He could feel his heart beating a million times faster than it should be. He had no idea how long he had been running, or how far he had come, but he knew he was no longer being followed. Turning into another alleyway, he slowly came to a stop. Swiping his hand across his forehead, he leaned back, expecting to find the wall but instead crashing into some boxes that somebody had left out.
"Oh, god!" he exclaimed, as he crashed to the ground.
Nicholas jumped to his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He turned around in a circle, trying to see what had caused the loud noise that had woken him. At his feet, Smike shivered. He had propped himself up against the wall, pulling Nicholas' jacket tighter around him. He, too, was looking around, anxiously.
"What was it, sir?' he asked, quietly.
Nicholas looked down at his friend, confused. There was nothing around them, at least, nothing that would cause such a ruckus.
"I don't know.' He replied, after a moment. Kneeling down next to Smike, Nicholas longed to be in a warm bed, with a roof over his head. He missed his mother and his sister. But here he was, sleeping on the streets. Homeless.
It had been three days at least since he had rescued Smike from Mr Squeers and his wife, and he should be halfway to London by now, but they weren't. They were still in Yorkshire, and had every chance of being found at any moment, which is exactly why Nicholas was now on full alert, glancing around the alley, at every dark corner he could see.
Smike yawned and ran a hand through his hair. He looked up at Nicholas and faked a smile.
"There's nothing there?" he said, hoping for some sign from his friend, his saviour, that everything was fine. He saw Nicholas give a small nod of his head, and he let himself relax.
"Nothing at all.' Nicholas said, reassuringly, as he slumped down next to Smike and stretched his feet out in front of him.