They traversed the streets in profound silence; and after walking at a round pace for some distance, arrived in one, of a gloomy appearance and very little frequented, near the Edgeware Road.
“Number twelve,” said Newman.
“Oh!” replied Nicholas, looking about him.
“Good street?” said Newman.
“Yes,” returned Nicholas. “Rather dull.”
Newman made no answer to this remark, but, halting abruptly, planted Nicholas with his back to some area railings, and gave him to understand that he was to wait there, without moving hand or foot, until it was satisfactorily ascertained that the coast was clear. This done, Noggs limped away with great alacrity; looking over his shoulder every instant, to make quite certain that Nicholas was obeying his directions; and, ascending the steps of a house some half-dozen doors off, was lost to view.
After a short delay, he reappeared, and limping back again, halted midway, and beckoned Nicholas to follow him.
“Well?” said Nicholas, advancing towards him on tiptoe.
“All right,” replied Newman, in high glee. “All ready; nobody at home. Couldn’t be better. Ha! ha!”
With this fortifying assurance, he stole past a street-door, on which Nicholas caught a glimpse of a brass plate, with “Bobster,” in very large letters; and, stopping at the area-gate, which was open, signed to his young friend to descend.
“What the devil!” cried Nicholas, drawing back. “Are we to sneak into the kitchen, as if we came after the forks?”
“Hush!” replied Newman. “Old Bobster—ferocious Turk. He’d kill ’em all—box the young lady’s ears—he does—often.”
“What!” cried Nicholas, in high wrath, “do you mean to tell me that any man would dare to box the ears of such a—”
He had no time to sing the praises of his mistress, just then, for Newman gave him a gentle push which had nearly precipitated him to the bottom of the area steps. Thinking it best to take the hint in good part, Nicholas descended, without further remonstrance, but with a countenance bespeaking anything rather than the hope and rapture of a passionate lover. Newman followed—he would have followed head first, but for the timely assistance of Nicholas—and, taking his hand, led him through a stone passage, profoundly dark, into a back-kitchen or cellar, of the blackest and most pitchy obscurity, where they stopped.
“Well!” said Nicholas, in a discontented whisper, “this is not all, I suppose, is it?”
“No, no,” rejoined Noggs; “they’ll be here directly. It’s all right.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Nicholas. “I shouldn’t have thought it, I confess.”
They exchanged no further words, and there Nicholas stood, listening to the loud breathing of Newman Noggs, and imagining that his nose seemed to glow like a red-hot coal, even in the midst of the darkness which enshrouded them. Suddenly the sound of cautious footsteps attracted his ear, and directly afterwards a female voice inquired if the gentleman was there.
“Yes,” replied Nicholas, turning towards the corner from which the voice proceeded. “Who is that?”
“Only me, sir,” replied the voice. “Now if you please, ma’am.”
A gleam of light shone into the place, and presently the servant girl appeared, bearing a light, and followed by her young mistress, who seemed to be overwhelmed by modesty and confusion.
At sight of the young lady, Nicholas started and changed colour; his heart beat violently, and he stood rooted to the spot. At that instant, and almost simultaneously with her arrival and that of the candle, there was heard a loud and furious knocking at the street-door, which caused Newman Noggs to jump up, with great agility, from a beer-barrel on which he had been seated astride, and to exclaim abruptly, and with a face of ashy paleness, “Bobster, by the Lord!”
The young lady shrieked, the attendant wrung her hands, Nicholas gazed from one to the other in apparent stupefaction, and Newman hurried to and fro, thrusting his hands into all his pockets successively, and drawing out the linings of every one in the excess of his irresolution. It was but a moment, but the confusion crowded into that one moment no imagination can exaggerate.
“Leave the house, for Heaven’s sake! We have done wrong, we deserve it all,” cried the young lady. “Leave the house, or I am ruined and undone forever.”
“Will you hear me say but one word?” cried Nicholas. “Only one. I will not detain you. Will you hear me say one word, in explanation of this mischance?”
But Nicholas might as well have spoken to the wind, for the young lady, with distracted looks, hurried up the stairs. He would have followed her, but Newman, twisting his hand in his coat collar, dragged him towards the passage by which they had entered.
“Let me go, Newman, in the Devil’s name!” cried Nicholas. “I must speak to her. I will! I will not leave this house without.”
“Reputation—character—violence—consider,” said Newman, clinging round him with both arms, and hurrying him away. “Let them open the door. We’ll go, as we came, directly it’s shut. Come. This way. Here.”
Overpowered by the remonstrances of Newman, and the tears and prayers of the girl, and the tremendous knocking above, which had never ceased, Nicholas allowed himself to be hurried off; and, precisely as Mr. Bobster made his entrance by the street-door, he and Noggs made their exit by the area-gate.
They hurried away, through several streets, without stopping or speaking. At last, they halted and confronted each other with blank and rueful faces.
“Never mind,” said Newman, gasping for breath. “Don’t be cast down. It’s all right. More fortunate next time. It couldn’t be helped. I did my part.”
“Excellently,” replied Nicholas, taking his hand. “Excellently, and like the true and zealous friend you are. Only—mind, I am not disappointed, Newman, and feel just as much indebted to you—only it was the wrong lady.”
“Eh?” cried Newman Noggs. “Taken in by the servant?”
“Newman, Newman,” said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder: “it was the wrong servant too.”
Newman’s under-jaw dropped, and he gazed at Nicholas, with his sound eye fixed fast and motionless in his head.
“Don’t take it to heart,” said Nicholas; “it’s of no
