, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
and with a cry like the howl of a wild beast, spat upon him, and struck
him a blow across the face with his instrument of torture, which raised
up a bar of livid flesh as it was inflicted. Smarting with the agony
of the blow, and concentrating into that one moment all his feelings
of rage, scorn, and indignation, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the
weapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffian
till he roared for mercy.

The boys--with the exception of Master Squeers, who, coming to his
father's assistance, harassed the enemy in the rear--moved not, hand or
foot; but Mrs Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail
of her partner's coat, and endeavoured to drag him from his infuriated
adversary; while Miss Squeers, who had been peeping through the
keyhole in expectation of a very different scene, darted in at the very
beginning of the attack, and after launching a shower of inkstands
at the usher's head, beat Nicholas to her heart's content; animating
herself, at every blow, with the recollection of his having refused her
proffered love, and thus imparting additional strength to an arm which
(as she took after her mother in this respect) was, at no time, one of
the weakest.

Nicholas, in the full torrent of his violence, felt the blows no more
than if they had been dealt with feathers; but, becoming tired of the
noise and uproar, and feeling that his arm grew weak besides, he threw
all his remaining strength into half-a-dozen finishing cuts, and flung
Squeers from him with all the force he could muster. The violence of
his fall precipitated Mrs Squeers completely over an adjacent form; and
Squeers striking his head against it in his descent, lay at his full
length on the ground, stunned and motionless.

Having brought affairs to this happy termination, and ascertained, to
his thorough satisfaction, that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead
(upon which point he had had some unpleasant doubts at first), Nicholas
left his family to restore him, and retired to consider what course he
had better adopt. He looked anxiously round for Smike, as he left the
room, but he was nowhere to be seen.

After a brief consideration, he packed up a few clothes in a small
leathern valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose his
progress, marched boldly out by the front-door, and shortly afterwards,
struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.