Chapter 53

by Charles Dickens

　　Containing the further Progress of the Plot contrived by Mr RalphNickleby and Mr Arthur GrideWith that settled resolution, and steadiness of purpose to whichextreme circumstances so often give birth, acting upon far lessexcitable and more sluggish temperaments than that which was the lotof Madeline Bray's admirer, Nicholas started, at dawn of day, fromthe restless couch which no sleep had visited on the previous night,and prepared to make that last appeal, by whose slight and fragilethread her only remaining hope of escape depended.Although, to restless and ardent minds, morning may be the fittingseason for exertion and activity, it is not always at that time thathope is strongest or the spirit most sanguine and buoyant. Intrying and doubtful positions, youth, custom, a steady contemplationof the difficulties which surround us, and a familiarity with them,imperceptibly diminish our apprehensions and beget comparativeindifference, if not a vague and reckless confidence in some relief,the means or nature of which we care not to foresee. But when wecome, fresh, upon such things in the morning, with that dark andsilent gap between us and yesterday; with every link in the brittlechain of hope, to rivet afresh; our hot enthusiasm subdued, and coolcalm reason substituted in its stead; doubt and misgiving revive.As the traveller sees farthest by day, and becomes aware of ruggedmountains and trackless plains which the friendly darkness hadshrouded from his sight and mind together, so, the wayfarer in thetoilsome path of human life sees, with each returning sun, some newobstacle to surmount, some new height to be attained. Distancesstretch out before him which, last night, were scarcely taken intoaccount, and the light which gilds all nature with its cheerfulbeams, seems but to shine upon the weary obstacles that yet liestrewn between him and the grave.So thought Nicholas, when, with the impatience natural to asituation like his, he softly left the house, and, feeling as thoughto remain in bed were to lose most precious time, and to be up andstirring were in some way to promote the end he had in view,wandered into London; perfectly well knowing that for hours to comehe could not obtain speech with Madeline, and could do nothing butwish the intervening time away.And, even now, as he paced the streets, and listlessly looked roundon the gradually increasing bustle and preparation for the day,everything appeared to yield him some new occasion for despondency.Last night, the sacrifice of a young, affectionate, and beautifulcreature, to such a wretch, and in such a cause, had seemed a thingtoo monstrous to succeed; and the warmer he grew, the more confidenthe felt that some interposition must save her from his clutches.But now, when he thought how regularly things went on, from day today, in the same unvarying round; how youth and beauty died, andugly griping age lived tottering on; how crafty avarice grew rich,and manly honest hearts were poor and sad; how few they were whotenanted the stately houses, and how many of those who lay innoisome pens, or rose each day and laid them down each night, andlived and died, father and son, mother and child, race upon race,and generation upon generation, without a home to shelter them orthe energies of one single man directed to their aid; how, inseeking, not a luxurious and splendid life, but the bare means of amost wretched and inadequate subsistence, there were women andchildren in that one town, divided into classes, numbered andestimated as regularly as the noble families and folks of greatdegree, and reared from infancy to drive most criminal and dreadfultrades; how ignorance was punished and never taught; how jail-doorsgaped, and gallows loomed, for thousands urged towards them bycircumstances darkly curtaining their very cradles' heads, and butfor which they might have earned their honest bread and lived inpeace; how many died in soul, and had no chance of life; how manywho could scarcely go astray, be they vicious as they would, turnedhaughtily from the crushed and stricken wretch who could scarce dootherwise, and who would have been a greater wonder had he or shedone well, than even they had they done ill; how much injustice,misery, and wrong, there was, and yet how the world rolled on, fromyear to year, alike careless and indifferent, and no man seeking toremedy or redress it; when he thought of all this, and selected fromthe mass the one slight case on which his thoughts were bent, hefelt, indeed, that there was little ground for hope, and littlereason why it should not form an