"I have a long series of insults to avenge," said Nicholas, flushed with passion; "and my indignation is aggravated by the cruelties of this foul den. Have a care; for if you rouse me farther, the consequences shall fall heavily upon your own head!"
He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath, struck him a blow across the face 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 its feelings of rage and scorn, Nicholas sprang upon him, wrested the weapon from his hand, and pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffian till he roared for mercy.
Then Nicholas left the astounded boys and the crestfallen master, and stalked out of the room. He looked anxiously around for Smike, as he closed the door, but he was nowhere to be seen.
There was nothing left for him to do. He must face the world again; but anything—he told himself—would be better than this. So he packed up a few clothes in a small valise, and, finding that nobody offered to oppose him, he marched boldly out by the front door and struck into the road which led to Greta Bridge.
He did not travel far that day, as there had been a heavy fall of snow which made the way toilsome and hard to find. He lay, that night, at a cottage, where beds were let at a cheap rate to the more humble class of travellers; and, rising betimes next morning, made his way before night to Boroughbridge. Passing through that town in search of some cheap resting-place, he stumbled upon an empty barn within a couple of hundred yards of the roadside; in a warm corner of which he stretched his weary limbs, and soon fell asleep.
When he awoke next morning, and tried to recollect his dreams, which had been all connected with his recent sojourn at Dotheboys Hall, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared—not with the most composed countenance possible—at some motionless object which seemed to be stationed within a few yards in front of him.
"Strange!" cried Nicholas; "can this be some lingering creation of the visions that have scarcely left me! It cannot be real—and yet I—-I am awake! Smike!"
The form moved, rose, advanced, and dropped upon its knees at his feet. It was Smike indeed.
"Why do you kneel to me?" said Nicholas, hastily raising him.
"To go with you—anywhere—everywhere—to the world's end!" replied Smike, clinging to his hand. "Let me, oh, do let me! You are my home—my kind friend—take me with you, pray!"