At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby started up from his desk, and cried “Stop!” in a furious voice.

“Touch that boy at your peril.  I will not stand by and see it done.”

He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath, spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.

All Nicholas’s feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.

Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her partner’s coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary.  With the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining strength into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from him with all the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated over an adjacent form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his descent, lay at full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.

Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched boldly out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.

III.—­Brighter Days for Nicholas

After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry office in London.  And as he stood there looking at the various placards in the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted blue coat, happened to stop too.

Nicholas caught the old gentleman’s eye, and began to wonder whether the stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.

As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to speak, and good-naturedly stood still.

“I was only going to say,” said Nicholas, “that I hoped you had some object in consulting those advertisements in the window.”

“Ay, ay; what object now?” returned the old gentleman.  “Did you think I wanted a situation now, eh?  I thought the same of you, at first, upon my word I did.”

“If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far from the truth,” rejoined Nicholas.  “The kindness of your face and manner—­both so unlike any I have ever seen—­tempt me to speak in a way I should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of London.”

“Wilderness!  Yes, it is; it is.  It was a wilderness to me once.  I came here barefoot—­I have never forgotten it.  What’s the matter, how did it all come about?” said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of Nicholas, and walking him up the street.  “In mourning, too, eh?” laying his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.

“My father,” replied Nicholas.