atom in the huge aggregate ofdistress and sorrow, and add one small and unimportant unit to swellthe great amount.But youth is not prone to contemplate the darkest side of a pictureit can shift at will. By dint of reflecting on what he had to do,and reviving the train of thought which night had interrupted,Nicholas gradually summoned up his utmost energy, and when themorning was sufficiently advanced for his purpose, had no thoughtbut that of using it to the best advantage. A hasty breakfasttaken, and such affairs of business as required prompt attentiondisposed of, he directed his steps to the residence of MadelineBray: whither he lost no time in arriving.It had occurred to him that, very possibly, the young lady might bedenied, although to him she never had been; and he was stillpondering upon the surest method of obtaining access to her in thatcase, when, coming to the door of the house, he found it had beenleft ajar--probably by the last person who had gone out. Theoccasion was not one upon which to observe the nicest ceremony;therefore, availing himself of this advantage, Nicholas walkedgently upstairs and knocked at the door of the room into which hehad been accustomed to be shown. Receiving permission to enter,from some person on the other side, he opened the door and walkedin.Bray and his daughter were sitting there alone. It was nearly threeweeks since he had seen her last, but there was a change in thelovely girl before him which told Nicholas, in startling terms, howmuch mental suffering had been compressed into that short time.There are no words which can express, nothing with which can becompared, the perfect pallor, the clear transparent whiteness, ofthe beautiful face which turned towards him when he entered. Herhair was a rich deep brown, but shading that face, and straying upona neck that rivalled it in whiteness, it seemed by the strongcontrast raven black. Something of wildness and restlessness therewas in the dark eye, but there was the same patient look, the sameexpression of gentle mournfulness which he well remembered, and notrace of a single tear. Most beautiful--more beautiful, perhaps,than ever--there was something in her face which quite unmanned him,and appeared far more touching than the wildest agony of grief. Itwas not merely calm and composed, but fixed and rigid, as though theviolent effort which had summoned that composure beneath herfather's eye, while it mastered all other thoughts, had preventedeven the momentary expression they had communicated to the featuresfrom subsiding, and had fastened it there, as an evidence of itstriumph.The father sat opposite to her; not looking directly in her face,but glancing at her, as he talked with a gay air which ill disguisedthe anxiety of his thoughts. The drawing materials were not ontheir accustomed table, nor were any of the other tokens of herusual occupations to be seen. The little vases which Nicholas hadalways seen filled with fresh flowers were empty, or supplied onlywith a few withered stalks and leaves. The bird was silent. Thecloth that covered his cage at night was not removed. His mistresshad forgotten him.There are times when, the mind being painfully alive to receiveimpressions, a great deal may be noted at a glance. This was one,for Nicholas had but glanced round him when he was recognised by MrBray, who said impatiently:'Now, sir, what do you want? Name your errand here, quickly, if youplease, for my daughter and I are busily engaged with other and moreimportant matters than those you come about. Come, sir, addressyourself to your business at once.'Nicholas could very well discern that the irritability andimpatience of this speech were assumed, and that Bray, in his heart,was rejoiced at any interruption which promised to engage theattention of his daughter. He bent his eyes involuntarily upon thefather as he spoke, and marked his uneasiness; for he coloured andturned his head away.The device, however, so far as it was a device for causing Madelineto interfere, was successful. She rose, and advancing towardsNicholas paused half-way, and stretched out her hand as expecting aletter.'Madeline,' said her father impatiently, 'my love, what are youdoing?''Miss Bray expects an inclosure perhaps,' said Nicholas, speakingvery distinctly, and with an emphasis she could scarcelymisunderstand. 