ivering excitement. Smike had run
away, and Squeers's anger was at white heat against him and every one
else.

"He is off," said Mrs. Squeers, angrily. "The cowhouse and stable are
locked up, so he can't be there; and he's not down stairs anywhere. He
must have gone York way, and by a public road too. Then of course,"
continued Mrs. Squeers, "as he had no money he must beg his way, and he
could do that nowhere, but on the public road."

"That's true," exclaimed Squeers, clapping his hands.

"True! Yes; but you would never have thought of it, if I hadn't said so,"
replied his wife. "Now, if you take the chaise and go one road, and I
borrow Swallow's chaise and go the other, one or other of us is pretty
certain to lay hold of him!"

This plan was adopted and put in execution without a moment's delay.

After a very hasty breakfast, Squeers started forth in the pony-chaise,
intent upon discovery and vengeance. Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Squeers
issued forth in another chaise and another direction, taking with her a
good-sized bludgeon, several odd pieces of strong cord, and a stout
labouring man.

Nicholas remained behind, in a tumult of feeling, sensible that whatever
might be the upshot of the boy's flight, nothing but painful and
deplorable consequences were likely to ensue from it. The unhappy being
had established a hold upon his sympathy and compassion, which made his
heart ache at the prospect of the suffering he was destined to undergo.

The next evening Squeers returned alone and unsuccessful. Another day
came, and Nicholas was scarcely awake when he heard the wheels of a chaise
approaching the house. It stopped. The voice of Mrs. Squeers was heard in
exultation. Nicholas hardly dared to look out of the window; but he did
so, and the very first object that met his eyes was the wretched Smike: so
bedabbled with mud and rain, so haggard, and worn, and wild, that, but for
his garments being such as no scarecrow was ever seen to wear, he might
have been doubtful, even then, of his identity.

"Lift him out," said Squeers, after he had literally feasted his eyes upon
the culprit. "Bring him in; bring him in!"

"Take care!" cried Mrs. Squeers. "We tied his legs under the apron and
made 'em fast to the chaise, to prevent his giving us the slip again."

With hands trembling with delight, Squeers unloosened the cord; and Smike,
more dead than alive, was brought into the house and securely locked up in
a cellar.

I