declined to attend the supper in order that she might rise earlier in
the morning, and who now burst out of an adjoining bedroom, habited in
very extraordinary white robes; and throwing her arms about his neck,
hugged him with great affection.

'What! Are you going too?' said Nicholas, submitting with as good a
grace as if she had been the finest young creature in the world.

'Going?' returned Mrs Grudden. 'Lord ha' mercy, what do you think they'd
do without me?'

Nicholas submitted to another hug with even a better grace than before,
if that were possible, and waving his hat as cheerfully as he could,
took farewell of the Vincent Crummleses.

CHAPTER 49

Chronicles the further Proceedings of the Nickleby Family, and the
Sequel of the Adventure of the Gentleman in the Small-clothes

While Nicholas, absorbed in the one engrossing subject of interest which
had recently opened upon him, occupied his leisure hours with thoughts
of Madeline Bray, and in execution of the commissions which the anxiety
of brother Charles in her behalf imposed upon him, saw her again and
again, and each time with greater danger to his peace of mind and a more
weakening effect upon the lofty resolutions he had formed, Mrs Nickleby
and Kate continued to live in peace and quiet, agitated by no other
cares than those which were connected with certain harassing proceedings
taken by Mr Snawley for the recovery of his son, and their anxiety for
Smike himself, whose health, long upon the wane, began to be so much
affected by apprehension and uncertainty as sometimes to occasion both
them and Nicholas considerable uneasiness, and even alarm.

It was no complaint or murmur on the part of the poor fellow himself
that thus disturbed them. Ever eager to be employed in such slight
services as he could render, and always anxious to repay his benefactors
with cheerful and happy looks, less friendly eyes might have seen in him
no cause for any misgiving. But there were times, and often too, when
the sunken eye was too bright, the hollow cheek too flushed, the breath
too thick and heavy in its course, the frame too feeble and exhausted,
to escape their regard and notice.

There is a dread disease which so prepares its victim, as it were, for
death; which so refines it of its grosser aspect, and throws around
familiar looks unearthly indications of the coming change; a dread
disease, in which the struggle between soul and body is so gradual,
quiet,