'My employer is absent from England, or I shouldhave brought a letter with me. I hope she will give me time--alittle time. I ask a very little time.''If that is all you come about, sir,' said Mr Bray, 'you may makeyourself easy on that head. Madeline, my dear, I didn't know thisperson was in your debt?''A--a trifle, I believe,' returned Madeline, faintly.'I suppose you think now,' said Bray, wheeling his chair round andconfronting Nicholas, 'that, but for such pitiful sums as you bringhere, because my daughter has chosen to employ her time as she has,we should starve?''I have not thought about it,' returned Nicholas.'You have not thought about it!' sneered the invalid. 'You know youhave thought about it, and have thought that, and think so everytime you come here. Do you suppose, young man, that I don't knowwhat little purse-proud tradesmen are, when, through some fortunatecircumstances, they get the upper hand for a brief day--or thinkthey get the upper hand--of a gentleman?''My business,' said Nicholas respectfully, 'is with a lady.''With a gentleman's daughter, sir,' returned the sick man, 'and thepettifogging spirit is the same. But perhaps you bring orders, eh?Have you any fresh orders for my daughter, sir?'Nicholas understood the tone of triumph in which this interrogatorywas put; but remembering the necessity of supporting his assumedcharacter, produced a scrap of paper purporting to contain a list ofsome subjects for drawings which his employer desired to haveexecuted; and with which he had prepared himself in case of any suchcontingency.'Oh!' said Mr Bray. 'These are the orders, are they?''Since you insist upon the term, sir, yes,' replied Nicholas.'Then you may tell your master,' said Bray, tossing the paper backagain, with an exulting smile, 'that my daughter, Miss MadelineBray, condescends to employ herself no longer in such labours asthese; that she is not at his beck and call, as he supposes her tobe; that we don't live upon his money, as he flatters himself we do;that he may give whatever he owes us, to the first beggar thatpasses his shop, or add it to his own profits next time hecalculates them; and that he may go to the devil for me. That's myacknowledgment of his orders, sir!''And this is the independence of a man who sells his daughter as hehas sold that weeping girl!' thought Nicholas.The father was too much absorbed with his own exultation to mark thelook of scorn which, for an instant, Nicholas could not havesuppressed had he been upon the rack. 'There,' he continued, aftera short silence, 'you have your message and can retire--unless youhave any further--ha!--any further orders.''I have none,' said Nicholas; 'nor, in the consideration of thestation you once held, have I used that or any other word which,however harmless in itself, could be supposed to imply authority onmy part or dependence on yours. I have no orders, but I have fears--fears that I will express, chafe as you may--fears that you may beconsigning that young lady to something worse than supporting you bythe labour of her hands, had she worked herself dead. These are myfears, and these fears I found upon your own demeanour. Yourconscience will tell you, sir, whether I construe it well or not.''For Heaven's sake!' cried Madeline, interposing in alarm betweenthem. 'Remember, sir, he is ill.''Ill!' cried the invalid, gasping and catching for breath. 'Ill!Ill! I am bearded and bullied by a shop-boy, and she beseeches himto pity me and remember I am ill!'He fell into a paroxysm of his disorder, so violent that for a fewmoments Nicholas was alarmed for his life; but finding that he beganto recover, he withdrew, after signifying by a gesture to the younglady that he had something important to communicate, and would waitfor her outside the room. He could hear that the sick man camegradually, but slowly, to himself, and that without any reference towhat had just occurred, as though he had no distinct recollection ofit as yet, he requested to be left alone.'Oh!' thought Nicholas, 'that this slender chance might not be lost,and that I might prevail, if it were but for one week's time andreconsideration!''You are charged with some commission to me, sir,' said Madeline,presenting herself in great agitation. 'Do not press it now, I begand pray you. The day after tomorrow; come here then.''It will be too late--too late for what I have to say,' rejoinedNicholas, 'and you will not be here. Oh, madam, if you have but onethought of him who sent me here, but one last lingering care foryour own peace of mind and heart, I do for God's sake urge you togive me a hearing.'She attempted to pass him, but Nicholas gently detained her.'A hearing,' said Nicholas. 