ct
an injury upon them which I can never repair. What has my uncle heard
from Yorkshire?'

Newman opened and shut his mouth, several times, as though he were
trying his utmost to speak, but could make nothing of it, and finally
fixed his eyes on Nicholas with a grim and ghastly stare.

'What has he heard?' urged Nicholas, colouring. 'You see that I am
prepared to hear the very worst that malice can have suggested. Why
should you conceal it from me? I must know it sooner or later; and what
purpose can be gained by trifling with the matter for a few minutes,
when half the time would put me in possession of all that has occurred?
Tell me at once, pray.'

'Tomorrow morning,' said Newman; 'hear it tomorrow.'

'What purpose would that answer?' urged Nicholas.

'You would sleep the better,' replied Newman.

'I should sleep the worse,' answered Nicholas, impatiently. 'Sleep!
Exhausted as I am, and standing in no common need of rest, I cannot hope
to close my eyes all night, unless you tell me everything.'

'And if I should tell you everything,' said Newman, hesitating.

'Why, then you may rouse my indignation or wound my pride,' rejoined
Nicholas; 'but you will not break my rest; for if the scene were acted
over again, I could take no other part than I have taken; and whatever
consequences may accrue to myself from it, I shall never regret doing as
I have done--never, if I starve or beg in consequence. What is a little
poverty or suffering, to the disgrace of the basest and most inhuman
cowardice! I tell you, if I had stood by, tamely and passively, I should
have hated myself, and merited the contempt of every man in existence.
The black-hearted scoundrel!'

With this gentle allusion to the absent Mr Squeers, Nicholas repressed
his rising wrath, and relating to Newman exactly what had passed at
Dotheboys Hall, entreated him to speak out without more pressing. Thus
adjured, Mr Noggs took, from an old trunk, a sheet of paper, which
appeared to have been scrawled over in great haste; and after sundry
extraordinary demonstrations of reluctance, delivered himself in the
following terms.

'My dear young man, you mustn't give way to--this sort of thing
will never do, you know--as to getting on in the world, if you take
everybody's part that's ill-treated--Damn it, I am proud to hear of it;
and would have done it myself!'

Newman accompanied this very unusual outbreak with a violent blow upon
the table, as if, in the heat