 spirit, strong as you deem it now.
And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched
object (as you will, I know you), and those who think you now a young-fledged
hero, we'll go into old accounts between us two, and see who stands the debtor,
and comes out best at last, even before the world.«
    Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr. Squeers, who had heard a portion of this
closing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch of impotent malignity
almost unprecedented, could not refrain from returning to the parlour-door, and
actually cutting some dozen capers with various wry faces and hideous grimaces,
expressive of his triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas.
    Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers and large boots
had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr. Squeers followed his friends, and the
family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences.
 

                                  Chapter XLVI

Throws Some Light Upon Nicholas's Love; but Whether for Good or Evil, the Reader
                                Must Determine.

After an anxious consideration of the painful and embarrassing position in which
he was placed, Nicholas decided that he ought to lose no time in frankly stating
it to the kind brothers. Availing himself of the first opportunity of being
alone with Mr. Charles Cheeryble at the close of next day, he accordingly
related Smike's little history, and modestly but firmly expressed his hope that
the good old gentleman would, under such circumstances as he described, hold him
justified in adopting the extreme course of interfering between parent and
child, and upholding the latter in his disobedience; even though his horror and
dread of his father might seem, and would doubtless be represented as, a thing
so repulsive and unnatural, as to render those who countenanced him in it, fit
objects of general detestation and abhorrence.
    »So deeply-rooted does this horror of the man appear to be,« said Nicholas,
»that I can hardly believe he really is his son. Nature does not seem to have
implanted in his breast one lingering feeling of affection for him, and surely
she can never err.«
    »My dear sir,« replied brother Charles, »you fall into the very common
mistake, of charging upon Nature, matters with which she has not the smallest
connexion, and for which she is in no way responsible. Men talk of nature as an
abstract thing, and lose sight of what is natural while they do so. Here is a
poor lad who has never felt a parent
