“As I supposed from his not sending!” thought Ralph. “This fellow, I plainly see through all his tipsy fooling, has made up his mind to turn upon me. I am so beset and hemmed in, that they are not only all struck with fear, but, like the beasts in the fable, have their fling at me now, though time was, and no longer ago than yesterday too, when they were all civility and compliance. But they shall not move me. I’ll not give way. I will not budge one inch!”
He went home, and was glad to find his housekeeper complaining of illness, that he might have an excuse for being alone and sending her away to where she lived: which was hard by. Then, he sat down by the light of a single candle, and began to think, for the first time, on all that had taken place that day.
He had neither eaten nor drunk since last night, and, in addition to the anxiety of mind he had undergone, had been travelling about, from place to place almost incessantly, for many hours. He felt sick and exhausted, but could taste nothing save a glass of water, and continued to sit with his head upon his hand; not resting nor thinking, but laboriously trying to do both, and feeling that every sense but one of weariness and desolation, was for the time benumbed.
It was nearly ten o’clock when he heard a knocking at the door, and still sat quiet as before, as if he could not even bring his thoughts to bear upon that. It had been often repeated, and he had, several times, heard a voice outside, saying there was a light in the window (meaning, as he knew, his own candle), before he could rouse himself and go downstairs.
“Mr. Nickleby, there is terrible news for you, and I am sent to beg you will come with me directly,” said a voice he seemed to recognise. He held his hand above his eyes, and, looking out, saw Tim Linkinwater on the steps.
“Come where?” demanded Ralph.
“To our house, where you came this morning. I have a coach here.”
“Why should I go there?” said Ralph.
“Don’t ask me why, but pray come with me.”
“Another edition of today!” returned Ralph, making as though he would shut the door.
“No, no!” cried Tim, catching him by the arm and speaking most earnestly; “it is only that you may hear something that has occurred: something very dreadful, Mr. Nickleby, which concerns you nearly. Do you think I would tell you so or come to you like this, if it were not the case?”
Ralph looked at him more closely. Seeing that he was indeed greatly excited, he faltered, and could not tell what to say or think.
“You had better hear this now, than at any other time,” said Tim; “it may have some influence with you. For Heaven’s sake come!”
Perhaps, at, another time, Ralph’s obstinacy and dislike would have been proof against any appeal from such a quarter, however emphatically urged; but now, after a moment’s hesitation, he went into the hall for his hat, and returning, got into the coach without speaking a word.
Tim well remembered afterwards, and often said, that as Ralph Nickleby went into the house for this purpose, he saw him, by the light of the candle which he had set down upon a chair, reel and stagger like a drunken man. He well remembered, too, that when he had placed his foot upon the coach-steps, he turned round and looked upon him with a face so ashy pale and so very wild and vacant that it made him shudder, and for the moment almost afraid to follow. People were fond of saying that he had some dark presentiment upon him then, but his emotion might, perhaps, with greater show of reason, be referred to what he had undergone that day.
A profound silence was observed during the ride. Arrived at their place of destination, Ralph followed his conductor into the house, and into a room where the two brothers were. He was so astounded, not to say awed, by something of a mute compassion for himself which was visible in their manner and in that of the old clerk, that he could scarcely speak.
Having taken a seat, however, he contrived to say, though in broken words, “What—what have you to say to me—more than has been said already?”
The room was old and large, very imperfectly lighted, and terminated in a bay window, about which hung some heavy drapery. Casting his eyes in this direction as he spoke, he thought he made out the dusky figure of a man. He was confirmed in this impression by seeing that the object moved, as if uneasy under his scrutiny.
“Who’s that yonder?” he said.
“One who has conveyed to us, within these two hours, the intelligence which caused our sending to you,” replied brother Charles. “Let him be, sir, let him be for the present.”
“More riddles!” said Ralph, faintly. “Well, sir?”
In turning his face towards the brothers he was obliged to avert it from the window; but, before either of them could speak, he had looked round again. It was evident that he was rendered restless and uncomfortable by the presence of the unseen person; for he repeated this action several times, and at length, as if in a nervous state which rendered him positively unable to turn away from the place, sat so as to have it opposite him, muttering as an excuse that he could not bear the light.
The brothers conferred apart for a short time: their manner showing that they were agitated. Ralph glanced at them twice or thrice, and ultimately said, with a great effort to recover his self-possession, “Now, what is this? If I am
