eyes fixed upon theface of his worthy client.

　　‘Well, Nickleby,’ said Sir Mulberry, motioning him to the chairby the couch side, and waving his hand in assumed carelessness, ‘Ihave had a bad accident, you see.’

　　‘I see,’ rejoined Ralph, with the same steady gaze. ‘Bad, indeed!

　　I should not have known you, Sir Mulberry. Dear, dear! This ISbad.’

　　Ralph’s manner was one of profound humility and respect; andthe low tone of voice was that, which the gentlest consideration fora sick man would have taught a visitor to assume. But theexpression of his face, Sir Mulberry’s being averted, was inextraordinary contrast; and as he stood, in his usual attitude,calmly looking on the prostrate form before him, all that part of his features which was not cast into shadow by his protruding andcontracted brows, bore the impress of a sarcastic smile.

　　‘Sit down,’ said Sir Mulberry, turning towards him, as thoughby a violent effort. ‘Am I a sight, that you stand gazing there?’

　　As he turned his face, Ralph recoiled a step or two, and makingas though he were irresistibly impelled to express astonishment,but was determined not to do so, sat down with well-actedconfusion.

　　‘I have inquired at the door, Sir Mulberry, every day,’ saidRalph, ‘twice a day, indeed, at first—and tonight, presuming uponold acquaintance, and past transactions by which we havemutually benefited in some degree, I could not resist solicitingadmission to your chamber. Have you—have you suffered much?’

　　said Ralph, bending forward, and allowing the same harsh smile togather upon his face, as the other closed his eyes.

　　‘More than enough to please me, and less than enough to pleasesome broken-down hacks that you and I know of, and who laytheir ruin between us, I dare say,’ returned Sir Mulberry, tossinghis arm restlessly upon the coverlet.

　　Ralph shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of the intenseirritation with which this had been said; for there was anaggravating, cold distinctness in his speech and manner which sograted on the sick man that he could scarcely endure it.

　　‘And what is it in these “past transactions,” that brought youhere tonight?’ asked Sir Mulberry.

　　‘Nothing,’ replied Ralph. ‘There are some bills of my lord’swhich need renewal; but let them be till you are well. I—I—came,’

　　said Ralph, speaking more slowly, and with harsher emphasis, ‘Icame to say how grieved I am that any relative of mine, although disowned by me, should have inflicted such punishment on youas—’

　　‘Punishment!’ interposed Sir Mulberry.

　　‘I know it has been a severe one,’ said Ralph, wilfully mistakingthe meaning of the interruption, ‘and that has made me the moreanxious to tell you that I disown this vagabond—that Iacknowledge him as no kin of mine—and that I leave him to takehis deserts from you, and every man besides. You may wring hisneck if you please. I shall not interfere.’

　　‘This story that they tell me here, has got abroad then, has it?’

　　asked Sir Mulberry, clenching his hands and teeth.

　　‘Noised in all directions,’ replied Ralph. ‘Every club andgaming-room has rung with it. There has been a good song madeabout it, as I am told,’ said Ralph, looking eagerly at hisquestioner. ‘I have not heard it myself, not being in the way ofsuch things, but I have been told it’s even printed—for privatecirculation—but that’s all over town, of course.’

　　‘It’s a lie!’ said Sir Mulberry; ‘I tell you it’s all a lie. The maretook fright.’

　　‘They say he frightened her,’ observed Ralph, in the sameunmoved and quiet manner. ‘Some say he frightened you, butthat’s a lie, I know. I have said that boldly—oh, a score of times! Iam a peaceable man, but I can’t hear folks tell that of you. No, no.’

　　When Sir Mulberry found coherent words to utter, Ralph bentforward with his hand to his ear, and a face as calm as if its everyline of sternness had been cast in iron.

　　‘When I am off this cursed bed,’ said the invalid, actuallystriking at his broken leg in the ecstasy of his passion, ‘I’ll havesuch revenge as never man had yet. By God, I will. Accident favouring him, he has marked me for a week or two, but I’ll put amark on him that he shall carry to his grave. I’ll slit his nose andears, flog him, maim him for life. I’ll do more than that; I’ll dragthat pattern of chastity, that pink of prudery, the delicate sister,through—’

　　It might have been that even Ralph’s cold blood tingled in hischeeks at that moment. It might have been that Sir Mulberryremembered, that, knave and usurer as he was, he must, in someearly time of infancy, have twined his arm about her father’s neck.

　　He stopped, and menacing with his hand, confirmed the unutteredthreat with a tremendous oath.

　　‘It is a galling thing,’ said Ralph, after a short term of silence,during which he had eyed the sufferer keenly, ‘to think that theman about town, the rake, the roué, the rook of twenty seasonsshould be brought to this pass by a mere boy!’

　　Sir Mulberry darted a wrathful look at him, but Ralph’s eyeswere bent upon the ground, and his face wore no other expressionthan one of thoughtfulness.

　　‘A raw, slight stripling,’ continued Ralph, ‘against a man whosevery weight might crush him; to say nothing of his skill in—I amright, I think,’ said Ralph, raising his eyes, ‘you were a patron ofthe ring once, were you not?’

　　The sick man made an impatient gesture, which Ralph chose toconsider as one of acquiescence.

　　‘Ha!’ he said, ‘I thought so. That was before I knew you, but Iwas pretty sure I couldn’t be mistaken. He is light and active, Isuppose. But those were slight advantages compared with yours.

　　Luck, luck! These hang-dog outcasts have it.’

　　‘He’ll need the most he has, when I am well again,’ said Sir Mulberry Hawk, ‘let him fly where he will.’

　　‘Oh!’ returned Ralph quickly, ‘he doesn’t dream of that. He ishere, good sir, waiting your pleasure, here in London, walking thestreets at noonday; carrying it off jauntily; looking for you, Iswear,’ said Ralph, his face darkening, and his own hatred gettingthe upper hand of him, for the first time, as this gay picture ofNicholas presented itself; ‘if we were only citizens of a countrywhere it could be safely done, I’d give good money to have himstabbed to the heart and rolled into the kennel for the dogs totear.’

　　As Ralph, somewhat to the surprise of his old client, vented thislittle piece o............