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'Gone!' cried the other, looking intently in his face.

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       'Softly!' rejoined Nicholas. 'Yes.'

       'Are you going?' demanded the boy, in an earnest whisper.

       'I cannot say,' replied Nicholas. 'I was speaking more to my own thoughts, than to you.'

       'Tell me,' said the boy imploringly, 'oh do tell me, WILL you go--WILL you?'

       'I shall be driven to that at last!' said Nicholas. 'The world is before me, after all.'

       'Tell me,' urged Smike, 'is the world as bad and dismal as this place?'

       'Heaven forbid,' replied Nicholas, pursuing the train of his own thoughts; 'its hardest, coarsest toil, were happiness to this.'

       'Should I ever meet you there?' demanded the boy, speaking with unusual wildness and volubility.

       'Yes,' replied Nicholas, willing to soothe him.

       'No, no!' said the other, clasping him by the hand. 'Should I--should I--tell me that again. Say I should be sure to find you.'

       'You would,' replied Nicholas, with the same humane intention, 'and I would help and aid you, and not bring fresh sorrow on you as

       I have done here.'

       The boy caught both the young man's hands passionately in his, and, hugging them to his breast, uttered a few broken sounds which were unintelligible. Squeers entered at the moment, and he shrunk back into his old corner.

       CHAPTER 13

       Nicholas varies the Monotony of Dothebys Hall by a most vigorous and remarkable proceeding, which leads to Consequences of some Importance

       The cold, feeble dawn of a January morning was stealing in at the windows of the common sleeping-room, when Nicholas, raising himself on his arm, looked among the prostrate forms which on every side surrounded him, as though in search of some particular object.

       It needed a quick eye to detect, from among the huddled mass of sleepers, the form of any given individual. As they lay closely packed together, covered, for warmth's sake, with their patched and ragged clothes, little could be distinguished but the sharp outlines of pale faces, over which the sombre light shed the same dull heavy colour; with, here and there, a gaunt arm thrust forth: its thinness hidden by no covering, but fully exposed to view, in all its shrunken ugliness. There were some who, lying on their backs

       with upturned faces and clenched hands, just visible in the leaden light, bore more the aspect of dead bodies than of living creatures; and there were others coiled up into strange and fantastic postures, such as might have been taken for the uneasy efforts of pain to gain some temporary relief, rather than the freaks of slumber. A few--and these were among the youngest of the children--slept peacefully on, with smiles upon their faces, dreaming perhaps of home; but ever and again a deep and heavy sigh, breaking the stillness of the room, announced that some new sleeper had awakened to the misery of another day; and, as morning took the place of night, the smiles gradually faded away, with the friendly darkness which had given them birth.

       Dreams are the bright creatures of poem and legend, who sport on earth in the night season, and melt away in the first beam of the

       sun, which lights grim care and stern reality on their daily pilgrimage through the world.

       Nicholas looked upon the sleepers; at first, with the air of one who gazes upon a scene which, though familiar to him, has lost none of its sorrowful effect in consequence; and, afterwards, with a more intense and searching scrutiny, as a man would who missed something his eye was accustomed to meet, and had expected to rest upon. He was still occupied in this search, and had half risen from his bed in the eagerness of his quest, when the voice of Squeers was heard, calling from the bottom of the stairs.

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       'Now then,' cried that gentleman, 'are you going to sleep all day, up there--'

       'You lazy hounds?' added Mrs Squeers, finishing the sentence, and producing, at the same time, a sharp sound, like that which is oc-

       casioned by the lacing of stays.

       'We shall be down directly, sir,' replied Nicholas.

       'Down directly!' said Squeers. 'Ah! you had better be down directly, or I'll be down upon some of you in less. Where's that Smike?'

       Nicholas looked hurriedly round again, but made no answer.

       'Smike!' shouted Squeers.

       'Do you want your head broke in a fresh place, Smike?' demanded his amiable lady in the same key.

       Still there was no reply, and still Nicholas stared about him, as did the greater part of the boys, who were by this time roused.

       'Confound his impudence!' muttered Squeers, rapping the stair-rail impatiently with his cane. 'Nickleby!'

       'Well, sir.'

       'Send that obstinate scoundrel down; don't you hear me calling?'

       'He is not here, sir,' replied Nicholas.

       'Don't tell me a lie,' retorted the schoolmaster. 'He is.'

       'He is not,' retorted Nicholas angrily, 'don't tell me one.'

       'We shall soon see that,' said Mr Squeers, rushing upstairs. 'I'll find him, I warrant you.'

       With which assurance, Mr Squeers bounced into the dormitory, and, swinging his cane in the air ready for a blow, darted into the corner where the lean body of the drudge was usually stretched at night. The cane descended harmlessly upon the ground. There was nobody there.

       'What does this mean?' said Squeers, turning round with a very pale face. 'Where have you hid him?'

       'I have seen nothing of him since last night,' replied Nicholas.

       'Come,' said Squeers, evidently frightened, though he endeavoured to look otherwise, 'you won't save him this way. Where is he?'

       'At the bottom of the nearest pond for aught I know,' rejoined Nicholas in a low voice, and fixing his eyes full on the master's face.

       'Damn you, what do you mean by that?' retorted Squeers in great perturbation. Without waiting for a reply, he inquired of the boys

       whether any one among them knew anything of their missing schoolmate.

       There was a general hum of anxious denial, in the midst of which, one shrill voice was heard to say (as, indeed, everybody thought):

       'Please, sir, I think Smike's run away, sir.'

       'Ha!' cried Squeers, turning sharp round. 'Who said that?'

       'Tomkins, please sir,' rejoined a chorus of voices. Mr Squeers made a plunge into the crowd, and at one dive, caught a very little boy, habited still in his night-gear, and the perplexed expression of whose countenance, as he was brought forward, seemed to intimate that he was as yet uncertain whether he was about to be punished or rewarded for the suggestion. He was not long in doubt.

       'You think he has run away, do you, sir?' demanded Squeers.

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       'Yes, please sir,' replied the little boy.

       'And what, sir,' said Squeers, catching the little boy suddenly by the arms and whisking up his drapery in a most dexterous manner,

       'what reason have you to suppose that any boy would want to run away from this establishment? Eh, sir?'

       The child raised a dismal cry, by way of answer, and Mr Squeers, throwing himself into the most favourable attitude for exercising his strength, beat him until the little urchin in his writhings actually rolled out of his hands, when he mercifully allowed him to roll away, as he best could.

       'There,' said Squeers. 'Now if any other boy thinks Smike has run away, I shall be glad to have a talk with him.'

       There was, of course, a profound silence, during which Nicholas showed his disgust as plainly as looks could show it.

       'Well, Nickleby,' said Squeers, eyeing him maliciously. 'YOU think he has run away, I suppose?'

       'I think it extremely likely,' replied Nicholas, in a quiet manner.

      

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