'I ask you but to hear me: not mealone, but him for whom I speak, who is far away and does not knowyour danger. In the name of Heaven hear me!'The poor attendant, with her eyes swollen and red with weeping,stood by; and to her Nicholas appealed in such passionate terms thatshe opened a side-door, and, supporting her mistress into anadjoining room, beckoned Nicholas to follow them.'Leave me, sir, pray,' said the young lady.'I cannot, will not leave you thus,' returned Nicholas. 'I have aduty to discharge; and, either here, or in the room from which wehave just now come, at whatever risk or hazard to Mr Bray, I mustbeseech you to contemplate again the fearful course to which youhave been impelled.''What course is this you speak of, and impelled by whom, sir?'demanded the young lady, with an effort to speak proudly.'I speak of this marriage,' returned Nicholas, 'of this marriage,fixed for tomorrow, by one who never faltered in a bad purpose, orlent his aid to any good design; of this marriage, the history ofwhich is known to me, better, far better, than it is to you. I knowwhat web is wound about you. I know what men they are from whomthese schemes have come. You are betrayed and sold for money; forgold, whose every coin is rusted with tears, if not red with theblood of ruined men, who have fallen desperately by their own madhands.''You say you have a duty to discharge,' said Madeline, 'and so haveI. And with the help of Heaven I will perform it.''Say rather with the help of devils,' replied Nicholas, 'with thehelp of men, one of them your destined husband, who are--''I must not hear this,' cried the young lady, striving to repress ashudder, occasioned, as it seemed, even by this slight allusion toArthur Gride. 'This evil, if evil it be, has been of my ownseeking. I am impelled to this course by no one, but follow it ofmy own free will. You see I am not constrained or forced. Reportthis,' said Madeline, 'to my dear friend and benefactor, and, takingwith you my prayers and thanks for him and for yourself, leave mefor ever!''Not until I have besought you, with all the earnestness and fervourby which I am animated,' cried Nicholas, 'to postpone this marriagefor one short week. Not until I have besought you to think moredeeply than you can have done, influenced as you are, upon the stepyou are about to take. Although you cannot be fully conscious ofthe villainy of this man to whom you are about to give your hand,some of his deeds you know. You have heard him speak, and havelooked upon his face. Reflect, reflect, before it is too late, onthe mockery of plighting to him at the altar, faith in which yourheart can have no share--of uttering solemn words, against whichnature and reason must rebel--of the degradation of yourself in yourown esteem, which must ensue, and must be aggravated every day, ashis detested character opens upon you more and more. Shrink fromthe loathsome companionship of this wretch as you would fromcorruption and disease. Suffer toil and labour if you will, butshun him, shun him, and be happy. For, believe me, I speak thetruth; the most abject poverty, the most wretched condition ofhuman life, with a pure and upright mind, would be happiness to thatwhich you must undergo as the wife of such a man as this!'Long before Nicholas ceased to speak, the young lady buried her facein her hands, and gave her tears free way. In a voice at firstinarticulate with emotion, but gradually recovering strength as sheproceeded, she answered him:'I will not disguise from you, sir--though perhaps I ought--that Ihave undergone great pain of mind, and have been nearly broken-hearted since I saw you last. I do not love this gentleman. Thedifference between our ages, tastes, and habits, forbids it. Thishe knows, and knowing, still offers me his hand. By accepting it,and by that step alone, I can release my father who is dying in thisplace; prolong his life, perhaps, for many years; restore him tocomfort--I may almost call it affluence; and relieve a generous manfrom the burden of assisting one, by whom, I grieve to say, hisnoble heart is little understood. Do not think so poorly of me asto believe that I feign a love I do not feel. Do not report so illof me, for that I could not bear. If I cannot, in reason or innature, love the man who pays this price for my poor hand, I candischarge the duties of a wife: I can be all he seeks in me, andwill. He is content to take me as I am. I have passed my word, andshould rejoice, not weep, that it is so. I do. The interest youtake in one so friendless and forlorn as I, the delicacy with whichyou have discharged your trust, the faith you have kept with me,have my warmest thanks: and, while I make this last feebleacknowledgment, move me to tears, as you see. But I do not repent,nor am I unhappy. I am happy in the prospect of all