In which Mr. Ralph Nickleby is relieved, by a very expeditious Process, from all Commerce with his Relations  
Smike and Newman Noggs, who in his impatience had returned home long before the time agreed upon, sat before the fire, listening anxiously to every footstep on the stairs, and the slightest sound that stirred within the house, for the approach of Nicholas. Time had worn on, and it was growing late. He had promised to be back in an hour; and his prolonged absence began to excite considerable alarm in the minds of both, as was abundantly testified by the blank looks they cast upon each other at every new disappointment.
At length a coach was heard to stop, and Newman ran out to light Nicholas up the stairs. Beholding him in the trim described at the conclusion of the last chapter, he stood aghast in wonder and consternation.
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ said Nicholas, hurrying him back into the room. ‘There is no harm done, beyond what a basin of water can repair.’
‘No harm!’ cried Newman, passing his hands hastily over the back and arms of Nicholas, as if to assure himself that he had broken no bones. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘I know all,’ interrupted Nicholas; ‘I have heard a part, and guessed the rest. But before I remove one jot of these stains, I must hear the whole from you. You see I am collected. My resolution is taken. Now, my good friend, speak out; for the time for any palliation or concealment is past, and nothing will avail Ralph Nickleby now.’
‘Your dress is torn in several places; you walk lame, and I am sure you are suffering pain,’ said Newman. ‘Let me see to your hurts first.’
‘I have no hurts to see to, beyond a little soreness and stiffness that will soon pass off,’ said Nicholas, seating himself with some difficulty. ‘But if I had fractured every limb, and still preserved my senses, you should not bandage one till you had told me what I have the right to know. Come,’ said Nicholas, giving his hand to Noggs. ‘You had a sister of your own, you told me once, who died before you fell into misfortune. Now think of her, and tell me, Newman.’
‘Yes, I will, I will,’ said Noggs. ‘I’ll tell you the whole truth.’
Newman did so. Nicholas nodded his head from time to time, as it corroborated the particulars he had already gleaned; but he fixed his eyes upon the fire, and did not look round once.
His recital ended, Newman insisted upon his young friend’s stripping off his coat and allowing whatever injuries he had received to be properly tended. Nicholas, after some opposition, at length consented, and, while some pretty severe bruises on his arms and shoulders were being rubbed with oil and vinegar, and various other efficacious remedies which Newman borrowed from the different lodgers, related in what manner they had been received. The recital made a strong impression on the warm imagination of Newman; for when Nicholas came to the violent part of the quarrel, he rubbed so hard, as to occasion him the most exquisite pain, which he would not have exhibited, however, for the world, it being perfectly clear that, for the moment, Newman was operating on Sir Mulberry Hawk, and had quite lost sight of his real patient.
This martyrdom over, Nicholas arranged with Newman that while he was otherwise occupied next morning, arrangements should be made for his mother’s immediately quitting her present residence, and also for dispatching Miss La Creevy to break the intelligence to her. He then wrapped himself in Smike’s greatcoat, and repaired to the inn where they were to pass the night, and where (after writing a few lines to Ralph, the delivery of which was to be intrusted to Newman next day), he endeavoured to obtain the repose of which he stood so much in need.
Drunken men, they say, may roll down precipices, and be quite unconscious of any serious personal inconvenience when their reason returns. The remark may possibly apply to injuries received in other kinds of violent excitement: certain it is, that although Nicholas experienced some pain on first awakening next morning, he sprung out of bed as the clock struck seven, with very little difficulty, and was soon as much on the alert as if nothing had occurred.
Merely looking into Smike’s room, and telling him that Newman Noggs would call for him very shortly, Nicholas descended into the street, and calling a hackney coach, bade the man drive to Mrs. Wititterly’s, according to the direction which Newman had given him on the previous night.
It wanted a quarter to eight when they reached Cadogan Place. Nicholas began to fear that no one might be stirring at that early hour, when he was relieved by the sight of a female servant, employed in cleaning the door-steps. By this functionary he was referred to the doubtful page, who appeared with dishevelled hair and a very warm and glossy face, as of a page who had just got out of bed.
By this young gentleman he was informed that Miss Nickleby was then taking her morning’s walk in the gardens before the house. On the question being propounded whether he could go and find her, the page desponded and thought not; but being stimulated with a shilling, the page grew sanguine and thought he could.
‘Say to Miss Nickleby that her brother is here, and in great haste to see her,’ said Nicholas.
The plated buttons disappeared with an alacrity most unusual to them, and Nicholas paced the room in a state of feverish agitation which made the delay even of a minute insupportable. He soon heard a light footstep which he well knew, and before he could advance to meet her, Kate had fallen on his neck and burst into tears.
‘My darling girl,’ said Nicholas as he embraced her. ‘How pale you are!’
‘I have been so unhappy here, dear brother,’ sobbed poor Kate; ‘so very, very miserable. Do not leave me here, dear Nicholas, or I shall die of a broken heart.’
‘I will leave you nowhere,’ answered Nicholas—‘never again, Kate,’ he cried, moved in spite of himself as he folded her to his heart. ‘Tell me that I acted for the best. Tell me that we parted because I feared to bring misfortune on your head; that it was a trial to me no less than to yourself, and that if I did wrong it was in ignorance of the world and unknowingly.’
‘Why should I tell you what we know so well?’ returned Kate soothingly. ‘Nicholas—dear Nicholas—how can you give way thus?’
‘It is such bitter reproach to me to know what you have undergone,’ returned her brother; ‘to see you so much altered, and yet so kind and patient—God!’ cried Nicholas, clenching his fist and suddenly changing his tone and manner, ‘it sets my whole blood on fire again. You must leave here with me directly; you should not have slept here last night, but that I knew all this too late. To whom can I speak, before we drive away?’
This question was most opportunely put, for at that instant Mr. Wititterly walked in, and to him Kate introduced her brother, who at once announced his purpose, and the impossibility of deferring it.
‘The quarter’s notice,’ said Mr. Wititterly, with the gravity of a man on the right side, ‘is not yet half expired. Therefore—’
‘Therefore,’ interposed Nicholas, ‘the quarter’s salary must be lost, sir. You will excuse this extreme haste, but circumstances require that I should immediately remove my sister, and I have not a moment’s time to lose. Whatever she brought here I will send for, if you will allow me, in the course of the day.’
Mr. Wititterly bowed, but offered no opposition to Kate’s immediate departure; with which, indeed, he was rather gratified than otherwise, Sir Tumley Snuffim having given it as his opinion, that she rather disagreed with Mrs. Wititterly’s constitution.
‘With regard to the trifle of salary that is due,’ said Mr. Wititterly, ‘I will’—here he was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing—‘I will—owe it to Miss Nickleby.’
Mr. Wititterly, it should be observed, was accustomed to owe small accounts, and to leave them owing. All men have some littl............