hings which the anxious care of his mother and sister
deemed indispensable for his comfort, Nicholas insisted on leaving
behind, as they might prove of some after use, or might be convertible
into money if occasion required. A hundred affectionate contests on
such points as these, took place on the sad night which preceded his
departure; and, as the termination of every angerless dispute brought
them nearer and nearer to the close of their slight preparations, Kate
grew busier and busier, and wept more silently.

The box was packed at last, and then there came supper, with some little
delicacy provided for the occasion, and as a set-off against the expense
of which, Kate and her mother had feigned to dine when Nicholas was out.
The poor lady nearly choked himself by attempting to partake of it,
and almost suffocated himself in affecting a jest or two, and forcing a
melancholy laugh. Thus, they lingered on till the hour of separating
for the night was long past; and then they found that they might as
well have given vent to their real feelings before, for they could not
suppress them, do what they would. So, they let them have their way, and
even that was a relief.

Nicholas slept well till six next morning; dreamed of home, or of what
was home once--no matter which, for things that are changed or gone will
come back as they used to be, thank God! in sleep--and rose quite brisk
and gay. He wrote a few lines in pencil, to say the goodbye which he was
afraid to pronounce himself, and laying them, with half his scanty stock
of money, at his sister's door, shouldered his box and crept softly
downstairs.

'Is that you, Hannah?' cried a voice from Miss La Creevy's sitting-room,
whence shone the light of a feeble candle.

'It is I, Miss La Creevy,' said Nicholas, putting down the box and
looking in.

'Bless us!' exclaimed Miss La Creevy, starting and putting her hand to
her curl-papers. 'You're up very early, Mr Nickleby.'

'So are you,' replied Nicholas.

'It's the fine arts that bring me out of bed, Mr Nickleby,' returned the
lady. 'I'm waiting for the light to carry out an idea.'

Miss La Creevy had got up early to put a fancy nose into a miniature of
an ugly little boy, destined for his grandmother in the country, who was
expected to bequeath him property if he was like the family.

'To carry out an idea,' repeated Miss La Creevy; 'and that's the great
convenience of living in a thoroughfare like the Strand. When