I can achieveso easily. I shall be more so when I look back upon it, and all isdone, I know.''Your tears fall faster as you talk of happiness,' said Nicholas,'and you shun the contemplation of that dark future which must beladen with so much misery to you. Defer this marriage for a week.For but one week!''He was talking, when you came upon us just now, with such smiles asI remember to have seen of old, and have not seen for many and manya day, of the freedom that was to come tomorrow,' said Madeline,with momentary firmness, 'of the welcome change, the fresh air: allthe new scenes and objects that would bring fresh life to hisexhausted frame. His eye grew bright, and his face lightened at thethought. I will not defer it for an hour.''These are but tricks and wiles to urge you on,' cried Nicholas.'I'll hear no more,' said Madeline, hurriedly; 'I have heard toomuch--more than I should--already. What I have said to you, sir, Ihave said as to that dear friend to whom I trust in you honourablyto repeat it. Some time hence, when I am more composed andreconciled to my new mode of life, if I should live so long, I willwrite to him. Meantime, all holy angels shower blessings on hishead, and prosper and preserve him.'She was hurrying past Nicholas, when he threw himself before her,and implored her to think, but once again, upon the fate to whichshe was precipitately hastening.'There is no retreat,' said Nicholas, in an agony of supplication;'no withdrawing! All regret will be unavailing, and deep and bitterit must be. What can I say, that will induce you to pause at thislast moment? What can I do to save you?''Nothing,' she incoherently replied. 'This is the hardest trial Ihave had. Have mercy on me, sir, I beseech, and do not pierce myheart with such appeals as these. I--I hear him calling. I--I--must not, will not, remain here for another instant.''If this were a plot,' said Nicholas, with the same violent rapiditywith which she spoke, 'a plot, not yet laid bare by me, but which,with time, I might unravel; if you were (not knowing it) entitled tofortune of your own, which, being recovered, would do all that thismarriage can accomplish, would you not retract?''No, no, no! It is impossible; it is a child's tale. Time wouldbring his death. He is calling again!''It may be the last time we shall ever meet on earth,' saidNicholas, 'it may be better for me that we should never meet more.''For both, for both,' replied Madeline, not heeding what she said.'The time will come when to recall the memory of this one interviewmight drive me mad. Be sure to tell them, that you left me calm andhappy. And God be with you, sir, and my grateful heart andblessing!'She was gone. Nicholas, staggering from the house, thought of thehurried scene which had just closed upon him, as if it were thephantom of some wild, unquiet dream. The day wore on; at night,having been enabled in some measure to collect his thoughts, heissued forth again.That night, being the last of Arthur Gride's bachelorship, found himin tiptop spirits and great glee. The bottle-green suit had beenbrushed, ready for the morrow. Peg Sliderskew had rendered theaccounts of her past housekeeping; the eighteen-pence had beenrigidly accounted for (she was never trusted with a larger sum atonce, and the accounts were not usually balanced more than twice aday); every preparation had been made for the coming festival; andArthur might have sat down and contemplated his approachinghappiness, but that he preferred sitting down and contemplating theentries in a dirty old vellum-book with rusty clasps.'Well-a-day!' he chuckled, as sinking on his knees before a strongchest screwed down to the floor, he thrust in his arm nearly up tothe shoulder, and slowly drew forth this greasy volume. 'Well-a-daynow, this is all my library, but it's one of the most entertainingbooks that were ever written! It's a delightful book, and all trueand real--that's the best of it--true as the Bank of England, andreal as its gold and silver. Written by Arthur Gride. He, he, he!None of your storybook writers will ever make as good a book asthis, I warrant me. It's composed for private circulation, for myown particular reading, and nobody else's. He, he, he!'Muttering this soliloquy, Arthur carried his precious volume to thetable, and, adjusting it upon a dusty desk, put on his spectacles,and began to pore among the leaves.'It's a large sum to Mr Nickleby,' he said, in a dolorous voice.'Debt to be paid in full, nine hundred and seventy-five, four,three. Additional sum as per bond, five hundred pound. Onethousand, four hundred and seventy-five pounds, four