up, and returned it into her hand, the light from a neighbouring lamp shone upon her face. The lock of hair that had escaped and curled loosely over her brow, the traces of tears yet scarcely dry, the flushed cheek, the look of sorrow, all fired some dormant train of recollection in the old man’s breast; and the face of his dead brother seemed present before him, with the very look it bore on some occasion of boyish grief, of which every minutest circumstance flashed upon his mind, with the distinctness of a scene of yesterday.
Ralph Nickleby, who was proof against all appeals of blood and kindred—who was steeled against every tale of sorrow and distress—staggered while he looked, and went back into his house, as a man who had seen a spirit from some world beyond the grave.
Chapter 20.
Wherein Nicholas at length encounters his Uncle, to whom he expresses his Sentiments with much Candour. His Resolution.
Little Miss La Creevy trotted briskly through divers streets at the west end of the town, early on Monday morning—the day after the dinner—charged with the important commission of acquainting Madame Mantalini that Miss Nickleby was too unwell to attend that day, but hoped to be enabled to resume her duties on the morrow. And as Miss La Creevy walked along, revolving in her mind various genteel forms and elegant turns of expression, with a view to the selection of the very best in which to couch her communication, she cogitated a good deal upon the probable causes of her young friend’s indisposition.
‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘Her eyes were decidedly red last night. She said she had a headache; headaches don’t occasion red eyes. She must have been crying.’
Arriving at this conclusion, which, indeed, she had established to her perfect satisfaction on the previous evening, Miss La Creevy went on to consider—as she had done nearly all night—what new cause of unhappiness her young friend could possibly have had.
‘I can’t think of anything,’ said the little portrait painter. ‘Nothing at all, unless it was the behaviour of that old bear. Cross to her, I suppose? Unpleasant brute!’
Relieved by this expression of opinion, albeit it was vented upon empty air, Miss La Creevy trotted on to Madame Mantalini’s; and being informed that the governing power was not yet out of bed, requested an interview with the second in command; whereupon Miss Knag appeared.
‘So far as I am concerned,’ said Miss Knag, when the message had been delivered, with many ornaments of speech; ‘I could spare Miss Nickleby for evermore.’
‘Oh, indeed, ma’am!’ rejoined Miss La Creevy, highly offended. ‘But, you see, you are not mistress of the business, and therefore it’s of no great consequence.’
‘Very good, ma’am,’ said Miss Knag. ‘Have you any further commands for me?’
‘No, I have not, ma’am,’ rejoined Miss La Creevy.
‘Then good-morning, ma’am,’ said Miss Knag.
‘Good-morning to you, ma’am; and many obligations for your extreme politeness and good breeding,’ rejoined Miss La Creevy.
Thus terminating the interview, during which both ladies had trembled very much, and been marvellously polite—certain indications that they were within an inch of a very desperate quarrel—Miss La Creevy bounced out of the room, and into the street.
‘I wonder who that is,’ said the queer little soul. ‘A nice person to know, I should think! I wish I had the painting of her: I’D do her justice.’ So, feeling quite satisfied that she had said a very cutting thing at Miss Knag’s expense, Miss La Creevy had a hearty laugh, and went home to breakfast in great good humour.
Here was one of the advantages of having lived alone so long! The little bustling, active, cheerful creature existed entirely within herself, talked to herself, made a confidante of herself, was as sarcastic as she could be, on people who offended her, by herself; pleased herself, and did no harm. If she indulged in scandal, nobody’s reputation suffered; and if she enjoyed a little bit of revenge, no living soul was one atom the worse. One of the many to whom, from straitened circumstances, a consequent inability to form the associations they would wish, and a disinclination to mix with the society they could obtain, London is as complete a solitude as the plains of Syria, the humble artist had pursued her lonely, but contented way for many years; and, until the peculiar misfortunes of the Nickleby family attracted her attention, had made no friends, though brimful of the friendliest feelings to all mankind. There are many warm hearts in the same solitary guise as poor little Miss La Creevy’s.
However, that’s neither here nor there, just now. She went home to breakfast, and had scarcely caught the full flavour of her first sip of tea, when the servant announced a gentleman, whereat Miss La Creevy, at once imagining a new sitter transfixed by admiration at the street-door case, was in unspeakable consternation at the presence of the tea-things.
‘Here, take ‘em away; run with ‘em into the bedroom; anywhere,’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘Dear, dear; to think that I should be late on this particular morning, of all others, after being ready for three weeks by half-past eight o’clock, and not a soul coming near the place!’
‘Don’t let me put you out of the way,’ said a voice Miss La Creevy knew. ‘I told the servant not to mention my name, because I wished to surprise you.’
‘Mr. Nicholas!’ cried Miss La Creevy, starting in great astonishment. ‘You have not forgotten me, I see,’ replied Nicholas, extending his hand.
‘Why, I think I should even have known you if I had met you in the street,’ said Miss La Creevy, with a smile. ‘Hannah, another cup and saucer. Now, I’ll tell you what, young man; I’ll trouble you not to repeat the impertinence you were guilty of, on the morning you went away.’
‘You would not be very angry, would you?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Wouldn’t I!’ said Miss La Creevy. ‘You had better try; that’s all!’
Nicholas, with becoming gallantry, immediately took Miss La Creevy at her word, who uttered a faint scream and slapped his face; but it was not a very hard slap, and that’s the truth.
‘I never saw such a rude creature!’ exclaimed Miss La Creevy.
‘You told me to try,’ said Nicholas.
‘Well; but I was speaking ironically,’ rejoined Miss La Creevy.
‘Oh! that’s another thing,’ said Nicholas; ‘you should have told me that, too.’
‘I dare say you didn’t know, indeed!’ retorted Miss La Creevy. ‘But, now I look at you again, you seem thinner than when I saw you last, and your face is haggard and pale. And how come you to have left Yorkshire?’
She stopped here; for there was so much heart in her altered tone and manner, that Nicholas was quite moved.
‘I need look somewhat changed,’ he said, after a short silence; ‘for I have undergone some suffering, both of mind and body, since I left London. I have been very poor, too, and have even suffered from want.’
‘Good Heaven, Mr. Nicholas!’ exclaimed Miss La Creevy, ‘what are you telling me?’
‘Nothing which need distress you quite so much,’ answered Nicholas, with a more sprightly air; ‘neither did I come here to bewail my lot, but on matter more to the purpose. I wish to meet my uncle face to face. I should tell you that first.’
‘Then all I have to say about that is,’ interposed Miss La Creevy, ‘that I don’t envy you your taste; and that sitting in the same room with his very boots, would put me out of humour for a fortnight.’
‘In the main,’ said Nicholas, ‘there may be no great difference of opinion between you and me, so far; but you will understand, that