--no matter what unhappy train of circumstances had
brought him to that pass--to be the aider and abettor of a system which
filled him with honest disgust and indignation, he loathed himself, and
felt, for the moment, as though the mere consciousness of his present
situation must, through all time to come, prevent his raising his head
again.

But, for the present, his resolve was taken, and the resolution he had
formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He had written to
his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion of his journey,
and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and saying that little as
cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that by remaining where he
was, he might do some good, even there; at all events, others depended
too much on his uncle's favour, to admit of his awakening his wrath just
then.

One reflection disturbed him far more than any selfish considerations
arising out of his own position. This was the probable destination of
his sister Kate. His uncle had deceived him, and might he not consign
her to some miserable place where her youth and beauty would prove a far
greater curse than ugliness and decrepitude? To a caged man, bound hand
and foot, this was a terrible idea--but no, he thought, his mother was
by; there was the portrait-painter, too--simple enough, but still living
in the world, and of it. He was willing to believe that Ralph Nickleby
had conceived a personal dislike to himself. Having pretty good reason,
by this time, to reciprocate it, he had no great difficulty in arriving
at this conclusion, and tried to persuade himself that the feeling
extended no farther than between them.

As he was absorbed in these meditations, he all at once encountered the
upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove, picking a
few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the fire. He
had paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that he was
observed, shrunk back, as if expecting a blow.

'You need not fear me,' said Nicholas kindly. 'Are you cold?'

'N-n-o.'

'You are shivering.'

'I am not cold,' replied Smike quickly. 'I am used to it.'

There was such an obvious fear of giving offence in his manner, and he
was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could not help
exclaiming, 'Poor fellow!'

If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without a word.
But, now, he burst into tears.

'Oh dear, oh dear!' he cr