shillings, andthreepence, tomorrow at twelve o'clock. On the other side, though,there's the per contra, by means of this pretty chick. But, again,there's the question whether I mightn't have brought all this about,myself. "Faint heart never won fair lady." Why was my heart sofaint? Why didn't I boldly open it to Bray myself, and save onethousand four hundred and seventy-five, four, three?'These reflections depressed the old usurer so much, as to wring afeeble groan or two from his breast, and cause him to declare, withuplifted hands, that he would die in a workhouse. Remembering onfurther cogitation, however, that under any circumstances he musthave paid, or handsomely compounded for, Ralph's debt, and being byno means confident that he would have succeeded had he undertakenhis enterprise alone, he regained his equanimity, and chattered andmowed over more satisfactory items, until the entrance of PegSliderskew interrupted him.'Aha, Peg!' said Arthur, 'what is it? What is it now, Peg?''It's the fowl,' replied Peg, holding up a plate containing alittle, a very little one. Quite a phenomenon of a fowl. So verysmall and skinny.'A beautiful bird!' said Arthur, after inquiring the price, andfinding it proportionate to the size. 'With a rasher of ham, and anegg made into sauce, and potatoes, and greens, and an apple pudding,Peg, and a little bit of cheese, we shall have a dinner for anemperor. There'll only be she and me--and you, Peg, when we'vedone.''Don't you complain of the expense afterwards,' said Mrs Sliderskew,sulkily.'I am afraid we must live expensively for the first week,' returnedArthur, with a groan, 'and then we must make up for it. I won't eatmore than I can help, and I know you love your old master too muchto eat more than you can help, don't you, Peg?''Don't I what?' said Peg.'Love your old master too much--''No, not a bit too much,' said Peg.'Oh, dear, I wish the devil had this woman!' cried Arthur: 'love himtoo much to eat more than you can help at his expense.''At his what?' said Peg.'Oh dear! she can never hear the most important word, and hears allthe others!' whined Gride. 'At his expense--you catamaran!'The last-mentioned tribute to the charms of Mrs Sliderskew beinguttered in a whisper, that lady assented to the general propositionby a harsh growl, which was accompanied by a ring at the street-door.'There's the bell,' said Arthur.'Ay, ay; I know that,' rejoined Peg.'Then why don't you go?' bawled Arthur.'Go where?' retorted Peg. 'I ain't doing any harm here, am I?'Arthur Gride in reply repeated the word 'bell' as loud as he couldroar; and, his meaning being rendered further intelligible to MrsSliderskew's dull sense of hearing by pantomime expressive ofringing at a street-door, Peg hobbled out, after sharply demandingwhy he hadn't said there was a ring before, instead of talking aboutall manner of things that had nothing to do with it, and keeping herhalf-pint of beer waiting on the steps.'There's a change come over you, Mrs Peg,' said Arthur, followingher out with his eyes. 'What it means I don't quite know; but, ifit lasts, we shan't agree together long I see. You are turningcrazy, I think. If you are, you must take yourself off, Mrs Peg--orbe taken off. All's one to me.' Turning over the leaves of his bookas he muttered this, he soon lighted upon something which attractedhis attention, and forgot Peg Sliderskew and everything else in theengrossing interest of its pages.The room had no other light than that which it derived from a dimand dirt-clogged lamp, whose lazy wick, being still further obscuredby a dark shade, cast its feeble rays over a very little space, andleft all beyond in heavy shadow. This lamp the money-lender haddrawn so close to him, that there was only room between it andhimself for the book over which he bent; and as he sat, with hiselbows on the desk, and his sharp cheek-bones resting on his hands,it only served to bring out his ugly features in strong relief,together with the little table at which he sat, and to shroud allthe rest of the chamber in a deep sullen gloom. Raising his eyes,and looking vacantly into this gloom as he made some mentalcalculation, Arthur Gride suddenly met the fixed gaze of a man.'Thieves! thieves!' shrieked the usurer, starting up and folding hisbook to his breast. 'Robbers! Murder!''What is the matter?' said the form, advancing.'Keep off!' cried the trembling wretch. 'Is it a man or a--a--''For what do you take me, if not for a man?' was the inquiry.'Yes, yes,' cried Arthur Gride, shading his eyes with his hand, 'itis a man, and not a spirit. It is a man. Robbers! robbers!''For what are these cries raised? Unless indeed you know me, andhave some purpose in your brain?' said the stranger, coming close upto him. 