“But there is a gentleman, sir,” she said, “below, who was standing at the door when I came in, and he says—”
“What says he?” demanded Ralph, turning angrily upon her. “I told you I would see nobody.”
“He says,” replied the woman, abashed by his harshness, “that he comes on very particular business which admits of no excuse; and I thought perhaps it might be about—”
“About what, in the devil’s name?” said Ralph. “You spy and speculate on people’s business with me, do you?”
“Dear, no, sir! I saw you were anxious, and thought it might be about Mr. Noggs; that’s all.”
“Saw I was anxious!” muttered Ralph; “they all watch me, now. Where is this person? You did not say I was not down yet, I hope?”
The woman replied that he was in the little office, and that she had said her master was engaged, but she would take the message.
“Well,” said Ralph, “I’ll see him. Go you to your kitchen, and keep there. Do you mind me?”
Glad to be released, the woman quickly disappeared. Collecting himself, and assuming as much of his accustomed manner as his utmost resolution could summon, Ralph descended the stairs. After pausing for a few moments, with his hand upon the lock, he entered Newman’s room, and confronted Mr. Charles Cheeryble.
Of all men alive, this was one of the last he would have wished to meet at any time; but, now that he recognised in him only the patron and protector of Nicholas, he would rather have seen a spectre. One beneficial effect, however, the encounter had upon him. It instantly roused all his dormant energies; rekindled in his breast the passions that, for many years, had found an improving home there; called up all his wrath, hatred, and malice; restored the sneer to his lip, and the scowl to his brow; and made him again, in all outward appearance, the same Ralph Nickleby whom so many had bitter cause to remember.
“Humph!” said Ralph, pausing at the door. “This is an unexpected favour, sir.”
“And an unwelcome one,” said brother Charles; “an unwelcome one, I know.”
“Men say you are truth itself, sir,” replied Ralph. “You speak truth now, at all events, and I’ll not contradict you. The favour is, at least, as unwelcome as it is unexpected. I can scarcely say more.”
“Plainly, sir—” began brother Charles.
“Plainly, sir,” interrupted Ralph, “I wish this conference to be a short one, and to end where it begins. I guess the subject upon which you are about to speak, and I’ll not hear you. You like plainness, I believe; there it is. Here is the door as you see. Our way lies in very different directions. Take yours, I beg of you, and leave me to pursue mine in quiet.”
“In quiet!” repeated brother Charles mildly, and looking at him with more of pity than reproach. “To pursue his way in quiet!”
“You will scarcely remain in my house, I presume, sir, against my will,” said Ralph; “or you can scarcely hope to make an impression upon a man who closes his ears to all that you can say, and is firmly and resolutely determined not to hear you.”
“Mr. Nickleby, sir,” returned brother Charles: no less mildly than before, but firmly too: “I come here against my will, sorely and grievously against my will. I have never been in this house before; and, to speak my mind, sir, I don’t feel at home or easy in it, and have no wish ever to be here again. You do not guess the subject on which I come to speak to you; you do not indeed. I am sure of that, or your manner would be a very different one.”
Ralph glanced keenly at him, but the clear eye and open countenance of the honest old merchant underwent no change of expression, and met his look without reserve.
“Shall I go on?” said Mr. Cheeryble.
“Oh, by all means, if you please,” returned Ralph drily. “Here are walls to speak to, sir, a desk, and two stools: most attentive auditors, and certain not to interrupt you. Go on, I beg; make my house yours, and perhaps by the time I return from my walk, you will have finished what you have to say, and will yield me up possession again.”
So saying, he buttoned his coat, and turning into the passage, took down his hat. The old gentleman followed, and was about to speak, when Ralph waved him off impatiently, and said:
“Not a word. I tell you, sir, not a word. Virtuous as you are, you are not an angel yet, to appear in men’s houses whether they will or no, and pour your speech into unwilling ears. Preach to the walls I tell you; not to me!”
“I am no angel, Heaven knows,” returned brother Charles, shaking his head, “but an erring and imperfect man; nevertheless, there is one quality which all men have, in common with the angels, blessed opportunities of exercising, if they will; mercy. It is an errand of mercy that brings me here. Pray let me discharge it.”
“I show no mercy,” retorted Ralph with a triumphant smile, “and I ask none. Seek no mercy from me, sir, in behalf of the fellow who has imposed upon your childish credulity, but let him expect the worst that I can do.”
“He ask mercy at your hands!” exclaimed the old merchant warmly; “ask it at his, sir; ask it at his. If you will not hear me now, when you may, hear me when you must, or anticipate what I would say, and take measures to prevent our ever meeting again. Your nephew is a noble lad, sir, an honest, noble lad. What you are, Mr. Nickleby, I will not say; but what you have done, I
