they were not tears of sorrow, although they continued to fall when he had ceased to speak.
"Am I not right, Kate?" he said, after a short silence.
"Quite, quite, dear brother; and I cannot tell you how happy I am that I have acted as you would have had me."
"You don't regret?"
"N—n—no," said Kate timidly, tracing some pattern upon the ground with her little foot. "I don't regret having done what was honourable and right, of course, but I do regret that this should have ever happened—at least sometimes I regret it, and sometimes I—I don't know what I say; I am but a weak girl Nicholas, and it has agitated me very much."
It is no vaunt to affirm that if Nicholas had had ten thousand pounds at the minute, he would, in his generous affection for the owner of that blushing cheek and downcast eye, have bestowed its utmost farthing, in perfect forgetfulness of himself, to secure her happiness. But all he could do was to comfort and console her by kind words; and words they were of such love and kindness and cheerful encouragement, that poor Kate threw her arms about his neck and declared she would weep no more.
"What man," thought Nicholas proudly, while on his way soon afterwards to the Brothers' house, "would not be sufficiently rewarded for any sacrifice of fortune, by the possession of such a heart as that, which, but that hearts weigh light and gold and silver heavy, is beyond all praise. Frank has money and wants no more. Where would it buy him such a treasure as Kate! And yet in unequal marriages, the rich party is always supposed to make a great sacrifice, and the other to get a good bargain! But I am thinking like a lover, or like an ass, which I suppose is pretty nearly the same."
Checking thoughts so little adapted to the business on which he was bound by such self-reproofs as this and many others no less sturdy, he proceeded on his way and presented himself before Tim Linkinwater.
"Ah! Mr. Nickleby," cried Tim, "God bless you! how d'ye do! Well? Say you're quite well and never better—do now."
"Quite," said Nicholas, shaking him by both hands.
"Ah!" said Tim, "you look tired though, now I come to look at you. Hark! there he is, d'ye hear him? That was Dick the black-bird. He hasn't been himself since you've been gone. He'd never get on without you now; he takes as naturally to you, as he does to me."
"Dick is a far less sagacious fellow than I supposed him, if he thinks I am half so well worthy of his notice as you," replied Nicholas.
"Why I’ll tell you what. Sir," said Tim, standing in his favourite attitude and pointing up to the cage with the feather of his pen, "it's a very extraordinary thing about that bird, that the only people he ever takes the smallest notice of are Mr. Charles and Mr. Ned and you and me."
Here Tim stopped and glanced anxiously at Nicholas; then unexpectedly catching his eye repeated, "and you and me, Sir, and you and me." And then he glanced at Nicholas again, and, squeezing his hand, said, "I am a bad one at putting off anything I am interested in. I didn't mean to ask you, but I should like to hear a few particulars about that poor boy. Did he mention Cheeryble Brothers at all?"
"Yes," said Nicholas, "many and many a time."