'I am no thief.''What then, and how come you here?' cried Gride, somewhat reassured,but still retreating from his visitor: 'what is your name, and whatdo you want?''My name you need not know,' was the reply. 'I came here, because Iwas shown the way by your servant. I have addressed you twice orthrice, but you were too profoundly engaged with your book to hearme, and I have been silently waiting until you should be lessabstracted. What I want I will tell you, when you can summon upcourage enough to hear and understand me.'Arthur Gride, venturing to regard his visitor more attentively, andperceiving that he was a young man of good mien and bearing,returned to his seat, and muttering that there were bad charactersabout, and that this, with former attempts upon his house, had madehim nervous, requested his visitor to sit down. This, however, hedeclined.'Good God! I don't stand up to have you at an advantage,' saidNicholas (for Nicholas it was), as he observed a gesture of alarm onthe part of Gride. 'Listen to me. You are to be married tomorrowmorning.''N--n--no,' rejoined Gride. 'Who said I was? How do you knowthat?''No matter how,' replied Nicholas, 'I know it. The young lady whois to give you her hand hates and despises you. Her blood runs coldat the mention of your name; the vulture and the lamb, the rat andthe dove, could not be worse matched than you and she. You see Iknow her.'Gride looked at him as if he were petrified with astonishment, butdid not speak; perhaps lacking the power.'You and another man, Ralph Nickleby by name, have hatched this plotbetween you,' pursued Nicholas. 'You pay him for his share inbringing about this sale of Madeline Bray. You do. A lie istrembling on your lips, I see.'He paused; but, Arthur making no reply, resumed again.'You pay yourself by defrauding her. How or by what means--for Iscorn to sully her cause by falsehood or deceit--I do not know; atpresent I do not know, but I am not alone or single-handed in thisbusiness. If the energy of man can compass the discovery of yourfraud and treachery before your death; if wealth, revenge, and justhatred, can hunt and track you through your windings; you will yetbe called to a dear account for this. We are on the scent already;judge you, who know what we do not, when we shall have you down!'He paused again, and still Arthur Gride glared upon him in silence.'If you were a man to whom I could appeal with any hope of touchinghis compassion or humanity,' said Nicholas, 'I would urge upon youto remember the helplessness, the innocence, the youth, of thislady; her worth and beauty, her filial excellence, and last, andmore than all, as concerning you more nearly, the appeal she hasmade to your mercy and your manly feeling. But, I take the onlyground that can be taken with men like you, and ask what money willbuy you off. Remember the danger to which you are exposed. You seeI know enough to know much more with very little help. Bate someexpected gain for the risk you save, and say what is your price.'Old Arthur Gride moved his lips, but they only formed an ugly smileand were motionless again.'You think,' said Nicholas, 'that the price would not be paid. MissBray has wealthy friends who would coin their very hearts to saveher in such a strait as this. Name your price, defer these nuptialsfor but a few days, and see whether those I speak of, shrink fromthe payment. Do you hear me?'When Nicholas began, Arthur Gride's impression was, that RalphNickleby had betrayed him; but, as he proceeded, he felt convincedthat however he had come by the knowledge he possessed, the part heacted was a genuine one, and that with Ralph he had no concern. Allhe seemed to know, for certain, was, that he, Gride, paid Ralph'sdebt; but that, to anybody who knew the circumstances of Bray'sdetention--even to Bray himself, on Ralph's own statement--must beperfectly notorious. As to the fraud on Madeline herself, hisvisitor knew so little about its nature or extent, that it might bea lucky guess, or a hap-hazard accusation. Whether or no, he hadclearly no key to the mystery, and could not hurt him who kept itclose within his own breast. The allusion to friends, and the offerof money, Gride held to be mere empty vapouring, for purposes ofdelay. 