evy. 'What would
the brothers say?'

'Why, God bless your soul!' cried Tim, innocently, 'you don't suppose I
should think of such a thing without their knowing it! Why they left us
here on purpose.'

'I can never look 'em in the face again!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy,
faintly.

'Come,' said Tim, 'let's be a comfortable couple. We shall live in the
old house here, where I have been for four-and-forty year; we shall go
to the old church, where I've been, every Sunday morning, all through
that time; we shall have all my old friends about us--Dick, the archway,
the pump, the flower-pots, and Mr Frank's children, and Mr Nickleby's
children, that we shall seem like grandfather and grandmother to. Let's
be a comfortable couple, and take care of each other! And if we should
get deaf, or lame, or blind, or bed-ridden, how glad we shall be that we
have somebody we are fond of, always to talk to and sit with! Let's be a
comfortable couple. Now, do, my dear!'

Five minutes after this honest and straightforward speech, little Miss
La Creevy and Tim were talking as pleasantly as if they had been married
for a score of years, and had never once quarrelled all the time; and
five minutes after that, when Miss La Creevy had bustled out to see if
her eyes were red and put her hair to rights, Tim moved with a stately
step towards the drawing-room, exclaiming as he went, 'There an't such
another woman in all London! I KNOW there an't!'

By this time, the apoplectic butler was nearly in fits, in consequence
of the unheard-of postponement of dinner. Nicholas, who had been engaged
in a manner in which every reader may imagine for himself or herself,
was hurrying downstairs in obedience to his angry summons, when he
encountered a new surprise.

On his way down, he overtook, in one of the passages, a stranger
genteelly dressed in black, who was also moving towards the dining-room.
As he was rather lame, and walked slowly, Nicholas lingered behind, and
was following him step by step, wondering who he was, when he suddenly
turned round and caught him by both hands.

'Newman Noggs!' cried Nicholas joyfully

'Ah! Newman, your own Newman, your own old faithful Newman! My dear boy,
my dear Nick, I give you joy--health, happiness, every blessing! I can't
bear it--it's too much, my dear boy--it makes a child of me!'

'Where have you been?' said Nicholas. 'What have you been doing? How
often have I inquired for you, and been told that I should