'And even if money were to be had,' thought Arthur Glide, ashe glanced at Nicholas, and trembled with passion at his boldnessand audacity, 'I'd have that dainty chick for my wife, and cheat youof her, young smooth-face!'Long habit of weighing and noting well what clients said, and nicelybalancing chances in his mind and calculating odds to their faces,without the least appearance of being so engaged, had rendered Gridequick in forming conclusions, and arriving, from puzzling,intricate, and often contradictory premises, at very cunningdeductions. Hence it was that, as Nicholas went on, he followed himclosely with his own constructions, and, when he ceased to speak,was as well prepared as if he had deliberated for a fortnight.'I hear you,' he cried, starting from his seat, casting back thefastenings of the window-shutters, and throwing up the sash. 'Helphere! Help! Help!''What are you doing?' said Nicholas, seizing him by the arm.'I'll cry robbers, thieves, murder, alarm the neighbourhood,struggle with you, let loose some blood, and swear you came to robme, if you don't quit my house,' replied Gride, drawing in his headwith a frightful grin, 'I will!''Wretch!' cried Nicholas.'You'll bring your threats here, will you?' said Gride, whomjealousy of Nicholas and a sense of his own triumph had convertedinto a perfect fiend. 'You, the disappointed lover? Oh dear! He!he! he! But you shan't have her, nor she you. She's my wife, mydoting little wife. Do you think she'll miss you? Do you thinkshe'll weep? I shall like to see her weep, I shan't mind it. Shelooks prettier in tears.''Villain!' said Nicholas, choking with his rage.'One minute more,' cried Arthur Gride, 'and I'll rouse the streetwith such screams, as, if they were raised by anybody else, shouldwake me even in the arms of pretty Madeline.''You hound!' said Nicholas. 'If you were but a younger man--''Oh yes!' sneered Arthur Gride, 'If I was but a younger man itwouldn't be so bad; but for me, so old and ugly! To be jilted bylittle Madeline for me!''Hear me,' said Nicholas, 'and be thankful I have enough commandover myself not to fling you into the street, which no aid couldprevent my doing if I once grappled with you. I have been no loverof this lady's. No contract or engagement, no word of love, hasever passed between us. She does not even know my name.''I'll ask it for all that. I'll beg it of her with kisses,' saidArthur Gride. 'Yes, and she'll tell me, and pay them back, andwe'll laugh together, and hug ourselves, and be very merry, when wethink of the poor youth that wanted to have her, but couldn'tbecause she was bespoke by me!'This taunt brought such an expression into the face of Nicholas,that Arthur Gride plainly apprehended it to be the forerunner of hisputting his threat of throwing him into the street in immediateexecution; for he thrust his head out of the window, and holdingtight on with both hands, raised a pretty brisk alarm. Not thinkingit necessary to abide the issue of the noise, Nicholas gave vent toan indignant defiance, and stalked from the room and from the house.Arthur Gride watched him across the street, and then, drawing in hishead, fastened the window as before, and sat down to take breath.'If she ever turns pettish or ill-humoured, I'll taunt her with thatspark,' he said, when he had recovered. 'She'll little think I knowabout him; and, if I manage it well, I can break her spirit by thismeans and have her under my thumb. I'm glad nobody came. I didn'tcall too loud. The audacity to enter my house, and open upon me!But I shall have a very good triumph tomorrow, and he'll be gnawinghis fingers off: perhaps drown himself or cut his throat! Ishouldn't wonder! That would make it quite complete, that would:quite.'When he had become restored to his usual condition by these andother comments on his approaching triumph, Arthur Gride put away hisbook, and, having locked the chest with great caution, descendedinto the kitchen to warn Peg Sliderskew to bed, and scold her forhaving afforded such ready admission to a stranger.The unconscious Peg, however, not being able to comprehend theoffence of which she had been guilty, he summoned her to hold thelight, while he made a tour of the fastenings, and secured thestreet-door with his own hands.'Top bolt,' muttered Arthur, fastening as he spoke, 'bottom bolt,chain, bar, double lock, and key out to put under my pillow! So, ifany more rejected admirers come, they may come through the keyhole.And now I'll go to sleep till half-past five, when I must get up tobe married, Peg!'With that, he jocularly tapped Mrs Sliderskew under the chin, andappeared, for the moment, inclined to celebrate the close of hisbachelor days by imprinting a kiss on her shrivelled lips. Thinkingbetter of it, however, he gave her chin another tap, in lieu of thatwarmer familiarity, and stole away to bed.